An arm draped over the back of the dark leather seat, Dean sat with his back against the driver's side door. A faint smile played around the edges of those too-perfect dime-store romance novel lips as he watched me thaw my hands over the vent in the dash. "Better?"

"Much, thank you." Wiggling my fingers in his direction to show they were once again fully functional, I scooted a little closer to the dash, staying as close to the heat as I could until the rest of me stopped with the cold tingles.

—I just have to break in here to say it is seriously beyond not fair that I get cold in the frozen food section at Walmart, but the boys can go out in a t-shirt and jeans in thirty degree weather and be just fucking fine. Hell, Dean runs so hot sometimes it's like cuddling with a human bonfire. Not that I'm complaining. (Pretty sure it's one of her favorite things about me.-Dean)—

Laying my head on my arms, I went quiet and let the white noise of the heater drown out the static in my brain. Or it would have, if it weren't for the faintest click and rattle coming from the vent in the middle of the dash, like a tiny animal scratching at the plastic. "What is that?"

Dean listened for a second, head cocked to the side, but either he really couldn't hear it or he was so used to it he'd long since tuned it out. "What's what?"

Reluctantly raising my head up as everything swam lazily around me, I leaned over enough to tap the offending vent, kind of hoping it'd make the sound stop. Luckily I learned to tune it out eventually, too, or I'd probably have gone stark-raving mad. (Like she's not already. -Dean) "It sounds like there's somethin' loose in there."

"Oh. That. It's Legos." His green eyes brightened and he smiled slightly, crossing his arms as he raised a brow at me, looking mildly surprised. "You can hear that?"

"Barely." Not sure why he was surprised, it's not like I hadn't straight out told him I had great hearing. And vision. Hell, I'd rubbed the former in his face not so long ago. ...still funny. "Why are there Legos?"

"I uh-I may or may not have shoved a few in there when I was a kid." The faint smile that had been hovering on his lips spread into a sheepish grin as he leaned forward to pop open the ashtray long enough to reveal a little green army man stuck in there, staring vacantly up at nothing. "Sammy did this one."

"And you just never fixed it?" Shifting around, I sat with my back against the passenger door, arms crossed in what was probably an unconscious mimicry of Dean's position. Supposedly if you like someone, you tend to mirror their posture. Or something, I don't know, I'm not a psychologist. Thank God. "How very sentimental of you."

"Never got around to it." Yeah. Right. He fixed the window after a day but hadn't gotten a pair of pliers out and removed a couple toys in how many years? Please. It was fun to watch the color creep up his neck, though. It always is. Clearing his throat, he changed the topic (because God forbid a man show a little honest sentiment). "You still doin' alright over there?"

"Yeah, I'm fine." He might have been trying to deflect attention from himself—something he's very good at, when it suits him—but there was genuine concern there. Though whether that was really for me or just because he wanted to see how I looked in handcuffs and nothing else, I wasn't sure. (Both. -Dean)

Stretching, I leaned my head back against the window, kicking my boots off before pulling my legs up to sit cross-legged, as comfortable as if I were sitting on an overstuffed couch somewhere discussing the weather. ...okay, maybe not, but for the sake of my pride, we're going to pretend. "It's not the first time I've been to Confession, though I doubt you'll be granting me any absolution."

"Nice socks." Too busy smirking at my socks (which were adorable, thank you very much. Blue with little smiley-faced pink cupcakes dancing around), it took Dean a second to process exactly what I'd just said. To give credit where credit is due, he put two and two together pretty fast, but didn't really seem to like what it added up to. "Wait, go back. You're Catholic?"

I do not have the words to describe how horrified he looked at the thought and I was tempted to let him suffer. If he hadn't figured out by now that I wasn't terribly devout, then it really would have served him right, but we were trying to make friendly and all so…

"Relax, Winchester, I'm only Catholic by default." Brushing a few stray strands of hair out of my eyes, I couldn't help a chuckle at his expense. (Not the first and definitely not the last. -Dean) "Grandma's Catholic," I grinned answering the questioning look he threw me before he could voice it. "The only thing she ever asked of me was that I go to Mass once a month-or thereabouts-and to go to Confession if I ever do anything particularly bad."

"And you actually go?"

"I told you, I keep my promises." And if I don't, then there's a really good reason why. "It's a pretty easy promise to keep, for the most part. I go sit in a church for a couple hours once a month or so and admire the stained glass."

"Sounds like so much fun." If his tone of voice was anything to go by, Dean apparently thought his idea of fun and my idea of fun were vastly different. (Turns out, they're really not. -Dean) "You ever do anything particularly bad?"

"I ran off with you." Pulling my legs up to my chest, I wrapped my arms around my knees, ignoring the looks Dean was giving my socks. Chin on my knee, I studied him critically for a long moment, taking in every little thing about him that made him undeniably the most attractive thing I've ever seen. (Pretty sure that's called leering. -Dean) "Father Connelly would not approve." Father Connelly being the priest at Grandma's church for the last several decades. I swear dude was older than Methuselah then, and last I checked, he's still alive. Not a bad old guy, just had some old-fashioned ways of thinking that left a lot to be desired. "I take it you're not real into the whole religion thing, even after everything you've seen?"

"I don't believe in fairy tales." I think maybe he realized how offensive that might sound to someone that did believe because he looked like he wanted to take it back as soon as he'd said it, wincing as he tried to explain, "I just-I believe in what I can see. What I can touch."

