Chapter

Chapter.

Sara awoke suddenly, confusion swamping her senses as she spied the bright sunlight pouring into the room. Her room, she thought as she squinted toward her nightstand where her glasses rested. Even after she slipped on the dark frames and the room came into focus, she still couldn't seem to shake the feeling that something was off.

It didn't help that she was in bed in what was obviously the middle of the day, a glance at the clock confirmed it was three in the afternoon. Adding to her uncertainty was the fact that she seemed to be naked and her foot had just brushed up a decidedly male leg. For a moment, just one tiny little moment, Sara held herself completely still as she fought down the urge to scream.

Luckily, the shot of adrenaline that raced through her also blew away the sleep induced fog that had been muddling up her thoughts. "Dean," she breathed as she rolled over, her eyes raking in every inch of the still sleeping hunter.

At the sight of the younger man, asleep on his stomach, one hand tucked under a pillow, Sara blinked back her tears, willing herself not to cry. She had shed enough tears over the last six months to last a lifetime. From here on out she was determined to enjoy the moment, rather than worry about what had come before. Dean was here, for the moment, for the day or for the next week, he was here. It would be enough.

The urge to stare was one she didn't bother to deny. She was always so surprised over how much younger the tough as nails hunter looked when sleeping. His face was as familiar to her, as her own was. The long dark lashes that brushed his cheeks, the smattering of freckles that dusted his skin, and his full lips all combined, left her breathless more often than not.

Tired beyond belief, but certain she would be unable to sleep again, Sara decided to get up. Though the stitches in her back pulled, she was fairly certain that her earlier activities with Dean hadn't done any harm. He'd been extremely inventive when it came to making sure she didn't tear open any of the wounds.

Sara eased back the covers, as she slowly inched her way across the bed. The last thing she wanted was to wake Dean, he'd had a lot less sleep over the last six days than she had. He deserved some pampering and that included sleeping as long as he needed. When he'd first arrived back in town, she'd been concerned with just how worn out and bone tired he and Sammy had looked. Spending the week tied to her hospital bed hadn't helped any.

As she slipped into her robe, Sara took one last longing look at the bed and its occupant before she headed for the hall. She was on the mend, and the Impala was up and running again that meant the Winchesters would be back on the road sooner than later. That gave her only a limited amount of time to spoil them rotten before they were back to meals cooked in microwave's at the nearest mini-mart. Determined to start today, Sara took a deep breath and headed for the kitchen.

888

Dean felt her lack of presence immediately upon awaking. Before panic could take over, sending him streaking through the house in search of her, a cup of coffee sitting on the nightstand caught his eye. He just stared at that cup for the longest time, before he finally reached out and picked it up. It was still warm.

He couldn't count the number of times he'd awoken to find that mug, always the same deep green one, sitting by the bed, tempting him with the smell of coffee. Suddenly, the last little bit of tension that he'd been carrying around seemed to disappear. Things would never be easy between the two of them. Hell, each one of them were too stubborn for it to be all smooth sailing, but, the sight of that cup just seemed to him to be a promise of sorts.

As he relished a sip of the dark, bitter brew he eased his palm over his face, itching at the beard that graced his jaw. He needed a haircut, a shower and a shave, though not necessarily in that order. The haircut he could do little about for the moment, but if memory served him he might just be able to take care of the two other items on his list with little trouble.

Caffeine running hot through his veins, Dean climbed out of bed. With the glass still clutched in his hand, he began stretching trying to ease the muscles that had tightened up on him over night. With his feet planted slightly apart, he held his cup in his right hand and tucked it under his left. With a slight groan he pulled his bent arm toward him, stretching the muscles in his left.

Once he'd stretched and flexed his left arm he moved onto his right, using a bit more caution so he didn't put too much pressure on the stitches in his shoulder. After another hit on the cup he still held in his hand he began to twist, working the muscles in both his back and his abs. Sara often liked to tease about dating a younger man, but on some days Dean couldn't help but feel as if he were old beyond his years.

