Thunder rumbled across the sky as the heavens poured from above. Rain leaked through the windowpane, bubbling the paint on the sill. Picking at the chipped table, you glance around the room. Wet shoes drying by the door. The smell of stale cigarettes clung to old carpet and wood-paneled walls. The queen-sized beds squeezed into the small space covered in olive threadbare comforters from decades past. You didn't know which was gloomier the dreary gray soaked mess outside or the shabby dilapidated hole you found yourself in.

The one bright side was the 6-foot tall man sprawled on one of the beds. His head rested on his hand while the other pointed a remote at an old fatback television, flipping through channels he could barely make out through the static.

Apparently, the storm had taken out the cable along with internet and cell phone service, leaving you stranded here until you could get in touch with Sam and Castiel. A groan brought you out of your thoughts.

"Ugh, this sucks!" He tossed the remote onto your bed as he sat up, swinging his feet to the ground. "No internet. No t.v. No booze. What the hell are we supposed to do while we wait?"

Shrugging, you tried desperately to keep your mind off what you'd like to do to pass the time. Alone. With Dean.

Dean Winchester had been the object of your every daydream, fantasy, and vibrator driven solo mission you'd had since you met six months ago. Your dads were friends for years after John helped your family when a coven of witches moved into the small town you had lived in, wreaking havoc all around and resulting in the deaths of dozens. Including your mother and sister.

Your father, much like John Winchester, became obsessed. At the ripe old age of 15, all dreams of a normal life died, and you became a hunter. An occupation you had managed to survive for a decade. Unfortunately, your father had not.

He died in what should have been a simple vampire hunt. Knowing it was a large nest, your dad had called the Winchesters to come help out. Whether he had finally made a mistake or if his reflexes had started to slow, you'd never know. All you could do was what you'd always done. Keep fighting.

Dean had been the one good thing that had come out of all the blood and tragedy. And even though you knew he tolerated you at best, getting to be near him day after day was what kept you waking up every morning. Not that there was any hope for something more than what you had. He had made it clear that he was not looking for anything more than a quick fling with whatever local tramp stamp bearing bimbo he could find at the local bar when you first joined their band of wayward travelers. Going home with skank after skank as if you didn't exist. Never knowing you'd go back to the hotel and imagine it was you he was with. You he wanted.

Looking outside once more, watching potholes fill with rain, a small smile tugged at the corners of your mouth. "My sister and I used to go out and play in the rain during the summers. Jumping in puddles. Slapping together mudpies that inevitably became weapons. Pretending we could tap dance like Gene Kelly while singing at the top of our lungs," you said. . At the sight of him watching you, actually listening, your stomach clenched. As much as you desired to be the center of his attention, you weren't sure what to do with it now that you had it.

"I didn't know you had a sister. You've never talked about her before." His eyes searched yours. Sympathy shining behind his gold-flecked green irises.

Your shoulders raised in a hapless shrug. "I try not to talk about her. Or my mom really. If I don't, I can pretend none of it ever happened. Just move on. But sometimes the memories are good and I can look back without getting sad. Not often but sometimes. Enough about me. What about you? Didn't you ever play in the rain?"

"Never had much childhood in my childhood. If I wasn't taking care of Sammy in some rundown motel," his arms gestured at the room around you, "then I was training or hunting with my dad."

You nodded, wondering if he saw the similarities between you. Childhoods cut short. Families torn apart. God, this was depressing. No wonder he didn't want to hang out with you. You probably just reminded him of hard times.

"There's no one stopping us now. No training. No jobs. No one to tell us no…"

A glint in his eye and a dimple in his cheek showed off the roguish appeal that made all those bar skanks swoon. "Are you serious? You want to go-what-play in the rain?"

"You got anything better to do?" You tugged off your socks, rolled your jeans up to your calves. Praying you didn't contract some weird fungus from the carpet. "What are you scared of?"

"Off the top of my head? Lightning? Electrocution? Catching cold?"

"Oh come on. You know they say life begins at-

"Don't you dare finish that sentence," he warned.

Biting your lip to suppress your grin, you tried another tactic. Whining always worked on Sam. Maybe it would work on the elder Winchester. "Let's have a little fun. Don't you think we deserve a break?"

Rolling his eyes, he shed his socks. "If I get sick, you're making me soup and waiting on me hand and foot."

"Of course, I will, you big baby. C'mon." Grabbing his hand you tugged him to his feet and pulled him out the door.

Dean looked at the hand covering his, the heat of it sinking to his bones. It was softer than he imagined. The skin smooth except for a few calluses across the base of her fingers. He had pretended for so long that none of this mattered. That she didn't matter since they'd agreed to join forces.

But somewhere along the way, she became an anchor for them all. Helping Sam with research. Discussing mythos and humanity with Castiel. And for him, it was her quiet, easy manner. She was dependable in a fight. He always knew she had their backs. Just having her there, a stark contrast to the three of them with their short fuses, gave him a sense of peace, in a world that was designed to test his strength, patience, and faith in humanity.

It had only taken a few weeks for things to change. Picking up women and blowing off steam was natural for him. Easy. No string attached and no looking back. Guilt about loving and leaving never even crossed his mind.

The shock he felt hit him like a punch in the gut the first time he had that nagging feeling he was doing something wrong while flirting. Not out of concern for the beautiful woman seductively tying a cherry stem with her tongue in front of him, but for the one peeling the label off her beer bottle in a booth with Sam and Cas. He'd never experienced shame quite like that before. He swapped chasing skirts for stealing glances and thinking of her under him, wrapped around him, holding him. Those fantasies were better than any of the one night stands he'd had.

