4. Warm chocolate
Unbelievable, Tate thought to herself, she'd jumped into the car of an almost perfect stranger without so much as a 'gee you aren't a psychopath or anything are you?' If her mother found out she'd never hear the end of it. It was her mother's one mantra: 'All men are dangerous, especially the one's who don't look it.' Well to be honest Sam didn't look all that dangerous, until you looked into his eyes and saw the steely clear gaze behind the shy smile and aww shucks gentlemanly humility. His sheer size alone should be frightening, but somehow it wasn't. Not like his brother.
Tate had had plenty of time to get a good look at Dean as the ambulance made it's way to the hospital. The paramedic had gradually stripped him to get a better look at his more obvious injuries. First they'd cut off what looked like a battered and well-loved leather jacket and then a soft looking cotton sweater and t-shirt, both black, revealing a smooth chest with skin that looked like pale gold satin stretched tightly over lean muscle, and that chest wasn't even the best bit. It was a body hundreds of men would kill themselves in a gym to get, and one that millions of women would kill just to get a hold of for a few hours.
"Um, which way now?"
Tate jumped a little then pointed and said to the right, surprised that she'd let her thoughts get so away from her, and was even more surprised at the direction of her thoughts. She spent most of her day around men of all shapes and sizes and none had ever made her feel flustered just thinking about the shape of a forearm. She shouldn't be thinking about anybody in that kind of way she reminded herself, she had a job to get done and then after that she had plans, big plans that didn't involve a guy with a cheeky looking belly button. Cheeky belly button? Tate gave herself a mental shake and listened to the question Sam was asking.
"Do you go to the university pub often?"
"I don't generally have time to go, and they always ask me for I.D so it's a hassle I can actually live without." Tate shrugged, "How about you?"
"Me?" Sam matched her shrug, "First and only time was tonight, and my brother and I we're on a road trip..."
Tate nodded, it didn't really surprise her, Sam had a just on edge quality to him that was more familiar to her than she liked. It was as subtle as a hint of cinnamon in your hot chocolate, it was warm and cosy and then your mind finally caught up to the fact that there was just a little something extra and unexpected in what you'd already taken three sips of. "I wouldn't have pegged you guys as students somehow."
Sam cleared his throat "Actually I've taken a break from Stanford Law..."
"That I can believe." Tate smiled and was rewarded with a small chuckle from Sam; she also got the distinct impression he hadn't meant to tell her that little piece of information. Sometimes that was the advantage of having an innocent face, people told you things they really shouldn't, even if you didn't want them to.
"And Dean is an English Professor..." Sam's face was poker straight as the streetlights washed over it, but the quick look at Tate told her all she needed to know
"Right. I'm guessing he specialises feminist poetry of the late 20th century" Tate said dryly, if she'd ever seen a guy who looked less likely than Dean to read feminist poetry, she didn't know where. Even unconscious he looked dangerous. And there she was, right back at dangerous. She and Sam made polite small talk about college and the subjects he'd taken as pre-law requisites.
"And that's what I mean," Sam said, " It's really important to concentrate on what a text is really saying not just what is on the surface."
"Okay, I'll remember that next time I read a law text book." More amused than anything, Tate wondered why Sam was lecturing her on getting good grades. It must be the shock of seeing his brother mown down by a bus in the middle of the street. It said nice things about him. Seeing the last turn on the way to her home Tate pointed to the left and then said, "Pull in here."
"What? Here?" Sam looked up at the large, and well lit, building they were currently parked beside. There was a big sign saying 'HOTEL'
Thinking suddenly that he should have been paying more attention to the young woman sitting beside him as he drove her home rather than concentrating on making himself just boring enough for her to forget later. He could almost hear Dean saying, 'dude she's taken you to a hotel, and hotels are only good for two things when you're with an attractive lady, sleeping and doing naughty stuff while you're not sleeping.' That would be fine if the girl who'd taken him to a hotel didn't look like he'd be put in jail if he actually touched her. Jailbait, that's what they called it. He could feel a blush start to creep up from his chest.
"Hey, uh Tate, I never thought to ask before but should we have a called your parents or something? To maybe let them know why you weren't home..." Sam faltered as Tate's cool grey gaze met his darker blue.
"It's fine, I'm a big girl Sam, look I'm still feeling pretty guilty about throwing up on your shoes, let me get you a room and..."
"No, no that's fine" Sam smiled and pointed vaguely over his shoulder, "I'm just going to get a room at a hotel closer to the hospital, I'm sure I saw one, the Tropicana or something."
"That place is a dive," Tate grimaced "I get the feeling you guys have been on the road for a while, wouldn't you like a room with a nice hot tub spa and a huge bed and room service and, did I mention all this will cost you nothing..." Tate finally looked properly at Sam as he placed a large hand on her arm, in the soft light of the hotel garden lights he looked noticeably uncomfortable and if she wasn't mistaken there was a blush across his high cheekbones and a look of panic around his eyes.