With a slightly lighter spring in his step, Dean headed for the closet, the second shelf from the ceiling his destination. There as he'd hoped was a duffle he'd left behind ages ago. Not wanting to give the wrong impression, Dean when at the Powers always made sure he was back in his bed in the downstairs room by the time the household stirred. Not wanting to get caught leaving Sara's bedroom in the same clothes he'd worn the night before he'd taken to always keeping a change of clothes and a bag of toiletries in the closet.

Well out of sight of any prying eyes, Dean was thankful to find it still sat there. He had been half-afraid that after their split Sara would have dumped everything out in a fit of anger. He should have known better. Regardless of their personal situation, Sara would never have thrown the gear out just in case it was someday needed.

With one last sip of coffee, Dean entered the bathroom and firmly shut the door.

888

"Is that bacon," Sam asked as he entered the kitchen, his long slim fingers darting toward the plate piled high with strips of the salty meat.

His hand only made it half-way before it was slapped down. "Where've you two been," Sara asked as she turned from the stove, a spatula in one hand.

"Taking care of a couple 'a things. We've been back for a while, I was working on the van and Sam here was doing a bit of nosing around on that computer of his," Bobby answered as he elbowed past Sam and picked up a piece of bacon.

"What's wrong with the van," Sara asked a hint of blush creeping up her cheeks at the idea that Bobby and Sam had been home the whole time.

"Nothin's wrong and as long as you take care of it nothing will go wrong. I was just doing a bit of maintenance."

"Where's Dean?" Sam asked as he made another play for the plate that rested on the counter-top.

This time Sara waved the spatula with an irritated sigh, but didn't strike. She'd forgotten just how single-minded Sam could become when faced with a plate of bacon. "In the shower from the sound of things," she replied as she turned back to the stove and carefully flipped the squares of French toast on the griddle before her.

"I just came from there…" Sam said, his voice trailing off as he registered her words.

As a huge grin broke across the younger man's face, Sara didn't bother holding back with the spatula. Quick as a flash she whacked him in the arm, her face now blazing red.

"You wanna tell me what put that stupid grin on your face, Sammy boy?" Dean questioned as he stepped into the kitchen.

Sara turned from the stove and only just managed to keep her jaw from dropping open. There Dean stood, his legs clad in an old pair of jeans, his feet every bit as bare as his chest as he ran a hand through his short wet hair. Clean shaven and looking better than any man had a right to look, Sara couldn't have dragged her gaze from him if she'd wanted. Truth be told, she definitely didn't want to.

"You forget something, Dean?" Bobby growled as he reached in for another piece of bacon.

Dean ignored the question as he gave Sara an appraising once over, taking in her faded jeans and tank top, her long hair twisted up into a careless bun.

"How's the back?" Dean questioned as he began to stalk across the room, his intent clear.

Sara swallowed thickly and shrugged, it was really the only thing she could manage for a moment. As he neared she felt her knees go weak, and her suddenly boneless hand dropped the spatula. It never even got close to the floor. One second it was falling and the next a large brown hand snapped out to grab it out of mid air.

Dean held the utensil out to her, his lazy grin only serving to bring attention to the heat in his gaze. "Think you dropped this," Dean growled as he stepped even closer.

"I, uh, left something in the garage, I'm gonna go get it. Sam a little help here?" Bobby said as he watched Sara and Dean interact.

"I'm good here," was Sam's reply.

Trapped as she was by the intensity in Dean's eyes, Sara couldn't help the grin that spread over her features as she heard a sharp smack, and Sam's cry of outrage as the two hunters left the kitchen.

Confident that they were now alone, thanks to Bobby, bless his heart, Sara reached out and gently placed one hand over Dean's heart. "How's the shoulder?"

Dean captured her hand with his own, his rough fingertips gliding gently over the back of her hand as he held it tight to his chest. "I'm fine. What I asked is how're you doing?"

Already aware that she'd never be known for her coolness, Sara let loose the smile that had been threatening ever since she'd awoken. "I'm better than I have been in a long time," She assured Dean as she inched even closer.

With an answering grin, Dean leaned forward and pressed his forehead to hers. Eyes closed, they stood like that for the longest time, each savoring the closeness. At last Dean said, "You're smoking."

Sara lifted her heavy lids and sent him a wink. "You're looking pretty hot yourself."

