(Author's Note: If you've actually been reading along, please make sure you have read the correct chapter 4-it has an author's note at the top declaring that it is the right chapter. I totally screwed up and posted an earlier version that made no sense at all.)
Chapter Five
The next morning Dean walked out of the apartment with a bounce in his step and a new lease on life. He loved her. He'd spent the whole night working through that fact. He loved Elizabeth in a true love, fairy tale kind of way. It freaked him out at first, but somewhere between 10:00 p.m. and the crack of dawn he worked through it and figured it out. He loved her.
And from the way she kissed him the night before, he had a pretty good idea about her feelings as well. Plus, she'd handled the whole attacked-by-a-ghost thing really well. Once they left the bed and breakfast with Sam, she hadn't mentioned it again. She'd just hung out with him at his place while Sam and Abby picked up the barbecue, then ate dinner and made chit-chat. At first he thought it was because she was hiding it from Abigail, but when she didn't bring it up in private, he decided it was because she was totally cool with it.
Elizabeth was born to hunt, and the thought thrilled him to the core.
He knocked at her door just as she opened it. Her bag was on her shoulder and she was dressed for work. "Good morning!"
She jumped at his voice and he expected her to smile, but she didn't. She didn't look happy to see him. She looked something else. Something he couldn't name.
"I, uh, I wanted to see what you had up for dinner tonight," he began as she locked her door.
"With everybody?" she asked.
"No, just us. Me and you, I mean." His heart pounded and he wiped his hands on the legs of his jeans.
She shook her head. "I don't think that's a good idea."
"What? Dinner? You still eat, don't you?"
She laughed a little then looked away from him. "I don't think I need to go out just us."
"I don't get it. I thought we were doing good. You know, getting along."
"Don't get me wrong, Dean. I like you. I like you a lot. Too much for my own good."
Dean shook his head. "What? How can you like somebody too much?"
Elizabeth put down her bag and looked at him, her big brown eyes piercing him. "Do you really want to do this in the hallway?"
"Hell, yeah. I'm lost here, Lizzy. I thought we could go somewhere with this. I mean, you know everything and you're cool with it." He tried to keep his voice down.
She put her face in her hands and rubbed at her cheeks as if she were trying to wake up. "No. I don't know everything. That's the problem. I know just enough to scare me half to death."
He reached up and stroked her cheek with his fingertips. "But you were so cool about it last night. And you kicked that ghost's ass like it was nothing. You were born to hunt, Lizzy."
She pushed his hand away but didn't let go of it. "No. I was not born for this. This is insane, Dean. When Billy came in the courthouse yesterday talking about Chickasaw monsters, we all thought it was really funny. But just when I decided Billy had started smoking crack and seeing things, I had a Ghost Facers adventure of my own at Shawna's place."
"You're not insane," Dean tried to assure her. "You just got tossed in the deep end. You did great."
"I don't feel great. I feel terrified." She shivered all over.
"Lucinda's gone for good, but if you feel nervous we can salt the windows and doors of your place."
Elizabeth looked up at him, her eyes rimmed with tears. "It's not me I'm terrified for." She reached out and placed her hands on his cheeks, lightly running her thumbs over one of the deep scratches left by Lucinda's knife on one side and the still fading burns from the sitichula on the other. "Dean, sweetie, I'm scared to death for you."
"Me?" Dean stammered. "Baby, I'm tough as shoe leather. I've been hunting demons all my life. I've been to hell and back with my dad and with Sam. I've had lots worse than this."
Elizabeth did not look reassured. Instead she looked even more concerned.
"I have an idea. Let's take things slow." Dean took her hands in his. "I just want to spend some time with you."
She closed her eyes briefly, then looked back at him again. "I'm not a take-things-slow kind of girl. I'm an all-in kind of girl. What I want to do is forget everything that has happened, go out with you, have a good time, bring you back to my place, throw down like wild rabbits, and damn the consequences."
