AN: Thanks to all the reviewers! Your feedback really does make my day, I so appreciate you.
Songs for this chapter include "Working for the Weekend" by Loverboy as well as the chapter title and the lyrics below by Journey.
Do You Recall
"Movin' sweet, so simple
Takin' time to say
The way to being, to being simple
Never felt this way,"
—Journey, "Sweet and Simple"
XIX: Daydream
The problem with birds? They wake up too early in the fucking morning.
She wouldn't have stirred, eyes opening blearily only to squeeze shut against the sunlight filtering through the window, if not for the birds perched on the roof and chirping loudly. Instead of welcoming the new day, she retreated further toward the bare shoulder supporting her head. She heard when Dean's breathing changed from slow and even sleep to the shorter patterns of consciousness.
What she didn't see was his eyes opening sleepily and taking in the sight of her burrowing into his chest to avoid the light. Or the small amused smile he didn't realize he was making until he realized where he was, and what had just happened…
One hell of a night, that was what.
He shifted, bringing her closer and letting his head fall back on the pillow. The digital clock on the nightstand read 10:36a.m. Had they really slept that late? Mentally he counted back the hours from when he must have fallen asleep.
Well, shit.
Roughly seven hours.
He hadn't had five since…well, a while.
Dean looked down at the hand that came to rest on his chest and covered it with his own, absently stroking her wrist with his thumb. And he was…relaxed? There was no other word for it that he could think of. Not one muscle in his body was tense.
Elena breathed a contented sigh and gave up on returning back to sleep now that both of them were awake. Her face eased into a gentle smile at seeing him like this. His green eyes were calm and bright instead of the hard edge she'd seen so much of recently.
The arm under her head moved down, inviting her to rest more comfortably against his chest as his arm curled around her waist. She enjoyed the feel of his heavy hand splayed on her lower back with his thumb smoothing circles against her skin. Elena's eyes closed as she breathed against him and she felt a kiss on her forehead.
"What time is it?" she murmured.
"Close to 10:40."
"Damn."
His hum of agreement rumbled through her and she couldn't help but smile through her surprise. Elena was a light sleeper at best. Though she detested mornings, her body usually wouldn't let her sleep past eight. And she knew Dean was much the same way.
"You want coffee?" she offered.
"Don't wanna get up."
From the strength of his hold on her, it didn't seem like he wanted her to get out of bed either.
When he leaned back a bit to see her face, he grinned lazily. "Mornin'."
She smiled back, until another, less welcome thought hit her.
Normally, he wouldn't be doing this.
She knew Dean Winchester. If Elena was a girl he'd just met the night before, he would've been gone long before coffee could even be an idea. But the fact that he was still here allowed her to push the thought away.
For a little while they were content to lie there comfortably. And for once she didn't mind the silence of the house, just enjoying a rare careless morning. Then Elena caught the pensive look on his face.
"Penny for your thoughts?"
He glanced down at her and their entwined fingers half covering his anti-possession tattoo.
"That I've solved the mystery of where your tat is."
Elena laughed and felt the hand at her side slide down to her hip.
"I don't think that was worth my penny," she teased.
His fingers brushed a bit low on her waistline, where he now knew was a star surrounded by a sun etched in black ink. Her body responded accordingly, leaning into his touch. She looked up at him and bit her lip.
"But you seemed a bit more deep in thought than that," she said, meeting his gaze knowingly.
He hesitated to answer, debating what he should say. But last night he knew he'd made a promise…to be better, or at the very least more honest.
"What happens next?" he asked. She blinked in confusion.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean you and me…I've never really gotten this far."
That surprised her, the fact that he said it. Dean, who would rather make up something on the fly than plan anything past his next meal. Who got girls as easily as getting his next beer. He was asking her how they moved on from here.
"We'll make it up as we go along, I guess," she said with a smile. Sometimes planning was a bad idea. Considering she didn't know the answer. "But for now…I think breakfast would be good."
Dean smiled, but he threw her an expectant look.
"You wanna tell me what you were thinking?"
It surprised her a little that he'd read her so well, but it really shouldn't have. He was far more perceptive than people gave him credit for.
"Thinking maybe there's a reason I slept so good," she sighed, and purposefully stretched her body while pressed against his side. Dean shot her a smirk, but for now pretended like what she was doing didn't have the effect she was aiming for.
"Makes you wonder why we didn't get to it sooner," he said. "But that's not it, is it?"