The burst of laughter that rang through the kitchen seemed so real and right that Sara could only stand staring up at him a stupid grin gracing her features.

"I meant," he started as he firmly gripped her shoulders and shifted her out of the way, "whatever's in the pan is smoking."

"Damnit," Sara cried as she turned to see that Dean was right. The four slices of egg-dipped bread were now charred beyond saving.

"No worries," Dean assured her as he gave her a small slap on the ass. "You get, go pour us a cup of coffee and find me a shirt. I'll finish up here."

Normally the highhandedness would have at least earned the younger man a frown, but today she found too much pleasure in watching Dean make his way around her kitchen as he set some new slices of bread to cook. As she refilled the mug he'd brought down, and she fixed herself a new cup, she couldn't stop her gaze from darting toward him every two minutes. She would have been embarrassed with her infatuation if it wasn't for the fact that nine times out of ten he was staring just as hard at her. Again and again they shared a grin, and twice, Dean dropped the spatula and came to corner her for a deep and lingering kiss.

At last, Dean had finished off the bread and had managed to set out all the food Sara had made. As he stood by her side, looking down at the smorgasbord of food she'd made Dean teased, "You do know that we eat when we're not here right."

Sara ran a hand down his side, her fingers trailing lightly over the ribs she could easily feel and frowned, "Yeah well I know you can, I just question if you do."

Dean acknowledged her worry with a kiss to the top of her head and then announced, "I'm gonna grab my shirt and yell for the guys." He was halfway to his room, when he turned, one brow lifted in question. "Hey I could have sworn I had a shirt in that duffle in your room, any clue where it got too?"

Intent on avoiding his gaze, Sara fussed with the plates that lined the table, as he continued to stand their obviously waiting for an answer she at last confessed, "I've been using it as a nightshirt."

The self-satisfied smirk on Dean's face was as familiar as his earlier laughter and every bit as welcome. "Oh, just go get dressed. Food's getting cold," She added as she wrenched her eyes from the sight of him standing in the doorway, one foot resting on the other.

888

"Ah, Sara that was a meal to remember," Bobby said as he pushed his plate away and eased back his seat.

Sara pushed away the compliment, "It was nothing, just a bit of breakfast. It was all I could scrounge up on such short notice."

Dean's careful gaze skimmed over the empty plates that once held, scrambled eggs, French toast, pancakes, an assortment of fresh fruit, toast, and the coveted bacon. "It was delicious," he assured her.

Sara grinned pleasure lighting up her face at his compliment. Dean couldn't ignore the bolt of lust that pierced him at her smile. It was already five in the evening, and he could feel time slipping away from them. Tomorrow would herald the arrival of the kids and then all too soon he and Sam would be packing their bags. Not wanting to waste a minute of their time together, Dean sent his brother an entreating look.

Sam always quick to the punch gave a slight nod and began to gather up the plates in front of him. "You guys cooked, I got clean-up."

"Works for me," Dean said as he shot a grateful look toward his baby brother.

"Now hold on a minute, we got things to discuss before everyone scatters," Bobby said, his brow furrowing as he tried to rescue his half-filled coffee cup from Sam. "I was drinking that, damnit," the older hunter cried out as Sam won the tug-of-war.

"We'll talk later, Bobby," Dean said as he stood and held his hand out to Sara.

In that moment he had no problem spotting the indecision on Sara's face. Part of her desperately wanted to go with him. To head back upstairs and pretend nothing else existed. The other part of her, the part that was her conscious wouldn't let her. "We should talk," she said easing back into her seat.

Dean shot his brother a frustrated look, but knew there'd be no help from that quarter when Sam dropped into the chair next to Bobby. "Things aren't as bad as we thought, Dean," Sam offered obviously trying to ease his brother's mind.

Out numbered, Dean sank into the chair next to Sara and eased close. So close his knee brushed her thigh and he was able to reach out and grip on of her hands. "What's that mean," he asked giving into the inevitable.

"It means that Greg isn't dead," Bobby said not bothering to beat around the bush.

Dean did a double take. "Excuse me," he asked his surprised gaze shooting towards his brother.

"Brian," Sara gasped as she stood, nearly knocking her chair over in the process.

