-FOURTEEN-

Dean stood outside Melinda's door for maybe five seconds before he twisted the knob. Thank God she'd left it unlocked. Thank God he'd checked, because he was just moments away from kicking the damn thing in. He glanced around the room, ensuring everything was fine before he looked to the bed. She was pale, sweating, tears rolling down her face, whimpers coming from her throat that tore him apart inside. He walked over to the bed, gently taking hold of her arms.

"Mel, wake up."

She stiffened under his hands, and he gently moved one up to touch her face.

"It's me, Mel. Wake up."

She moaned, and he kept talking to her, kept touching her, trying to wake her up. When she stiffened again, breathing speeding up to what he could only guess was scream again, Dean tightened his hold on her, speaking more forcefully.

"Melinda! Open your eyes."

Surprisingly, she did, blue eyes blinking rapidly until Dean laid his hand back on her face.

"It's me, Mel. You're alright."

She let out a breath, twisting out of his grip a second before she threw her arms around his neck. Automatically, he pulled her close to him, holding her as she choked out sobs. He pressed kisses to her temple and her hair, gently rocking her back and forth as she cried. The one time he tried to move, she nearly hyperventilated, so he stayed still, keeping his arms around her. They stayed like that for the longest time, until Dean noticed that the sobs had stopped. Every now and then, she would let out a stuttering sigh, hiccupping as she breathed in. Dean held her and laid down in the bed, immediately wrapping his arms around her when she rolled towards him, her head on his chest. He trailed his fingers through her hair as she sniffled.

"You better?"

She shook her head, moving closer to him, and he tightened his hold on her.

"What was it, babe?"

She let out a sigh.

"The—the apartment fire. We … We didn't make it out this time."

She took in a stilted breath, and he ran his hand over her cheek.

"Easy, Mel. Take it easy. We're fine."
"It seemed so real. It was so hot."
"It's over. We made it out, and we're fine."

She nodded, moving in closer to him. She hated to lie, but she couldn't tell him the truth.

She couldn't tell him that she dreamed that she was back in her old house, stepping around the bodies of her family, watching their killer stroll out the door. She couldn't tell him that the dream suddenly switched, and she was standing over a crib, looking over it at a woman on the other side, lying on her back, blood soaking through her nightgown over her stomach. Then the room began to burn around them, and she could almost feel the flames when Dean woke her up.

She felt his hand in her hair, felt the other gently holding her hand. She let out a sigh against his chest, feeling her eyes begin to flutter closed.

"Mel?"

His voice was quiet, whispered against her hair. She lifted her head to meet his eyes, waiting just a beat. She wasn't entirely sure if she lifted up or he bent down, but suddenly, their lips were pressing together. Melinda felt Dean's hand tighten just a bit around hers, felt the one in her hair slide to cup her cheek. They seemed to pull apart at the same time, and Melinda laid her head back on Dean's chest, lulled to sleep by the sound of his heartbeat.

Dean woke up alone in Melinda's bed. He'd simply blinked his eyes open, noticing the comfortable weight he'd had on his chest all night was gone. He sat up, running a hand through his hair before he pushed off the covers and stood up. He stretched his arms, walking to the door, stopping and turning back, looking around the room. The flowers he'd sent her sat on her dresser, close to the mirror. So close, in fact, that she couldn't look in the mirror without seeing them. Dean smiled, then walked out of the room. He walked into the kitchen, smiling again when he saw Melinda, wrapped up in her bathrobe, arms crossed over her chest, looking out the window. A cup of coffee sat next to her, steam still curling from the top of it. She turned to glance back, smiling when she saw him.

"Hey."

Dean stepped closer to her, grabbing a mug from the cabinet, pouring himself a cup of coffee.

"Hey."

Dean turned to lean against the counter, and Melinda had a small smile on her face when she looked back out the window.

"I'm sorry I didn't wake you. You looked so peaceful that I just hated to disturb you."
"Well, thanks."

He took a sip of his coffee, giving a sigh of pleasure when the dark taste hit his throat. Melinda absently ran her hand slowly up and down her arm, and Dean looked into his mug as he spoke.

"Did you sleep well? After, I mean?"

Melinda smiled again, nodding.

"Yeah, I …"

She glanced over, meeting his eyes.

"I slept better than I have in a while."

Dean smiled.

"Me, too."

Melinda turned to look back out the window, and Dean drained his coffee. He set his mug in the sink, watching Melinda hold her cup in both of her hands, taking small sips. She kept staring out the window, and since Dean had given in to his curiosity and looked out as well, he knew she was staring at nothing. He watched her and waited until she set her mug back down before he spoke.

"Mel?"

She looked over to him.

"You okay?"

She gave him a small smile, nodding her head. Dean crossed his arms over his chest.