Elena's amusement faded. She let out a long breath, trailing the pads of her fingers against his warm skin. Now more than ever she was consciously aware of the arms that held her bare body close to him and his ankle caught between hers. Despite her better judgment, she had let him back in after he'd rejected her, more than once. She was as vulnerable now as she had ever been.
But he was here and holding her now because he cared about her, and he wanted this… It was hard for her to swallow.
"I feel safe," she admitted, her voice quiet. And she did, with a certainty that she'd never felt before. Even if she was a little nervous about whatever it was they were starting, she was nervous because it felt right. She had always felt safe with Dean.
She feels safe…with me.
It took him a while to know just what to say, but eventually Dean looked down and met her eyes.
"Really?" he asked. After what he'd told her, after everything he'd done…
But she shrugged.
"I haven't since a man broke into this house when I was ten," she said. "It was just me and my mom, and I…I took one of my dad's guns for the first time."
Well, the first time she'd held one with the intention of using it. And this was the first time she'd told this story…to anyone.
Dean's hold tightened marginally, but he listened in silence.
"He probably wanted to steal the TV or any valuables, but I shot him in the shoulder before he got a chance. I took him by surprise. By the time my mom called the police he was stumbling out the door." Elena sighed. "My dad was scared shitless when he got home that night, thought it had been some kind of monster when he saw the front door broken."
"You knew already?" asked Dean. "About everything?"
She gave him a wry look.
"No. But that night I found out. He was talking to my mom about a shapeshifter in the town next to ours and hadn't realized I'd heard. When he caught me listening he knew I was too curious for my own good. He had to sit me down give 'the talk.'"
His gaze on her was sympathetic; ten years old was young, and he had been younger. She sighed again. "There's no feeling 'safe' after that."
"And now?" he asked.
"I guess you just have that effect on me." She offered up a genuine smile through her teasing.
"Hell if I know," he said gruffly, but his eyes spoke of affection, and deeper emotions she couldn't altogether make out.
"I dunno. I feel like pancakes though. You?"
Sam walked into the gallery, trying for all he was worth to seem like he belonged there. Adjusting his tie, he passed through the entrance with a small crowd, blending into the isles of paintings seamlessly. It made it easier that this was an open exhibition rather than a smaller, private one. Like last time.
He cleared his throat and fixed his tie again, even though it didn't need fixing.
Sam hadn't seen Sarah Blake in almost four years.
To distract himself he studied the paintings around him, though he couldn't focus very well. They were nice, sure, but he could really care less—especially when he caught the floating sound of Sarah's voice.
Really, he shouldn't be here. Sam had no right to drag her into his life again with what he and Dean were dealing with. Really, he should be trying to hunt down Lilith now that he had some time to focus. For a second he debated escaping through the side door. Few would notice, and it would save him the—
"Sam?"
He stilled.
"Sam, you're actually here?" Sarah laughed, and he turned to face her with a smile that became more genuine when he saw her face. She hadn't changed much; her long brown hair was loose around her, though she wore professional grey slacks and a blue blouse underneath a jacket.
"Yeah," Sam laughed with her. "I was in Sioux Falls when you told me you were coming out here…"
He looked glanced at the ground before meeting her blue eyes with his blue-green.
"I thought it was high time I came to see you," he said. She smiled up at him and crossed her arms.
"Well, you came at the perfect time."
Sam looked around; the place was still pretty full and bustling.
"You sure? Looks pretty packed to me." She smirked and leaned toward him conspiratorially.
"My dad is about to take them all to the back room where the more expensive pieces are, then we'll make our grand escape," she winked, and began slowly making her way down the aisle, as if admiring the paintings. He grinned a bit and played along, falling into step with her.
"Oh? And where are we going?"
"It'd be no fun if I just told you," she said so matter-of-factly that it made him chuckle.
"I have a rental car parked in the front," he said.
"Oh no," she shook her head. "We're going in my car."
"What, that busted up Volvo you used to drive?"
"No, smartass." She rolled her eyes, though a smile played at her lips. "I traded up, got a convertible."
He laughed, but walked with her until her father addressed the entire gallery of people and directed them to the second room. Sam followed Sarah out the back door instead, over to a cherry red Volkswagen Beetle. He tossed her a knowing look, already wondering how his legs were going to fit in that passenger seat.
"Cute," he commented.
"His name's Wilbur."