Sam held up a hand, his hazel eyes reflecting his pity. "No, Brian was no mirage. We saw him Sara there's no doubt that he's gone."

Wiping the tears that were streaming down her cheeks, Sara nodded and sat in the chair that Dean pushed her into. He welcomed her strong grip, he had no doubt she was trying to ground herself, to keep from giving into the pain that her friends death caused.

"But, Greg?" Dean asked as he looked to Sam for confirmation.

"Was a glamour."

At the startled looks both Dean and Sara sent Sam, the younger man clarified. "I don't mean that he doesn't exist or that he wasn't in this house several times, but, the body in the shed. That was a mirage. Bobby figures the vampire-fairy was trying to break Sara for good. Stumbling over what appeared to be Greg's dead body, would have done the trick."

Dean nodded in understanding. "It's a good thing then that we didn't tell her."

"You saw his corpse?"

The brittle sound of Sara's voice was Dean's first clue that she was upset. Apparently Sam wasn't quite as up to date in Sara-speak. "Yeah, we figured you had enough to deal with we didn't want to upset you."

Even Bobby groaned at that reply. Dean, well, he could actually see his evening going to hell in one fell swoop. "Sam," Dean said intent on getting his brother to shut up. He then reached out, grasped Sara's chin, and turned her head, getting her attention. "We were going to tell you, but when we returned to the room, you were even worse. I didn't want to risk you growing even weaker."

At last with a nod, Sara nodded. "I understand. What about it's lair? Do you have to destroy it?"

Sam shook his head and Bobby reassured her, "Nah, it can't come back."

"Bobby also extended the protection circle that encloses the house. It goes clear into the woods now," Sam said the words for Sara but his eyes lingered on Dean.

Dean gave a nod of thanks to the grizzled hunter and asked, "That it, we're good?"

Sam and Bobby exchanged glances for a moment before Sam turned toward Dean at last. "Yeah, I think that's all."

"Good," Dean said as he made a show of standing and stretching, his back still twinged every now and again. Confident that no one was expecting it, Dean faced Sam and threw out, "So, Sam? What'd you do to the car?"

Sara who'd been about to stand froze, her eyes taking a decidedly caught in the headlights look.

Sam's stuttered, "What?" wasn't much more reassuring.

Dean crossed his arms and gave his little brother his very best glare. Though he had his suspicions, he wasn't going to rest until Sam caved and confessed. Then he was gonna beat the crap out of the youngest Winchester.

"Uh, I'm heading to your folks, Sara, your mom invited me to dinner. I'll catch y'all later," Bobby said as he stood. It was obvious the grey haired hunter knew when to cut and run.

"More dinner," Dean questioned his voice showing he harbored no anger toward the older hunter.

Bobby tilted his cap back a bit and sent Dean a grin, "Hey, if someone's cooking it, I'm gonna eat it. Catch you on the flipside."

With these words Bobby departed leaving the threesome alone. As soon as Bobby left the room, Dean rearranged his features and bit out, "Confession's good for the soul, Sammy, let's hear it."

So focused was he on his squirming brother, that Dean never noticed the broadside hit that Sara swung his way.

"Dean," she all but sighed, her breasts brushing against his arm as she rose up on her tiptoes to murmur in his ear.

At her breathy whisper, all thoughts fled Dean's mind. As stood staring at the widow, his jaw hanging open, she reached out, grabbed his hand and tugged. Sam was forgotten, the car was forgotten, hell, for a moment he wasn't even sure that he could remember how to breathe. Then as Sara dropped his hand and sashayed into the living room, Dean let loose a whoop and moved up behind her. With a laugh, he swung her into his arms and nearly ran up the steps.

888

Sam was caught, there was no getting free of the trap he was in. He only wished he could, hell, gnawing off his own leg seemed like a worthy exchange for having to tell his brother what he'd done. As he opened his mouth unsure of what he'd say, he noticed Sara suddenly go into motion.

As he stood slack-jawed with shock, the widow raised herself up on her tip-toes, brushing against Dean in a way that left little doubt as to what she wanted. Then in a voice too low for Sam to hear, she whispered something in his brother's ear and grinned.