"Look Tate, you're really very pretty, beautiful in fact, but the thing is, I have... I have a thing...with someone I mean, and you're way too young to even consider using..." he waved vaguely at Tate's torso, "As a way of thanking or apologising to someone, and really vomit is so not the worst thing that's ever been on these jeans..."
Tate blinked twice before she spoke, letting him get even more uncomfortable, "You know if you hadn't been incredibly sweet just then I'd be insulted," Tate said quietly, "I'm going to ignore the fact that you basically suggested that I was throwing myself at you and rephrase my offer." Luckily Tate was too tired to take offence, and it wasn't the first time someone had assumed she was much younger than she really was.
Taking a breath she waved at the classy looking hotel and explained, "My family owns this hotel, which means that I can get you a room, a nice one, that you don't have to pay for. I admit that this might be a bit of an apology for Dean getting hit by the bus when it swerved to miss me and then the whole vomiting thing, but I would have offered anyway. And I'll be insulted if you don't stay for as long as you're in town" That much was true, and she tried to tell herself that she wasn't just hoping to meet Dean when he wasn't unconscious or close to it.
"Sorry." Sam gave Tate an apologetic half smile and she smiled back.
"So you'll come in and stay?"
"Sure, I mean, yes thank you."
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"A hot tub, king sized bed, room service and free cable? Dude if I wasn't in this sling I'd beat your ass for not coming to get me last night." Dean grumbled as Sam pushed him towards the hospital exit in the wheelchair Nurse Brown had insisted they use. Sam wasn't sure if it was the fact Dean was in a lot of pain or that he was just being a lazy pain in the butt, but he hadn't put up much of a fight. "So this Tate girlie, she just gave you the room?"
"Yep." Sam nodded
"You didn't have to... you know, let her touch you in special places?" Dean's snigger sounded a little forced.
"No" Dean could almost hear Sam frowning behind him, "And she's not a girlie, at least not your definition of one." Sam groused and gave the wheelchair a bit of a nudge, which to Dean's mind was a little uncalled for. He was only giving Sam what his little brother expected, it was one way of keeping a small semblance of normality; Sam could rely on good ol' Dean to be the lecherous bastard. He wasn't sure but Dean suspected if he quietly owned up to being sick of being the one who picked up chicks and left Sam to his own devices for an hour that Sam might go into some kind of melt down.
Two people, even brothers, could not exist in the same ten square feet of each other for months on end without a few timeouts. What Sam didn't know was that the last few long legged blondes Dean had picked up had been taken to their homes, politely said goodnight to and then Dean had spent the rest of the night curled up on the back seat trying to get some sleep. Sleep usually didn't come though and he spent the next day being grouchy, which Sam generally interpreted as a hangover.
Sometimes for a guy who was so perceptive to other people's pain, Sam sure had a blind spot when it came to Dean, and Dean liked it that way. It was the way it had to be.
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Chocolate.
Was Dean's first thought when he woke up in the middle of one of the biggest king sized beds he'd ever seen. Carefully he stretched and then scratched an itch in the middle of his chest and then lower.
Her eyelashes obscured Tate's wide grey eyes as she blinked, and then blinked again before she blushed furiously. Admittedly when Sam had let her into the brother's suite before heading back into the bathroom to finish dressing Tate had oh so casually walked toward the coffee table in the middle of the sumptuous cream and gold sitting room and just happened to look into Dean's room through the wide open doorway, she'd almost been disappointed that he'd still been asleep.
But then she took the opportunity to get another sneak peek at his awe inspiring torso, which looked even better on the deep claret red of the bed sheets, one of which was barely clinging to his hips. In the middle of staring at the middle of his chest while berating herself for perving on an unconscious guy, again, Tate froze as he stretched like a cat under the sheets and then lifted a hand to scratch the exact spot her gaze had snagged on seconds earlier.
"You didn't have to get us breakfast Tate...Dean" Tate wasn't sure who was blushing more, herself or Sam when he saw what she'd just been looking at. Guiltily She put down the plate of muffins and turned towards the TV. "Dean we have company."
"And?" Dean rolled out of the bed slowly, wincing as his shoulder protested.
"A pair of pants might be in order." Sam muttered and quickly brushed past Tate to close the door to Dean's room giving Tate and apologetic smile and shrug.
"What the hell?" Dean's face appeared around Sam's shoulder as he wrenched the door back open. "Oh, hi."
"Hi, I uh...Brought muffins" Tate said feebly and Dean gave her what could almost be called a smile as he hid behind the door.
"Dean meet Tate, Tate this is my brother Dean." Sam made the introductions and hid his surprise and a knowing smile by reaching for one of the still warm muffins.