"Like the pig?"
"No, like the theater." Sam's expression turned to one of confusion, until he remembered the famous Wilbur Theatre in Boston, Massachusetts. Though he was confused again when she started laughing.
"Of course, like the pig," she said, shaking her head. "Get in, geek."
He raised a brow, but grinned, despite himself, and got in the passenger side. Sarah threw her business casual grey jacket into the backseat and reversed the car fast enough for the tires to squeak, startling him a little. Sarah looked over at him with wide eyes, a blush staining her cheeks that said she didn't mean to do that.
His mouth tugged into another smile and it was his turn to wink at her.
"Good to know I still have that effect on you," he teased. She rolled her eyes, but her face was still a pretty red as they turned onto the road toward the city.
Sam hadn't seen Sarah Blake in almost four years, and she seemed happier than he remembered. She could still make him smile.
Dean could hear her humming in the kitchen as he toweled off his wet hair. It was off-tune, but better than his own warbling to the radio at any rate. Except in the shower. Everything sounded better in the shower.
The smell of whatever she was making had his mouth watering though. So clad in only a towel, he made his way out of the bedroom and stayed by the hall for a moment, content to watch Elena pour batter onto a wide pan. The radio sitting on the windowsill played Loverboy's cheesy 80s reverb at a moderate volume.
"Everybody's workin' for the weekend…everybody wants a new romance."
Her body swaying was the only part of her in rhythm, but she lip-synched into the spatula (or makeshift microphone) in her hand, until she had to use it to flip the chocolate chip pancakes.
"Everybody's goin' off the deep end…everybody needs a second chance, oh—"
Dean stepped behind her and grabbed Elena by the waist, despite her small shriek. When she realized it was him she tried turning in his grip.
"Why. Do you always. Have to. Sneak up—on—me!" she exclaimed, using her spatula to punctuate her words. He only laughed, but did try to fend her off.
"They're burning!" he pointed out. She gasped and turned around to very much not burnt pancakes. Elena sighed and turned around with the intention of informing him exactly what constituted as burnt. But his hands snaked around her waist and he stole a kiss.
"Mm, someone stuck their finger in the batter," he commented, then licked his lips. "And dug into the chocolate chips."
"If you don't let me go, they're really going to get burnt." Her small grin was nervous, his was passive. "Don't tell me coping a feel is surpassing your stomach after last night."
"Food runs a close second," he said, until his grin turned slightly wicked. "But who says they have to be separate."
She wrinkled her nose.
"Pancakes though? The syrup would be all sticky." He gave her a disappointed look.
"Don't tell me your OCD extends to sex too." Again, she rolled her eyes, but a grin tugged at her mouth.
"I'm willing to try anything once, but that just seems counterintuitive."
He thought about it.
"Touché."
He'd file that "willing to try anything once" comment for future reference, though.
She disentangled herself from him long enough to take those pancakes off the pan and make the rest of the batter. The wooden spoon in the mixing bowl was useful for whacking Dean's thieving hands.
"If you keep eating those chocolate chips I'm not making any cookies later," she warned. He perked up at that.
"Cookies?"
"Either that or the broccoli and squash I bought yesterday."
He dropped the contents of his hand back into the bag with a look of distaste.
"What do you want to do today?" she asked, flipping the pancakes over. He leaned against the counter and crossed his arms.
"I should probably call Sammy, see how bored he's getting over at Bobby's," Dean trailed, but he did catch the small flicker of disappointment on her face.
"What?" he asked.
"Nothing," she shook her head. Dean raised his brows and pushed off the counter. His hands found her waist and he bent near her ear.
"You suck at lying, just FYI." Elena's eyes slid over to his blandly, and he grinned. She sighed.
"You want to find a case?" she asked.
"Eventually," he allowed. "But it doesn't have to be right this second."
"M'kay," she hummed. "You should probably get dressed. These are done."
"You're not dressed either," he pointed out.
"I'm wearing a robe. You're wearing a towel."
"And to think, I thought I was seducing you." She masked her surprise well at the heavy innuendo being whispered in her hear. Well, it wasn't surprising in and of itself, but Dean working his charm on her as she'd seen him do to so many other women was…it was going to take some getting used to. But she could see why they all fell for it.
Once she got over her blush, her eyes slid to his again as her mouth tugged into a flirtatious smile.
"Maybe I just don't want to kick off the morning with an empty stomach."
