Fever dream high in the quiet of the night
 You know that I caught it
 Bad, bad boy, shiny toy with a price
 You know that I bought it

Killing me slow, out the window
I'm always waiting for you to be waiting below
Devils roll the dice, angels roll their eyes
What doesn't kill me makes me want you more
…

Hang your head low in the glow of the vending machine
 I'm not dying
 We say that we'll just screw it up in these trying times
 We're not trying

So cut the headlights, summer's a knife
I'm always waiting for you just to cut to the bone
Devils roll the dice, angels roll their eyes
And if I bleed, you'll be the last to know
…

I'm drunk in the back of the car
 And I cried like a baby comin' home from the bar
 Said, 'I'm fine,' but it wasn't true
 I don't wanna keep secrets just to keep you
 And I snuck in through the garden gate
 Every night that summer, just to seal my fate
 And I scream, 'For whatever it's worth
 I love you, ain't that the worst thing you ever heard?'
 He looks up, grinnin' like a devil
It's new, the shape of your body
 It's blue, the feeling I've got
 And it's, it's a cruel summer
 It's cool, that's what I tell him
 No rules in breakable heaven, but
It's a cruel summer with you

Taylor Swift — Cruel Summer

2004

It was three a.m. by the time John returned to the motel, long after my talk with Dean and even longer after we finished that bottle of wine. We were up, packed, and ready to leave at five o'clock this morning when John suddenly announced that he was heading out alone. Usually, his trips to Stanfard were planned a few days in advance, and he always told us about it, so this sudden change of events with almost no explanation was odd.

"You need us to do anything?" Dean asked.

"No," John picked up his duffle bag and slung it over his shoulder, "just call me if you find yourselves a job."

"How long will you be out?" I wondered.

"About a week. Look out for each other," he instructed and left.

Within the hour, we began searching for a job through a few local newspapers and online. Dean called me over. I rested an arm on his chair to peer over his shoulder at the articles he browsed. Our proximity felt closer than ever before; I seemingly couldn't stop thinking about how his lips were right next to mine. The idea kept pinging off the walls of my mind, managing to lodge itself at the forefront.

"This looks interesting," Dean commented, his voice still husky from sleep. "Some guy was killed in a cemetery by a headless ghost, according to his co-worker."

"Hm," I hummed, retrieving my vibrating phone from my pocket. "That sounds ridiculous."

"Well," he grinned, "ridiculous is kind of our thing, Tor."

I nodded in agreement, making the mistake of not looking at the caller ID before picking up. "Hello?"

"Morning, Tori," Luke answered, chipper as ever despite it being six o'clock on a Saturday.

"Oh, hey, Luke," I said, walking around to the other side of the table. Dean stared at me the whole way. I turned my back as though that would give me some kind of privacy.

"I texted you last night."

"You did?" I feigned shock. Of course, I saw the screen light up, but it was right after Dean settled in on the couch. Burying my nose in my phone didn't seem right, and if I were a hundred percent honest, I didn't want to interrupt our time alone. "Sorry, I must've missed it."

"It's okay. I figured you were busy." A cupboard shut, and a coffee mug clinked on Luke's countertop. "So, what do you think?"

"About what?"

"The text," he laughed. "What I asked you."

I hurried to check my messages, finding Luke wondering if I wanted to go to dinner tonight. "Actually," I ran a hand through my hair, "we're leaving this afternoon."

"Last minute change?"

"Yeah, very. I was going to call, but then I had to do some paperwork for John." The words hung heavy on my lips like an anvil. Luke didn't deserve this, all the lies.

"Well, before you go, do you want to meet for coffee?"

Initially, I had yet to plan for the correct way to go about this. I thought maybe I'd wait until we were a state over and then call or text him. You know, take the coward's way out. It didn't seem the universe supported that option, though, and gave me the push I needed to do it correctly. "I'd like that, yeah," I said. Luke gave me the address for a nearby coffee shop. We determined a time to meet, and I snapped the phone shut.

When I finally turned back around, I caught Dean's sullen doe eyes before he hurried to look away. "Got another date?" he asked, tapping the laptop keys with added weight.

"Something like that," I mumbled, stuffing my cell into my back pocket. Could it be classified as a date if the intention was to call things off?

Luke was already there when I arrived, sitting at a table with two cups of ultra-blonde coffee and two sesame seed bagels. I assumed everything was for him since I didn't prefer either, but he happily informed me that one set was mine. It was minor. Any other moment, I wouldn't complain, but today, it tacked onto the glaring, extensive list of things he didn't know about me.

"Where are you guys off to next?" he asked after a good ten minutes going on about some potential promotion news he got this morning.

"Pennsylvania," I threw out. That article Dean found was from there, so it was fresh in my mind.

"And how long are you staying there?"

"I'm not sure yet."

He eyed me from across the table. "You're always moving around."

"It comes with the life." I shrugged, absentmindedly tapping a nail against my mug.

"Yeah, your Dad's life. What do you," he pointed to me like a salesman, "want?"

"I don't know, Luke," I answered honestly for once. I'd never given it much thought. Hunting was my life.

"You have options."

I paused with the coffee halfway to my lips. "Which are what?"

Luke cleared his throat and shuffled in his seat. He smiled in a broad way I'd never seen before, took my hand in his, and rested them atop the table. I zeroed in on how it felt like clutching a dead fish—cold and bony. Has it always been that way? If so, why didn't I notice before? "What do you think about staying here in Ohio?"

"What?" I asked, unsure I heard him correctly over my internal monologue.