Taking into consideration the fact that we'd basically been at each other's throats for the last several days, I guess I couldn't blame him for trying (and failing) not to put his foot in his mouth. I really am incredibly difficult to offend unless you're actively trying, but I don't think he had quite figured that out yet. It was kind of cute.

I, however, had no such misgivings about possibly offending him, though whether that was because I was already getting used to the way he was and knew he'd take it for the teasing I intended or because alcohol is anyone's guess. "You mean you believe in what you can kill."

Half-nodding in an 'okay, that's fair' kind of way, Dean's smile widened as he once again shifted the conversation back to where it was supposed to be. "We're not talkin' about me."

"Yet." To no one's surprise, he did not look thrilled to be reminded that he was going to have to spill his guts pretty soon. (Like my 'tragic backstory' comes anywhere close to hers. -Dean) "Alright, fine. Where was I..." Holding up a hand, I cut him off as he went to open his mouth. "Rhetorical question, I know where I was." Probably a little rude, but I think I can be excused just this once.

"Okay, so, after the mouse incident-" Catching the slight lift of a brow at my choice of words, I made an obscene gesture. Okay, so maybe I'm just rude in general and it's not a one-time thing… Bite me. "Shut up. After the mouse incident-and the closet thing-I guess that brings us down the list to aquaphobia-"

"The fact that you have to make a list-"

"If you don't be quiet, I'm never going to finish."

"I'm so sorry. I should be flogged."

"Yeah, probably." With a saccharin-sweet smile, I wrinkled my nose at him before leaning my head back against the window glass and closing my eyes. "Okay. So. Like I was saying-" Cracking a single eyelid, I eyed him just long enough to make sure he wasn't going to interrupt again before reluctantly continuing. Even after all this time and everything we've been through, it's still not the best memory ever and I don't really like to think about it if I can avoid it. But he was cute and kind of sweet and I was drunk, all of which helped tremendously. Especially the drunk part.

"I think-no, I know-that it was either right before or right after my fourth birthday." I kept my eyes closed, not really wanting to see the look on Dean's face as I related one of the most traumatic events of my short life. I guess maybe I was afraid he wouldn't believe me and I don't think I would have handled that well. "Me and Mama had just left the house and we were goin'-I don't even know where we were goin', come to think of it. Not that it matters."

"You had to-See, there was a pond you had to cross to get to the highway-" Briefly opening my eyes, I flashed a tight smile. Well, probably more of a grimace, but I tried. "Not a big one, maybe fifteen feet deep at its deepest. It seemed huge to me, like an ocean, but then I've always been on the small side so my perception may be skewed."

Eyes tightly closed again, I focused on the feel of the cold glass behind my head and the subtle sounds of creaking leather as Dean shifted in his seat. His voice drifted out of the darkness, subdued, like he didn't really want me to go on but couldn't not hear what I had to say. (Natural 20 on that perception check. -Dean) "And then what happened?"

"And then-And then I'm not really sure..." A thick layer of muddy slush lay on the road, seeping through her shoes, forcing her to walk slowly so she wouldn't lose her footing on the slick surface. If she fell and scraped a new hole in her jeans, Mama would be furious. "Something happened and I don't-"

"She just stopped, right where she was standing, right where the road sloped down to the water-" She'd been too engrossed with watching her step, not looking up until everything around her went still. "-then everything went dark, just for a second. Like when a stormcloud blocks out the sun." She should have been paying attention. She should have realized something was wrong. She didn't even scream…

"The next thing I know, she's got me and we're haulin' ass down the embankment to the water." Prying my eyes open, I blinked away the images locked behind my eyelids and focused on Dean's face, managing a wry smile as I saw only concern and that same half-smothered rage instead of the disbelief I'd feared. "I don't actually remember much after that, just wakin' up in the hospital a couple of days later."

That muscle in his jaw twitching like it was setting a beat for a new dubstep track, Dean took a breath before he spoke. (Dean counted to ten before he spoke otherwise Dean would have just ended up screaming incoherent curses at a dead woman.-Dean) "She tried to drown you?"

"No, she did drown me. I was clinically dead for twelve minutes." I mean, obviously it didn't stick or I wouldn't be telling you this story, but I just want to be clear on that part. I don't want anyone out there thinking that a lifelong fear of water is some kind of overreaction. I legit drowned, just not for very long. "Guess it's lucky for me that the general rule is 'they're not dead til they're warm and dead' because they managed to resuscitate me." I waver on whether or not that's actually a good thing. On good days, I'm pretty happy with how things ultimately turned out. On bad days, though... "There was a story in the local paper and everything, if you care to look it up."

"You know, I think I'm good." 'Good' is not the word I'd've used. If anything, he looked almost as pale as I do, though I suppose that could have been a trick of the light. Street Lamps aren't the most flattering. (It wasn't the lighting. -Dean) "You actually died?"

"I did. Twice, actually. That was just the first time." As it turns out, that was actually the second time I'd died (technically speaking), I just wasn't aware of it at the time. We have since stopped keeping track, though without a doubt Dean holds the record on that one. (Do I get a trophy? -Dean) "The second was about three years ago…" Yeah, definitely not the lighting, not unless it also made him look like he was about to throw up, which I doubt. "You okay, Winchester?"

Running a hand through his hair, Dean forced a smile that I could tell he didn't feel. At least he tried. "It kinda feels like I should be asking you that."

"It kinda feels like you just did." My own smile was considerably less forced and I was surprised to find that Dean is really pretty easy to talk to. When he's not being a dick. He actually listens instead of just waiting for his turn to talk, which isn't as common as it should be. "...and thank you for that."

"You don't ever have to thank me for anything, Tinkerbell."