He raised a brow and held up a finger.
"I'll be back. I think my pants are under the bed somewhere."
Sam had never seen so much junk in one store.
Apparently it was famous for its antiques, but he didn't see how ceramic kissing frogs and hearts made out of barbed wire counted as antiques. Sarah didn't seem to mind though. She browsed through each isle and stopped to point out things that amused her. The obnoxious neon headshot of David Bowie on a canvas was a personal favorite of hers.
On one shelf there was a whole row of clay angels wearing intricately drawn robes and almost comically small wings. Their faces were simplistic, but looked somewhat like cartoon characters. The sight of them made something in his stomach twist.
His perception of them had been very different once, naïve maybe. Who was he to think that angels were benevolent—that they actually cared about humanity? About him. Who was he to think that there could still be someone that wouldn't look down at him? Like he was some kind of monster.
"Sam," Sarah prodded in a whisper, "That guy has a puppy."
He looked up to where she was gesturing, and sure enough, there was an older man, probably in his sixties, by the cash register with a leash looped around his wrist. Tucked under his arm was a golden retriever puppy eyeing everything in the store and sniffing at people as they walked by. Sam slid his gaze over to Sarah.
"You wanna go pet him or the puppy?"
She gave him an annoyed look.
"Go on," he laughed, and was content to watch her greet the man and ask permission before stroking the retriever's head. She then beamed over at him and gestured for him to come over. Despite himself, Sam moved to her side and exchanged pleasantries with the man, who introduced himself as Bern McKinley. Meanwhile, his retriever whined at Sam until he gently began petting the dog's head. It couldn't really be helped, he was a sucker for dogs.
"That's a sign she likes you right off the bat," said Bern wryly. "They're needy things—somehow manage to grab you by the heart with one look a' them eyes."
"What's her name?" Sam asked, and smiled when the puppy began licking his fingers.
"Maya," he said. "My granddaughter named her."
"She's so sweet," Sarah cooed, smoothing down the fur on Maya's paws with a finger that they batted at playfully.
"You two vacationing?" asked Bern. Sam and Sarah glanced at each other.
"Sort of," Sarah answered. "I'm in town with my father on business, but we felt like getting some air, seeing the city."
What she hadn't told Sam until after they'd driven away from the gallery was that her dad already knew she had plans to see an old friend that day. Her father reluctantly agreed to it, since she'd been working so hard, but he would really need her tomorrow for the rest of the exhibition.
"Parts of it are a sight to see, I suppose," Bern nodded. "Never gunna get better baked goods than that one restaurant-bakery down the road here."
"Oh really?" she asked. "Where is it?"
Bern gave her approximate directions down the road and to the right, just around the corner from where they were. They thanked him and decided to take his advice, but before they left the store, Sam turned at the door.
"Hey, Bern," he called, and the old man looked over with a pleasant smile. "Do they have pie, by any chance?"
Bern pondered it for a moment.
"Think so. But probably just your basic apple, cherry, maybe blueberry."
"That's perfect, thanks."
Sarah gave him a questioning look when they were outside, making their way down the sidewalk.
"You have a thing for pie, or something?"
He smiled a little to himself.
"Or something."
If (when) Dean found out Sam spent money renting a car and left Sioux Falls for this, when he and Dean could've made the trip together (and saved the cost of the motel room he'd probably need tonight), any words Dean would have for him could be drowned out by a slice each of his top three favorite pies.
It was strange spending a day like this. Breakfast that was actually cooked with ingredients that weren't out of a bottle or frozen first. A movie…well, half of a movie before someone started getting handsy. But really, who was Dean to stop her?
They'd slept an hour into the afternoon after that, and Dean had never felt lazier for looking at a clock that read 2:15 in the afternoon. But for the second time that day he'd woken up next to someone he knew, and who more than remembered his name.
She washed his clothes and he washed the pile of dishes in the sink, and they played cards while listening to Zeppelin on the record player, and there was something weird about the whole thing if he thought too hard on it.
"You want a sandwich?" Elena asked. "I'm getting kind of hungry."
"Sure," he said, and put his hand of cards down. She got up and made her way over to the refrigerator.
"There's ham and cheese…salami I think."
"Sounds good," he nodded. "Though don't go makin' a mess in there after I just wiped everything down."
Her hand came to her hip as her expression turned sardonic.
"Not so nice is it," she remarked, "cleaning up after yourself?"
