The Waiting Game

Kandace had given Dean directions to Lauren's house, along with her house key, before she left for the airport. "No sense in spending money on a hotel," she'd said. Dean wasn't quite sure what had made her trust he and Sam, but it seemed that she did.

Dean dozed for a couple of hours, but he wanted to check out the house before it was time to go relieve Sam and take over at the hospital. He pulled his clothes out of his duffle bag to get dressed. He felt the familiar bulge toward the bottom of the bag, just a hint, but he knew it was there. He sighed and fished his way into the hidden area he had in the duffle bag, pulling from it an old, dusty jewelry box.

Dean sat on the bed and took a deep breath before slowly opening the box. He snorted to himself as the hinges creaked. It had been a while since he'd opened it. He wasn't sure why he even still bothered to carry this thing around. He should have sold or pawned it years ago. He didn't need it anymore. Inside was a single-stoned diamond ring. This was a ring that belonged in someone else's life, not his. A ring from a time when Dean had dreams of a life of his own, a life without hunting, without demons, without spirits. A life he had all but forgotten. It was a ring he had bought for the one woman he had been willing to tell his father to go to hell for. It was a ring for her. The night he had planned on giving it to her, he went to her house and she was gone. No phone call, no note, nothing. The house was empty. She'd just walked right out of his life without an explanation. And now, here he was, in her house, with her laying in a hospital bed fighting for her life after going up against the very thing he had been trained to kill since he was a kid. He felt the tears building, starting to burn his eyes. This is pointless Dean, he thought to himself, snapping the ring box shut and burying it back in its hiding space.

The house revealed zero clues. It was as normal a house as one could find. A kid's art on the refrigerator, a dozen Disney movies in the entertainment center, her pictures on the walls, and in Lauren's office. Yet, everywhere Dean turned, he felt Lauren's presence. Her perfume lingered in the bathroom, her pillow smelled of her shampoo, her house was full of her echo, her presence.

For the next few days, Dean and Sam took turns sitting with Lauren in her hospital room. Angel spent most of this time with Sam and would visit Lauren when Sam took his shift. They were bonding quickly and Dean was often the brunt of their jokes when they would show up for Sam's shift. Angel definitely picked up her mother's sarcastic wit. Lauren's condition continued to improve steadily and the doctors were sure she would wake up soon. As fate would have it, this happened on Dean's watch.

Lauren woke up to find Dean Winchester's head in her lap, sleeping peacefully, and holding one of her hands in his. She smiled, happy to see him. It had been so long; she had so much to tell him. She ran her fingers softly through his hair, starting to rub his head. He smiled in his sleep. God, she'd missed that smile, that mischievous grin that told her he was up to no good, and she was going to enjoy every minute of it.

And then she remembered. This can't be Dean. It must be a dream. She inhaled sharply. This woke him. He looked up at her, relieved she had finally come out of it. Lauren began gasping for air, pushing at her eyes, trying desperately to wake up. Then he spoke. "Lauren? Lauren, it's ok, it's me, Dean! Lauren?"

This was no dream, it was a nightmare! Lauren stared at him wildly. She tried to get off the bed, then whimpered as the pain shot through her body. She looked at the tubes going into her arms through needles and began to reach for them. Dean grabbed her arm suddenly.

"Lauren, it's ok. I'm here; you're safe. I'll protect you. I'll keep you safe!"

"You're not Dean," Lauren yelled. "Dean Winchester is dead. I saw the police file. Dean is dead. Get out of here. I'll call the nurse!" She was breathing heavily, overtaxing her already worn body.

Dean's face fell. "Lauren, it's ok. It's me sweetheart, it really is. That file was a mistake; it's a long story. I promise you, I will explain, but you've got to calm down first. You've been badly hurt, you need to relax, please!"

Lauren looked at him again, then said, "I don't believe you, how do I know you're not…"

"Lauren," Dean said slowly, "it's me, Dean." His eyes began to tear up. How could she be so terrified of me? He took her face in one of his hands. "Remember the lake? The Italian restaurant you used to drag me to? The pendant I gave you?"

She looked up at then and smiled, knowing that it really was Dean. He smiled at her and said, "You scared me. I… I didn't think you were going to make it. Don't ever do that again!"

Then Lauren frowned as he withdrew his hand and she saw every defense mechanism Dean Winchester had go right back into its normal place. He had dropped those defenses when he was worried about her. Now that she was going to be ok, he snapped right back into protection mode, protecting everyone he cared about, but above all, his own pride and dignity. He was angry at her, furious actually, and it was written all over his face.

"Some protection, eh?" she said, trying to lighten the moment. "It's good to see you alive, Dean. I thought you were dead."

"Yeah, well, we thought the same thing about you for a few days there," he said.

