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His gaze was fixed on the plate in front of his nose while he was sitting there, fork and knife in hands and a glass of self-made lemonade right there beside his plate. On his plate was a half eaten piece of roast beef and some broccoli and potatoes.
He reached the stairs to the porch ot the big, white painted house and... stopped. Actually his feet stopped on their own accord. His gaze roamed, wandering over the neatly trimmed, green lawn in front of the house, over the tidy porch to the bright white facade and back down to the front door, where Roman was waiting for him with in question raised eyebrows.
"Dean? You coming?"
A good question.
"I, uhm..."
... am not sure. It wasn't a big deal, was it? Going into that house? Meet Roman's parents? Spend some time with Roman and being part of a happy family dinner?
"Do you want some more roast beef, Dean?" a light voice asked, pulling him out of his thoughts for a second.
"Uhm, yeah," he replied, gazing up to Roman's mother.
He was met by a warm smile. Another piece of roast beef was placed on his plate. A hand squeezed his shoulder gently.
"Thanks, ma'am," Dean smiled back.
Or rather he brought something that came close to a smile to his lips. Smiling jarred the cuts in his lips and he was still... a bit overwhelmed from all the family that happened here. He just wasn't used to it and it confused him a bit, also left him a little insecure. It was far from being familiar. It all.
His eyes jumped over to Roman, who gazed right back at him with some kind of an everything is okay expression. And maybe there was also a tad you're doing good lying in it. A faint but soft smile was there on those lush lips.
"What's wrong?" Roman asked, walking back over to him.
The grey eyes roamed his face in what had become a familiar scrutiny.
"What if your parents, ya know, don't want me here?"
Slight confusion showed up on the other man's face as he took the few steps down to where Dean was standing glued to the spot.
"Why shouldn't they?"
With a barely audible sigh he looked down at himself or rather at his arms which were covered with a longsleeve... but the bruises on his face were visible. The only way to cover those would have been to put a paper bag over his head with two holes to peek through, but that would have looked pretty silly actually...
"They are not blind, Roman, are they?"
"Actually, not, they're not." A hand settled on the back of his neck and wasn't it funny that after shying away from any kind of touches for so long now, that he had become used to Roman's tactile nature in such a short time? "Everything is okay, Dean. Stop worrying. I know they'll love you."
There was a sharp sting in his guts at that last sentence and whether Roman had noticed that his choice of words hadn't been the best or if he simply read it on Dean's face... however, he mumbled a sorry.
"Don't worry, Ro," he murmured, looking back up to his friend. "But they'll see the bruises and..."
"And it is okay, Dean. It is, believe me. Look, my parents aren't home yet and we're gonna go in there now, chill a little and later I'll introduce you to them. They won't judge you, okay? They trust me to choose the right friends."
The hand vanished and was replaced by a broad arm that circled his neck to pull him along, but Dean didn't move an inch. It is okay, Roman had said. They would see the bruises and it would be okay. How could he be so sure if he hadn't...
"What did you tell them?" he wanted to know, his voice low and he couldn't help the way his guts knotted.
"Nothing except that it isn't your fault."
It was a good answer. It really was, being safe and all, not telling the facts and still it was making sure Roman's parents wouldn't think of him as a brawl digging punk kid. And at the same time this answer left option for so many different scenarios of why his face looked like a fucking paint-box, that Dean didn't even want to imagine the movies which would probably be playing in Mommy and Daddy Reigns' minds.
"Stop it," Roman muttered, softly tapping Dean's forehead. "You're thinking to much, Captain Solo."
Reassurance... there, written in those handsome features. A gentle pulling as Roman began to walk, his arm still wrapped around Dean's neck who finally found himself able to move his feet again...
Chewing busily, he let his eyes trail through the room. A big dining room, painted in a decent white and light grey and with furniture made of reddish wood. A few pictures were on the walls, some of them showing Roman and his parents, some of them showing other family members. It had been one of the first things Dean had noticed after stepping into the house and coming across a family picture. Roman's heritage. He'd been wondering about it anyway.
Half Samoan and half Italian.
Nice.
But Dean was sure that there must be some Greek god in there, too. There had to. No one looked like Roman did without having some Greek god in his genes. Or some Superman genes. The question if his biological parents happened to be Kryptonians lay on his tongue, but he didn't let it out.
From the corner of his eye he noticed his glass being refilled with lemonade, while a hand was laid on his back, again a gentle touch and once more he was greeted by a warm smile by Mommy Reigns.
"Thanks, ma'am."
"You hear that, Roman? This young man says thank you," she adressed her son with a chidingly raised brow, but there was still that smile on her lips. "Maybe I should keep him, then I'd hear that more often in this house."
Sting. A sharp one, deep in his chest. For a brief moment Dean wasn't sure if he could keep sitting here as he felt an odd urge coil up in his guts, one that told him to hide somewhere for a few minutes. It was silly, he knew that. Shouldn't it make him feel good to hear something like that?