Dean rolled his eyes.
"It's not like you're my slave," he retorted. "I pick up after myself. And Sam, occasionally."
She snorted and pulled out a loaf of bread.
"Mayo?"
"And mustard."
She wrinkled her nose, but pulled out a bottle of mustard and only put it on his slices. They ate and talked through the other half of the movie they started that morning, and it wasn't long hours of research and nonstop driving or dealing with anything ugly or bloody. And then the word finally came to him while doing the second round of dishes as the credits rolled down the TV screen.
It was strangely domestic.
Elena took chocolate chip muffins out of the oven and waved her oven mitt over the top, making the room smell like the sugar rush he was sure to have after the half dozen he was about to eat.
Maybe a little domestic wasn't the worst thing that could happen.
Bobby was sick of the goddamn mess that was his house.
Those boys had come tearing through as usual, leaving behind a wake of beer bottles and paper plates and open books, although they were good about putting away the bed sheets they used. Messes never used to bother him before. Not physical messes anyway. Leave it to a woman to turn everything in his life backwards.
But then again, before this year he hadn't had a woman in his life for a very long time.
He swept trash into a black bag, but when one of the phones started ringing, he decided to leave the rest for later.
"Yeah?" The voice on the other end of the line grated on his ear, but he restrained the urge to emit a longsuffering sigh.
"Did you test for silver?" he asked. The reply was a hesitant positive.
"Did you or didn't you?"
Bobby sat down heavily at his desk.
"Then go do it, Garth! I'm not your damn babysitter."
The third phone rang mere seconds after he hung up the second one, and it was times like these where he wished "tedious secretary shit" wasn't part of his job description.
"What?" he snapped.
"Someone's having a rough day."
Bobby rolled his eyes.
"What'cha got, Rufus."
"Demon activity, been croppin' up more than usual," he said. "Any chance it's got somethin' to do with that fiasco a couple months back?"
"Which one?"
"The thing you told me about. The Witnesses."
"Ah, that."
"Yeah…listen, I've been hearin' talk," said Rufus. "Hunters are getting edgy, with what's been happenin'…they see the signs."
"What do you want me to do about it?" Bobby asked after a moment.
"Dean Winchester's topside. That's all well and good. But him and his brother were at ground zero at the start of all this," Rufus deadpanned. "You know that's how it's gunna be at the end of it, right?"
"Again," Bobby's tone sharpened, "What do you want me to do about it?"
"Keep your eyes open, 's all I'm sayin'. When they come to you for help," there was that hint of knowing in Rufus's tone that always managed to grate on Bobby a little. "Make sure you know what you're doing."
The signal clicked, and Bobby set down the phone. He rubbed a hand over his face and couldn't help reaching in his desk drawer and pulling out the glass bottle inside.
It was a day for scotch.
He grabbed a small glass and poured a conservative amount for the moment. It swirled around in the glass as his thoughts turned to Sam. He'd left that morning after Bobby drove him to a rental car place, headed for Hill City. Why, he hadn't said exactly. Meeting up with Dean hadn't seemed like the forefront of it, though that was what Sam more or less gave as an excuse.
The boy worried him. It was clear that whatever he'd gone through while Dean was gone, Sam hadn't completely recovered from. Lilith seemed to be at the forefront of his mind more often than not—how to find her, how to kill her, as fast as possible before she broke more seals to Hell. In the meantime, Bobby saw both brothers immersing themselves in case after case without catching a breath.
It wasn't a wonder to him why his niece needed a few days off from the Winchesters. They were always caught in the middle of a pile of shit. And if they weren't, they were driving toward the next one to step in. That was why when she told him what happened, with the angels and the demons and Dean saying all the things he said, Bobby had no idea what to tell her.
All he could think to do was ask her how she felt about it, and what she wanted.
The following tears reminded him why he never had children, least of all girls.
But it also taught him a valuable lesson: he was right to worry about Dean. As good a man and as good a hunter as he was, Dean Winchester had literally been through Hell. That "time heals all wounds" bullshit was just that—bullshit. Some wounds just never heal.
And Bobby sent that man to his niece's doorstep.
He had no doubt she would keep sticking her nose in, maybe even follow the Winchesters to wherever this would end. Her old life was gone because they'd brought her into theirs (and Bobby didn't exclude himself there). That, and she liked them too much, those brothers.
And he loved those boys. He did.
But that's what scared him.