Title: Come What May
Fandom: One Tree Hill/Supernatural
Genres: Angst, Romance, Crossover
Pairing: Dean/Peyton
Spoilers: One Tree Hill, "The Leaver's Dance"; Pre-Supernatural
Disclaimer: Unfortunately I don't 'em. Wouldn't be able to keep my hands to myself if I did. The title comes from the Air Supply song of the same name. Air Supply, Cynthia Weil and Tom Snow own the song.
Summary: This is how Dean and Peyton's love affair began. Prequel to Split Second. It isn't imperative that you read that to understand this, though.
Author's Notes: Takes place before the Supernatural pilot and at the beginning of the summer following One Tree Hill's The Leaver's Dance. In this realm Cassie never existed and Jake never came back. Plus, Sam's still at Stanford and Brooke's off in California.
Author's Notes (2): Only two more chapters after this, folks and then WE'RE DONE. This is the unbeta'ed copy because Gina decided to leave me to go on vacation in Jamaica. The whore. So, this is not the final draft. Any mistakes are mine, so don't laugh, it's freaking LATE.
Come What May: Chapter Eight
The sun streaming in through the window blinds, pulled Peyton out of her peaceful slumber. She groaned against the intrusion, her mouth dry and tasting bitter. Her eyes zoned in on her surroundings, not sure how she'd gone from the party at Bevin's to being in her bed.
Spying a glass of water at her bedside, she reached for it and was gulping down the contents when she saw that Dean was fast asleep in a chair at the foot of her bed.
Peyton stared at him for a few moments, noting that his bare feet were poking out from beneath the small blanket covering his long form. She took advantage of Dean's slumber to drink him in, her hungry eyes feasting along his body.
She had looked at Dean, but she had never really looked at him. He was a sight for sore eyes, that was for sure. He looked angelic when he slept - peaceful, much different from the sarcastic tiger that he was during his waking hours.
Her eyes continued on their quest, drawn to the stubble lining his jaw, signaling that he was in need of a shave. The stubble made him look more… reckless. Or was the word that she was looking for dangerous? One thing was for sure, it did make him look sexier. As if he honestly needed to be any more sexy than he already was.
Boy, if Dean could hear her thoughts now. His head would explode from the stroking of his ginormous ego.
Her gaze traveled down his body, over his muscular arms and toned legs, but any contemplation over those features were interrupted by the sound of her ringing phone. The shrill noise pierced the silence, stirring Dean from his stupor. She swiped the phone off the table, ignoring her caller. She'd talk to Haley later.
She returned her attention to Dean who was stretching and yawning. "Morning," she greeted him with as much energy and vigor that she could muster. Her head was still spinning and she was vaguely aware of the sour smell wafting to her nostrils from her pillow.
"How long have you been awake?" Dean asked, rubbing his hands over his face in attempt to rid himself of the remaining vestiges of sleep.
"Not long," she said with a shake of her head. "So, um… how drunk was I?"
"Pretty far gone," Dean said, remembering how she'd pretty much begged him to take her clothes off. If he was any less of a gentleman he probably would've taken her up on her offer - drunk or not.
Peyton hung her head, dropping it into her hands. "Did I do or say anything stupid or slutty?"
"Nah."
The smirk said otherwise, however. "You're lying, but thank you."
"You didn't do anything horrible. Though, there was a moment with you and Tim last night."
Peyton's hand flew to her mouth to avoid throwing up. "I didn't kiss him, did I?"
Dean shook his head. "No. Good thing you passed out before that could happen."
"Phew," she said breathing a sigh of relief. Looking back at Dean, she said, "I'm sorry about last night."
"It's okay."
Peyton wasn't that easily swayed. "No, Dean, it's not. The whole point of last night was to go out and fun. You taking care of drunken old me was not fun." She wrinkled her nose. "Neither was the puking."
"Peyton, honestly I did not mind."
"Still feel hesitant to get into a relationship with someone so young?" she asked, dropping her gaze to her blanket to toy with a loose thread on her comforter.
"Peyton…," Dean began to argue as he tossed his blanket aside. Moving toward the bed, he fell down beside Peyton, lifting her chin so that they were eye-to-eye. "Last night didn't change the way I looked at you or the way I feel about you. You're in high school. You're entitled to let loose and have fun. Considering how sucky your life has been lately, I understand why you got a little carefree. I'm just glad that I was there to take care of you."