"Sounds like a plan."
She laughed and hope rose inside him. Then she frowned and turned all serious. "But the problem is, I know too much already." She took a deep breath. "I thought about this nearly all night last night." She blinked, but she didn't cry.
"Dean, if I get a little of you, I'm only going to want more. More than you can give. And when you leave-and you will-it will tear my heart in half because part of it will go with you." She blinked again and this time a tear did slip down her cheek. "I can't go to dinner with you. I already care too much about you."
"I'd say we can still be friends," she continued, "but you know how that is." She picked up her bag. "I will always want the best for you. Always."
He watched her walk down the hall, dumbstruck. He couldn't think of anything to say that would bring her back. But he knew that a little bit of him went with her.
Sam had just taken a bite of Honey Oat Crunch when Dean slowly walked through the front door.
"What's the matter with you?" Sam asked. "You look. . . devastated."
Dean shot him a sour look, then sighed. "I tried to ask Elizabeth out to dinner. You know, like a date. And she turned me down."
"She did?" Sam was genuinely surprised. Girls never turned Dean down. "I thought she liked you. A lot."
"She does." Dean threw himself on the couch and pulled a pillow over his face. "That's why she can't go out with me."
"I do not get it."
Dean pulled back the pillow and looked over at him, his face drawn and tired. "I think I do, Sammy. That's the worst part. She's right. I'm not the man she deserves." Scooter hopped into Dean's lap, lay down with his head on Dean's arm, and gave a deep sigh. "Thanks, Scoots." Dean ruffled the little dog's white coat with his fingertips.
"Come on, Dean. You're a great guy. Girls flock to you like groupies. So this one chick doesn't get you. Big deal." Sam rose from the little kitchen table and tossed his bowl in the sink.
"Dishwasher!" Dean snapped and pointed then continued, "It is a big deal. Elizabeth isn't just some chick. She's not just another girl on the road." He opened his mouth like he was going to say something more, but instead he shook his head and stared out the window.
Sam put his bowl in the dishwasher and even loaded it with washing powder and started it. He puttered around the kitchen, wiping down the countertops and cleaning up the spill on the stove from two nights before. Then he swept and gathered up a load of laundry.
"It is really nice here," he stated as he started the washer. "We've got our own washer and dryer. Our own rooms for once. I can see why you like it. Peaceful, quiet. Well, quiet for the most part. It's a nice place to be."
"Quit trying to psychoanalyze me." Dean growled. "And bring me a drink. I can't get up. Scooter's on my lap."
Sam took a soda from the refrigerator and passed it to his brother. "All I'm saying is that it's nice to take a break from the road. I agree. But we've got to remember who we are and what we do. We're hunters."
Dean pointed at his face where the burns and cuts still stood out in sharp, red relief against his skin. "No shit, Sherlock. All we've done since we got here is hunt monsters and investigate crazy crap. This town is a hotbed of supernatural activity. And until things settle down and I know everybody's safe, I'm going to stay here and hunt."
Sam nodded. "That's all I'm saying. It's okay to stay for a while. But when we're done here, we're done. We move on."
Dean stared out the window again.
"Right, Dean? When we're done here, we move on," Sam repeated.
"Yeah. We move on."
"Why are we still here?" Sam asked three days later as Dean walked in the door carrying a large, paper-wrapped frame. "That damned box in the hardware store has gone dormant as long as it's the only thing on the shelf, the hospital's dark again, the sitichula hasn't come back, and the bed and breakfast is totally quiet." He sank onto the couch and threw a pillow at Dean's head. "Time to hit the road again."
Dean grabbed the pillow out of the air and tossed it onto the couch. Scooter immediately jumped on it and stretched out for a nap. "If we leave, what will we do with the dog? He can't go hunting."
Sam laughed. "Nope. He'd bark once then bring the demon a toy to throw for him."
"Are you kidding?" Dean ruffled the little dog's ears. "This dog is vicious. He'd bite the demon's head off."