"We should talk," Lauren said. "We have a lot to talk about."

Dean looked out the window. He didn't want to do this. "There's nothing to say," he replied coldly. "You've moved on, I've moved on. It's pretty simple, really."

"Dean, come on! It's not simple at all."

Dean turned on her suddenly. "You never told Sam… why?"

She looked at him incredulously. "Are you kidding me Dean? What was I supposed to say? I'm sorry Sam, you're cute and all, but I'm in love with your brother?"

"Love?" Dean practically spat. "Love? Yeah, you really loved me, I could tell. That's why you just disappeared without a trace right? Do you know how that felt, do you have any clue?"

"Dean, you don't understand, I…"

"I don't want to know, ok? Just forget about it." He turned back toward the window, shutting down again.

Lauren sighed. "Dean…" she began.

"Lauren, oh my God, you're awake!" Sam said as he walked into the room. "I'm so glad you're ok!"

"Sam!" Lauren said, grinning broadly at him. "God, it's so good to see you again. How are you?"

"Better now that you're going to be okay. Damn Lauren, you scared the hell out of us! Oh, we met Angel, she's beautiful, and smart, and wow, she got your sense of humor," he laughed.

"Where is she?" Lauren asked.

"Oh, the nurse grabbed her when we got here. Took her for ice cream. She's going to be so happy to see you awake," Sam said.

"So, what exactly are you two doing in my hospital room after all these years?" Lauren asked.

"Well, we…" Sam stammered.

"Don't even try to cover," Lauren said. "It's good that Angel's not here right now; she doesn't need to know about this. You're here because you think whatever did this to me is something that you normally, how do I put it? 'Handle'?"

Dean and Sam exchanged a look before Dean turned back to the window he had been staring out of since Sam walked into the room.

"I think you're right. And Sam, he's after you," she said resolutely.

"Lauren, what are you saying? What exactly is it that you think we…" Sam's voice trailed off as the door opened and Angel came bounding in.

"Mommy, you're awake! I knew you'd be ok!" she yelled.

Sam sighed and Dean continued staring out the window.

Dean and Lauren

In the last few months before Sam had gone off to school and the "normal" life he wanted, he and Lauren had become good friends. Despite the initial butt kicking and insults that Lauren had handed him, Dean liked her. She was tough, sexy, and kept up with his sarcasm better than most people could. The three of them spent a lot of time together at her place when John was out of town, since Sam wasn't old enough to drink yet. Most times Dean tagged along as Dad still insisted that Dean not let Sam out of his sight for more than a couple of hours.

Dean knew Sam really liked Lauren, but it seemed he was getting nowhere with her in the romance department. He tried to ignore the attraction he himself was starting to feel toward her. Dean felt she liked him too, but it was more of a gut feeling than anything else. If she was attracted to him, she only showed it like two kids on a playground, pulling each other's hair or tossing insults at each other. On the weekends, she would invite them over, often insisting they spend the night since they'd been drinking.

When Sam left for school, he asked Dean to keep an eye on Lauren for him, make sure she was ok. "No problem Sammy," he'd smiled mischievously, but Sam had just smacked him in the back of the head with a "get your mind out of the gutter" scowl, then laughed himself. Dean would call her every few days, making a joke out of it, telling her he was just doing his brotherly duty and all. She was always nice, told him she was fine, and said he ought to come by some time if he felt like it.

John had left on another hunt and had been gone nearly a week. His hunts were getting longer and longer and Dean was spending more and more time alone these days. He was going stir crazy with no one to talk to and went for a drive. He didn't really remember driving to her place, but next thing he knew, he was knocking on Lauren's door. She smiled as she undid the dead bolt and let him in, asking him if he wanted a beer. He sat down at the kitchen table as he had so many times when Sam was still in town.

Lauren seemed sad too, and Dean asked her what was wrong. She said she missed her friends that had gone off to school, but that's what happens when you're younger mentally than you are physically and hung out with a bunch of younger people. They started doing shots and playing cards to numb the loneliness they both felt, but neither one talked about it. Lauren had just beaten him at poker again and was rubbing his face in it, when he looked up at her and said in the most serious voice he could muster, slurring his speech a bit, "So, what ever happened between you and my brother? What are your intentions toward him?"

She laughed and said, "We're just friends Dean. Sam's a great kid. He's sweet, smart, funny, but I never fall for the really nice guys so it could never work out."

"Meh, you're way out of his league anyway. You need someone like me, someone that can take care of you, look after you, treat you to the life you deserve." She looked at him briefly, for a split second thinking he was serious, until she saw the trademark grin that told her this was just one of his flirtatious lines.

"You're sweet Dean, even if you try to hide it behind sarcasm and flirting," she said, mussing his hair as she got up to get another bottle from the cupboard. "I see a lot of myself in you. You and I are very much alike, you know," she said as she sat back down next to him at the table, refilling his shot glass.

