-THIRTEEN-

Dean found that the further time passed, the more he truly hated himself. He had tried to do as both Sam and Jo had asked, but he just couldn't. He was a Winchester. He wasn't supposed to be happy. He didn't deserve it, no matter what they said. They loved him, for some reason he didn't understand, and their opinions were biased.

Four days after he'd gone and ruined one of the best things that had ever happened to him, Dean was working on his Impala as the California sunshine beat down on him. He was just changing her oil, keeping up the maintenance his old man had drilled into his head since just after he learned to walk. His mind was drifting, going back to Melinda, as it had a tendency to do these days. He sighed, shaking his head as he leaned back, grabbing a rag to wipe his hands on and closing the Impala's hood. He started when he saw someone standing there, his heart in his throat.

"Mel?"

She crossed her arms over her chest, glancing out from the garage. Dean hadn't heard her come in, and it was very out of the ordinary that someone was able to sneak up on Dean Winchester. He swallowed and tossed the rag over to the little table he'd set up. They stood in silence for a minute, until Melinda glanced over at him.

"I'm still mad at you."

Dean nodded.

"I don't … I don't blame you."

Melinda glanced down at the ground, then sighed.

"Look, I came here to ask you something. If not, it's fine, but I have to ask."
"What is it?"

She sighed again.

"Midterms happen in March. Jess starts studying at least a month in advance. It's February now, and she's getting all ready to become a hermit until midterms are over. Sam has perfected how to deal with her, and I've dealt with her for a good long time, but I just…"

Dean's heart stuttered in his chest. Melinda let out a breath and looked up at him.

"As much as I hate you right now, I don't want to be a burden to Jessica. So can I stay with you?"

He blinked, automatically nodding his head.

"Mel, you always have a place with me."

She closed her eyes.

"It won't be like it was before, Dean. I've got a futon I can bring for the other room."

Dean nodded, and Melinda mirrored his actions. He let out a sigh.

"Mel, I—"
"Don't. Just … Don't."

She turned around and walked away, and Dean just stared after her. He let out a long breath, rubbing a hand over the ache that popped up suddenly in his chest. A week later, Melinda was all moved back in with him, settled in the room down the hall from Dean's. He was sleeping a little better at night now, with her back in the same apartment at least. When she was gone, he hadn't slept at all. He'd tried—and failed—to sleep on the couch, because his damn bed smelled like her. The couch also smelled like her, and he stopped letting it bother him, stopped focusing on how that meant she was gone, and began to savor it. And before the smell could fade away, she was back. Things were quite frosty between them still, but as February went on, Dean could almost see Melinda's walls begin to crumble.

She still worked at the bar with him, and boy, was that fun for the first couple of days. As the time went on though, things fell into an easy routine. They didn't really talk or hang out, but things went from downright icy to almost companionable. Silent, but companionable.

Then Valentine's Day rolled around.

Melinda woke up early, after an unsettling dream. She couldn't really remember what it had been about, but she woke up feeling uneasy. She walked to the kitchen and started a pot of coffee, looking over at the little calendar on the refrigerator. There was a little red heart around today's date, and Melinda smiled. She walked over to the calendar, gently running her finger over the heart, her mind drifting back.

"What are you doing in here?"

Melinda smiled, closing the refrigerator door and glancing back. Dean stood in the kitchen doorway, shirtless and in his boxers as he scratched his chest. He was shirtless because Melinda was wearing his shirt, which she'd slipped on when she crawled out of his arms less than ten minutes prior. She grinned at him, waving the bottle of water she'd grabbed at him.

"I was thirsty. You want some?"
"I want you. Come back to bed with me."

She smiled, twisting the top off of the water, taking a sip.

"Just give me a minute."

He walked over to her, backing her right into the counter, laying his hands on either side of her, gripping the counter.

"I can't. Mel, now. I've got to—"

He closed the distance between them, kissing her as he reached down, picking her up and setting her on the counter.

"Dean—"
"Off. Get this off."

She gasped as he pulled his shirt off of her, pulling her to the edge of the counter as he went to his knees. Melinda tangled her fingers in his hair, gasping as the pleasure slammed into her, hard and fast, just as Dean stood up, taking her into his arms, pulling her down to the floor. Her hand flew up to slap against the refrigerator as Dean groaned, taking her right there on the floor. Soon, she was panting, trying her hardest to catch her breath with Dean's weight on her. Finally, he lifted his head, giving her a smile. She smiled back, letting out a quiet laugh.