"So am I." She leaned forward, linking her arms around his neck. "Thank you," she whispered in his ear.
Dean hugged her back muttering, "You're welcome." As they pulled apart he had the strong inclination to kiss her to make up for their failed spin the bottle attempt the night before. But as they tried to kiss again, they were interrupted this time by the ringing of the downstairs doorbell.
"Guess we're just not meant to do this," he complained, tucking her hair behind her ear.
"We'll find the right time. Unfortunately we might have to kill all of my friends to do that," she said, slipping out of the bed.
Peyton quickly descended the stairs as whoever was at the door rang the doorbell again. "I'm coming, I'm coming," she muttered, stepping off the stairs.
When she opened the door, Haley flew inside, yelling, "I called you. Why didn't you answer the phone?"
"I was still asleep. And hung over."
"Yeah, okay. Whatever. Get dressed. We have to go."
"Why?"
"A pipe burst inside TRIC," Haley blurted out, spotting Dean hovering on the stairs. "You, too, Lover boy. Get your pants and let's go." As Haley turned to grab the door handle, she spun back around to ask, "Where are your pants?" Haley looked from Peyton to Dean, her eyes widening as her mind leapt to the darkest place. "What happened last night?"
"Nothing," Peyton said, pushing Haley toward the door. "You go to TRIC and we'll meet you there."
"But…," Haley argued as she was pushed outside and the door was shut in her face. "Uh, okay. Rude!" she barked at the door.
---
Dean put down his mop, moving over to where Peyton was struggling with keeping herself erect. "Peyton, why don't you go sit down. You look like you're about to topple over any second."
"No, I can do this," she insisted, continuing to mop up the water from the pipe burst. They had succeeded in mopping up all the water from the floor, but unfortunately a repairman would not be there to repair the pipe until Thursday so TRIC would be out of business for a few days. Not that she minded. She could use a few days of rest.
"Peyton, you look like you're ready to pass out. Go sit," he commanded.
Peyton headed toward a table as Junk, Fergie, Skills and… Mouth walked through the door. Energy surged into her as she laid eyes on Mouth who had disappeared shortly after the beginning of summer following his breakup with Erica Marsh. The whore. Of all people to dump, why'd it have to be Mouth?
"Mouth! You're back!" she said giddily, hugging him in welcome as Dean eyed them curiously from across the room. They held each other's gazes, even as she stepped back, watching him closely as he slowly began to make his way toward their group.
"I was up in New Hampshire visiting my grandparents."
"That's what Lucas told us. He also said that you and Erica broke up. I'm sorry." She had wanted to kick Erica Marsh's scrawny little ass after she'd heard of the breakup and how devastated Mouth had been. But if Erica Marsh couldn't see how special Mouth was, then she definitely did not deserve him.
Mouth shrugged nonchalantly. "I was no competition for the meat and muscle of the football team," he said with a sigh as Dean joined them.
Dean looked at Peyton awaiting an introduction, but Skills beat her to it. "Dean, man, this is Mouth. Mouth this is Peyton's dude, Dean."
"Skills!" Peyton shrieked, reddening at Skills' affirmation that Dean was her dude.
"What? It ain't like I was lying."
Mouth laughed as the exchange between Skills and Peyton as he and Dean shook his hands. "Nice to meet you, Dean."
"You, too, Mouth." As Dean leaned against his mop he said, "Mouth. That's a peculiar name." The head smack was both surprising and unwarranted. "What the hell did you do that for?" he snapped at Peyton, smoothing out any hairs that had strayed from their positions.
"The real name's Marvin."
Dean chuckled. "Yeah, I can see why people call you Mouth." Even though Mouth laughed in agreement, Peyton smacked him again. "If you smack me again I'm gonna beat you with this mop!" Dean threatened Peyton, oblivious to the confused looks exchanged between Mouth, Junk, Skills and Fergie.
Laughter rang out amongst the friends as they watched the playful flirtation between Dean and Peyton, all of them knowing that it was just a matter of time before they gave into their obvious attraction.
