Disclaimer: Sad to say, I own nothing Supernatural.

Author's Note: Yay, another chapter! Fair warning, a bit of agnst this way comes. And just to let you know, since some ppl may have been a bit concerned about the whole Dean/Haley thing...I have no real intention of turning this into a romance. Whatever happens with Dean, he needs to figure stuff out on his own, not just get caught up in someone else's life to keep from dealing with his. That said, he is a ladies man, so I can't imagine him getting close to a woman without wanting to, you know, get close to her. Anywhoo, on with the story!

Dean's POV:

What do I need? What do I need?

Fuck, I don't know!

All I know is five minutes ago I felt…wrong. Bad. Sad. Mad. Not to get too Dr. Suess-y. And now…this? This feels…right. When she touches my face, it's like…I don't know, man. No one's ever touched me like that, no woman I met in a bar, no girl I dated in high school. Not even Cassie. I loved her, yeah, but warmth, comfort?…not exactly her strong suit. But that's what Haley's touch feels like, pure warmth, and comfort. And it makes me want to cry, and laugh, and smile, and die. All at once. She touches me and it's like I finally figured out what I was missing all those years, all this time. Touch.

"I need you," I whisper to her. And I mean it too. And she leans into me and kisses me hard, tugging on my bottom lip with her teeth. And I love it.

But then she stops. She pulls back and looks me in the eye and says, "No, you don't," and for a minute I have no idea what she's talking about. She shakes her head and says it again. "You don't need me, Dean." She smiles but I can tell it's not a happy smile.

"Right now, I do." She looks away and I start kissing her neck.

"Wait," she says, but it's more like a moan and she's not letting go, so…

"No."

"Dean," she says, but I can hear a little giggle behind my name, and still, she doesn't let go or move away.

"No means no," I say before pulling her closer to me. She's almost off the counter and with her legs wrapped around me, I'm the only thing holding her up. So I slip my hands underneath her and cup her ass.

"You really want to use a phrase associated with rape right now?" she asks and immediately I stop. I move my hands and her feet fall into the cabinets below while she shimmies back onto the counter top. I throw my hands up in defense and take a step back. "I didn't mean it like that." She pulls her arm into her shirt and…takes off her bra, pulls it out her other sleeve and tosses it over onto the kitchen table. God help me.

"You…" is all I can get out.

"I just want to be clear," she says, swinging her feet back and forth. She starts tapping her fingers on the counter, drumming out some kind of fast paced beat, and I feel my heart climb to the same rhythm. "What we were talking about before…"

I cut her off, putting my hand over her mouth. She bites me. "Ow." I pull back while she laughs and shake it off. "You like it rough then?" I ask and she smirks, like she's trying not to smile but just can't help it. I put my hands on her knees and pry her legs apart again, lean into her and say, "That's fine by me. So you know, my safety word is Jellybean."

"Dean, I'm serious." She pulls back some and swats at my chest, playfully I think. And I lean back to let her speak. Least I can do, right? "I know it's kind of a mood killer, talking about your brother…" Ugh, no shit. I groan and snap my eyes shut. No images, please no images. "But, I want to make sure you understand what I was saying. Because I think it's important that you do. Understand."

I don't know why I came here in the first place. I sure as hell don't know why I stood outside my car in the pouring rain for twenty minutes before I made myself go and ring her doorbell. I totally understand why I'm all over her, and it's pretty obvious why she's so into me, I mean, come on. But this? This…this…conversation? Man!

Before I know it I'm sitting back at her table, away from her, turned away from her, sulking. "I don't want to be your therapist, Dean. Or, I don't know, you spiritual advisor or you school guidance counselor, or anything in between. I don't want to tell you how to live your life."

"Then don't." I don't mean it to sound as harsh as it does. At least I don't think I do.

She doesn't seem to care one way or the other though. "I just think…I think we have a lot in common. And I want to help you."

"I don't need your help. Help is not what I need from you," I say, trying for that winning smile. But she shrugs it off and looks at me seriously, a little too seriously. "What?" I ask, and she just shakes her head before looking away.

"I know it's hard. When everything you ever know…changes. When you look around and realize you're on your own and – "

"I'm not on my own."

"Sam's going back to school. He's leaving."

"Yeah, so?"

"So, I know – "

"You know? You know what it's like to have the only person you could ever really count on up and leave? Cause from where I'm sitting it looks like you've got no fucking clue what that's like, seeing as how you're the one who took off on your family."

Her legs stop swinging and her head hangs low. She doesn't move and doesn't speak and I'm glad. What right does she have to lay down this self-help hippie bullshit? So she misses her family, so the fuck what? She doesn't know what it was like, growing up with Sam, taking care of him, trying to put myself between him and Dad all the time. I did everything for that kid and he shows his appreciation by turning his back and running away? Forget it. I'm over it. He doesn't want this life. Fine. I can't make him stay and, really, if he really doesn't want to, well then I don't want him to either. I just wish…I just want…

"You're right." It takes me a minute to even realize she's talking, but when I look up at her she's staring right at me and she says it again, "You're right." I nod, because, duh, of course I'm right. "I did leave. And I didn't do it for them. I did it for me. Because I needed to see if I was anyone without them. I needed to be someone without them. Maybe that does make us different. Maybe that makes me more like Sam. But that doesn't mean that I don't still love my family more than anything, or miss them so much it hurts. It doesn't mean that I don't regret my decision at least once a day. So don't think that it does."