Scooter yawned and licked his hand with his tiny pink tongue. We should have named you Marshmallow, Dean thought to himself with a smile. He kissed the top of Scooter's head, then headed to the kitchen to grab a hammer and nail out of the junk drawer. "It's still too soon to go. Anything could happen. It's just not safe to leave yet," Dean declared as he hung a picture on the wall. "Does this look okay with the couch?"
Sam took in the large landscape complete with mountain lake and evergreen trees. "Bob Ross?" he asked incredulously.
Dean nodded. "Yeah. Found it at the thrift store. Painted by a local lady according to Miss Becky."
"A local dead lady? This isn't a cursed acrylic, is it?" Sam frowned and studied the painting as if searching for signs of skeletons in the lake or wendigos hiding in the woods.
"No," Dean waved his hand dismissively. "She's the backup organist at the Presbyterian church. She just likes to paint."
Sam breathed a sigh of relief. "It's pretty good."
"Happy little trees," Dean agreed with a smile. "I picked up a new lamp too."
Sam watched as his brother set up the lamp and adjusted the throw on the sofa.
"We having company?" Sam asked him at last.
"What? No." Dean paused. "Well, maybe. I hope."
"Who have you invited to dinner?"
"Nobody. Not yet. I haven't had a chance. But I'm going to."
Sam studied his older brother as he paced around the apartment. It had been three days since Elizabeth had shut him down, but after an initial period of despondency, Dean had suddenly perked up. Maybe there was a new woman on the chain.
"So, who is she? Do I know her?" Sam asked.
Dean wiped down the kitchen counters for the third time that day. "Yeah. Elizabeth. Who else?"
"Dude, Elizabeth's not interested. Abby told me so."
"I know. But she will be. I'm going to show her that I'm not some fly-by-night joker that's here one minute and gone the next," Dean replied firmly.
Sam just stared at him. "But you are, Dean. That is exactly what you are." Before Dean could take a swing at him, he added, "It's what we both are. Abby knows that and she's cool with it. We'll have some fun and make some nice memories, but we both know the truth. Neither of us are going to settle down."
Dean opened his mouth as if to argue, but to Sam's surprise, he just shook his head and opened the fridge. "I'm headed down to the Piggly Wiggly for some groceries. You want anything in particular?"
"Something to make a salad. And not just iceberg lettuce."
Hours later, Dean returned with four bags of groceries and a smile on his face. Sam met him at the door of the building, Abigail at his side.
"I gave up on you," Sam explained. "We're going out for pizza. Want to come?"
Before Dean could answer, he spotted Elizabeth pulling into her parking place. "No. You guys go ahead. I'm fine."
Sam took Abby's hand and shrugged. "We'll bring you back some leftovers then."
Dean nodded. "Yeah. Do that."
It had been three days since she'd turned him down in the hallway. He'd tried every way he could think of to casually run into her. He'd tried to enlist Abigail's help. He'd even sent Scooter down the hall and told him to bark at her door. No luck.
He opened the door, trying not to look like a stalker, as she got out of her car. She closed the door, dropped her briefcase on the trunk, and bent down to inspect her rear tire.
"Is that a flat tire I spy?" he asked aloud. "Dean to the rescue!"
He ran to his apartment, dropped his groceries in the hallway by the door, ran back down the hallway and out the front door, skidding a little as he rounded the corner to the parking lot. "Lizzy. Hey." He tried to sound cool, as if he'd just noticed her, but the effect was spoiled somewhat by the fact that he was completely out of breath.
"Hey," she answered and her face lit up with a smile.
"Got a flat?" He tried not to sound hopeful.
"Yeah." She leaned over and poked at a nail head protruding from the tread. "There it is."
"You want me to fix that for you?" Oh please oh please let me fix it for you, he thought to himself.
She popped open her trunk and pulled out a little plastic box. "My dad taught me well. I've got a tire plug kit and an air pump. Plus I've done it before."