"You sure? I can almost see whatever it is weighing on your mind."

She looked down, the smile still on her face. She shook her head.

"I'm … I'm okay. Just … You know."

Dean smiled, nodding.

"Well, if you need to talk—"
"I know where to find you. Thanks, Dean."

He gave her a wink, walking to his bathroom, getting into the shower and letting out a sigh of relief as the hot water began to beat down on his skin. Their talk from the night before came back to him, and he suddenly felt sick to his stomach. He showered as quickly as he could, wrapping a towel around his waist. He shaved the two-day's worth of stubble from his face, brushed his teeth vigorously. He rested his hands on the counter, looking up into the mirror.

Goddamn it all.

He didn't want to go on a date. Not unless it was with Melinda. He didn't want to go anywhere, to dress up, to wine and dine a woman. Not unless she was Melinda. He hated Brady, whoever the hell he was. Couldn't blame the guy, really, for taking advantage of what Dean had given up. Dean hung his head, blowing out his breath. He looked towards the door, and he could hear dishes being moved around in the kitchen, and his mind flashed back to only a few weeks before.

Dean had been twenty-seven for two days before his dad called. Didn't say much when he did, just that he was busy, sorry he missed it, hoped he'd had a good day. Basically a repeat of the same call Dean had received for most of his life. He didn't let it get to him; he'd learned not to by the time his eighth birthday rolled around. The morning after the late-night call (yes, John had called at two-thirty in the morning) Dean woke alone in his bed. He crawled out, finding his boxers on the floor and sliding them on, walking to the kitchen. She'd been at the sink, his shirt on, riding up when she reached out a hand for the spices on the little shelf near the tiny window. He watched her for a minute, speaking when she was stirring something.

"Nice shirt."

She glanced over her shoulder, a smile breaking across her face.

"Thanks. I stole it."

He grinned, walking over and moving her hair out of the way before placing his lips against her neck. She dropped her spoon, letting it rest against the rim of the bowl.

"Dean, I … I'm busy."
"Oh, don't let me keep you. Go ahead."

He took a step back, smiling at the frown on her face as she stirred the bowl a little more vigorously. He moved to her other side, moving her hair aside and laying his lips against her neck, longer this time, running the tip of his tongue over her skin. She gasped, dropping the spoon again.

"Dean!"

He smiled, moving his lips over her neck. He took her shaking hand, moving it back to take the spoon again, gently stirring. He laved his tongue over the space where her neck and shoulder met before stepping back.

"I'm sorry. You should continue. Don't let me stop you."
"Dean."
"What, baby?"

She looked back at him, cheeks flushed, sucking her bottom lip in between her teeth. She was trembling, but looked away from him, going back to stirring.

"What's in the bowl?"
"Oh, just shut up."

He laughed behind her, waiting a beat before stepping up and dragging his hands up both of her hips. She let out a groan and flipped her hair over her shoulder. Dean smiled as he leaned in to kiss her neck again, and her hand came up, fingers threading through his hair, holding him to her. After a moment, she let him go, twisting out of his arms. He stepped back, confused as she turned around to face him, and he let out a groan as she wrapped her arms around his neck, fusing her mouth to his. He reached under her thighs and lifted her to him, and she wrapped her legs around his waist. He left the kitchen, carrying her back to his bed, falling on his back, looking up at her as he pulled his shirt from her. She laughed as he leaned up, kissing her neck again. She cradled his head in her hands as he kissed her, and she tried to speak, gasping and laughing breathily.

"Dean, I … Breakfast. We—oh, god—I'm cooking."
"It'll keep."

She let out a laugh that he swallowed as he moved to fuse his mouth to hers. He felt her hands on his shoulders, let her gently push him down. He let her lead this time, a smile coming to his face when he realized just how quickly this shifted from his control to hers. He couldn't shake the feeling, though, that it had never really been in his control.

And honestly? He didn't really care.

Dean sighed as he tugged a t-shirt on, fastening his belt before he walked out of his room. Melinda turned from the stove, giving him a smile. Her honey-colored hair was pulled into a knot on top of her head, and she had her glasses on. She still wore her bathrobe, but it was open over the tank top and pajama pants she wore. Dean pushed a smile on his face.

"Hey."

She leaned over and turned off the stove.

"Hey. You hungry?"

He smiled, nodding, and she motioned for him to go to the table. He sat, giving her a smile when she placed a loaded plate before him. She sat across from him, draping a napkin over her lap before she started to eat. It was quiet for a minute, until she spoke softly.

"I wanted to thank you for last night."
"Mel—"
"I know what you're going to say."

She met his eyes, both of them letting out a breath.

"After … You didn't have to come, and you didn't have to stay. But I … I'm so glad you did. And I know you'll say I don't need to, but I want to say thank you."