Sam was certain he'd never seen his brother shift focus quite so fast. One moment he was glaring daggers at Sam and the next he'd swooped Sara into his arms and was heading for the stairs just as fast as he could manage.

As the realization sank in that he'd earned a reprieve for the moment, Sam couldn't help but feel as if a miracle had happened. He'd managed to avoid confessing and he'd gotten to keep all his limbs, all in all a banner day in Sam's book.

Happy to earn his keep by doing the dishes, Sam began straightening up, his mind already on which of Sara's latest novels he'd read as he kept big Jack company in the spare bedroom.

888

"Looking good there old man," Dean said as he patted the stubbly fur on Jack's broad back. It had been nearly two weeks since Jack had battled the Anchanchu and won. The big dog was finally starting to return to normal. Though his leg was still on the mend, he was having no problem getting around on his three good legs. As an added benefit, his other wounds had healed and the fur that had been shaved off had even begun to grow back.

With a low, happy, growl, the dog leaned against Dean his soulful brown eyes staring up at Dean's with devotion. Dean scratched behind his soft brown ear and reassured him, "We'll be back. No need to get all teary eyed."

"I'll cry if I want," Sara called from behind Dean.

Dean turned toward the widow as she stepped from the interior of the garage and grinned. She looked terrific and he had to work hard to convince himself that he could leave. Leave and come back was the litany that he kept repeating to himself. It was the come back part that mattered the most.

Without thought, he opened his arms and embraced her hard. As much as he didn't want to leave her, he actually felt good, he felt right, normal even. "I'll come back to you as soon as I can," he whispered the promise even as he tightened his hold.

Sara returned the fierce embrace and replied, "Just promise to watch out for each other."

With a nod and one last kiss, Dean stepped back, releasing his hold on her. "Right back atcha, I don't want to come home and find out something's stalking you again."

Sara punched him lightly in the gut, smiling at the exaggerated way he held his stomach and waved him toward the car and Sam.

Goodbyes said and done, Dean headed for the Impala. Once he was by the car, he took a moment to look over it's gleaming body. The midnight black paint shimmered in the early morning light, the coat of wax he'd so lovingly applied making it shine even more than normal. As he walked around the vehicle one hand lightly trailing on the paint, he approached Sam's side of the car.

With an easygoing grin, Dean snapped the passenger side door closed and leaned back, careful not to scratch the surface he'd spent so many hours on. Sam was headed his way, his bags still in his hands when he seemed to notice Dean leaning against the right side of the car. There it was, thought Dean, as he stared hard, the little tic in the corner of Sam's right eye. The one that said the boy was keeping secrets.

"What'cha doing, Sam?" Dean questioned his brother.

Sam shook his head, a nervous grin pulling at his lips. "Nothing, just gonna load up. We ready to go?"

Dean began to slowly roll up the sleeves of his flannel before answering. "I'm ready to go, you on the other hand ain't getting in my car."

With those few words, Sam's face collapsed as he looked desperately toward Sara for help. Dean called his brother's attention back to him. "What'd you do to my car, Sam?"

Sam's shaggy head dropped in shame and he mumbled something softly.

Dean held one hand to his ear and asked, "Could you repeat that, I didn't quite hear you."

"I slashed the Impala's tires." This time his confession was loud and clear.

Despite the fact that he'd guessed that little tidbit on his own, Dean still felt a red hot anger pulse through him at his brother's admission. "You know I ought to clock you one."

Pride stiffened Sam's spine as he tilted his head slightly back providing Dean with a perfect target. "You're right, hit me."

Dean's hand balled into a fist and he even went so far as to draw it back before he at last blew out a breath and dropped his fisted hand. He just couldn't do it, that didn't mean however that he couldn't make his brother suffer, just a bit.

"Tuck your chin in, kid. I'm not gonna hit you. You already owed me one for clocking you in the hospital. What I am gonna do is insist you apologize."

At his words, a weight seemed to be lifted from Sam's lanky frame. The younger hunter visibly relaxed, looking more at ease than he had in days. Without hesitation Sam offered, "I'm really sorry, Dean. I just didn't want to leave without making sure she was alright and you were so set on leaving."