---
"Why do you insist on staying here?" Peyton asked as she stepped into the living room to find Dean sitting on her sofa, emerged in channel surfing. He'd spent the last two days at her house, most of his time spent in front of the television. Not that she was complaining because she enjoyed his company. Even if she sat beside him, sketching as he watched whatever tickled his fancy.
"You've got better channels than Lucas does," Dean said, continuing to flip through the channels, not bothering to look up at Peyton who was standing just to the side of him, waiting for him to turn his head toward her.
She kicked his leg softly to get his attention. "What'd I tell you about kicking. Or hitting," he said, turning his head merely to glare at her before reverting his attention to the tube. At least the television wasn't on ESPN 24/7 as it had been while she'd dated Nathan.
Her physical abuse had been a sore subject since the day before at TRIC. She didn't mean to smack him. It was just a reflex. He was being an assbag so her first impulse had been to smack him. He deserved it, no matter what excuse he gave. "Hey, I said I was sorry and besides you were being rude."
Dean scoffed, flicking off the television when he found nothing appealing to watch. "I was being me. I make no excuses for what comes out of my mouth. My head and my tongue do not work in sync."
"I can attest to that," she said, falling down beside him on the sofa, elbowing him in the ribs in the process.
Dean moaned in pain. Okay, her elbow was bony! "No wonder you don't have a boyfriend. If you're this violent you must've killed them. They probably all died from some sort of body injury, resulting from months of prolonged exposure to your abuse. Are the bodies buried out in the backyard in wooden boxes with their names carved on the front in blood?"
"What?" Peyton declared. A second later, she added, "I only kill the annoying ones," piercing him with an evil glare.
"Oh now that's just scary," he said, laughing at her attempt at an evil face.
Peyton slapped his arm playfully, enjoying the playful banter that came so easily to them. She was never this way with Nathan or Lucas. Come to think of it she was never really this at peace with Jake either. Leaning her head against Dean shoulder, she asked, "Come with me to the store. I have to buy some groceries for dinner."
"You're cooking?"
Peyton lifted her head quickly, nudging his leg with her knee. "Don't sound at all surprised. I live by myself, you know. I know how to cook. Besides, I'm not like you. I can not live out of a pizza box."
Dean sucked in a breath. "Did you just insult the best cuisine ever?" he asked, feigning insult.
"Uh… yeah, I think I did," Peyton told him as she stood up and began making her way to the kitchen.
"Oh. Okay. I was just checking," he yelled after her as he began to follow. "So, is this a special meal, or what?" he questioned, entering the kitchen behind her.
"I guess you could say that," she said, stoically, looking into the refrigerator, making a mental checklist of what she needed to prepare the meal for later that night.
"You guess?" he asked, moving to the kitchen table. Pulling up a chair, he watched as she reached into a drawer to grab a pen and a pad of paper.
"It's like a welcome home dinner for Mouth, okay?"
"Okay." He quieted, even though there were a thousand questions on the tip end of his tongue ready to be voiced and equally ignored. He wanted to ask her something - anything - but remained quiet. She must've sensed his inner turmoil because she looked over at him, waiting for him to say whatever it was that was on his mind.
When he remained silent, she spat out, "What? Speak!"
"I am not a dog. I do not speak upon your request."
"Dean," she warned, slamming her paper pad onto the table.
As her hands splayed out on the table, he said, "Okay. I was just wondering…"
"… if Mouth is the boyfriend I didn't tell you about," she finished for him. It was a little unnerving how she always knew what he was thinking. Dean wasn't sure if he liked that someone knew him that well.
"Well, since you brought it up…"
Peyton laughed, falling down into the chair across from him. "I assure you that Mouth and I are just friends. He's had a rough year. He had a bad thing for my friend, Brooke and when that didn't pan out he started dating this other girl. Erica broke his heart earlier in the summer when she became too popular."
"That's harsh."
Peyton nodded her head in agreement. "Mouth's the underdog. He's got a great heart that no one really sees."
"But you do?"
"I find the good in most people."
"Is that supposed to be a jab at me or something?"
Peyton grabbed her pen to began making her grocery list as she muttered, "Not at all."
Dean sat back in his chair, threading his hands behind his head as he watched her begin to scribble on the pastel notepad. "You know I was talking to Tim the other night at the party…," he said, propping his feet on the table.