"Nah, if I had those tits, I'd never leave the house!" he grinned back at her.

She laughed deeply for a moment. "It's a shame Sam doesn't appreciate all that you do for him, really. I don't think he even sees most of it, but I do," she said quietly.

"Yeah, well, after our Mom died, I kind of took it on myself to take care of him. Lord knows he needs it, the klutz!" Dean quipped.

"It's more than that, and we both know it. You miss him, I can tell," Lauren said quietly.

"Yeah, I guess," he mumbled. She'd read him well. Sam was away at school and Dad was off on a hunt, and Dean hated being alone. He downed the shot, then rotated the now empty glass under his fingers and it spun, falling off the table. He and Lauren both reached for it, nearly bumping heads and landing in a heap on the floor, laughing hysterically.

"Tada!" Lauren laughed, holding the shot glass up in triumph, having caught it before it hit the floor and broke. She started to untangle herself from him, laughing again when she fell after trying to get up. Dean caught her before she would have landed unceremoniously on her butt, laughing too, then hesitating for a split second before pulling his hand out from under her and setting her back down on the floor. Lauren caught his eyes on hers, then looked down again, her hair falling around her face in a silhouette cast by the light from the overhead fixture. Dean pushed the hair back away from her face and studied her soft features before he leaned in to kiss her.

She hesitated at first, conflicted, but then gave in to what they both had been fighting for months. After the first kiss, she whispered, "Well, it's about damn time!" then leaned in for another. The next day, they found themselves still wrapped in each other's arms, both feeling a little guilty.

Lauren was the first to address the issue. "We were drunk Dean, and worse yet, lonely. No one can blame us for what happened," she'd said.

"I shouldn't have. He really likes you; you're his…" he'd started.

"I'm not his girlfriend," she cut him off, "but I'm giving you an out, if you want one. Just chalk it up to one too many shots and leave it at that," she said, turning toward the doorway leading out of her bedroom.

"God Lauren, I don't know what to do. Sam's my brother, you know? I don't want to hurt him."

"I know, and I don't either. But Dean, at some point, you're going to have to lead your own life, and let your brother have his own as well. How long are you going to go on sacrificing your own happiness for your family? And what cost are you going to have to personally pay for them?"

He'd never really looked at it that way before. He had always just done whatever it takes to keep the family safe, keep some semblance of normal for Sam, despite the life their father had brought them up in. Give Sam a bit of the childhood he'd never really been able to have himself. Protecting his family was all he knew how to do, all he'd been trained to do. A life of his own? That wasn't what he was about. "You don't understand about our family, Lauren. It's a long story, but I appreciate the thought."

She handed him his jacket, frowning a little, then smiling. "Yeah well, like I told you the first time we met, I knew you'd be great in bed! At least now I know, tiger!" She mussed his hair again, grinning. He growled at her playfully in response, just before realizing her grin was a fake one as she'd turned away from him again, walking toward the front door.

He caught her elbow, turning her to face him again, saying, "Hey, don't be like that." He studied her eyes. They were misty, like she was about to cry. "I know what you're doing; you're covering, trying to make this ok for me." She turned her eyes from his, blinking under his steady gaze. "You were right about one thing," he said. "We really are alike in some ways. Now who's sacrificing their own happiness?"

"Hey, it's what I do best you know? Besides, it takes two, and you're not willing to take a shot, so what's a girl to do?" She walked to the front door, opened it to let him out, and he followed her.

Keep walking Dean, he told himself. This is trouble you don't need, trouble Sam doesn't need. Keep walking; it's not fair to Sam. Dad will kill me! Don't stop; keep walking.

He felt his hand reach up and close the door, but he was still in the house. He took a deep breath. "You and Sam never?" he asked again.

"Not so much as a kiss," she said. He took her in his arms again, and lost himself in a kindred spirit who understood him better than he understood himself, even though he'd told her pretty much nothing about his life, his family, or his past.

Their time together was amazing, with him only going home long enough to get a change of clothes or if Dad was home. They did everything together, she never asked too many questions, but was always there for him, believing in him, and trusting him. He hid the relationship from his father, knowing he wouldn't approve of him developing any kind of attachment to someone outside the family or the small circle of fellow hunters they met along the way. They reveled in their time together, both happier than they had ever been. But then, nothing good lasts forever.

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Dean Winchester was angry. If anyone had asked him, he would have denied it, but he was fuming. Lauren was supposed to meet him hours ago at the local bar they had hung out at many times before heading back to her place. He'd called her house and cell, no answer. He was walking to his car to head home when he heard a rustling of papers coming from the shadows near the back corner of the place. Probably a cat, but he decided to check it out. As he crept up to the dumpster where the noise was coming from, he heard a sniffle and a soft whimper. He looked around the corner and there she was, bruised and bleeding, scared and alone, and crying as silently as she could. She didn't see or hear him coming.

