Know what truly puts a damper on that hot itchy feeling I got from John's hands under the dinner table and then when he finally grabbed me in my bedroom? Laying in my bed, which doesn't squeak under my weight alone by the way, and listening intently for the first sounds of a ratcheting of a shotgun.

I wondered how John was going to explain to Dad where he'd been during the "search". I wondered how he was going to explain the change in shirt colors. I wondered at what point was Dad going to call bullshit and grab that fucking shot gun and chase his ass away. And that kept me awake, for hours, until I heard the soft footsteps coming up the stairs. The quiet chatter between deep male voices as they bid one another goodnight, and then the hiss of doors being shut down the hallway outside my door.

I lay awake waiting, hopeful that John would knock or find some other way to let me know he was on the other side of my door. I also worried that he would, and that Dad, eagle eyed and hound eared would hear him. Caught somewhere between the two, I finally drifted off into a fitful sleep.

When I woke up, the sun was shining through the lace curtains that hung in my window and I could sort of hear birdsong. Sort of, because I could also hear louder male voices and they were drowning out the birds. I lay still, listening, and trying to decide if they were ANGRY male voices. I heard a bark of laughter and let myself relax. I shut my eyes and let my heart beat return from the slight gallop it had started upon waking. Feeling mildly less tense, I sat up and started for the door of my room.

I flicked the lock and opened the door. Padding to the bathroom before even considering braving downstairs. I had just finished my morning ritual and opened the door when I was confronted with a broad chest. Looking up, my eyes met green ones and a smirking mouth. Ah, Dean, the eldest of John's sons. And his eyes were roving over my entire length, the smirk dropping when he took in the shirt I was wearing. FUCK.

"Dad said he changed his shirt because he spilled a little something on it," his eyes met mine and I gulped. "I'm startin' to wonder what the spill was."

Shit. I was saved from answering when we heard John call up to Dean from downstairs. Dean called back that he'd be a second, needed to "take a leak". And then his eyes met mine again. "I don't know what you're talking about," I offered, brushing past him. "A lot of women sleep in oversized shirts."

His smirk was back. "Do they all smell like my dad?" Then it dawned on him, the reason this was SUCH a bad secret. "Bobby definitely doesn't know." He chuckled. "Looks like Dad might be in trouble with Singer again." With that he walked into the bathroom, shooting me a conspiratorial grin before shutting the door.

Again? I wondered, walking into my bedroom and changing into some actual clothes. I grabbed a sundress from my bag, still packed, just in case. Tugging it over my head, I had to consider why Dad would have been in trouble with my dad before. Sliding my feet into the wandering flip flops from the day before, I shook my hair over my shoulders and gave myself a pep talk.

"You can do this. Dad doesn't know. John covered it. Dean doesn't want his dad murdered by my dad, so there's nothing to worry about." I repeated the words to myself for a few minutes, until they almost sunk in, or they lost all meaning. I closed my eyes, took a breath, and left my room.

I walked straight into the kitchen, hoping that Dad and John were located in the library. Of course not, I thought as I found them both, along with Sam sitting at a table filled with breakfast, books, and more weapons. Dad smiled up at me, then squinted at my face. What now?

"Sweetheart, you look like you haven't slept a wink." Oh, yeah, I thought, cause I didn't. "Did we keep you up with our yacking?"

I made it to the fridge, grabbing what was left of my orange juice. "No, it wasn't you guys." I glanced at the table, seeing John's dimples come out to play. Not all of you, I added internally. "Although, did someone try to open my door last night? I swear I heard the knob jangle." I took down a glass and filled it full of juice. When I turned I saw that Dad had a flush of red on his cheeks. "Dad?"

"Sorry, honey," he looked almost chastened. "I went up looking for John." He realized what he'd just said, as though he was accusing me of something that clearly wasn't a happy thought to him. He hurried to reassure me, and himself I suspect. "And while I was up there already, I thought I'd check on you to make sure we weren't making a nuisance out of ourselves."

I might have laughed. Maybe, but the look on his face when he'd thought about that fear, of me and John together, made me stop. Was it really that terrible to consider? I took a sip of my juice and tried to see it from Dad's point of view.

John Winchester was a hunter. That alone was a problem with my dad, given how he'd hidden his own hunting from me. He was older. He had two sons that were more my age than he was. He was a widower, the whole reason that he became a hunter. And he had his own demons, ones that we hadn't gotten around to exorcising. Would Dad really tally him into the "not my damn daughter" category?