But maybe that was exactly the problem. Hear something he couldn't have.
Dean's gaze dropped to his plate while he fought that urge down. He couldn't run off now. Mommy Reigns softly rubbed his back before walking away and he reached out for the lemonade, freezing briefly as he felt a foot hook behind his own. Roman's foot. Taking a sip from his glass, he spyed over its rim over to his friend who looked at him with that reassuring expression again.
Everything is okay.
I'm here.
Goddamn sap. What made Roman think at all that an I'm here made things better for Dean? Oh, yeah, maybe the fact that there had been moments where Roman being there had made things better...
... much actually...
Who was the sap here...?
Dean smiled. A soft little smile. This one jarred the cuts in his lips but he didn't really notice it, because his attention was drawn to the smile that mirrored on Roman's lips, even softer than the one on his own ones, and it dimmed the pain.
It was... absurd... but Roman was really dimming his pain...
"The fuck, Ambrose!"
"Wutt? I just saved your ass," Dean drawled, side-glancing the other man.
"Yeah, fuck, how can you be this good? You said you've never played this shit before!" Roman complained for no actual reason, because they were being a team here.
It was probably because Dean had more hits than Roman had. And that for someone who had never played Call Of Duty before. Or Xbox at all.
"Haven't," Dean snorted, giving him an amused eyebrow. "Maybe you're just that bad?"
The expression on Roman's face was a stunned one with a note of being mock-offended by Dean's brazenness to be this good and cheeky.
"Little fucker," he heard Roman mutter under his breath, but fondness was clinging to it.
For a moment they just gazed at each other in silence, with Dean wondering what was going on behind those grey orbs and maybe Roman was thinking the exact same thing, wondering what Dean was thinking, feeling. The gaze Roman gave him was searching, looking out for a hint and Dean couldn't even blame him, since he wasn't quite being an open book to him. Roman had barely read the first two pages of him and he knew that turning the pages over wasn't easy.
It was a sound coming from the TV that caused Roman to look away. The game hadn't been paused while they had been just looking at each other and it now ended up with them both being dead. Game over.
"Break?" Roman asked, putting both gamepads aside at Dean's nod, before turning around to him.
They were sitting on Roman's bed, Roman sitting cross-legged while Dean was more or less sprawling, easily occupying most of the space. He could not not do it, the bed was too damn comfy and since Roman seemed to be okay with it, he made no move to put his body in another position.
After Roman had given him a sight-seeing around the house, they had ended up here with refreshingly cool lemonade and cookies, which, except for maybe three of them, had found a home in Dean's stomach.
Self-made lemonade and cookies. Triple choc. A tiny bit of heaven.
There had been a half-hearted complaint being muttered by the other man as the cookies had been claimed by Dean, comparing him to a swarm of grasshoppers that left only crumbs behind after descending on the bowl the cookies had been in, yet there hadn't been any attempts to get them back.
For a bit more than half an hour they had been playing Call Of Duty, not really talking about serious stuff but nonsense. Safe topics. And although Roman had done a good job in not letting show up on his face that he wanted to ask things, Dean had caught a glimpse or two which told him that the other man had a hard time to hold back. Instead of being in the uncomfortable situation to having to give answers he wasn't sure he had, Dean found himself being... freed. No questions, no answers, no... fear. Here, in this room, he could laugh... and fuck, it felt good to laugh again... he could lie here on this bed, stuffed with cookies. He could simply be. And he could close his eyes for a moment, knowing that the worst thing that could happen to him was that Roman stole a cookie that belonged to him anyway.
This place was... it was... safe... And Roman's presence was ease.
Roman... who did all those things... and who stoicly kept walking towards Dean's very core, no matter which stumbling block was thrown in his path and there were moments in which Dean wasn't sure if it should make him feel good or scare him.
He'd pushed Roman away, had tried to without much success, hadn't he, but the thing was that if he pushed him away now, that he would inevitably been dragged along because somehow he was already much more attached to this man than he was ready to admit.
"You okay?"
He blinked slowly. Was he? This question had so many levels, so many doors. No, actually, he was not, was far from being okay. Yet right now, this very moment as he was being here with this oversized teddy bear, he did feel good. So right now, yeah, he was okay...
He didn't say it but he could read on the other man's face that he knew it.
Good. It was the answer which was shining in those gorgeous eyes.
Ignoring the stinging in his ruined lips as he brought a grin up, he held the empty bowl towards Roman.
"Nah, am not, cookies are empty."
"Jesus, what are you, a cookie-devouring void?"
"You were the one who got me hooked on that stuff, dude. Now feed me."
Taking the bowl from Dean's hand, Roman got up, slightly shaking his head while laughing a little, and he left the room to hopefully fetch some more of those edible endorphines.
With an inaudible sigh Dean slipped deeper until he was lying flat on the bed, his gaze fixed on a random spot on the ceiling for a second or two, before he closed his eyes. It was quiet in here, allowing the world outside of these four walls to seep in. Sounds, coming from downstaies. A car, passing the house. The happy noise of playing kids. Birds. The faint barking of a dog.