She looks like she's about to cry and…man, I hate when women cry. If the things I hunted knew that, if they could figure out a way to turn themselves into bawling chicks just as I'm getting ready to end them, they'd come out on top for sure. I don't what her to cry. I didn't mean to hurt her feelings or imply that she didn't love her brothers. Well, maybe I did a little, but now it's kind of backfiring. I want to say I'm sorry, tell her I was just angry and I didn't mean it, but I can't. My mouth won't form those words. "I don't want to be something without him," I say instead. "I like what I am. I like the way things are."

"Yeah, but Sam doesn't."

"Yeah, well…"

"You two were really close growing up? You took care of him?"

"Always."

She nods and wipes some tears out of her eyes, turning away like maybe I won't see or won't know what she's doing. But when she looks back she seems a little better and when she speaks her voice isn't all wobbly anymore. "Even parents have to let go sometime. Let the little birdie leave the nest."

"It's not like that."

"You cared for him, kept him safe, helped raise him?"

"Yeah."

"So in a way, you're like his parent?"

"Yeah, but – "

"So you should be proud of what he's doing. You should want to see him grow and go become a whole person. You should be – "

"It's not like that!" I slam my fist on the table and she shuts up. I have to glance over at her to make sure I didn't scare her. I don't think I really did, but I mumble a "sorry" anyway. "I'm not his parent." She doesn't say anything and I know she's expecting me to go on, but I'm not really sure what to say. I am proud of him. I do want him to be a whole person or whatever. I want him to have a life, and love his life. I just want to be a part of that life. And not just a monthly phone call, checking in just to make sure you're still alive, kind of part either. "I'm his brother," is all I can think to say.

She hops off the counter and pulls up a chair next to me, puts her hand on my knee and does that, that…thing again. I can barely remember my mom, to be honest. Most of what I remember are just kind of recycled stories from my dad, or made-up ones from my dreams. I like to think she hugged me a lot, kissed the top of my head, held my hand when we walked to the park. I like to think she was the kind of mom who would pick me up and carry me around everywhere if I asked her to, even if I was too big and she was too tired or busy. I'm sure she was that kind of mom, I just can't really remember any of it. For years I'd pretend she was still with me. When I couldn't sleep at night I'd imagine her fingers running through my hair. When I was sick or scared, I could feel her hand rub circles on my back. That was the only gentle touch I ever got. My dad might slap me. Sam would grab my arm and tug at me. Countless women would tongue and maul me, and all kinds of ghosts and demons would toss me into walls or magically strangle me. But no one ever just touched me.

I look down at her hand on my knee and…damn it…I can feel that choking sensation in the back of my throat, the burning underneath my eyes. I have to close them. I will not cry like a chick, especially not in front of one. "He's my brother," I say, although I don't remember thinking it, and it doesn't really sound like me. "He's my brother."

"I know." She leans over and hugs me. And I let her.

He's my brother. He should want to be around me. He should want to be there for me. He should want to make sacrifices for me. I gave up everything for him. I didn't get to play outside with other kids because I had to stay in and watch him, change his diapers, make his meals, give him his baths. I let him watch Thundercats even though Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles was on. And they could have kicked some serious Thundercat ass. I had to eat cold pizza for breakfast instead of the Lucky Charms I wanted. Because he wanted them, so he got them. Just like he wanted mushrooms on the pizza, even though they're totally gross and I'd have to pick them all off. I wore dirty clothes when we didn't have the time or the quarters to do more than one load of laundry. I stepped in front of Dad's fists for him on more than one occasion, took the blame for things he really should have gotten the crap beaten out of him for, like sneaking out and getting drunk with some kids he barely knew when he was fifteen. But I covered for him, just like I always do. I took care of him, just like I always have. And what does he give me in return? A great big, steaming pile of nothing.

I pull away and she lets me, drops her arms and just sits there, waiting I guess. "You need to think about this, Dean," she says. "You need to think about what you're life could be like. If it didn't revolve around Sam or, you know, monsters and things."

"I don't know what I'd do without monsters and things," I say with a laugh.

She only smiles. "Maybe you should give it a shot. You might like it."

"Like what? Being normal? Not for me."

"How do you know if you never tried?"

"Hunting's all I've ever known."

"Yeah, that's kind of my point."

"It's the only thing I'm good at."

"I doubt that." I shake my head, no, it's true, it is the only thing. But she stops me, grabs my chin and keeps me from moving. "You know what I think? I think you're scared." I let out a chuckle, but she doesn't seem to buy it. "I know you're scared. But that's okay. I'm scared. Right now, leaving you, going back to school, Sam's probably pretty scared too. It's all part of life."

"You think you're so smart," I say, and she laughs.

"Yeah, I do." She gets up and picks up my soggy shirt, tosses it in my lap. Not what I'd been hoping for, but I guess the mood has kind of…shifted. I put it back on, all wet and gross, it sticks to my ribs. "You should get back and change into some dry clothes before you catch pneumonia."

"It's like a hundred degrees out," I say as I follow her to the door.

"It's like seventy-five degrees out, that's cool enough."

"Yes, mother." She wraps the big red beach towel around my shoulders and leans in to kiss my cheek. I let her before moving, trapping her lips with mine. We kiss like before, long, smooth, and gentle.

"You're such a perv," she says when she finally pulls away.

"Takes one to know one." I lean in for another kiss, but she pinches my shoulder instead. "Ow. That wasn't very nice."

"You're a sexual predator."

"And you love it." She smacks me upside the head, a little harder than necessary, I think, and I jump back.

"Get out of here," she says, laughing. And when I don't move she pinches me again and keeps doing it even as I start out the door.

The whole time I flail my arms, trying to grab her pinching hands that keep moving around my back. "Ow, ow. Jellybean! Jellybean!" I say while she laughs. And I'll be dammed, but as I walk back to my car in the newly dry air, I can't help but laugh too.