AN: Thanks to those who reviewed! In reply to Kat: Thanks so much! Like you said, I wanted to follow the show, not copy the show word for word. In the beginning I did that more often than I would like, but as we get farther along I'm trying to expand more.

This chapter feels like one of those milestone chapters even though it's an awkward number, but it's one I know many of you have been waiting for. Let me know what you think!

Do You Recall

"I've heard talk of blind devotion
Lovers through thick and thin
Lives touched with real emotion
Faithful 'til the bitter end
So many nights in blind confusion...
We reach out in disillusion
When one night isn't nearly enough."

—Survivor, "Is This Love"

XVIII: Trial by Fire

"Hey."

Dean Winchester stood on her porch.

Elena blinked.

"What are you doing here?" It was neither kind nor cold, but she was genuinely confused.

"Can we talk?" he asked, nodding toward inside the house. His mouth hinted at a smile, but his eyes were as weighted as his shoulders hefting his father's leather jacket against November wind. She set the gun down on a small table next to the door and crossed her arms at the chill hitting her.

"You were pretty clear last time."

"I…I'm not very good at this sort of thing."

"Human emotions?" she asked. His half-smile flickered into a small grin.

"Yeah, that."

Elena hummed in agreement. She knew how hard he had it, all the shit he shouldn't have to deal with, including angels with some grand master plan for him. She understood. And maybe she had pried too much, pushed him too hard when he needed his space. That much she could take responsibility for. But at the same time, there was only so much she could take.

"Look, um…" Elena leant against the doorframe and ran a hand through her disheveled hair. She felt like such a mess. In fact, this was probably the most unattractive she'd ever been in front of him (at least after hunts she was a mess for a reason). Yet he was still here.

Still, she was particularly blunt when she said, "I'm kind of tired of having things thrown in my face."

"I know," he said. "And I'm sorry…for all the things I said. I was…"

He sighed and ran a hand over his face.

"It was a dick move, but I uh…" Dean sighed again. "I haven't exactly had a whole lot of good things in my life. And now I guess I don't deserve what I do have."

"…So what are you saying exactly?" she asked.

"I'm sayin'…good things usually get taken away from me, and…" He looked up at her then, and she finally saw the dead sincerity in his eyes. "I didn't want you to be one of 'em."

She hid her sadness under a blank stare. If the fact that he made the drive over here by himself said anything, the guilt she read in his eyes was enough to convince her that he meant every word. And maybe she was tired of being both angry and guilty.

"So what's changed then?" asked Elena. He paused, reluctant to answer. She could see it in the shift of his gaze.

"I won't push you anymore, Dean," she said. "But you tell me what you want from me or…just go."

She read the surprise (and a little pain) in his eyes and wanted to sigh. It wasn't her intention to hurt him, but unless he made it clear what he wanted, she couldn't allow herself to invite him inside, let alone leave with him, if that's what he was aiming for. She couldn't allow herself to break down and tell him how hard she wished he could stop carrying so much damn guilt, that he still deserved the people who love him.

Elena cared about him, more than she should. But she wasn't about to tell him that either.

"Why did you come here?" she sighed, and leant on the doorframe as he studied the ground, hands in his pockets. Eventually he looked up at her.

"Wanted to say I'm sorry," he said, "For what I said and…for what I've been doin', treating you like that."

His stance shifted a bit on the edge of the porch, near the steps. He was giving her space, she realized. At first he'd been close to the door, earnest at the prospect of coming inside the house to talk. But now Elena was sure he thought she was finished with him. That he was okay with it, willing to let her go if she asked him to…it said more than anything else.

"I never wanted anything from you," said Dean. His green eyes bore into hers, the sincerity there rendering her unable to reply. "But you kept givin' it anyway, helping me and Sam, dealing with our problems…I didn't want all our shit to be on you like that."

It was his turn to sigh, and she still didn't know what to say. So he surprised her by being more real with her than he'd ever been, more than that afternoon drinking beer by the Impala.

"I didn't know you'd be one of those good things," he said, a ghost of a smile tugging at his lips, "I don't wanna be without."

Elena crossed her arms again, considering. Because damn it all, that was the right thing to say.

She let out the breath that had been trapped in her lungs without her permission.

"Okay."

He raised a brow at her response.

"…Okay?"

We're okay? his eyes seemed to ask.

"Yeah," she said, finally cracking a small smile and relenting from the cool way she'd been handling his appearance on her doorstep.

His eyes met hers.

"Can I come in?"

After a brief pause in which she regarded him with a guarded expression, she eventually let the door swing open, but turned away from him to move farther into the house. Dean ventured after her into the living room, watched her stop in front of the long coffee table against the wall where several pictures sat in their frames, not one alike from the other. He followed the path of her eyes to one; a toddler, four at most, with dark hair and light brown eyes and a smile that lit up the entire photo.