"What … What was that?"

Dean's smile grew, and he pressed a kiss to her stomach.

"I woke up and you weren't there. Heard you in here. Saw you in my shirt, and … I don't know. I had to have you, right then."

Melinda closed her eyes, letting a hand come up and roll through his short hair.

"I kind of like it when you get all possessive and can't wait another second. Kitchen floor, Winchester. It doesn't get much better than this."

He laughed, running his hand along her face. He kissed her gently, then sat up. He got to his feet, letting out a groan as he stretched, his muscles doing delicious-looking things as Melinda watched. He gave her a wink then bent back down, offering her a hand, and she took it as she got to her feet, stretching nearly the same way. Dean pulled her back to his chest, and she stood there, in his arms, looking at the calendar on the refrigerator.

"You know, February's getting close."

Dean followed her gaze to the fridge, setting his chin on her shoulder.

"Guess you're right."

She moved her head, looking up at him, giving him a smile.

"Got any plans for Valentine's Day?"

Dean smiled.

"Not at the moment."
"Strangest thing, neither do I."

He laughed, kissing the side of her face.

"Want to make some?"

She shrugged her shoulders, making him laugh again, and she moved out of his arms to go up on her tiptoes to pick up the red marker laying on top of the fridge. She drew a heart around the fourteenth of February, smiling as she stepped back to admire it. And she was immediately taken back into Dean's arms, a smile spreading across her face.

"It'll be our first Valentine's Day."

Dean smiled, running his fingers through her hair. He went to open his mouth, the words getting caught in his throat. Melinda blushed, because she was thinking the very same words as he was.

First of many.

Melinda ran a hand through her hair, picking a piece of mail up off the table, fanning herself with it. She walked to the fridge, gently running her fingers over it before opening the door and pulling out various ingredients. An hour later, she slipped out the door, quietly shutting the door behind her as she made her way to campus, where she was meeting Jess for breakfast.

Dean woke up with a start, the covers thrown off, his body covered in sweat. He looked around, letting the coolness of the room sink in, and he let out a long sigh. He hated when he dreamed about his mother, because the dreams were so unpredictable. This time, the dream had been a replication of the reality, and he could still feel the heat from the room, could feel the usually-wriggly baby completely still in his arms. Sammy had been crying, until their dad had placed him in Dean's arms. Sam had stopped crying, looking up at Dean with his dark eyes, and Dean had taken off running, his only thought to get his brother to safety. He ran his hand through his hair, shaking his head, standing on shaky legs. He slid a t-shirt on, walking into the kitchen, where he could smell coffee. He stopped at the doorway, seeing the plate on the stove, covered in plastic wrap. The note on top read Happy Valentine's Day, with a little heart beside it. Dean smiled as he poured himself a cup of coffee, taking the plate to the table. He laughed when he saw the heart-shaped pancakes, trailing off into a sigh.

This had to mean something, didn't it? Making him breakfast, and on freakin' Valentine's Day, no less? He thought back to weeks ago, swallowing hard before he cut into a pancake, the delicious thing nearly melting on his tongue. He nodded, digging into the rest of his breakfast.

"Melly, come on! You can't be alone on Valentine's Day!"

Melinda sighed, sipping the last of her hot chocolate.

"I am not going to some stupid dance. What is this, junior high?"
"Sam and I are going."
"That's because you and Sam are disgustingly cute and do things like that. Plus, he didn't really go to dances in actual junior high, did he? So you're making up for it."

Jess rolled her eyes.

"You're too smart for your own good."

Melinda laughed, nodding her head. She let out a sigh, and Jess just watched her as she sipped her coffee.

"What's the real deal here, Mel?"
"Can't a girl just not want to go to dance?"
"Sure. But what's your real reason?"

Melinda sighed, looking down to the table before meeting Jess' eyes again.

"I thought you'd said you didn't want to be a shrink."

Jess laughed, reaching across the table to take her sister's hand.

"I like to keep my options open."

Melinda smiled, then sighed again.

"It's stupid, Jess."
"Okay."

Jess nodded, then shrugged her shoulders.

"Tell me anyway."

Melinda glanced out the window, and Jess spoke softly.

"It's Dean, isn't it?"

Melinda glanced wide blue eyes across the table, and Jess smiled.

"I can read you like a book, little sister."

