The wind whipped through her hair and Santana closed her eyes, let herself savour the moment.
'You know, it wasn't like I wanted to come along,' Dean Winchester muttered under his breath, hands tightening on the steering wheel.
'Look Winchester. Quit whinin'. Abigail made you and I'm not that much of a bitch to tell her to fuck off. Apparently seeing a priest makes her uneasy. So let's both just not talk much and we'll get through this day just fine, aight?'
Since then Dean had thankfully kept his mouth shut, allowing Santana the time to wallow. She had wanted this trip back to arrange Blaine's funeral, let her have the time to grieve in private so she could be strong for Rachel. One look at her best friend was enough for her to see Berry was barely holding it together. Santana couldn't blame her. Sure her father wasn't going to win a prize any time in the near future, but Naya Lopez had given her the love Tony and Leroy had when she and Rachel had first linked pinkies.
Getting saddled with Dean Winchester was just a pain in the ass.
They were currently in her apartment and she could hear the sounds of the television drift into her dark bedroom. Sitting in the middle of her bed, Santana squeezed her eyes shut as she played with the hem of her boxers.
This day fucking sucked ass. But I'd do it again if it meant Rachel didn't have to pick the damn urn Blaine's non-remains are going to be buried in. Hopefully Puckerman's doing a decent job not letting Ray get into her headspace.
The chime of her doorbell made her frown as she stole a quick glance at the clock. It was too early for any of the gleeks to be here yet. Passing by the living room, she suppressed a smile when she noticed the way Dean stared at her legs. It was nice being appreciated.
She sure as hell didn't expect Jesse St James to be on her doorstep, with his black leather jacket and well-worn boots.
'San-'
'What the fuck do you think you're doing here?' Santana demanded, voice harsh as the man in front of her barely flinched.
'I just want to talk,' Jesse said, returning her narrowed gaze.
Santana chuckled wryly because this was exactly how she pictured her day ending.
'Look St Jackass, when I told you that I never wanted to see your ass again, I wasn't being coy. I meant it. So do us both a favour and crawl back under whatever rock you came from-'
'It was a mistake Santana,' Jesse said, reaching for her. Santana jerked back, folded her arms across her chest defensively.
'Yeah one you kept making over and over again,' Santana told him evenly, remembering the humiliation she had felt when Brooke had told her of the times Jesse would take her out to dinner after they had made love.
Made love.
'Is there a problem here?' Dean's voice startled her and Jesse's eyes widened in surprise before settling into a hard stare.
'What? Is this the guy you replaced me with? Seriously?'
'Hey jheri curl,' Dean started only to be cut off when Santana pulled him away from the door.
'So what if I am? We're through Jesse.'
'You know what? Fine. You really are as big of a slut as everyone says you are,' Jesse retorted, flashing her a mean smirk. Santana hated that her cheeks flushed, that her eyes burned from his words.
I thought you loved me. I thought I loved you.
'Goodbye Jesse,' Santana replied, making sure the hurt didn't show. She closed the door in Jesse's face, leaned her forehead against the door.
'You want me to go kick his ass?' Dean asked and Santana sighed. She turned around, saw that he was being serious.
'Please. If I wanted to cut his dick off, I can do it myself,' she said, feigning disinterest as she turned the lock.
'I'm not doubting that. I've got the bruise on my shin to prove it,' Dean joked, rubbing the back of his neck.
One minute she's looking at him, his uncomfortable stance glaring, the next found her gripping the collar of his shirt, dragging his mouth down to meet hers. It was like something sparked between them, two pieces of flint coming together. The heady rush made her press herself closer to him and she almost moaned when he placed one jean-clad thigh in between her legs. She came up for air and Dean wound his arms around her, one calloused hand tracing up her tank top to trace mocha skin.
What are you doing?
'Shit,' she whispered as Dean found that spot under her jaw that made her toes curl.
What are you doing?
'Stop. Stop,' Santana breathed out, pushing Dean away. The older Winchester stared at her, pupils dilated and lips swollen. 'That shouldn't have happened.'
Dean didn't say a word.
'Just forget that happened alright?' She murmured, brushing by him. 'It's been a fucking emotional day.'
If Santana wasn't so caught up in her thoughts, she would have noticed Dean staring at her back, running a hand through his hair as his jaw clenched.
'Yeah goodnight,' Dean muttered, clicking off the television and throwing himself onto the couch.
The next morning came too soon for either of them. Santana gave him coffee, which Dean drank in silence. Barely a word was said as they took the short drive back to the Roadhouse.
'Thanks,' Santana told him as she got out of the passenger seat, sunglasses hiding her eyes from his view.
Dean wasn't entirely sure what she was thanking him for, but watching her hips sway he decided that it didn't matter.
Maybe it was time he showed her what a real man was like.