New chapter, yay! Sorry I've been gone for so long, I had finals and all that. This chapter is more from Dean's POV, I hope that doesn't mess you guys up. Anyways, enjoy!

Note: I will update at least once a month. I hope more but you are guaranteed at least one chapter per month.

Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural.

Chapter 4:

"You're dying."

It was a statement, not a question.

Dean looked up at Vivian, who was the one who had spoken. Her voice was soft and almost emotionless as she told him what he had already knew.

The other two had gone to bed long ago and Dean had gotten up to get some water from the kitchen. There he found Vivian sitting at the table with a beer in her hand. There were bags under her blue eyes and her chin length blonde hair was tousled and messy. She looked incredibly tired as she broke the silence.

Slowly he nodded. He had hoped to keep that from her but he supposed that sooner or later she would've found out anyways.

Vivian looked away from him then, biting her lip and nodding. There was a moment when neither of them spoke and then Vivian opened her mouth.

"Bobby said that a demon held your contract. Is that a contract for your life?" She asked.

"Sort of," Dean sighed and decided he might as well sit down. He took a seat across from her, careful not to touch her. "I sold my soul."

Vivian turned her head sharply and looked at him in surprise and disbelief.

"Wha-how-why?" she seemed to be having trouble with choosing what question to ask.

"Sam." Was all he said in response and her shoulders slumped and a look of understanding covered her features.

"Oh," she said quietly.

They again sat in silence, the only sound being that of the dripping sink and Vivian's fingers tapping the bottle in her hand.

"Do you want one?" she offered hesitantly, nodding towards her beer.

Dean figured that he probably wasn't going to go to bed any time soon anyways and agreed, going to the fridge himself and grabbing an identical beer. After he opened it, he took a long drink and put it down on the table only to see Vivian studying him.

"Why me?" she asked suddenly. Dean raised his eyebrows in question.

"Why you what?"

"Why me?" she repeated. She gestured between them. "Why us?" He was surprised to see tears in her eyes. "Why is it so damn unfair?!"

Dean just shrugged helplessly.

"You have no idea how often I ask myself that exact same thing."

And just like that, Vivian's tears were gone and she looked tired again.

"I'm sorry," she said in that soft voice of hers. "I forget you must have it much worse."

Dean leaned on the counter across from her and took another swing of beer, not replying.

If any other woman were there he would've tried to milk it. He would've played on her sympathies and they would've ended up in bed together. Not with Vivian though. Even if he would've been able to touch her that's not what would've happened. She was different. The dreams hadn't contained passion and fire; they'd been full of tenderness and care.

He felt that same tenderness as he looked at her now. All in all, she was a beautiful young woman but it was her eyes that had captivated him as soon as he'd heard his name cross her lips. In the dreams they had never been so vivid, so bright. Right now, they looked about one hundred years old and for the first time it occurred to him what a weight he had placed on her shoulders by telling her about the monsters that roamed the Earth.

"It's not the supernatural stuff, you know." She said, seemly reading his mind and breaking him out of his thoughts. She was standing now and she was close. So close he could see small gold flecks in her eyes. Her voice lowered to a whisper as they stared at each other. "It's finding you and being aware that I could lose you at any moment. That and knowing that your death could end up being my fault."

They were too close for it to be safe but for the life of him Dean couldn't remember why as they held each other's gaze.

"Why us?" she asked again, her voice barely audible.

"I don't know," Dean whispered.

They were inches apart now. His gaze lowered to her mouth and her's to his. She stood on her tiptoes, their noses almost touching. He could feel her breath across his lips as he breathed in her scent. She smelled of alcohol, lavender and sadness. She thought he smelt of hard work and tiredness and old spice.

"We can't," he told her.

She bit her lip and raised her eyes to meet his.

"I know."

Slowly she took a step back and gave him a sad smile.

He visibly relaxed as soon as she moved away and he leaned back on the counter again, pinching the bridge of his nose. He briefly looked up to tell her how much he hated this but she was already halfway out the door.

"Goodnight."

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Thanks,

~Liliana