Should he go to her?

Should he just let her go?

Questions shot off the walls of his mind, racking his brain as he paced in the alleyway after having a row with a few trashcans in a frustrated fit. She'd felt so soft, so right in his arms but of course he had to fuck it all up. He'd never really been the jealous type, he'd always prided himself on knowing when to let go and when to walk away. Only this time she had come into his life, colliding into him like a taxi cab and then telling him off for being blind. She had spunk, something not many people had. She had fight. He admired that almost more than anything in the world.

His past wasn't much of a secret, lord knows every Wikipedia website displayed all of his dirty laundry out for the world to see. He couldn't say he had a clean wrestling record either, hell everything about him was down right dirty. He was so impure and she was so…

His fingers raked through his brown hair, disheveling it further and causing some of it to fall in his face. He licked his lips quickly, tongue darting out like a snake as his bottom lip curled in, leaving his mouth agape. He panted, shoulders heaving as he fell on his rear, elbows propping up on his bent knees. His blue eyes searching the filthy, garbage ridden alleyway. In front of him, spray painted on the brick wall of the neighboring building, all in white, was a dancer. Her right leg all the way up in the air, her foot pointed towards the sky and her back arched almost unnaturally with her hair and arms hanging limply but elegantly I'm the air.

"Unbelievable." He scoffed, his stubble surrounded lips curling in an exasperated smile. He rested his head on the brick wall behind him. He could hear the racket from the bar, music and chatter blaring through the air. He was being surrounded by her; her scent, her touch, her image. Everything. His head swam as madness erupted, something snapping in his asylum mind. He'd been behind those bars before clad in his own personal hug–me–self jacket. He wasn't known as the Lunatic Fringe for no reason, after all. He pushed himself off the ground, his fingers twitching and fiddling with the hem of his jacket sleeve as he made his way to the end of the alleyway, stopping and hunching his shoulders. He looked left and right before turning in the direction of her home. He'd walked farther than this, he decided. He was going to tell her off, he told himself it couldn't wait.

He chewed on the inside of his cheek, easily ignoring the ringing of his phone. The voices were talking, telling him to sick her down and show her how crazy he could be. How crazy she made him be. It was wild! He'd barely even known her for two days but he couldn't help but feel drawn to her. There was something about her, something he hadn't had in a while…

"Dean? Dean!" Seth called out, Roman yipping in the background. Dean waved them off, not bothered by their confused stares. He could care less about drinking, he'd just wanted to see how she interacted with his group, his family. He never really had a family. Or, at least not a very good family. He had to break it to her, had to tell her it would never work. She wasn't broken and he— well he was shattered.

She had already shed her clothes as soon as she walked in the door. Her eyes wet with tears, the tops of her legs riddled with small, angry scars. Some newer than most. All caused by her simple addiction. She had started not long after Christine was hospitalized, her life had gone down the drain rather quickly. Too quickly for her liking. She let her long hair down, starting her shower and stepping in, welcoming the cold water as it beat down on her, washing the smell of cigarettes and him away. Not that she really wanted his scent to leave her just yet, she hadn't had a relationship in a while, let alone sex. She sank down onto the tub floor, her arms hugging her knees to her chest tightly. She looked at her Irish Tree shower curtain. The sound of the water against the curtain reminding her of the rain as it hit the hospital window as she sat with Christine, stroking her hair and telling her a medieval story.

"She sat in a golden gown, dressed for love and owned by vow." She began, running her fingers softly through Christine's soft hair, glancing over her half sleeping form. The monitors beeped loudly. "the breeze swept her hair as the dragon met her stare. 'You are mine, promised by your Knight. You are mine!'" Auburn watched the saline drip into her iv drop line. Her heart breaking as she watched Christine's far away gaze slowly becoming covered by heavy lids. She licked her lips, trying to distract herself from the dark thoughts that crept up on her. "She clutched her robe to her chest, tears disguised by fire in her eyes. The Dragon watched her dark resolve, bowed its head and spoke to her, spoke these words: 'Come now, we will fly. As you will it, your Knight will die.' She shook her head and turned away. 'He shall not suffer like I, this day—'" "My love does stay." Christine's raspy, chocked voice breathed out. She gave a single, weak chuckle and Auburn's fingers faltered. "What?" "You could have done better than retelling me a story that was written to be a song," Christine smiled, her eyes closing, her lids red and dark. Auburn returned her weak smile, rolling her eyes. "I thought it was your favorite?" "Well yeah, when Sharm sings it. But, hey. You did way better than my mom, haha." She tried joking before a harsh cough took her. Auburn sat her up, rubbing her back and doing her best to disguise her heartbroken features. She never wanted this day to come. She was terrified of it. Her hands trembled violently, seeing her friends skin pale and the heart monitor begin to squeal in warning. Something was wrong. Christine gasped, hungry for air and unable to relinquish that need. Auburn leapt into action, flinging the door open. "I need a doctor! She can't breathe!" She cried out, seeing a few nurses running at her with a doctor pushing passed her. She was ushered out, listening to the panicked barks as they rushed to save her friends life.