And there was the softness of this bed and the pillow. A scent like freshly washed linen surrounded him and there was another scent mingling into it. A unique one. Still new yet already so familiar. Like lavender.
Roman...
With a sigh he cracked his eyes open, wondering why his mind was feeling so mushy all of a sudden, why hid eyelids felt leaden, almost too much to open his eyes.
A forearm came in view, pretty close to his face. Roman... was sitting there beside him on the bed. When had he come back? Turning his head a bit to gaze up, Dean realized that he was lying curled up on his side without knowing when he had turned over at all and... eyes, looking at him with softness and mild amusment.
"You're snoring, Ambrose."
What the fuck... he'd fallen asleep...?
"Am not," he groaned quietly, rubbing his eyes as he rolled over onto his back. "Why didn't you wake me, man?"
"You were fast asleep when I came back. Thought you might need a little rest." A brief pause. Hesitation maybe and somehow Dean knew what would come next. "When was the last time you've really been sleeping?"
It was clear that Roman meant sleeping, as in really being peacefully asleep, not the tossing and turning kind of so called sleep or being caught in a not very restful drifting in a twilight of waiting for... probably the next... pain. Yeah, when had that been? Actually... yesterday, during those two hours when he'd been sleeping in well... in Roman's arms. He tried not to wince at the way it sounded. In Roman's arms. Huh...
He settled for: "In your car."
"That was only a two hours nap," Roman muttered, frowning unhappily. "I meant when has been the last time you're slept a full night through?"
He had no answer to this because... and so he kept quiet. Emotions fleeted through the other man's eyes. Eyes which were like doors to Roman's soul and bit by bit... yeah, bit by bit he learned to read them. And right now he could read that Roman was debating with himself whether to dig deeper into that topic or leave it be. For now.
"Wanna sleep some more?"
Okay, so no digging deeper. Good. Really. And the idea of just closing his eyes and sleep a little longer in this comfy bed with all the soft pillows and duvet and... calming scents... was something he didn't really want to think about, because he would only end up wanting it.
"Haven't come here for sleeping," he murmured, stretching carefully and bit his tongue as his body complained.
The mattress bounced as Roman moved to lie on his side, bracing on an elbow as he gazed down at Dean, while he brought his other hand down to the hem of Dean's shirt that rode up up a bit due to the stretching, exposing a nicely flat belly. Dean felt his shirt being tugged down again, felt fingertips brush over his skin and it was good that the shirt was in place again or else Roman would have seen the heavy wave of goosebumps that was running over Dean's body at the touch.
Uhm... okay?
"It's okay, you know? You can sleep here as long as you want if it does you good."
"Roman..."
"I mean it, Dean."
Stop being too goddamn nice, Ro.
Surprising himself by not flinching as the big hand settled on his belly, he replied hushed: "I know." And he kept gazing into Roman's eyes, couldn't have looked away even if he'd wanted to. Those eyes had caught him from the first moment he'd really looked into them. "How long have I been out?"
"About an hour." The hand stayed there, its weight somehow... pleasant. How could the weight of a hand actually be pleasant? And was this something you did? Put a hand on your friends belly? Just like that? "Do you need anything?" Roman rumbled lowly.
Actually... I need this here, Dean thought and quietly so, just to make sure Roman wouldn't hear it because he was sure that Roman could hear his thoughts at times. However he was doing that shit. I need all of this. This house, those bloody addictive cookies and self-made lemonade, I need this fucking bed and your ridiculously comforting scent on the pillows, I need...
"Cookies." Smooth. "I need cookies."
"No more cookies for you, cookie monster. We'll have dinner in about twenty minutes."
Dean's fingers itched to put a hand on Roman's, not to peel it off but to just put his own hand on it. Keep it there. If someone had told him four weeks ago that he would seek bodily contact when for years it had been one of the last things he'd wanted, he'd probably told them to shut their puss. But four weeks ago there also hadn't been a Roman in his life.
To good for this world fool...
"We'll be having dinner in twenty minutes and you ask me if I want to sleep some more? So sleeping the dinner away is okay but eating cookies is not?" he asked, brows raising to his hairline.
"There's still time for some sleeping after dinner," Roman suggested.
"Oooh, yeah, how about a sleepover?" Dean snorted.
"Sure, why not? The bed's big enough and..."
"I was joking, Ro."
"I wasn't," he heard his very personal Superman say just above a whisper and just like the soft touch on his belly just a moment ago had chased goosebumps all over his body, those two words, wrapped up in this low and warm and soft voice sent a tingling along down spine that settled in his belly, right below Roman's hand. "Stay over night."
"You trying to hit on me here, dude?" he chuckled in an attempt to laugh a strange feeling off that took hold of him, one he couldn't put a label on.
It wasn't feeling bad though. Maybe... want? He did want to stay here, no doubt. Need? Probably, too.