"You think you're at your house?" Peyton snapped. "Get your damn feet off the table!"
Dean's feet dropped quickly to the floor as he stared across the table at Peyton. "What bug crawled up your butt?"
"A bug called Dean. You're being annoying as hell with all your questions. You're not my boyfriend. You don't get to ask all these questions about my personal life." Whoa! Where'd that come from? She wondered after the words were out of her mouth.
It was true that she was tired of the inquisitions that seemed to tag along with him lately. It seemed to be one string of questions after another and it was beginning to work on her nerves. It wouldn't bother her so much if Dean would put an effort into elevating their relationship, but he hadn't made one step past friendship, much to her dismay.
"Fine," he scoured. "I'll just sit here and be quiet."
"Or you can go back and watch TV," she said, pointing toward the living room with her pen.
"Or I can go and watch TV," Dean snarked, pushing back his chair, abruptly standing to his feet. He was about to walk out of the kitchen when he spun around to look at Peyton to say, "You're the one that made me get up in the first place."
"No, you followed me in here."
"You said that we were going to the store."
"I didn't say right now."
Dean made a confused face that Peyton wanted to laugh at, but after their little tête-à-tête a few moments before she doubted he would find the humor in it. "Then I'm going to go watch NASCAR."
"Well, go," she prodded, in an effort to get him out of the kitchen so that she could concentrate on her list and stave off any remaining questions that he may have about her and her love life. God forbid!
"I will."
"Okay."
"Good."
A few seconds later when he had failed to move out of the doorway, she said, "You're still here."
"I'm going, I'm going," he announced, then finally began making his way back to the living room, muttering to himself the entire way there.
---
"Do you need me to help you with anything?" Dean asked, placing the last bag of groceries on the table. The entire grocery store excursion had been tense, the two of them barely speaking to one another. He had figured that Peyton had gotten annoyed by all his questions and accusations, but that she'd be over it by the time that they left to go to the store.
He figured wrong.
She had even offered to go to the store by herself if he had "more important things to do." She had asked him to go, so he was going, whether she was pissed at him or not.
And he suffered for an hour in the grocery store with her. The ride to and from was more harrowing that the actual shopping. They had argued over radio stations. She had bitched about how uncomfortable the seat in his car was and how the seatbelt kept getting stuck. When she tripped over the seatbelt on her way out of the car, she had kicked his tire in frustration. He had found her bitchiness a tad bit annoying, but he was also completely smitten by her outlandish behavior at the same time.
He was so far gone. And still he did nothing about it. Why didn't he do anything about it?
When he'd come back he hadn't expected the reappearance of Peyton's biological mother. In fact, when he made the decision to return to Tree Hill, he'd been intent on picking up exactly where he'd left off with Peyton.
Unfortunately with Ellie's presence and Peyton's turmoil over the entire situation, he just figured it was best that he let her decide when to move things forward. But maybe that hadn't been the best course of action.
Peyton shook her head as she began unpacking bags. "Haley's coming over later to help me with the preparations for everything."
Dean sighed, not liking being at odds with Peyton. But right now was not the time to go into a lengthy conversation about their relationship or lack thereof. "Guess I'll just go, then," he said, fighting the overwhelming need to apologize, even though he didn't know what he'd be apologizing for.
Peyton glanced up at him, opening her mouth as if to say something to him, but thought better of it, and snapped it shut. In turn she just nodded, "Okay."
Pausing in the doorway, Dean asked, "What time should I be back for dinner?"
"Whenever," Peyton said nonchalantly.
Well, if she was going to be that way! "Fine. I'll see you later."
Peyton stood staring at the empty doorway after Dean had stormed out of the kitchen, only moving once she heard the front door slam shut signaling Dean's leave.
---
"Girls are weird," Dean told the guys as he sat in the bleachers, watching the basketball game playing out in front of him.
After he'd left Peyton's he hadn't known where to go. He had contemplated grabbing a drink at one of the many bars on the outskirts of town, but quickly squashed that idea. He didn't want to show up at Peyton's dinner party reeking of booze. He'd only make a fool of himself, embarrass Peyton and ruin any chance that remained of ever establishing something more than friendship with the girl.
