Baby Steps

12:00 AM

"I never wanted any of this for you." Her breaths came out short and hushed, the pale opaque smoke escaping into the cold, frosty New England air, quickly disappearing around her. "I wish I could fix this, reverse this some how."

He stood beside her arms resting within his worn leather jacket. An outsider would never guess from his stoic look on his face the inner battle in him, holding him back He held himself back from comforting the sad girl in front of him on the porch steps. He didn't do things like that.

He took a deep breath, letting it stagger out into the air. "And what would that be?"

His words bring her out of her resolve; she takes immediate notice to him like for the first time she's finally noticing that he'd been there all along. No longer was he just an imagination, a fantasy she had been concocting in her head from time to time.

She opens her mouth. The words disappear as if to stop her from making some giant mistake. They both know the answer to the question he has posed. He wants this to end – his job, his fathers' job, the one that has kept him away from any semblance of a "normal life". She nods her head turning towards him, he nods in return letting out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding in. Her head turns out towards the abyss and they continue to sit in this silence. They never cared much for words before so why would they suddenly decide into play now.

She shuffles her arms in her puffy winter jacket she is wearing. Knees shaking in rhythm with the wind, lips pursed deep in thought and her eyes dry from the hours of crying. He doesn't respond to her because his answers will never satisfy her. His feet are like roots growing deeper and deeper into the woodwork. Becoming yet another pillar for the old house to rest upon.

He stares into the open air. It's dark and with no moon to guide his aging eyes he can just barely make out the dirt path leading to the sidewalk. On either side the vague shapes of the garden crawl outwards towards the forest. The impala, still alive and kicking, sits somewhere beyond the iron fence in the driveway. She calmly waits for her next impending adventure.

He is suddenly sparked from his thoughts when he hears her laugh, clear and crisp in the night air. He looks down at her and watches as she erupts with laughter. She feels his eyes crawling over her crouching form, her body still rippling with laughter and the cold air. He casually raises an eyebrow and gives her a look that reminds her of the situation. The last of her laughter echoing into the midnight air.

"I'm sorry." The uncomfortable silence returns after she utters her apology. His gaze is unwavering on her, silently demanding an explanation for the sudden outburst.

"I'm 38 years old Dean," He snorts as she reminds him and she chuckles again, and then grows silent. Her face grows sad and she turns away from him. "We're never going to get it right are we?"

It's not the question that shakes him but the fact that once again he knows she's right about them, their future.

He shakes his head at the memory that tries to invade his mind; he doesn't need to remember all the times he's fucked up, especially with her and his family.

Sam. Dad. The two people he was responsible for, that he vowed to protect were now buried six feet under. He opened his eyes and gazed back down back at her. For her late thirties she had aged well only subtle changes existed. Her hair down past her shoulders, the green in her eyes faded and her lips pale in the porch light. Granted it had been a good three or four years since he last saw her, up close at least. But still she hadn't changed and more importantly neither had he.

Any other time he would've agreed with her about their current debacle. That maybe he wouldn't get it right because of who he was. He shook his head, it didn't matter who he was because he wasn't the same man from all those years ago. This time he was equipped with a new weapon – determination.

"We will." His voice was overtaken with a confidence she hadn't heard in years. "Rachel. . . ."

"Rae. . .I just. . . .I don't know ho—" She puts her hand up still facing out towards the darkness of the front yard. He grows silent egging her speak for him. Tell him what wants to say but can't.

She knows.

Oh of course she knows, he thought, she's always known.

This time the silence unnerves him. "I don't know what to do next." He admits, partially because its true and part because he doesn't know what else to say.

She removes her hands from her jacket, the rings wrapped like vines around her fingers scratching gently against the material. Her legs straighten out in front of her the wrinkles in her jeans disappear, elbows bent and, her hands move towards the concrete stairs for balance as she propels her body forward. She turns in a fluid motion, characteristically graceful just as she was when he first met her on this very porch. She smiles, unsure too of their future after tonight she moves back up the steps towards him, each step creaking with age under her feet.

In the next few seconds she is standing next to him her head barely over his shoulder. She reaches out tentatively with a hand.

He pulls one from his jacket and meets her halfway. Fingers gently intertwined for the first time in a long time.

The wind blows past them and he can barely hear the next few words uttered from her chapped pink lips.

She whispers softly, "Baby steps, Dean, baby steps."