"Stay, Dean."
Serious. Sincere.
His own voice was devoid of any emotion but bitter resignation as he replied stiffly: "I can't."
The hand on his belly moved, its fingers twisting in his shirt and the handsome features tensed briefly... before Roman pulled his hand back and a smile came to his lips again as the obvious urge to talk him into staying lost against the part of him that seemed to have decided not to push Dean.
"Okay then, cookie monster, let's go down. My mom's already bursting with curiousity," Roman said but the smile never reached his eyes.
Chocolate mousse. Right there, a big bowl, waiting to be eaten and if it was only half as good as those bloody addictive cookies, then he would eat until it came out of his ears. Not that wasn't stuffed already like a turkey, no-no, because Mommy Reigns seemed to have made it her mission to feed him here until he would burst. He'd wanted to help cleaning the table and stuff but his attempts had been nipped in the bud and instead the lady had brought him some more lemonade.
Be our guest, feel good. Jesus, not only Roman was Mr. Goody Two Shoes. The whole family was like that. It was almost scary how nice Roman's parents were to him without actually knowing him. Like, really, here was a boy sitting at their table who looked as if he'd run full speed and face first into a wall and still there were no glances, no comments, no keeping a distance to the weird kid their son had dragged in here.
Dangerous. This here, he could get used to. All too fast, all too much.
A spoonful of mousse found its way into his mouth and shiiiit this was good. Edible sex. Legit. Although he could hardly say that aloud because how would that sound? Yo, Mommy Reigns, your mousse is sex! Uhm, wait... no. Another spoon followed. And another and yes, he was actually afraid that there wouldn't be enough mousse to satisfy the craving for it that grew with every bite he took.
His knee was nudged. He looked up, spoon in his mouth while blinking confusedly as he returned from his musing and he was greeted by three pair of eyes, looking at him in slight amusement.
"Mgh?"
Wow, eloquent, Ambrose.
"Dad asked what you're planning on doing after school," Roman smirked and Dean couldn't even blame him because he was probably looking pretty silly with that spoon sticking out of his mouth and his eyes wide in question.
Releasing the spoon with a quiet smack, Dean did his best to swallow the bit of mousse as graceful as possible under the intent gaze.
"Car mechanic or mechatronic technician," he replied then, watching as Roman closed his eyes and groaned while his dad began to grin widely. "Did I say... something stupid or...?"
"Oh, no-no," Roman sighed. "Not stupid. You just made my dad very happy because finally there's someone who's interested in cars."
Dean was sure that there was a big question mark blinking above his head because he couldn't follow Roman.
"I'm restoring a Chevy and my son here doesn't share my interest," Daddy Reigns explained, earning himself another sigh from Roman. "Have you already looked for an apprentice position?"
"No, not yet." And it won't be that easy to find one with a black and blue face on regular basis, he muttered in his mind. "What year? The Chevy?"
"It's a 76er. A beauty. She just needs a bit of care," the older man explained. "But I ain't got enough time."
"Not enough time, yeah," Roman cut in, grinning, as he pointed at his dad while looking at Dean. "The man has spent twelve years on that car and still hasn't restored it."
"If you would have helped me here and there, the car would have been restored a long while ago, young man," Daddy Reigns noted.
"I'm driving cars, I'm not restoring them. And we both know that you don't really want it to be fixed at all."
Dean watched the ping-pong between father and son for a moment, watched Mommy Reigns shake her head a little with a soft laughter on her lips and somehow... somehow there was a shadow settling over his good mood. This was family. This was everything he didn't have. Never had actually. And maybe it was good that the teasing back and forth between Roman and his dad ended this very moment before the shadow could really darken his mood.
Focusing back on Dean, Roman's dad said: "I have a car repair shop and the Chevy's there. Maybe you want to come over in a day or two and take a look at it? I could need a hand with her."
"I, uhm... yeah," Dean smiled. "Yeah, sure, I'd like that."
"Good! And if you want, we can talk a bit about a possible apprentice position, young man."
Briefly Dean was at a loss how to respond to that and a second he was tempted to pinch himself to make sure this wasn't some weird dream. If he hadn't been sitting already, he sure would have needed a chair now and suddenly Roman's words from this afternoon echoed in his ears.
I know they'll love you.
He glanced over to Roman who gazed a him with a gentle expression, almost as if he wanted to tell him, see, I told you.
"That'd be great," he managed to say, although his tongue actually felt like it was sticking to the roof of his mouth.
He'd just been offered an appretice position. This was... he wouldn't have to... He blinked. He still couldn't believe it. It was a goddamn, fucking job he'd just been offered.
"Wonderful, dad is stealing my friend," Roman complained half-heartedly, crossing his arms over his chest while leaning back and the expression on his face was pretty much the one of a pouty child. "Do something, mom."
"Dean said the magic words, baby. Your dad will give him back to you sooner or later," he reassured him, patting his cheek before getting up to walk over to Dean. "Do you want some more mousse, Dean?"