She didn't even feel the bite of the blade as it sunk into the soft, welcoming flesh of her thigh. Blood trickled down, becoming diluted by the now hot water. She didn't hear see the amount of scars she was forcing on herself as she cut through previous scars, her emotions numbed as she became lost in her own world. It wasn't long before she sat in a puddle of her own blood. She was only pulled out of her daze by the sound of knocking. She shook her head, blinking out of her flashback and stated down at her leg, hissing a curse. She stood carefully, inwardly counting the nine slashes going down the inside of her thigh. She hid her blade next to her shaving razors and climbed out, gripping a black, dry wash cloth and pressed it firmly to her cuts. Blood oozed, soaking the fabric. The knocks continued.

"J–just a minute!" She called out, wrapping herself in a towel after shutting her water off. She ran into her room, pressing some gauze and a wrapped her leg sloppily. It would have to do until she could get rid of her company. She threw on some loose sweat pants and a quick sports bra and black crop top. She threw her hair up in a messy bun, intent on finishing her shower as soon as she was able to.

She opened the door, seeing a moppy headed Dean glowering at her through dark, wet strands of hair. One arm propping himself up on the door frame, one leg bouncing almost violently, making his body shake. He pursed his lips, beginning to angrily pant. She raised her eyebrow at him, not sure if she should just shut the door in his face or welcome him in. She jumped as he stood up almost straight in a quick, fluid move.

"You. Who the do you think you are?" He growled, his deep voice becoming gravelly. She took a step back.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"You think you can just stomp on into my life, yell at me, throw drinks in my face, dance with me and then leave me hanging? You think you can just get in my head and just screw with me? Make your mark?" He rambled on, pushing his way into her apartment and tapping his temple with his finger. She shook her head, completely lost. She began to feel warm, sticky liquid running down her leg and swallowed nervously.

"Dean, what are you talking—" she was cut off abruptly by his finger smashing into her lips.

"Shshshsh," he quickly hushed her. She felt her pants leg sticking to her. "It's not going to work, do you understand me?"

"Yeah, sure, whatever. Can you excuse me, please?" She ran to her bathroom, leaving little foot prints behind. Dean stared down at them, his head cocking to the side. Was that blood? He shut the door, slowly making his way to her bathroom. He could hear her cursing loudly. For a moment, hearing her flustered was almost worth the walk in the rain.

"Dean?" She called out, sounding completely mortified.

"What?"

"I hate to ask this, but I really need another pair if pants. They are in my room, in the bottom drawer of my dresser. Just get me a pair please?"

Dean's ears perked, a smirk spreading on his face. He hadn't even kissed her yet and she was already telling him to go into her room. He crossed his arms over his chest.

"What's in it for me?"

"Dean, please!" She groaned loudly. He chuckled to himself, clearly amused. He assumed she had just started her cycle, not really caring or wanting to bug her about it. He did as she asked, walking into her room and shuffled through her drawer. For a girl she didn't really have much. He settled for some shorts, grabbing her a pair of pink, silky and laced up underwear as well, fingering she probably needed a new pair. He walked over to the bathroom, knocking once and handing her the clothes. She thanked him softly through the crack in the door. He turned, giving her privacy which she was thankful for. She had finally bandaged her cuts up correctly, though they were deeper than her liking. She sighed, grimacing at the thought of him rummaging through her underwear drawer and cringed even harder once she saw her dance shorts. He'd see her bandage. She sighed heavily, groaning at her luck before discarding her dirtied clothes in the hamper after getting dressed. She met his shocked gaze, his frantic and wild eyes dulling to blue orbs of concern. He got closer to her, eyeing her carefully. He'd seen this before, he knew what happened. There was too much blood leaking through the gauze and bandage for him to believe that it was just a shaving incident. That, plus the scars.

"Yes, Dean? What did you want?" She murmured impatiently, her hands fidgeting over her exposed thighs. He stopped inches from her, looking around her apartment before glancing back at her.

"I'm staying here tonight." He said simply, as if it were a fact. She gave him and incredulous look.

"Excuse me? Who the hell are you to just invite yourself into my apartment?"

"It's raining. You wouldn't really throw me out in the rain, would you?"

"I mean you walking over here in it just fine…" she murmured. Dean feigned offense, and nestled onto her small sofa.

"Night." He said, stretching out. She watched him, amazed at his boldness before turning and gathering some supplies for him. She couldn't have him stinking her apartment up. She looked down, glaring down at the bloody foot prints that rested on the sofa and decided she'd have to tackle them first. This was going to be a rough night.