"Lady, are you alright?" he'd asked. She screamed, obviously thinking her attacker had come back for seconds.

"Please don't, no more, please" she'd sobbed, her eyes shut tight. "I swear, I won't call the cops, please just leave me alone."

He noticed her torn clothing, and blood coming from places it shouldn't be coming from. Then he realized who she was. "Lauren?" he said. "Oh my God, what happened? Let me help you get up, you need to go to the hospital."

"No," she said, "no hospitals! I'm fine." She tried to stand and immediately collapsed again, unable to put any weight on her right leg, holding her side. Dean could see a huge bruise developing there through a rip in her blouse.

"Listen, you're in no shape to go anywhere else, that's for sure. Let me get you some help!" he said.

Once again, she shook her head no, firmly standing her mental ground, resolute in her decision.

He looked around, scanning the area quickly. "Alright, look, we're closer to my place than yours. My dad's out of town; let me take you there. I have a first aid kit," he'd put his hand on her head as she was sweating profusely. She pulled back from his touch like his hands were poisonous. "God, you're burning up!" he said and scooped her up, not taking no for an answer.

The first thing she'd done is ask to take a shower. He tried to talk her out of it, but she wouldn't hear anything of it, vehemently denying being sexually attacked. She claimed it had been a mugging and that they had just beaten her up when she wouldn't initially give them her wallet and jewelry. She said this with eyes cast downward, unable to look at him, and Lauren always looked you in the face when she spoke to you. Finally, he relented, helping her into the shower where she then removed her clothing and tossed it over the curtain. She'd never hidden her body from him before. He told her to call him when she was done, but never left the room as he was afraid she would collapse again and he wanted to keep her from hurting herself further. Her quiet sobbing and moans of pain and anguish during the hour she spent in the shower would haunt him afterward.

For the next three days he'd watched over her. He bandaged the wounds she would allow him to, tried to bring her fever down with meds and cool washcloths, and tried to comfort her when she woke up screaming in the middle of the night from the nightmares. He knew that she was reliving the rape every time. She'd look around wildly, kicking and punching at him when he'd grab her arms to keep her from flinging herself off the bed, collapsing in tears once he'd convinced her it was him and she realized he wasn't her attacker, then rolling over and curling up into a fetal position and sobbing until she fell asleep again.

Finally the fever broke and she began to sleep a little better, not waking up every hour to the nightmares. It was then that Dean allowed himself to cry. He cried for the semblance of safety Lauren still had until that night, the self-confidence some bastard had taken from her behind a bar she had only gone to in order to meet him, the light in her eyes that had gone out with the attack. Her eyes were now empty, and reminded Dean of his father's eyes in the years following his mother's death.

Slowly, Lauren recovered from the physical wounds that her attacker had left on her, but the emotional scars would take a lot longer. Dean spent as much time with her as she would allow, only leaving when she would kick him out, sending him home when she felt she was being a burden or knew his Dad was coming home so that there wouldn't be any static there. She would only let him in so far, pulling away when he'd try to kiss her. "You don't want damaged goods," she'd said. "You deserve better than that," finally admitting without saying out loud what they'd both known had happened. "You should go Dean, just go on with your life, and find happiness with someone who isn't broken. You deserve that much."

He looked her straight in the eyes and said, "I don't want to be with someone else; I want you!"

"It's a nice thought Dean," she'd answered, "but be realistic, ok?"

"I am being realistic. More importantly, I'm being honest. Please, let me help you through this. I want to be there for you; be the one you can trust. I want you, no, I need you. Don't walk out of my life now, not after…" he stopped.

"After what?" she'd asked, her green eyes focusing on his.

"Lauren… I love you." his eyes glistened with tears as he'd said it, and she took his head in her own hands, leaning him against her shoulder, tears of her own falling in his hair. He'd finally broken through the walls she'd tried so hard to build around her broken heart.

"I love you too, Dean," she whispered softly against his hair. "I love you too."

"Here," he said, sitting up suddenly and pulling the chain he always wore from around his neck. "Take this."

She looked at him curiously as he secured the pendant with the red lion emblazoned on the silver shield around her neck. "What is it?"

"It's a protection pendant," he said. "The lion is the king of all beasts. He'll watch out for you whenever we're apart, which, I hope, will be rare," he smiled up at her. "He'll take care of you; make sure nothing bad ever happens to you again."

Lauren woke up from the dream, remembering a lifetime ago, feeling the pendant still around her neck, all these years later. She took it in her hand, rubbing it subconsciously, wishing it could heal emotional wounds and somehow make Dean see the truth.