Girl, he scoffed. Was he back to that again? The differences to why they couldn't possibly be right for one another?
"Yeah, they are," Skills agreed as he passed the ball to Fergie. As Fergie was about to pass the ball to Lucas, Skills yelled, "Nuh-uh. You know he can't have the ball." Eyes on Lucas, Skills said, "Go sit your white ass down next to the emotionally incapable one."
"Hey!" Dean objected. "I am not emotionally incapable."
"Emotionally retarded, maybe," Lucas teased, his smile faltering when Dean shot him an irritated look. Oh, this was serious.
Skills, still laughing from Luke's comment, was the first to say something. "Dean, your heart works as good as Luke's, except in the opposite way."
As Luke sat down next to him, Dean leaned back to rest his elbows on the bleacher behind him, telling Skills, "Well, then, Professor, please enlighten me as to what my problem is. Why doesn't my heart work?"
"Because you're stupid."
Okay, he hadn't expected that! Why kind of diagnosis was that? 'Because you're stupid?' What kind of doctor says that? But Skills wasn't a doctor. He was simply way too opinionated and attentive to the goings-on around him.
"Pardon me?"
"He said…," Lucas began to repeat.
"I heard what he said," Dean snapped. Turning back to Skills he said, "I just want to know why he said it."
As Fergie and Junk continued to shoot hoops from behind them, Skills continued, "The girl wants you. She knows that you want her and she's just wondering if you're ever gonna do something about it. And I'm sure all that boyfriend-like possessive behavior you've been displaying lately ain't helping any."
"Boyfriend-like poss…," Dean trailed off in question. "What the hell are you talking about, Skills?"
"Hey, I may have been drunk the other night, but I got eyes. I can see. Smoke was shooting outta your ears whenever she was dancing with Tim."
"There was not," Dean amended, even though he knew what Skills was saying was true. He hadn't been jumping for joy when Peyton had began dancing with Tim. Especially after the conversation earlier in the evening when Tim implied that he and Peyton had been together.
Everyone else felt the need to chime in at that moment. Mumblings from every one of the guys had his head spinning, forcing him to his feet when they began voicing their opinions on what measures he should take with Peyton.
"I appreciate the help, but I don't need it," Dean told them as he began walking to his car, eager to get away from the conversation. "I can handle my relationship with Peyton just fine." The boys disagreed as they were all shaking their heads at him. "What?"
"Dean, you've been back almost two weeks and there's been no steps forward with you and Peyton," Lucas reminded him.
"I don't want to rush into anything."
"Obviously," Skills added with a roll of his eyes. "But you're not going to be here forever, Dean. How much longer are you going to bide your time? Better yet, how much more time do you have left to bide?"
---
He was dressed in the best pair of jeans he owned. He had spent an hour in his hotel room, torn between wearing his favorite pair of worn jeans or the only half decent pair he owned. The dark, practically new jeans won out, accompanied with a white shirt. It was dressy, too. He had left the tuxedo in his other duffel.
The whole practice of dressing up was foreign to him so he felt like he was ten again accompanying Sam out on Halloween for trick-or-treat. At least he wasn't dressed like a frog this time. That had been his Dad's idea of a practical joke.
He thought it imperative to be dressed to impress for this dinner. He had spent the last two days making an ass out of himself since Mouth had gotten back to town and he certainly didn't want to be known as Peyton's ass hole boyfriend.
If you ever become Peyton's boyfriend, his conscience mocked him.
Oh, not only were his friends comedians, but so was his conscience. He couldn't catch a break anywhere!
He stood outside on Peyton's doorstep, his heart racing. You could swear they were going on their first date. He was working up the courage to ask her on one. He was. He just didn't know when the words would finally leave his mouth.
Ringing the doorbell, he looked around at the quiet neighborhood as he waited for Peyton to answer the door. When she did, in a little black cocktail dress, his knuckles tightened around the bouquet of flowers he held in his hand. You go to a dinner party, you bring flowers, his grandmother had always told him. Of course, during his years growing up there weren't many opportunities to attend any dinner parties.
"You're early," Peyton said when she laid eyes on him.
"I could leave and come back later," he suggested.
Peyton shook her head, her eyes landing on the flowers in his hand. "Are those for me?"