He sighed, taking a drink of the orange juice she'd poured for him.

"Well, you didn't need to thank me, but you're welcome anyway. I couldn't just leave you in there."
"Was I screaming?"
"Just once."

Melinda let out a sigh, taking her glasses off and rubbing her eyes.

"I'm sorry I woke you up."
"No, you—you didn't. I couldn't sleep. And I haven't slept as good as I did last night in a while, so…"
"So really, I did you a favor?"

Dean looked up, meeting Melinda's sparkling eyes as she smiled. He smiled back, nodding his head.

"Yeah. Yeah, I guess you did."

She let out a quiet laugh, picking her plate up and taking it to the sink. Dean dragged his hand over his face, and ignored the little voice in the head.

"You got any plans for today?"

Melinda went still at the sink for a moment before she spoke quietly.

"Not until tonight."

Dean tried to ignore the pain that statement sent through his heart.

"Yeah, me either. But I, uh … I feel like I've been neglecting my Baby, so I was thinking about taking a drive. Do you … Do you want to come with me?"

She turned back from the sink, blinking her eyes, and he spoke quietly.

"I'll have you back in time for your date."

She looked down at the sink, then back over to him.

"Where were you thinking about driving to?"

He smiled.

"I don't know. Maybe the scenic route over to Half Moon Bay?"

Melinda's eyes lit up.

"That sounds like a pretty good idea. Let me change real quick."

She walked back to her room and Dean pushed his hands through his hair. Dean went outside for a moment, and came back inside when Melinda was leaving her room. She'd tied a scarf in her hair, had on a pair of jeans and a flowy red button-up. Dean smiled as he grabbed his aviators off the table, and Melinda pushed her sunglasses on her face. She followed him down to the Impala, smiling when he opened the door for her. They rolled the windows down and let the car fill with the warm California air as they rode, an old Stones tape playing for some background noise.

They'd stayed at the Bay for longer than they'd planned. Dean had suggested they leave earlier, but Melinda just didn't want to go. They'd taken off their shoes and walked along the Bay, then just sat on the hood of the Impala and watched the waves roll in. Melinda had dozed off, her head on Dean's shoulder. He'd simply sat back, one arm holding her close to him as she'd slept in the warm sunlight.

He was good on his word, and got her home an hour before her date. She showered and dressed, letting her hair curl gently around her shoulders. She went light with her make-up, wearing a simple shift dress a shade lighter than her eyes. She slid flat sandals onto her feet, fastening her earrings as she walked into the living room.

"Hey, Mel?"

She followed the sound of his voice into his room, biting her lip to keep from smiling. Clothes were strewn across the room, and Dean turned from his closet. He wore a plain white t-shirt, dark dress pants, and black socks. He pushed his bottom lip out, letting out a sigh.

"Help."

She laughed then, walking over and laying a hand on his cheek.

"It'll be okay, honey. Let's find you something."

She gently nudged him out of the closet, and he lifted a hand to his cheek, where he could still feel the burn of her hand against his skin. She pushed clothes around, smiling when she stepped back with two button-down shirts. One was a dark green, the other a pale blue.

"Come with me."

He followed her into the bathroom, and she stood behind him on her tiptoes as he looked in the mirror. She held each shirt up, under his chin, her chin on his shoulder. Dean tried not to turn his face to her, to breathe in the soft scent of her shampoo. Finally, she smiled.

"This one. Makes your eyes pop."

She was holding the blue shirt up to him, and he raised an eyebrow at her.

"Wouldn't the green bring out my eyes? God, I swear I'm not gay."

Melinda let out a laugh.

"No, you goof. I thought that too, but the blue makes your eyes stand out more. Look."

She turned him back, holding each shirt up to his chest. He nodded.

"Yeah, okay."

Melinda laughed, and Dean slid the shirt over his shoulders, buttoning it up from the bottom to the top. She shook her head, and Dean gave her a wink.

"In or out?"
"Those pants? In."

He turned away from her, tucking his shirt in. She walked over to his bed, smoothing out the pillowcase. She spoke quietly, staring at the bed.

"Where are you going?"

Dean let out a sigh as he fastened his belt.

"I, uh… I called that girl that keeps coming in the bar. You know, the—"
"Anna? The redhead?"

Dean smiled, nodding.

"Yeah. Taking her for … Well, I haven't decided yet."

Melinda nodded, trying to ignore the ache in her chest. She met his eyes, and she knew, all she'd have to do is say one word. The word "don't" out of her mouth, Dean would stay right there, in the apartment, waiting for her to come back. And maybe he'd say the same thing back to her, and she'd go take off the stupid dress and sit right beside him. She opened her mouth…

And there was a knock at the door.