"But you're not dressed to plug a tire. Let me do it." He reached out for the box. "Please. Let me do this for you."
She glanced down at her dress pants and passed him the box. "Thanks. I really appreciate it."
He opened the box, pulled out the pliers, and began working the nail free. "I wanted to talk to you. About the other day," he began. "You've got the wrong idea about me."
"In what way?" she sounded anxious.
"Sam and I aren't journalists, but we are cops-kind of. In a way." The nail popped free of the tire, and he began to work on the plug. "What we do is dangerous. The things we hunt aren't easy to find and they aren't easy to deal with. Most people don't even believe in them." He glanced up at her to see the expression on her face.
She just stood there, listening. "Go ahead. I want to know."
"That's the thing, Liz. I want you to know. And I usually don't. We don't talk to people about this. People don't understand. They run away when they do. But you saw it and you didn't run." He pushed the plug into the tire with a grunt and pulled the tool free again. He set up the little pump and began to air up the tire. Once he was satisfied that the plug was holding, he trimmed off the excess, and packed everything away again into the little box.
He packed the box back into her trunk and closed the lid. "I'm not going to lie to you. I've been around the block a few times, if you know what I mean. But I never wanted to tell anyone the truth. I never wanted anyone to know the truth about me. About what I've done."
He walked with her to the building and opened the door for her. "Maybe you're right. Maybe I can't give you what you deserve. But nobody ever made me want to be the kind of man I want to be with you. I just want you to know that."
"That is probably the sweetest thing anyone has ever said to me," she replied as they headed down the hall to her place.
"Good. I was afraid it made no sense at all," he admitted.
"Okay. Dinner. Tonight. You can tell me all about everything. Are you cooking?"
"Yes, ma'am." Panic began to set in. "I'll make you dinner and we'll talk."
"Seven?"
"Better make it six. It's a long story."
She smiled at him and the world began to spin again. "Six." She pressed a quick kiss onto his cheek, opened the door of her apartment, and walked inside.
He gave her a little nod then turned to go back to his place, glancing back at her door as he picked up his groceries from the floor. Scooter looked up curiously from his perch on the back of the couch.
"I have no idea," Dean answered the dog's unspoken question. "Grilled cheese sandwiches and chips? Ramen? A bowl of cereal? Some Spaghetti-O's?"
Dean figured it would be difficult to get Sam out of his hair for the evening, but it turned out that he and Abigail already had plans to watch a movie at her place. "Don't come back early," Dean instructed as he kicked his brother out at 5:30.
"I don't plan to be back before morning," Sam answered with a grin.
Dean closed the door on him with a curse. Sam was getting some. Of course he was. Abby was a nice girl, but Dean could tell that she was just having fun. Neither of them planned to get too deep. He'd played that game a hundred times himself. Love 'em and leave 'em. Be an interesting interlude in any otherwise predicable existence.
For a brief instant he considered what it would be like with Elizabeth. But for some reason, instead of hot sexy stuff, all he could think of was how it would be to wake up next to her every morning. What it would feel like to spend Christmas together. Then he saw her holding a baby. His baby. A wave of dizziness ran through him and he had to sit down for a minute.
What was he doing? Where was this coming from? Suddenly the images came fast and thick and wouldn't stop. He saw himself proposing to her. He watched them get married. He played catch in the back yard with their son. He walked their daughter down the aisle. He sat there and watched them live happily ever after in fast forward.
"This is stupid. This is crazy." He shook himself and went to the bathroom sink to splash cold water on his face. He stared at himself in the mirror and held an intervention. "This isn't you, man. You aren't the marrying kind."
Just then he heard a knock at the door.
He ran his hands through his hair and checked his teeth. Then he dried his face and went to the door. He took a deep breath and opened it.
"Park. Greenough. What the hell are you doing here?"
"We've come to eat dinner," Park declared with a smile.