About twenty minutes later his mind was still drifting in this sea of thoughts and he was so lost in it, that he didn't even realize that he'd been sitting alone on Roman's bed for a full minute without Roman being in the room, too. Only at the light touch on his knee he noticed that he wasn't alone anymore. Roman was kneeling in front of him, holding a small item in his hand.
"What's that?" he wanted to know, blinking slowly.
Roman raised a hand to Dean's face and Dean flinched. He didn't want it but it happened before he could stop it although he knew that Roman wouldn't do him any harm. He knew it. Just as he knew that those hands had always been gentle with him, had only brought comfort. And Roman... he saw that Roman noticed it and how could be not? Yet all Dean found on the handsome face was that expression that said: I know and it's okay, we'll get through this together. Fingers touched the bruised side of his face gently, travelling over it with the faintest of touches. Roman didn't want to hurt him. Someone touching him without the intention to hurt was still so new to him after all the time, leaving him craving for more of it and it was why he leaned into the touch ever so slightly, wanting more of it without being too obvious.
"It's a heparin ointment," Roman replied softly, pulling his hand back all too soon. "We'll put some on the bruises on your face and... if you let me, then I'll take care of your back, too..."
And here Dean found himself torn again for no actual reason, because Roman had seen those bloody bruises on his back yesterday already. Roman knew the truth. There was no reason not to take off the shirt now and allow him to do it, take care of the damage even if it was rather to make them both feel a bit better... somehow... than actually really doing something to make the bruises fade more quickly. A bit of heparin ointment wasn't enough to do that. But maybe it was enough to soothe those troubled waters in both of them a little.
"Okay," he whispered, giving the other man a light nod that was mirrored.
"Tell me if I hurt you, okay?"
"Yeah..."
Hurt him? Roman? No... Except maybe if... if all this turned out to be a bloody lie. But all that Roman had done and said, it couldn't be a lie, could it? Too much effort for a fucking joke, right? He watched as Roman put some of the ointment on his fingers and as he lifted his hand back up, Dean closed his eyes... and made that first tiny step again to just trust this man, like he'd done yesterday when he'd been falling asleep in those arms... which had made him feel safe. He couldn't remember a moment in his life that he'd felt that safe. It was almost ridiculous, wasn't it...?
A cool, damp touch on the side of his face... and he felt those fingers glide over it in gentle circles as Roman spread the ointment and... and how could someone like him, someone this massive and with such big paws provide such a tender touch It was still a mistery to Dean. And this touch, it had the goddamn power to make him go all soft inside but there was still that voice in him that kept whispering unceasingly to him, telling him not to let Roman happen because in the end there was no one but he himself he could trust and rely on blindly. Roman makes you weak, makes you a wimp, it murmured. Stand tall and fight, it whispered. Alone.
But right now... this touch, the other man's presence... everything about him said trust me.
He wanted to trust. He really did. For too long already he'd been alone in his dark little world and the faint taste of what Roman was willed to give to him had brought a bit of golden, warm light along that lightened the darkness around him.
The fingers on his face stilled... and vanished.
"Sorry, didn't want to make you feel uncomfortable," Roman murmured.
What...?
"You didn't," Dean replied hushed, a bit confused, too, while he met Roman's gaze again.
Worry was there. Again. Somehow... always. But why would Roman think he'd done something that made him feel uncomfortable?
"But you, uhm... you tensed up."
He blinked slowly, realizing that Roman was right, that he had tensed up without even noticing it. His hands were clenched to fists, his shoulders drawn up a bit and stiff although there was no reason for going into this weird kind of a brace position.
Shit.
Explaining words were lying on his tongue but he could read in Roman's eyes that there was no need to explain. But the troubled waters weren't soothed yet, were they, and Roman deserved to see that his efforts weren't in vain. Willing his body to relax, Dean sat up a bit straighter and took his longsleeve off, or rather he tried to, but the aftermath of the last incident still left his body complaining.
"Can you, uh... can you... help me?" he asked quietly, feeling a bit silly for asking it though, but once more Roman chased that feeling away just like that by putting the heparin aside and giving him a hand here without the slightest hesitation.
He bit back a sound of discomfort at the sting in his side and his shoulder he felt as he lifted his arms and only a blink later the longsleeve was pulled up and over his head carefully, revealing the colorful evidence of his concept of being a father. The shirt was put over the footend of the bed and suddenly he felt almost unbearably naked, not because he was sitting here with bare-chested, but because Roman could see it. It all.
He's seen it, Dean reminded himself. He knows it. It's okay...
A glint was sparking in those gorgeous silver orbs, not pity but affection born compassion and with it a breathtaking softness showed up on the handsome face... and Dean averted his gaze, because it did something funny to his chest.
Too good for this world fool. Big, gentle teddy bear with those ridiculously broad shoulders to lean on... and arms to hide in... Goddamn Greek god with a heart of gold. Bastard... to leave his heart ticking in a rhythm it wasn't supposed to...
