The blaze lit up the night sky; embers rising above and then falling back down, fizzling out. I was standing there between the two brothers, watching as the flames slowly devoured the body of John Winchester. I had all but planned to stay back and allow Sam and Dean their privacy as they bid their father goodbye one last time. But when the pyre they had built glowed incandescently, I felt the pull to offer my own last farewell. A last send-of to the man who had helped me defeat the demons that had killed my father and kidnapped me. The day my whole life changed.
John had shown up just as I had overtaken one of the demons that had taken me hostage, planning on handing me over to their boss, whomever that was. As I used my hidden talent of super strength, I broke the ropes tying me to the metal chair and jumped to subdue and overpower the monster who was, I assumed, the leader of his little rogue posse. John had exorcised the others and had taken me to his hunting buddy, Bobby Singer.
I walk up and stand between the two brothers, watching as John's body slowly turns to ash. I feel Dean slip his hand into mine and I weave my fingers with his. I look down at our joined hands and slowly lift my head to look at him. I knew he was hurting. They had just gotten their father back after he'd been missing and now he was gone forever. I know just how that felt.
Dean's face is a myriad of emotions. Hurt, sad, pained, betrayed. His eyes are red-rimmed, and his cheeks are stained with tears. I squeezed his hand in solidarity, just to let him know I am here for him. But seeing the misery on his face, had me letting my own tears flow. I cry for my dad; for the pain I sympathized for the brothers; for John, whose life ended way too soon.
"Before he..." Sam begins to talk, getting overwhelmed but continuing. "Before, did he say anything to you? About anything?"
I glance at Dam and my heart breaks even more. He is rocking side to side, fidgeting and I can see the tears threatening to overflow.
Dean never takes his eyes off the flames but answers, "No. Nothing."
Dean retreated to his room upstairs at Bobby's and had not come back down the rest of the evening. Once Bobby and Sam retired for the night, I slowly made my way to him. I knew he was hurting and I wanted to just be there for him. Be his rock, his confidante, a shoulder to cry on.
After knocking lightly, I open the door and easily creep into the room, shutting the door behind me. Dean was laying on the bed staring upward at nothing at all. I tiptoe over and lay beside him. Never taking his eyes off the ceiling, he wraps an arm around my neck and pulls me close. I turn and nuzzle up to him, laying my arm across his middle. I want to be a comfort, but I also didn't want to cause his stress either. We lay there, cuddled together for what seemed like hours before he spoke.
"I can't believe he's actually gone," Dean whispers, his voice strained after not using it for a while.
"I know," I replied. There was nothing else I could say. I couldn't bring his father back. He hugged me tighter and I could feel his sobs wrack through his body. Dean would never actually allow anyone to see him cry, the solitude of the darkened room his only escape.
Without moving our arms, Dean turned toward me, and I could see the ghost of his tears streaking his face. His eyes were even more red-rimmed than earlier and his cheeks and nose rosy.
We laid there and just stared at one another. I wanted to be his shelter in any storm he encountered. I knew I loved him, but I was still unsure how he felt.
"Nic?"
"Hmm?"
"Help me forget. Just for a little while." It wasn't a question or a demand. Dean just wanted-no, he needed-peace.
"How?" I asked, not fully understanding the request.
Dean calmly leaned toward me, gently touching his lips to mine. I ran my hand up his side, over his shoulder and laid it on his neck behind his head. I parted my lips and he took the hint, pushing his tongue through. We lay there exploring one another's mouths, tongues wrestling.
Dean casually pushed me until I was on my back and he was leaning over me, never letting our mouths part.
As soon as I felt Dean's hand slide over my stomach, I stopped kissing him, opened my eyes and grabbed his wrist. Looking up into those forest green orbs, I saw the want-the need-to just be taken away. Dean needed an escape from reality, even just for a little while.
I let go of his wrist and wordlessly tell him he could continue. Dean slips his hand under the top of my shorts and into my panties, stopping just before cresting over my mound. He brought his lips back to mine and we rejoined our tongues.
As his tongue fought for dominance he let his hand travel further down and began rubbing my clit with his middle finger, the rough pad of his digit causing a delicious friction. My hips involuntarily bucked and I feel Dean smile against my lips. I moan into his mouth and his lowers his hand to tease my entrance.
I wrap both arms around Dean's neck crossing my wrists behind his head. His finger passes through my folds and he glides into my core, easing in and out over and over.
"Mmmm, Dean," I murmur against his lips. He adds another and curls them to hit my g-spot. "Oh god," I utter as he continues his ministrations. His movements are steady and determined. I unlock my wrists and run my hand over his head, carding my fingers through his hair.
He kisses the side of my mouth, down my jaw and onto my neck, lightly sucking and nipping at the juncture of my shoulder. His other hand gently caresses down my side, slipping into the edge of my shots and continuing down my thigh and calf, taking my shorts and panties with it.