Her fingers brushed the edge of that frame, but withdrew immediately, instead ghosting over to the wooden corners of a wooden turntable. It was familiar to Dean.

"I brought this from back home. This was my dad's, back in the sixties," she said with her back turned to him. "But the records are mine. Especially this one."

"You were listening to it, weren't you?" he asked. Her hand stilled, and her head turned a little in his direction, even though her back was still facing him.

"To what?"

Dean face was thoughtful, though Elena couldn't see it. He picked up the record case and flipped it a little in his fingers. It was worn, but one of the few of her collection that he could see wasn't dusty. He skimmed the track list below the bolded album title Storm Front, and found what he was looking for at the very last.

10. AND SO IT GOES

A moment of indecision and he was removing the vinyl and carefully placing it inside the turntable. It began to crackle with life after pressing a few buttons and skipping through the tracks. Simple, gentle chords filled the room.

As the beginning lyrics played, Dean watched Elena cross one arm, the other resting on top, with her fingers loosely over her mouth.

"So are you telling me you like to dance?" Dean asked, raising his brows. Elena shook her head wryly.

"I always wished I could," she admitted.

He didn't know why he did it, would probably never know. But he knew he needed to do something. "Sorry," he knew, was never enough. Nothing he could say would be enough, because he just didn't have the words. Even then, Dean never thought he'd be willing to embarrass himself this much. But before he could stop himself and back the hell off, at the risk of her flinching away from him, he reached out for her hand and gently pulled her around to face him. To cover his own discomfort and uncertainty, he grinned a little at her shocked expression as he laid a hand along the curve of her waist.

She knew that grin—usually a little quirked and seemingly innocent, always so insufferably endearing. It got her every time.

"What are you doing?" she breathed, though her fingers curled over his.

"You always wanted to dance, right?"

"Right now?" she asked incredulously. Again with that stupid, crooked smile.

"Why not?"

"Have you ever danced before?"

"…No," he confessed. "So there's no way you'll be worse than me."

A small smile finally began tugging at her lips as she looked up at him. Her hand came to rest on his shoulder. They were supposed to be talking, maybe over some beers to clear her head, not…this. He still hadn't even taken off his jacket and she was still in, essentially, her pajamas.

But to her relief, Dean started small, swaying them slowly from side to side. He didn't think he could manage much else. Billy Joel's poetry played in the background.

"I spoke to you in cautious tones, you answered me with no pretense…"

"You know," Dean said quietly, "You do the same thing I do—keep things in…try not to let anyone see how you're dealing with a ton of shit."

Her gaze didn't leave his shoulder, but her expression became resigned.

"I guess that makes me a hypocrite then," she said. "I know. It's easier that way, to pretend it doesn't hurt. Sometimes I can't…sometimes you can't either."

His hand curled around her, splaying against the small of her back. It brought her closer without him having to respond.

"And still I feel I said too much…my silence is my self defense."

They shuffled in small steps now, but her heart was beating so fast. Though being here, in his arms, it calmed her. She was still wary—confused really, and unsure of his intentions.

"Dean…"

"Hmm?"

She looked up at him, into his eyes that were soft for her. Maybe even fond. She wanted to just say it, like she got it out when they were on her porch…but there was a part of her that was afraid. Still the record spun.

"But if my silence made you leave, then that would be my worst mistake…"

"Why…" Elena trailed, and licked her dry lips. Dean's eyes followed the motion for a second, but focused back on her face.

"Why what?" he asked.

"So I will share this room with you…and you can have this heart to break."

"Is this…is this for real?" Her eyes lowered, avoiding his. But as much as she tried to mask it, he saw the vulnerability in her eyes, in the tentativeness of her touch. He fought a smile.

"So I would choose to be with you…"

"This?" he repeated. "What about it?"

"That's if the choice were mine to make…"

Elena restrained a frustrated sigh. Goddamn him. He knew it was hard for her as it was for him to talk about this kind of shit.

"Whatever this is between us…do you actually want me?"

"But you can make decisions too…"

Dean looked down at her and frowned a bit at her tone. It was hard for him to believe it came as such a surprise to her after everything that had already happened, not to mention what they were doing now. Or maybe it wasn't surprise. Maybe she was just trying to get the truth out of him, like so many trial and error attempts of before. It had taken a while, he could admit, but he had a pretty good idea now—how Elena Hayes somehow got herself wedged under his skin.

Dean couldn't really put it all into words. He wanted her to fight him for the music in the car, even if it drove him insane. He wanted her to tease him about his simple love of pie and laugh at his jokes when Sam just rolled his eyes. And even if he didn't always want it, he knew he needed her and Sam to push him for the truth and listen when he was ready to give it. Really, he just wanted her there.

