Dean made his way to the guest bedroom he hadn't once stayed in, despite the three days he spent in her house. The Trickster, Loki, he reminded himself, was sleeping on the couch so the brothers could have the bed. Both demigods were going out of their way to make them comfortable. He shook his head, wondering slightly if it was a mistake not to trust at least U. M., who had never done anything to hurt him. And the Trickst-Loki did genuinely seem to care about her.
He dropped his stuff in the room and, against his better judgment, went to hers. And there she was, in that white cotton baby doll she always slept in that was so. Damn. Sexy. He knocked slightly on the open door, causing her to jump. She still had tear stains on her face, telling him she'd only stopped crying a little while ago, and her wispy dishwater blonde hair was in a mussed bun that wouldn't last a normal night. And god damn it, Dean may not be sorry, and he may not trust her, but hey. If Sam could sleep with the enemy, Dean could too.
"Hey," he breathed, closing the door softly. His eyes traced the tattoos on her shoulders, a black rectangle that went down past her shoulder blades and started just above her collar bone, on which two matching black dots rested. She usually did her best to hide them during the day.
"Hey," she rubbed her elbows self consciously, and Dean felt his grasp over his libido slipping. He cursed himself under his breath and closed the distance between them, lifting her up onto the bed and kissing her. She herself gave in, wrapping her legs around his torso, breaking the wall of tension between them. "Wait, stop," she said, breaking the kiss. "Dean you don't want to do this. You don't want to sleep with me again."
He chased her lips for another kiss, "I fell in love with you once, let me be in lust with this you."
She pushed him away. "You don't want to sleep with a monster." That broke the spell of lust. Dean thought a moment. Did he really want to do this? Was it worth it? Was it worth his Dad's memory just to sleep with a monster? He shook his head again, as if clearing his mind.
And he remembered; it wasn't a monster. It was U. M., the woman he fell in love with so few, though it felt like more, years ago. She just happened to be something he would classify as a monster. And he realized something, thinking about the mad humans he and Sam had run into; it didn't take nonhuman blood to make you a monster, and it didn't take human blood to let Dean Winchester love you.
"Never," he pushed her into the bed. "Call yourself that again."
She blinked up at him, surprised. It was such an innocent gesture, Dean kissed her again.
He was in love with a monster… No, he was in love with someone his father would think was a monster. He was in love with a sexy, beautiful demigod named U. M. Locke.
Needless to say, Sam got the bed to himself that night. And the next night. And the next night.
XxXxXxX
They left three days later, when the storm had passed. Dean left his and Sam's phone numbers, despite Sam's protests, with U. M. in case of emergencies. Three months later Dean was in the ground after the hellhounds got him. Sam called U. M. for the first time in his life to bring her the news. She cried for days. Four months after that Dean had been raised from perdition by the angel Castiel. Immediately after he wanted to see U. M., who had tearfully embraced him.