Dean nodded, and replied, "I didn't mean apologize to me, Sam. I meant you need to apologize to her."

Sam stared at his brother long and hard before sending a confused glance toward Sara who was now obviously biting back a laugh. "Sara, but I don't—"

"Not Sara," Dean said firmly as he gave the black hood a loving pat and glanced pointedly toward the car.

So loud was Sam's groan, Dean was sure that people in Philadelphia probably heard it. "Yes, Samantha, it wasn't me you stabbed with a knife. If you wanna ride in her again, then you need to apologize."

Sam put his hands on his hips and rolled his eyes toward Sara. "Can you believe this? It's your ass we were saving you ought to be the one apologizing instead of laughing."

Much to Dean's delight Sara simply waved one hand and began to laugh even harder.

Sam now certain that Sara wouldn't interfere approached the black and chrome machine, the flush of embarrassment tinting his cheeks pink. "'msrry," Sam muttered.

Dean put a hand to his ear and again mimed, "I'm sorry what was that?"

"I'M SORRY!" Sam shouted his face now bright with embarrassment.

Dean shook his head, his own enjoyment of Sam's predicament growing by the minute. "Sam, Sam, Sam, you call that an apology?"

Cornered as only Dean could corner him, Sam at last gave up the fight. To the car he said, "I'm very sorry I slashed your tires." To Dean he said, "You're a dickhead."

With these words he headed for the trunk to stow his gear. Dean holding his side to ease the ache his laughter had wrought turned toward Sara and walked forward.

"You got way too much enjoyment out of making him squirm," Sara said as she eased her arm around his waist and laid her head on his shoulder for just one minute.

"Dean, Sam, don't leave yet," a shrill voice called just as two blurs darted from the back of the house at full steam. The smaller darker bit of body slammed hard into Dean his thin arms wrapping themselves tight around the older man's waist. The fairer headed straight for Sam, nearly knocking the tall hunter off his feet.

"You promised lots of pictures."

"…and when you get back we're gonna…" the kids shouted each other one striving to be heard over the other.

"Boys!" Sam and Dean shouted in unison.

Immediately two sets of eyes stared up at the hunters, one set the brightest of blue and the other a rich chocolate brown.

"Now," Dean said as he laid a hand on Mike's shoulder. "We've got out orders, we know what to do. What you need to do is listen to your Mom and take care of the household. You two are the men in the family till we get back."

Steel seemed to stiffen each sturdy body as the boys nodded solemnly at Dean's words. "We will," they answered in unison. So serious were they that Dean actually expected to be saluted.

"I a man, I a man, Dee," a slightly higher pitched voice called out.

Dean glanced up to see Jess running pell-mell across the driveway her intention clear. She was dressed in her finest princess dress, complete with a fuzzy pink tiara and a wand. Without hesitation, Dean strode toward her, meeting her halfway, swooped her into his arms, and swung her wide.

As he at last came to a halt, she hung breathless in his arms, her tiny rosebud mouth wide with laughter, and her big blue eyes twinkling in merriment. "Hey there princess," he said as he squeezed her hard enough to draw another giggle.

"I a man," she insisted, her chubby little hands tapping his chest for emphasis.

Dean shook his head and turned serious. "Nope you are a beautiful young lady. Your job is to keep your mother happy. Can you do that?"

Jess turned serious and she nodded, "I can do that, she likes to play princess with me. She's the evil queen."

"She can at times be an evil queen," Dean agreed, tossing a wink at an indigent looking Sara.

Two small hands reached up and clasped his cheeks drawing his face back to stare at Jess once more. "We'll wait for you," the little girl assured him as she dropped a tiny kiss on his nose.

"Always," he heard Sara whisper as she stepped forward to take the little girl from his embrace.

Dean nodded and stepped back, distancing himself from the Powers family. With a last wave to Sara and the kids, he passed his brother and headed for the drivers side door. Within minutes Sam was safely ensconced in the passenger seat and Dean could feel the familiar growl of the engine rumbling through the big car. "Ready?" he questioned Sam as he dropped the car into gear.

"Good to go," Sam replied as he tapped the folder he held in his hands.

"Let's roll," Dean said, his gaze drifting to the rearview mirror.

The End.