Melinda sighed, running a hand over her face.

"He really hurt me, you know? The things he said …"

She shook her head, looking back out the window.

"Jessie, I was relieved when I realized that it was almost midterms. What with your monster studying sessions, and Sam tiptoeing around so not to bother you, the only logical explanation was for me to go somewhere else. And the only place I even thought of going was to Dean."

She shook her head again, looking back to Jess.

"He's like a drug or something. I can't quit him. And what's worse is I don't want to."

Jess just listened, nodding when it seemed appropriate, holding Melinda's hand. Melinda continued to look out the window, letting out a quiet laugh.

"It's pathetic, isn't it? I'm pathetic. Say it."

She turned and faced her sister.

"Tell me that I'm pathetic, Jessie."

Jess smiled, leaning over, and Melinda did the same thing. Kind of the same way she'd been doing for as long as she could remember, following Jess, mimicking Jess' movements, just seconds after Jess.

"You're not pathetic. You're in—"
"Do not say that!"

Melinda ripped her hands away from Jess, who bit her lip, trying not to smile.

"I am not … No. I'm—I'm not …"

She kept shaking her head, and Jess spoke, really without thinking.

"Then say you'll come with us. Brady is dying to take you out."

Melinda's blue eyes went round.

"Brady?"
"Oh, you know Brady. Tyson Brady. Sam's friend?"
"The …?"

Melinda raised her eyebrows, and Jess smiled.

"That's the one. The gorgeous, tall, blonde, gonna-be-a-doctor-one-day Brady."
"The 'poor little rich boy' Brady?"
"The 'his parents have more money than God' Brady. Not my words. Heard a professor say that."

Melinda pursed her lips. Jess lifted a shoulder, leaning back in her chair as she smiled.

"But, you know. Stay home. I'm sure Dean will be pulling a late night in the bar. There's nothing I'd like better than to sit in an apartment all by myself on mother … you-know-what Valentine's Day."

Melinda laughed, shaking her head.

"You're a big girl, Jessie. It's okay to say 'fuck'."
"Shut up, Melinda. Are you in or not?"

Melinda sighed.

"I know exactly what you're trying to do here. I can see right through your reverse psychology psychobabble bullshit."
"Prove me wrong, then."

Melinda pushed her hands through her hair. Jess watched her, and Melinda finally blew out her breath.

"Fine, I'll go."

Jess squealed, hopping up from her side of the table, hurrying over and taking Melinda in her arms. Melinda rolled her eyes, hugging Jess back.

"Not a word when I don't have fun at all."
"No such words will escape these lips. You'll have a ball, Melly. I just know it."
"Yeah, I doubt it."

But, to her surprise, Melinda did have fun. Brady was nice and funny, not to mention smokin' hot. And he seemed genuinely interested in what Melinda had to say. And that night, when he was taking her home and held his hand on the small of her back, she let him.

And she completely ignored the little voice in the back of her head that was screaming how wrong it felt.

She paid no attention to the fact that Brady's car was created somewhere she probably couldn't even pronounce. Or the fact that Brady had never once even popped the hood. The truth was, he probably couldn't change the oil if his privileged little life depended on it.

Why was she even thinking that?

Melinda sighed as she waved from the steps, catching the answering wave and the quiet beep of a horn as Brady drove off. She put her key in the lock, walking inside and tossing her keys on the table near the door. She walked through the kitchen to her room, coming to a stop in the hallway with her hand on the doorknob before she turned back, walking back to the kitchen.

A dozen roses sat on the table. Melinda just stared at them, unable to move for the longest time. She finally reached out a shaky hand and gently touched one, rubbing her fingers over the bright yellow petal. She saw a card tucked in the middle of some baby's breath, and she gently tugged it out.

Don't say it, babe. I know. It's Valentine's Day, but who really goes by tradition? Hope you like them.

Melinda didn't even realize she'd pulled a chair out until she sat down in it. She held the card in her hands, swallowing, trying to make the feeling of guilt that seemed to weigh on her go away. She heard the door open, and she lifted her head. Dean walked into the kitchen, coming to a stop when he saw her, the smile sliding from his face.

"Hey. You okay?"

She looked back down to her hands, then to him again.

"The—the roses."
"Oh. Yeah. You … you like them?"
"Dean."
"I know it's Valentine's Day, and red is the go-to color, but … I don't know. I've always like yellow ones."