So the hardest thing, he guessed, was realizing he didn't want her for just a night, even if that truth would one day come to bite both of them in the ass.

But right now she had her hair thrown up in a bun. She was wearing the oldest pair of pants she owned and only wore on laundry days, and a navy shirt that was too big to be hers. Dean knew because he'd been looking for it yesterday. He also knew there were curves hiding under those sweats. They were pressing against him.

Right now, he really just wanted to kiss her.

Dean brought the hand he held to rest against his shoulder and used the motion to bring her closer.

"Why wouldn't I?" he asked.

"And you can have this heart to break."

Elena's eyes widened marginally, but he didn't give her a chance to think too hard on his words. He was too close for her to concentrate on them, but while his lips descended on hers she couldn't help but think he enjoyed catching her by surprise.

His hands gripped her waist as hers slid up to his neck, pulling him down to her even as he pressed her up to him. Her fingers curled into his hair as his mouth slanted against hers, hot and greedy with tongues teasing at one another.

"And so it goes…and so it goes…"

Dean's hand slid into her long hair, cradled the back of her head as her heels lifted off the ground. The pads of her feet were just able to touch down. He liked how soft those curves were against him. Her heart thudding against his, how she responded to his every touch by giving into it or matching it with one of her own that set his skin on fire.

Running a hand through the length of her hair after he pulled it from its bun, Dean finally set her down and pulled away just enough to see her gray eyes, turned slate. He'd seen them darken like that before, but they didn't have the hard edge they had when she was angry. They were still cloudy and warm. Her lips already swollen and still slightly parted.

"And you're the only one who knows."

He kissed her again as the melody slowed, more deliberate. The press of his fingertips eased and stroked the curve of her hip and lower back, while her hands drifted from their tense grip to tender touches against his cheeks and jaw line. The record had stopped by now, but neither of them really noticed.

"Dean?" Her voice was soft and questioning, her lips close enough to brush his.

"Yeah?"

"I missed you, you know. When you were gone." Dean's gaze softened as hers became a bit glassy. "Sam and I tried everything…and I thought you were never coming back."

Elena didn't have to prove it to him. It just reminded him of why this was probably a bad idea. He never thought he would be at a point of starting something even vaguely serious. But he couldn't ignore it. He couldn't ignore her. He'd tried.

"I know."

"I'm sorry I gave up."

"No, Lena," he shook his head. "Don't."

His fingers brushed the back of her neck as he murmured, "Like I said—well, what I said before…I was being an ass."

Her short laugh caught in her throat. She blinked in attempt to dissipate the sting behind her eyelids.

"You were stressed, and I was prying when I shouldn't have," she said. "…Can't say I haven't been pissy either."

Dean grinned a bit and pushed a strand of hair behind her ear.

"Yeah, but I kinda like it when you're pissy." She smirked and let her hands fall gently to his chest. Her right rested over his heart while the left toyed with the buttons of his plaid shirt. "You and Sam have the same bitchface."

She guffawed and aimed to smack him playfully, but he only laughed and caught her hand, tugging Elena close when she tried to back away. His other hand probed at her sides, which elicited involuntary giggles while she tried to squirm out of his grip.

"Let go!" she protested through her somewhat girlish flailing, but he was merciless and hooked an arm around her waist. He brought her back flush against his chest as his fingers danced along her ribs. Her laughter turned into a squeal when he lifted her off the ground and deposited her onto the couch in a jumbled heap. She gasped for breath and flung her hair away from her face just in time for her to see Dean coming to join her.

Elena had to press herself against the back cushion as he nudged her over, and she ended up half lying on top of him. He'd effectively pinned her against his side. She laughed and pushed his teasing fingers away. Eventually though, Dean gave her time to catch her breath and relaxed his grip loosely around her waist. His grin was wide and so very Dean, it made her smile looking down on him. His green eyes shone with real laughter for the first time in a while, and now with affection as he caught her studying him.

Those eyes, they were so damn expressive.

"You know…before all this, you're one of my best friends," she admitted. He raised a brow.

"You have more than one?" he teased, and she gave him a peeved look before a contemplative smirk to cover her nervousness. Actual honest-to-God, non-platonic feelings had blind-sighted her. She really didn't know what to expect from him, or from herself for that matter.

"Well, there's you, Sam, Val…where is Sam by the way?" she asked curiously. "You leave him stranded at some motel by himself?"

"Dropped him off at Bobby's," Dean grinned. "Nothing he's never dealt with before."

She shook her head, smiling.

"Poor guy—"

Dean silenced her with a kiss that left her a bit breathless.

"He'll be fine." He could tell she was nervous, even if he didn't really know why. Though now he had an effective way to snap her out of it. Elena smiled, a tinge of red on her cheeks betraying her embarrassment. It only made his grin widen.