Fuck...
No, that couldn't be. Sure, Roman was the downright sexiest guy he'd ever laid his eyes on and he would have been lying if he'd said that he didn't feel a sexual attraction when it came to him but it was just that, wasn't it? This thingy that made his hear trip over itself was just there because he was mistaking this sexual attraction and the unvoiced gratefulness he was feeling as something else...
His musing was interrupted as Roman moved to climb on the bed and kneel behind him, the mattress dipping under his weight. Only a brief moment later he felt a careful touch on his back, travelling over it... lingering here and there a bit longer and there was briefest hesitation before it wandered along the path of that streak that led across his back and again as it found the one on his ribs.
Roman's touch was was soothing and calming. Once again it was dimming the pain, easing it. The bodily and the one he carried inside. Dean knew that this was nothing more than Roman taking care of a friend and if Seth would have been the one sitting here, then Roman would have done the exact same thing... yet the note those touches wore was... it was almost... loving. And it chased waves of goosebumps all over his skin, created a tingling along his spine. It shouldn't be like this because this was only a twisted imagination that made simple touches something they were not.
Roman was his friend.
... friend... friend... friend...
Is it your father?
It had been a legitimate question, one a friend would ask, and only a few days ago it had caused him to run away.
Talk to me, Dean.
Can't.
Actually... he had no fucking idea where to begin...
"Do I hurt you?"
"What?"
"You're tensing up again."
Roman brought both his hands up to Dean's shoulders then, just letting them rest on the tense muscles.
"No, I just..."
... want to trust you...
"What's wrong?" Roman asked softly, inching a tad closer.
His knees were framing Dean now and although there was only those hands on his shoulders, Dean felt the other man, felt his presence in every fiber of his body. He fucking felt Roman as if he'd crawled right under his skin.
But maybe he had already done that...
Trust me, I'm there for you.
"I'm trying..." he whispered, more to himself than to Roman actually, but the other man heard it nevertheless.
"I know," was the quiet reply, while thumbs began to brush back and forth on his shoulders.
"I, uh...it's like I'm, you know, trapped inside myself..." Screwing his eyes shut, he hung his head and gritted his teeth. He really wanted it because... "I'm so sick of being alone..."
"You're not, Dean. You are not alone, you hear me? Not anymore. We'll get you out there..."
He had no name for the feeling that surged through him at those words. All he knew was that it pulled hard at those walls which kept him trapped and maybe it was that very last sentence that sounded so much as if Roman didn't only mean that fucking prison Dean himself was but also his sick life, that pushed him enough to make him say it...
"I'm trying not to be there, you know?" It was barely a whisper, more a breath that as it passed his lips. The thumbs on his shoulders stilled. "I... uh, I'm trying to imagine that I'm , you know, somewhere else when it happens."
He puffed single and bitter laughter. The hands brushed down to his sides then, resting there as if Roman wanted to wrap his arms around him, not daring to do it though. He could have leaned back now but he didn't, not yet, because right now it was too close. He needed the bit of distance to make that last step out of that firmly locked room he was hiding in.
Just one more step... one fucking step...
"It's... he's my... stepfather..." It was like acid on his tongue. The hand stayed unmoving but he noticed how Roman leaned a bit closer, could hear him breathe now and whether it was because he was angry, shocked or sad, it was audibly restrained. I'm listening to you, that closeness said. I'm here. Let me help you. All this, it was like an unspoken mantra, resonating between them whenever Roman was close to him. "Six years ago my mother left. That bitch ran away and left me alone with the bastard," he ground out, gritting his teeth as he leaned forward, bracing his forearms on his knees while bowing his head a bit.
Roman's touch never ceased and it was good because it was the only reason he didn't get up now to run away from his own words. The fingers on his sides splayed soothingly. His own hands though clenched to fists, tight, tighter, until his nails dug into his palms painfully. There was a slight, nervous twitching in his right shoulder. The hand that had been resting on his right side smoothed up to it, settling there and then he felt Roman rest his forehead in the back of his neck.
"What about your father?" Roman asked just above a whisper.
"Fucker's in jail," Dean spat. Bam. That's my life and if it ain't a party, guys! "A complimentary ticket for him. No one's there to stop him."
"Can't you...?"
... stop him from beating you up? The question wasn't surprising, since Dean himself wasn't delicate of weak, but... there was always someone who was bigger and stronger, wasn't there?
"Tried to, Ro," he replied quietly. "I really did but he's... I'm no match for him. The last time I tried it, he broke my arm."
"Why's he doing that?"
Understandable that Roman did not understand why something like that would happen. Dean didn't doubt that Roman knew very well that things like that happened all too often in this world but the why was probably something he couldn't understand. Or rather that the why was only an empty word because there was actually no answer to that why. The why could be anything. Or nothing.
Why? Because he'd been drinking.
Why? Because he had a crappy day.
Why? Just... because...