While my bottom half is exposed, Dean lifts onto his knees, unbuttoning and unzipping his jeans, pulling them off. As he undresses, I sit up and pull my top over my head and throw it in the floor. I lay back and watch as Dean finishes by pulling his t-shirt over his head, letting it join mine.
His thick, hard cock springs out and I can see pre-cum leaking already. Dean lays over top of me and pecks my lips, looking into my face. I can see the hurt and pain of losing his father in his eyes, but I also see the lust he has for me. He swipes the hair from my forehead and captures my mouth in a heat-searing kiss.
Dean lines his tip to my puss and slowly thrusts in. His movements are soft and languid. His arms snake under mine and he holds himself on his forearms. We are touching from our chests to our toes. I can feel his heartbeat on my breast. I reach up and cup his cheek. We are no longer kissing but lips still touching, panting into one another's mouths, breathe mixing. He presses his forehead to mine, rocking his hips slowly, his dick pushing in and pulling out in a steady, even drag. I stretch my arm out and up bending it over my head. He chases my hand, lacing his fingers with mine and just holds it there.
As much as I enjoyed my first time with Dean a few weeks ago, this is different. This is more sensual; more personal. Words need not be spoken' our movements convey it all.
The emotion of it all finally hits me, and I can start feeling that coil in my abdomen tighten. I know Dean can tell I'm getting close because he speeds his thrusts, barely, and growls low. He is close too. I feel the coil snap and my whole body ignites. My skin feels like it's on fire; my walls clench down on him, drawing his own end out. He spills ropes of his seed inside me and stills.
He kisses my lips; my cheeks; my forehead; my eyelids; wherever he can get his lips to without much movement he lands a kiss there. One last long kiss to my lips and his pulls out of me and settles on the bed beside of me, hugging my back to his front; covering us both with a blanket.
"Thank you, Nic," he mutters, placing kisses on my shoulders. I ebb off to sleep in Dean's arms.
Dean is adamant about getting Baby, his prized 1967 Chevy Impala, back in running condition that for the last week he has spent hours, daylight to dark, working on her.
I keep my self-proclaimed promise and help him when I can. So far, we have beat out dents, dislodged crushed doors, detached flatten, almost shredded tires and cleaned broken glass from the pristine leather seats.
I'm sitting here, holding a ratchet while watching Dean's legs move, as he struggles to loosen a bolt on the undercarriage.
I see Sam approach and I smile up at him.
"How's the car coming along?"
"Slow," Dean answers as he rolls the creeper out from under the car and stands. Walking toward the work bench, Sam follows.
"Need any help?" Sam asks sincerely.
"You under a hood?" Dean responds. "I'll pass. 'Sides Nic's been helping." He leans over and I reach up as he gives me a chaste kiss.
"Need anything else then? Sam inquires, honestly.
"Stop it, Sam."
"Stop what?"
I sit there and listen to the conversation, not wanting to interrupt the brothers.
"Stop asking if I need anything, stop asking if I'm okay. I'm okay. Really. I promise."
"Dean, we've been at Bobby's for a week now and you haven't brought up Dad once. I'm here if you need to talk," Sam says.
"You know what. You're right. Come here. I'll lay my head on your shoulder. We can cry, hug. Heck, I'll even slow dance."
"Dean, he's just trying to help," I say, defending Sam.
Dean and Sam both look at me and Sam smiles towards me, thanking me.
"Don't patronize me, Dean. Dad is dead, the Colt is gone! Seems pretty damn like the demon is behind it all and you act like nothing happened," Sam pleads.
Leaning against the workbench, Dean wipes his hands on a grease rag. "What do you want me to say, Sammy?"
"Say something. Hell say anything. Aren't you angry? Want revenge? All you do is sit out here all day working on this damn car!"
"Revenge, huh?" Dean asks, incredulously. "Sounds good. Got any leads on the demons? Making head or tails of Dad's research. Because I sure ain't. But you know, if we do finally find it-oh. No, wait. Like you said. The Colt's gone. But I'm sure you've figured out another way to kill it. We've got nothing, Sam! Nothing, okay? So, you know, the only thing I can do. I can work on the car." Dean squats to restart working on the car.
"Well, we've got something, all right," Sam says as he pulls out a cellphone. I stand and walk over, curious as to what he's found. "It's one of Dad's old phones. Took me awhile but I cracked the voicemail code. Listen to this."
Dean stands and takes the phone from Sam, holding it to his ear. I lean closer to listen and Dean puts the phone between us so we both can hear.
A woman's voice speaks. "John, it's Ellen. Again. Look, don't be stubborn. You know I can help. Call me."
"That message is four months old," Sam explains.
"Dad saved this chick's message for four months?" Dean asks and Sam nods. "Well, who's Ellen? Any mention of her in Dad's journal?"
"No, but I ran a trace on her phone number and got an address," Say says.
"Ask Bobby if we can use one of his cars." Dean instructs, and Sam turns to go back inside.
"Road trip?" Dean asks, looking at me and holding his hand out.
"Guess so," I answer, taking his hand.