"You're so worried, I can tell," she whispered, and leaned down to press a chaste kiss against his lips, one that he continued and deepened. His fingers slid under the hem of her tank top and ran along her back, causing a pleasant chill up her spine as they brushed her bra strap. She began undoing the top buttons of his shirt, lightly teasing with her nails through his undershirt in a way that almost gave him a shiver. Once half the buttons were undone, however, he hesitated, slowing their kiss until she broke it.

"What's wrong?" she asked. He searched her gaze and read the concern there, and maybe some lingering vulnerability. Him stopping probably wasn't helping her nerves. It was admittedly out of character for him, but he had to know.

"Are you sure?" he said. She paused, confused. "About this—you and me."

"What's wrong, Dean?" she repeated. Because she saw it in his eyes—the doubt.

"It's just…you sure you know what you're getting into?" he asked. His eyes met hers straight and serious. "It's probably gunna be rough. Dealing with me, ya know?"

He didn't have the best habits. Not very good luck. Worse enemies, if that was possible.

"I've been around you long enough to know what I'm getting," Elena said, though she smiled. As if the day before wasn't any indication. He still wasn't so sure. She caught it and her smile diminished.

"Tell me the real problem." There was something else he wasn't saying. If they weren't more honest with each other, this was never going to work.

Eventually, he sighed and averted his eyes, though his hands remained at her waist.

"I'm…" Dean shook his head and started over. "You deserve more."

Her eyes softened, a frown marring her face.

"What is it that I deserve, Dean?" He didn't feel like delving into all the ways he felt himself inadequate, all the things a less damaged man would be able to give her.

"Better." And she knew that summed up the weight of everything he couldn't say, but she knew he felt.

"Better?" she asked. He didn't meet her gaze. It broke her heart that he didn't think he was worth taking a chance on, even when she herself was more than a little skewed. Maybe, one day, she could be more than just what he wanted.

"Do you want to be?"

Dean considered it, where he was now in her living room. How he had never danced (not like this) with anyone, but he had for her. And she had let him hold her and sway them to her favorite song. She knew who he was, who he'd been, how he had changed, and still wanted this. He did too.

"I wanna try."

She smiled a bit at that.

"Then try."

He nodded and kissed her again. It was like picking up from where they'd left off, but this time, there were no interruptions. He lifted them up from the couch and, with her legs wrapped around his waist, carried her into the master bedroom. Laying her down on the bed, it became a battle of wills for the top as Dean was surprised by Elena's playfulness, her nervousness gone, and found himself lying on his back after some dirty moves on her end (she called the minor tickling "payback").

His strong hands slid over the cotton covering her thighs and slid the fabric down. Her fingers deftly undid the rest of the buttons of green plaid, but she sighed in frustration at the undershirt he wore. He chuckled and helped her pull it over his head.

She continued their heated kisses, eventually trailing down his neck, below his ear and down the curve of his shoulder as Dean gripped her waist, sliding his hands down her sides and up her back. But then she paused, pulling away just enough for him to see her face.

Dean watched the playfulness on her features fade as she touched the burn mark on his arm, tentatively. Her eyes were sad, and he knew she was remembering the months he was gone, and probably considering what the mark meant. If the past few days were anything to go by, their lives were about to get a lot more complicated.

But he slid his hand into her loose hair and down her back in a soothing gesture.

I'm not going anywhere now.

For Dean, the handprint was a reminded of Hell, and everything he'd suffered. He couldn't look at it without remembering his shame.

To his surprise, Elena curled her arm around his shoulder, bringing him closer, and leant down to press her lips over the mark, gently. Then her eyes met his, and she kissed him, conveying all she wanted to say.

It was eleven at night, and though he was trying to sleep, he knew it wasn't going to happen. Sleeping this early hadn't worked for Sam since he was in college and on a daily routine of getting up early for school, studying, and going to sleep so it could start all over again the next day.

At least here at Bobby's it was more comfortable than in a no-name motel. But eventually he had to sit up in bed with his laptop, just checking emails and browsing through news clips and articles. Until a yellow icon flashed at the bottom of the screen.

Sam clicked on the Skype chat notification and subconsciously smiled.

Sarah JB: Hey you

Sam W83: Hey, whatcha doin?

Sarah JB: Literally watching the paint dry.

Sam W83: Babysitting a painting?

Sarah JB: I have no life.

Sam smiled. He forgot she was usually online around this time.

Sam W83: What's it for?

Sarah JB: Big exhibitions my dad is doing in Illinois, Wisconsin and South Dakota. We just got out of Wisconsin yesterday.

Sam paused and fought down a fleeting surge of…something.

Sam W83: Where in South Dakota?