I thought about the boyfriend he'd chased off with the shotgun. He'd been my age, but my age at that time was sixteen. He's been tall, and athletic, and if I were being honest with myself, a tad bit dangerous. Leather jacket, jeans, and that car he drove. What kind was it? Something muscle car like and male. When he'd roared into the yard, close enough to the house to stir up dust like I couldn't believe, I'd barely gotten the words of introduction out before Dad had that shotgun ready to go.

Basically a younger John. When Dean joined us, I nearly spit out my juice. Or a Dean Winchester. I realized with clarity that Dean, aside from the lightness of his hair and eye color would have been a match for both younger John and my ex. Dear Lord. Apparently Dad noticed my focus on the eldest Winchester son and his eyes narrowed. Oh shit.

"Took a pretty long time up there, didn't ya, Dean?" Dad asked, looking between the two of us as Dean loaded his plate up with bacon and eggs. I could almost READ the thoughts rolling through Dad's mind. Dean shrugged, taking a bite of bacon and making a sound almost as indecent as I had when John had manipulated me under the table during dinner. If anything that made Dad's eyes more narrow. Shit.

"Yeah, my fault." Fuck, his eyes turned to glare at me. Wrong words, Parisa, wrong words. "I mean I was taking my sweet time, he knocked, but you can't rush me, you know that, Dad." He considered my words, the attempted sincerity that flowed through my words, and some of the heat in his eyes died. "I'd just opened the door when John called up."

Somewhat pacified, Dad refocused on breakfast and whatever they were preparing for. Part of me wanted to ask if I was heading back to my grandparents' or if I was allowed to stay, but I knew from years of knowing my dad and his moods, that now was not the time.

I drank my juice, glancing at John only when I couldn't help myself, and caught Dean catching the look we shared when I moved my eyes from his. Fuck. His smirk was growing and I glared at him, hoping that he'd keep his mouth shut. I swallowed a laugh when Dean jerked, clearly having been kicked under the table by- lifting my eyes, I saw John's meet mine. Question clear in his gaze. Shit, here we go again.

Finishing my liquid breakfast, I was walking from the kitchen when Dad called out to me. "Sweetheart, why don't you stay for a while longer?" I was happy he was saying to my back, because my face was probably a fucking picture. "John came with news of something that needs taken care of, and I'd rather you stay where I can be sure you're safe."

"Of course, Daddy." I answered, leaving the kitchen to return to my bedroom for a book.

I was lying on my bed, having remade it and propped the pillows against the curiously silent headboard, reading one of the toss away novels I kept on hand for downtime. My door was slightly opened, enough so I could hear anyone coming upstairs. Or I would if this particular novel hadn't sucked me so far in that I was engrossed to the point that I heard nothing.

"Hey," that voice, damn it. I looked up to see John standing inside, door clicking closed behind him, but he didn't make a move toward me.

"Hey yourself." I smiled and tossed down the book. He looked tense, which made me tense. Shit, had I been so focused on a fucking book that I hadn't heard Dad kick them out?

There was a smile ghosting his lips, and I nearly sighed at the release of my panic. "You looked a little freaked out for a sec there, sweetheart." I rolled my eyes. "Want to tell me what's going on between you and Dean?" Of course, men.

I sat up and gave me a half smile. "Do you really think I'd be interested in your son, John?" I felt the dripping incredulousness that my tone held to my very core. Dean? After John? Who downgrades? "What you are clearly misreading, along with Dad, would be the discomfort that comes from him seeing me wearing the shirt that you were wearing prior to your 'disappearance'."

I watched as his eyes closed and he let out a long breath. He must have been as fucking tense I had been. "Ah." He opened his eyes and smiled at me. "What did you say?"

"That many women wear oversized t-shirts to bed." I shook my head. "Apparently, however, sharing all those motel rooms with those boys has made their sense of smell as fucking advanced as yours, because he countered with the fact that those other women's nightshirts probably don't smell like you." I met his eyes and offered my own take. "And they fucking better not."

He laughed silently. "Not a single one. I promise." His hand was over his heart and I felt my own thump painfully. "I love you, Parisa Allison. I guess I don't tell you that enough."

I stood up and walked to him, being far more careful than I would in any other situation. Standing on my tiptoes, I wrapped my arms around his neck and kissed him deeply. When we parted, I told him that he told me in so many ways, and I loved him too. "You'd better get back, I'd hate for Dad to start a search party." We both sighed, and shared a look. "I want to tell him, but," another sigh, "it has to be at the right time."

He nodded, understanding in ways I didn't yet understand. "We will." He gave me another peck on my lips and left. As I stood by my partially opened door, wondering what situation would make it the right time.