"Why..." Dean murmured. "Huh, he doesn't want me, Ro. That's why. He hated me from the first fucking day on."
"But if he doesn't want you, then why...?"
"The motherfucker gets money for the guardianship. And I guess he needs it, you know, to knock the stuffing out someone and how convenient for him there's his hated stepson at hand," Dean gritted out, feeling his self-control crack. He should have known it would happen. "Stupid... and worthless... goddamn, freeloading, no good son of a bitch. Retarded big mouth. Know-it-all, asshole, jerk. The bloody bastard tells me that for more than six years now. Six fucking years. And I... huh, sometimes I think he's right, you know? There are... uh..." Dean's hands started to tremble then and he clenched them even tighter. But the trembling didn't stop, got worse instead, along with a quickening of his breathing. "There are moments when I think that I'm worth nothing... Every fucking day I climb to my feet somehow and hope that... fuck... I hope that things will change... but then all I get is another beating. The bastard beats me up and, huh... I can't do a fucking thing about it, I..." Roman moved away from him then, kneeling down in front of him and he took the clenched fists in his hands to gently pry them open. From the corner of his eye Dean noticed how Roman's breathing got faster, too, shallow, and he was sure that if he looked up now, that the other man's eyes would be glassy. There was a whispered God, Dean and a hand that dove into his hair soothingly, gently pulling him closer, while the other closed around one of Dean's hand. And it felt good, this touch. Good. A word that hadn't been part of his vocabulary for a too long time. So long that he couldn't even remember anymore when there had beed something good in his life... but that had changed now... Roman rested his forehead against Dean's then. "I guess the only reason he hasn't beaten me to death already is that he won't get the money anymore when I'm gone..."
A short pause in which he could hear the other man swallow hard and the usually rich voice sounded unfamiliar unsteady and choked as Roman said: "What about the youth welfare? Why don't you go there and tell them wha..."
"I did, Ro. I did. Every time I ran away and they brought me back to him, I told them what he's doing to me but they didn't care. It's always the same, you know? He tells them that I'm just a punk kid who goes out digging for trouble and they believe him. They fucking believe him... People don't care, Ro. I don't count. If I'd disappear right now, it wouldn't make a difference," Dean said just above a whisper... a shaky whisper, heavy with a grief he'd held back for too long already.
His brows furrowed slightly as his gaze stayed fixed on his their hands. It was the bloody truth because no one had ever given a damn shit about him, not one single soul had listened to what he had to say.
"But it would," Roman replied quietly, his hand wandering to the back of Dean's head to cradle it, adding as he inched closer: "It would make a difference to me, okay? You do count, Dean. You do. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise. You hear me?"
He felt a stinging in his eyes, hot, sharp. Tears which had never been shed, which refused to fall. Even now... His free hand came up, his fingers curling around the back of Roman's neck to hold him close and to anchor himself. The skin felt nicely warm and soft and the thick muscles felt pleasantly firm against his palm. And in the midst of all this it hit Dean that until this was the first time he really touched Roman, not to keep or push him away or to hold on to him because he had no other choice, but to actually touch and feel him.
"You can't go back," he heard Roman whisper.
"Huh, I don't have much of a choice, Ro."
"Stay, Dean."
His hand was squeezed lightly, emphasizing.
"You know that I can't."
No matter how much I want to...
"Then I'm coming with you."
"No, can't let you do that. What would you want to do anyway?"
"Tell him that if he touches you ever again, he won't see the next day."
It brought a smile to Dean's lips. Big, menacing Superman. Gentle teddy bear.
"No. No... Fuck, no. I... if you hurt him you'll get in trouble and... fuck... I... I've got no one but you..."
"Dean, I can't let you..."
Tightening his hold on the massive neck, Dean cut him off: "You were the one who stomped into my life and showed me this world full of cookies and don't you fucking dare taking it away from me again by doing something stupid!"
The moment wasn't over yet and the air between them was thick and humming with so many emotions and it was tangible that Roman wanted to object yet also that those last words made him not say it. And those emotions which were humming in the air, they also hummed in Dean. All that had happened today and yesterday and all the time before, it curled up in his chest and it stole his breath. All the bad things, the good things...
"I think I need a cookie now," he chuckled a bit breathless.
A pitiable attempt to pull them out of this twisted mood but Roman understood and despite the situation it earned Dean a soft snort.
"Sir, yes, sir, Captain Solo, sir."
Pulling back just enough so he could seek Roman's eyes again, he wondered where this path would lead him... them... to. It was unkown ground, stony and the chances to end up falling flat on the face were pretty high... although there was someone now who could and would catch him if he fell.
"Thank you, Ro," he said softly and his heart sped up for a fee beats at the glow that showed up in the grey orbs.
"Don't thank me too soon, Ambrose. You don't have the cookie yet," Roman grinned but the tinge in his voice made clear the he had understood what Dean had meant.
Grabbing a handful of black hair, Dean gave it a chiding tug.