He shrugged his shoulders, looking at the flowers instead of the girl in the chair.

"Dean—"
"I ordered them a while back. You, uh … You remember that night I—well, I basically attacked you in here? You drew that heart on the calendar, and the next morning, I ordered these for you. So don't think that I did it this morning and they were all out of red. I would have gotten you the red ones, if I—"
"Dean."

He stopped when he heard her voice, looking at her. She let out a sigh, glancing back to the roses. She spoke softly, barely murmuring.

"They're beautiful. I … I love yellow roses."
"Oh."

She looked up, meeting his eyes as he reached up, scratching the back of his head.

"Well, there you go, I guess."
"I guess so."

They stared at each other for the longest time. Both of them wanted to say something, anything, but neither one could think right then. Dean finally sighed.

"Listen, Mel—"
"I have a date tomorrow."

He stopped, blinking at her.

"What?"

She let out a breath. What the hell was wrong with her? Why was she telling him this? Why did it seem like she was trying to get his approval? Or worse, why did she feel like she wanted him to do anything to keep her from going? Melinda swallowed.

"I have a date tomorrow night. His name's Brady. He … He's one of Sam's friends."
"Mel, I don't … I don't need to know."

His voice was quiet. He was gripping the back of a chair, staring at the floor. Why were there tears in her eyes as she looked at him?

"You should … You should go out, Dean."

Why was she still talking? He smiled, a little half-smile pulling up one corner of his mouth.

"Who'd watch the bar?"
"Sam?"

Dean let out a laugh. Look at him, laughing like it didn't feel like someone had reached in and ripped his heart from his chest. He shook his head.

"Nah. Sammy wouldn't last ten minutes before he'd be calling me, begging me to come back."
"Shut it down."

He looked over to her, and she shrugged her shoulders.

"Wednesday has notoriously been the slowest night. You really think one night'll break you?"
"I don't know. You do more of the books than I do."

She smiled at him, acting as if it didn't feel like half her soul was being torn out of her hands.

"One night won't break you."

Dean nodded. He looked back down at the table, speaking softly.

"I guess a break would be good."

Melinda swallowed, nodding at him, pushing that fake smile back on her face.

"And it won't take you five minutes to get a date, I bet."

Dean smiled back at her. She let out a little breath.

"Dean—"

He met her eyes, shaking his head just the slightest bit.

"It's late, Mel."

She nodded.

"Yeah. I should … I should go to bed."
"Me too."

She stood up, taking the flowers in her hands, carrying them back towards her room. She stopped at the hallway, looking back at him over her shoulder.

"Dean?"

He turned back, meeting her eyes, seeing the sweet smile.

"Thank you for the flowers. They really are beautiful. I … I love them."
"Thanks for breakfast."

She buried her nose in a rose, taking in a deep breath before she looked at him again.

"Happy Valentine's Day."

He smiled at her, and she walked away. He heard her door close, but he couldn't bring himself to look away from the hall, the place where she'd just stood. He took in a shaking breath.

"Happy Valentine's Day, Mel."

He barely heard himself speak. He surprised himself then, by just walking over to the light and shutting it off, instead of going to the fridge or the cabinet or down the fucking stairs and drowning his sorrows in the hardest liquor he could find. He walked to his bedroom, stripping down to his boxers and climbing into the bed. God, he was cold. He pulled the comforter up to his chin, blowing his breath out before he pulled it over his head. Maybe he'd suffocate.

Would it be the worst thing?

He ran a hand over his face as he blew out his breath. It hurt. It was stupid and he felt like such a woman, but he was physically in pain over this. How could that girl do this to him? How could he let her get so close, close enough that she was able to inflict this kind of torture on him? He flipped to his back, lacing his fingers together over his abdomen, finally pushing the comforter off of his face so he could breathe. He resigned himself to the fact that he probably wasn't sleeping tonight, and just lay there, staring at the shadows across his ceiling. He tried to clear his mind, but Melinda kept pushing to the forefront. He tried to convince himself that he hated her, but gave that up after about oh … Three minutes.

At two fifty-seven, he let out a sigh, climbing out of bed and walking to the kitchen. He grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge, standing by the sink, looking out the tiny window as he drank it. He wondered if Melinda was sleeping any, and a little part of him wished that she wasn't. Then again, that wasn't really true. Dean ran a hand over his face.

And dropped his water bottle in the sink at the scream that rang through the apartment.