Emotions and feelings in any work dynamic were messy. She seemed happy with them and nothing would ever make him want to take that away from her. Driving her away with unwanted entanglements was the last thing he wanted. But that didn't lessen his desires for her.

Now here he was finally alone with her. Getting a chance to indulge her. Committing each smile to memory. Wishing all her smiles could be his. Part of him hoped he would get sick. Having her fuss over him. Taking care of him. All her attention focused solely on him. But he'd learned long ago that hope was a dangerous thing.

Warm rain ran down your face. The smell of the freshly washed grass filled the air reminding you of long ago summer days. Running across the parking lot you opened a rusty gate leading to a small playground.

A rickety metal "A" frame held two chained swings. Taking a seat you patted the one next to you not expecting Dean to actually obey. But he did. The two of you took a few steps back then raised your legs, leaning into the motion pumping your feet as you raced to climb higher. The swing set groaned under the strain of your movements threatening to collapse at any minute.

The wind on your face, each swing taking you higher than the last, it was as close to flight as you could get. The legs of the frame lifted off the ground, slamming back down to the ground.

"Time to jump ship," you said. With the next upward pass, you launched yourself off the plastic seat, landing in the mud with a squelch as it squished between your bare toes. Laughing, you turned back to Dean,

His body still in motion, he said, "Solid dismount. 7.5 easy."

Your hands flew to your hips. "7.5? That was at least a 9. Did you see the air I caught? Let's see what you can do, pretty boy."

"You think I'm pretty?" he asked, a grin spreading across his face.

"It was meant to be an insult."

"Only if I take it as one. Now, let me show you how it's done, sweetheart." He pumped his legs harder, ignoring the racket the swingset made as he gained height and speed. At the last minute, he took the air. His knees bent on impact and his hand shot up in a gymnastics salute as he stood up straight, sticking his landing.

"Eh. 7.75."

He turned on the spot. His lips parted, eyebrows raised. "Are you out of your damn mind? That was a 10."

"I'm sorry. The technique was there, but where was the difficulty? No flip? No twist? I expected to be wowed. Feel free to lodge a formal complaint with the federation if you feel the results were unfair." For a brief moment, your heart fluttered as you allowed yourself to imagine this playful exchange was flirting. That he was flirting with you the way he had those other girls.

Dean could feel his cheeks hurting, unused to smiling this much anymore. She was teasing him. The lighthearted banter was easy and natural. It was a first for them. He was already addicted.

"You want to be wowed? Little brat, you better run. I'll wow you." He saw the moment she realized he meant it a split second before she took off. A panicked laugh flew over her shoulder. Her clothes, clinging to her body as she ran, made his mouth dry. What he wouldn't give to peel those off and see how wet he could get her.

He watched her leap onto a merry go round, sliding on the slick surface as it turned slowly. She grabbed the rail and looked back to see him hot on her trail. He stopped running, slowly approaching the piece of equipment, his gaze never leaving hers. Grabbing a handle, he pushed the merry-go-round spinning it just enough to bring her back around to him.

You were caught. You knew you could easily jump off, keep running. But something in the way he looked at you froze you in your tracks. The predatory way he appraised you, sent heat rising up your neck, spreading across your cheeks. What would he do when he had you?

Face to face, he stopped the merry-go-round the added height allowing you to look him in the eye. "Gotcha," he said.

"What are you going to do now that you have me?"

"You asked to be wowed. I plan on delivering." He reached out, his hands tugged on your hips, pulling you forward.

This couldn't be happening. His eyes flicked to your lips. Was he going to kiss you?

Letting him draw you closer, you took a step to close the distance between you. Your muddy foot slipped on the edge of the metal apparatus, the momentum of your body propelling you forward. Reaching out to catch yourself, all you succeeded in doing was pushing Dean to the ground underneath you as you fell.

You landed on him with a grunt. On top of Dean Winchester. "Oh my god, I'm so sorry." Shifting your weight, you tried to scramble off of him. Before you could you found yourself on your back, staring up at him as he rolled the two of you over.

His hand cupped your cheek., thumb tracing your jaw. "Don't be sorry. This is the best day I've had in-I don't even know how long."

"Even though we both ended up on the ground covered in mud?"

"You know me. I'm always down for a little mud wrestling."

"You would be."

"If it means I get to be this close to you, I'd be into just about anything."

"What? But I thought—"

"Thought I didn't think about you every minute of every day? Thought I gave up other women because I'd what? Found God? I found him alright, he's a dick. Truth is I've wanted this...wanted you for months. I didn't think you'd want me. Thought you could do better."

You couldn't believe this. He thought you didn't want him? "Dean, there's no one better than you."

Grabbing the front of his open plaid shirt, you pulled him down. Needing no further encouragement, he bent his head, angling it slightly. His lips pressed against yours, soft at first then full and open, his tongue dipping into your mouth. You wrapped your arms around his neck, ignoring the wet grime that coated the two of you. A moan escaped your mouth as his hips rocked against you.

"Dean, wait." You forced yourself to pull away. "Not here." You wanted this. So badly. But not with mud and sticks in your hair. Not rushed. You wanted to take your time. To make it last. To show him this was more to you than fumbled kisses in the rain.

He growled as he raised himself off of you and helped pull you to your feet. "Not here? Not no, just not here?"

"Not out here. Not looking like Swamp Thing."

He threw his arm around your waist and led the way. "Well let's go get you clean, dirty girl."

You looked at him, a smile plastered on your face. You didn't care if you looked crazy or stupid. You were going to take this moment of happiness and together you could learn to make it last.

Dean knew looking into her eyes, everything was about to change. Walking with his arm around her he felt something shift in his very soul. He had hardened himself over the years, believing it was necessary to prevent pain and heartbreak. But he realized now that he wanted it all. He wanted to feel. To love. And most of all to hope.