"Gimme my cookie, you little shit!"
x
"You're lucky, Roman. Your parents are great."
"I know. They said you're always welcome, you know? Mom already asked if you're coming over for barbeque on Saturday. And I'd be happy, too, if you'd come."
Please say yes. It was written in capital letters on Roman's face but Dean hadn't considered saying no anyway. Saturday nights were safe, because his stepfather was on tour on those nights.
"Yeah, okay," he smiled and got a bright smile in response.
With that he opened the car door and wanted to get out of the car, but a hand on his arm stopped him. His hand was taken and something was placed on his palm and it was a phone Dean found there.
"My old phone with a prepaid card," Roman explained. "It's a pain in the ass that I can't reach you on phone and stuff. My number is in the speed dial. You can call me at any time, okay?"
His fingers were closed around the small device and a part of him hoped that Roman would send him a message to end the day. It had been a battle with himself to get out of the car because every fiber in him cried to stay with Roman and his family. But it was okay because he had a way now to contact him. In way he wan't alone anymore even when Superman wasn't with him.
The sound of the closing door was loud in the quietness of the apartment that was dipped in a semi-darkness. Here and there was still alight on which his stepfather had forgotten to switch off before leaving to make the bit of money Dean had earned on the junkyard to booze.
With a sigh Dean ran a thumb over the phone, wondering if Roman was still waiting there in front of the house, staring at its not very pretty facade. Now his friend knew where he was living, still Dean insisted on keeping that other corner as their meeting point since it caused him a bad feeling to think that his stepfather might catch Roman off one day.
Pushing the door to his room open, he... froze, his heart stumbling painfully.
"Where the fuck have you been?!"
He shouldn't have been here, should have be somewhere else drinking himself senseless until tomorrow morning. The man who was sitting on the bed, waiting for him, got up and came walking towards him. Tightening his hold on the phone, Dean kept quiet.
"I asked you something, you piece of shit!"
"Been visiting a friend," Dean forced out while taking a step backwards.
"Scum like you doesn't have friends. No one wants to waste their time with someone like you!"
Although it was twisted, there was a smile forming on Dean's lips, one he couldn't stop and it shouldn't be there because it was making the situation only worse. He knew it. And he could see it on the other man's face as the rage in it got brighter.
"It was the first and the last time, worthless bastard!"
A sick little sound, forming to a laughter, passed Dean's lips.
"You can yell at me as much as you want and you can beat the living shit outta me but you can't take Roman away from me. You can't, you fucking bastard! Go ahead, punch my teeth out! Do it! But no matter how often you'll beat me, every time I step out of this apartment, Roman will be there and the moment I'll walk outta here forever, he'll be there, too!" he spat and he couldn't stop all the hate he was feeling for this man from pouring into it. It burned his tongue and he hoped, hoped with all his heart that somehow it would burn him, too. Straightening up to his full height, he braced himself for what he knew would happen now, yet there was a smirk on his lips as he hissed: " You've lost, motherfucker!"
The first blow was dodged by the arm he managed to bring up at the last second. The second one hit his shoulder with enough force to leave him stumbling backwards. The phone slipped out of his fingers, landing somewhere on the floor. A hand grabbed his shirt, pulling him back in and he used the momentum to throw a fist towards the hated face and it connected with a jaw. Teeth clicked. The taste of satisfaction was lying on his tongue and oddly enough it was the only thing he felt. No fear, no pain. Only... satisfaction. Rage flared up in the other man's eyes, emerging from beneath a veil of a drunken haze.
A fist landed in his stomach, causing him to bend double. It hurt... yet not. Closing his eyes he willed his mind to go back to this nice world of self-made cookies and lemonade, of soft pillows and sheets that smelled like Superman.
Hands in his hair, yanking his head up. Another blow. And another. His legs gave way, his knees hitting the floor hard. Something hard hit the side of his head... and his world blacked out.
Floating. He was floating... seconds... minutes? Blackness. Numbness. Until he was drifting upwards, breaking through a surface of glaring pain and he cried out but all that left his mouth was a broken wail. His body was inflame. He couldn't breathe. There was blood on his tongue and running down his throat.
Ro...
He fought to open his eyes, needed to open them. The phone... he needed to find the phone... and it was there, not far from him. With a pained, breathless groan he tried to stretch an arm out, the movement causing the pain to blaze up brighter and brighter... until his sight began to become fuzzy around the edges. But then somehow he held the phone in his hand, his thumb pressing the speed dial.
Two seconds, maybe three... until he heard the familiar rumble through the line.
"Hey, man, forgot something?"
Reaching out to Roman's voice as his vision darkened, he fought to bring air into his lungs.
"Ro?"
Barely even a breath.
Help me...
"Dean?" Roman asked alarmed. "What happened?"
"... Ro..."
Please...
His mind shut down under the tide of pain, its surge pulling him down. He fell... and the last thing he knew was his name being called faintly... before his world went black again...
- tbc -
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