Dean nodded, thrusting them toward her. "I didn't know what kind you liked so I just… I picked these." Gramma Winchester had insisted that all girls liked roses, no matter what color. But red was preferable. You bought red roses for someone that you liked or that you loved. So, red he had bought.
"They're beautiful, Dean. Thank you. Get in here," she said with a wave of her hand. Closing the door behind him she told him, "You sure clean up nice." She took a step forward, running her fingers along his jaw, reveling in the feel of his smooth skin beneath her fingertips. Being in such close proximity to Dean, she got a whiff of his scent as well, a mixture of soap, aftershave and cologne. All male. All Dean. Heaven.
Dean swallowed hard. "So do you." Moron! Could you not come up with something more original than that! Tell her she's beautiful or alluring or… or something!
"Look about this afternoon…"
"I'm willing to forget about it if you are."
Peyton smiled up at him, continuing to inch closer. "Everyone else will be here soon," she breathed against his neck.
"Then we should do this before they get here."
"Definitely."
But before they could move another inch, the doorbell rang. "They always time that perfect," Dean muttered as the door swung open behind them.
Haley, Lucas, Skills, Fergie and Mouth hovered at the door staring at Peyton and Dean with wide eyes. "I told you, Luke, that we'd be interrupting!"
---
"You know you don't have to stay and help me clean up," Peyton told Dean as she brought the dishes from the dining room into the kitchen.
Dean was standing at the sink, his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, letting the water fill into the sink. "I don't mind," he told her as he began piling dishes in.
"I thought it was a nice dinner," Peyton told him, watching him with fascination as he began washing.
"Yeah, it was," Dean agreed, grinning at Peyton as he filled up the opposing sink with his newly cleaned dishes.
"You want me to help?"
Dean shook his head. "You put all this together. This is the least I could do. Especially after my bratty behavior earlier this afternoon," he said with a smile, watching as she lifted herself onto the cabinet beside him.
"I thought we agreed to let that go."
"Yeah, we did, I just… I need you to know that I never meant to act so…"
"… barbaric?" she offered. She giggled as Dean's face paled at her word choice. "You were displaying a few caveman tendencies."
Dean hung his head as he concentrated on the dishes. "I didn't mean to."
"I understand."
Dean looked toward her, asking, "Do you?" Wiping his wet hands on his jeans, he looked at Peyton, saying, "When I came back I wanted to just jump right into something. I was a little hesitant, but I came back to see what could happen. I had to know if this could develop into something more. But then with Ellie… I wanted to give you space. I didn't want to pull you into something that you weren't ready for with everything else going on."
"Dean, the whole Ellie thing was a hard pill to swallow but it would not have interfered with us. It will not interfere with us."
"I just didn't want to push you into something that you weren't ready for, Peyton."
"But I am ready, Dean. Willing and able, too."
Moving to stand in front of her, he placed his hands on either side of her legs as he leaned in toward her. Staring into her eyes, he amended, "I could screw this up." His last long lasting relationship had been back in high school. He'd been fifteen and his feelings for Teri did not compare to his feelings for Peyton.
"So could I."
"I could break your heart." Not that he wanted to even think about doing that at this juncture. It was just a precaution. He could and he probably would. After all, he couldn't remain in Tree Hill forever even though he'd like to.
Peyton was aware that Dean could hurt her but that was a chance that she was willing to take. Better to have loved and lost than to never loved at all, right? She wasn't going into this relationship with blinders on. She knew that she was putting her heart on the chopping block, but she wouldn't have it any other way. "I could break yours just the same."
"I could leave." That should've been "I'm going to leave," but no use in rubbing the inevitable in Peyton's face.
Always the optimist, Peyton countered with, "You could come back."
Dean smirked at her, teasing, "You have a reply for everything, don't you?"
Peyton shrugged, winding her arms around his neck to pull him closer. "And you have an excuse for everything. Guess it makes us a near perfect match."
"Guess it does," he relented with a sigh. Dean pressed his finger to his lips. "Shh. You hear that?"
Peyton listened for a moment, hearing nothing but silence. "I don't know what those bat ears of yours are picking up but I don't hear a damn thing."
"Precisely," he whispered, his voice thick with seduction. "No margin for interruptions."