Chapter 5: Of the Female Persuasion
In the aftermath of hunts that do not go well, that leave him battered and exhausted, Eir can reach right into him and set about her work without much subtlety. He downs whiskey and she works efficiently beneath the alcoholic haze. If his injuries are severe and he drinks enough, she risks tending to him huddled in the back seat of his car or sprawled on the bed in his motel room. She loves the occasions when he passes out drunk and she can immerse herself in his beautiful energy, pretending for a while that he has welcomed her in. More often he becomes more alert as he heals and she has to battle her skittishness long enough to be sure he is well before she flees.
It's easier when he self-medicates in the bars, perception getting hazy and soft-edged after the first four or five rounds. The challenge is to gage how much she can repair before his eyes suddenly clear and he searches his surroundings for what is not quite right. Sometimes she is so lost in the labyrinth that she doesn't feel the shift coming. There's an instant of mutual panic as his head comes sharply up and she goes completely still within him. For a long, suspended moment his awareness eddies around her – then his latest companion touches his hand and murmurs in his ear, and Eir eases away.
Eir counts on the women to help her patch up the trickier damage. Dean only suspects that alcohol washes away the need for stitches and surgery, but he is dead certain that orgasm is a cure-all. It goes beyond losing oneself in physical pleasure to forget for a few hours; Eir can carry away the worst of his trauma if she has the right ingredients on hand. She can't fix grief and heartache, but some post-traumatic stress is chemically based and she can shift that, at least. The brassy women who scratch his itch are fine for the easy stuff, but for injuries beyond the physical she requires a more powerful tool. She scours the bar for softer, more sympathetic types, the ones who need to make some kind of emotional connection before hopping into bed. If she can procure just the right amount of flirtation and sympathy without neediness, he'll open...well, not like a book. He never shares much, but he might tell them a line or two that approaches truth and provides the opening Eir needs to smooth away some of the wretchedness he's cradling inside. The key is his humility; the most effective tool is the woman he doesn't believe he deserves.
Eir puzzles over the paradox. He knows he's charismatic and pleasing to look at, and he certainly knows all the right ways to touch a woman, but the self-image Dean carries in his head is uglier and grimier than anyone else can see. Despite his impressive scorecard he's still surprised and grateful when someone accepts his touch.
Dean Winchester worships women. Truly worships their bodies; fills his vision with their beauty, breathes them in, blesses every inch of them with his touch, loses himself in their depths. He leaves each one behind almost as easily as he lures her in, but for the few hours in between he is unreservedly hers. Watching him, Eir feels the aching loss of prayers and offerings that petered out centuries ago. She remembers what it felt like to be so revered. The desire to take a tribute is intense; she suspects it will be her undoing.