"You can move in with me. There are tons of opportunities for you here, and–"

A flash of fear filled my body like water overtaking a wounded boat. Why I thought this would be easier, I'd never know, but I was sinking fast. Somehow, he'd taken much more out of this relationship than I did. I felt like shit—like I strung him along. Without thinking of the consequences, I ripped my hand from Luke's, and his face fell. "I'm sorry," I apologized, but the damage was already done. "It's not that I don't–" want to, I almost said, but that would be a lie. I didn't want to. A new life—a normal life—with Luke would require doing away with my current one. Sure, it's grimy, and gross, and exhausting, but leaving it would mean leaving people I cared about, people I didn't want to lose. "I can't do that."

His dark eyes darted between mine, searching for the truth. "Why not?"

"Because I just can't," I repeated, unable to devise a decent excuse. Of course, I had a perfect reason, but explaining it would open an entire can of monstrous worms. Exposing him to the truth was out of the question.

"I don't understand, Tori. If it's about your Dad, I'm sure he can find another secretary. I mean, your brother left; why can't you? What's the big deal?

The mention of Sam's departure sent a rush of heat through me; the big deal was that all contact was severed because he had left. "That's different," I stated unpleasantly.

"I just think that—"

"You know," I pushed away from the table, "I should go."

Luke quickly stood with me, regret written across his features. "No, Tori–"

Though the room was nearly empty, I didn't want to make a scene. "I need to go," I said in a tone that left no room for argument. "It wouldn't work, Luke, I'm sorry." I fled like a child, too scared to handle the weight of what had been presented to me, and ended up in a middle-of-nowhere, vacant parking lot, staring at the car's dashboard.

My phone vibrated twice in my back pocket, dragging me from my hazy mind. On it, I found a text from Luke apologizing and asking if he could call me. I stared at the small screen, chewing my thumbnail until it cracked. I began a message that I erased and re-wrote more times than I could count before simply saying once again that I was sorry. This time, though, I made sure to add that it wasn't his fault. It was mine. I hoped he didn't take it as the tired excuse: it's not you, it's me. It was nothing but the truth.

I stayed in the Impala for about an hour, staring up at the car's lining. If Sam were here, he'd tell me to go with Luke and never look back. If John were here, he'd get angry; leaving the life wouldn't be an option. All the thoughts rolling through my head, I kept returning to one: what would Dean think? What would he say? Above all, I just wished he were here. I wanted to talk to him. Maybe he'd get a little upset at Luke's proposal, but ultimately, he'd listen to me, and that's what I need right now.

Parking before our room, I removed the keys from the ignition and got out. From the corner of my eye, I saw the blinds move. Of course, Dean was waiting. Before I even reached the door, it opened. Dean looked behind me, brows furrowed. "You're back early. Everything alright?"

"Yeah." I handed him the keys, peeled off my jacket, and plopped it on one of the chairs on my way to the fridge for a beer. "Thanks for letting me take the car."

"No problem…" he trailed off. I used the edge of the countertop to pop the cap off and tossed it into the trash before taking a long drink. When I removed the bottle from my lips, I finally noticed the intensity with which Dean stared at me, eyebrow raised, like he was calculating my every move. He glanced down at his watch briefly. "It's nine-thirty."

"So?" I shrugged and stared at the auburn-tinted bottle with a sneer. "Do we have anything stronger?"

"Do I need to shoot somebody?" he joked, although the glimmer of hope in his eyes was very serious.

I sighed and rested against the counter. "Not today."

"What happened?"

"It's just something Luke said," I explained vaguely, and Dean's demeanor shifted.

"What did he say?"

"He asked me to stay here with him."

Dean's chest had been raising and falling steadily until those words left my lips, and he stopped breathing. "What? You barely know the guy!"

"It's been a couple years." On and off. "That amount of time's a miracle for a hunter, from what I've gathered," I chuckled. Instead of laughing with me like I figured he would, irritation crept onto Dean's face like vines on a tree.

"Don't tell me you said you would," he said cautiously. A thin shred of fear pierced Dean's eyes. It happened fast, but I caught it. Before I could tell him no, he added, "I mean, why would you want to?"

Something about his tone sent me plummeting into the dour mood I was trying to dig myself out of. "Why would I want to be with someone who loves me?" I questioned sarcastically.

"Love?" Dean exhaled sharply through his nose. "Tor, you said it yourself; you don't even trust the guy; now you're talking about love?!" He shook his head. "You can't do this."

Right now, it didn't matter that being with Luke wasn't something I wanted. It was the principle of the thing. I scoffed, "I know I can't."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Don't you think I know that if I left, I'd never see you guys again? That I'd have to go away and not come back."

"Don't bring Sam into this; it's not about him."

"You're right, it's not," I said, pushing off the counter and putting the bottle down. It clanged against the laminate, reverberating through the glass and into my hand. I stalked for the door. "I thought I could talk to you, Dean."

"Wait, Tor," he started, but I left before he could finish. Everything told me to flee, to go to a bar for the night, maybe even call Luke and beg him to take me back. My stomach churned like a cement mixer at the thought—all its contents turning over in a thick sludge. So, I planted myself on the sidewalk, lining the string of motel rooms.

An unusual chill came with the otherwise mild wind and penetrated my bones. I wrapped my arms around myself to shield my exposed skin. Sure, I could run back in and grab my jacket, but I didn't want to face Dean—not right now. Of course, I was upset with his assumption I'd leave and his dismissal of hearing anything else, especially after last night. But I couldn't shake the shame at how I retaliated. Trading verbal lashings didn't make it any better.

Behind me, rusty hinges squeaked—their sudden sound making me flinch. I didn't bother looking; I already knew it was him. My jacket gently floated around my shoulders, Dean's fingertips brushing against my collarbone as he placed it. I'd gotten so used to ignoring the flutter beneath my skin whenever he touched me that I almost didn't notice it. But it was there—like always.

"Can I sit?" he asked cautiously, hesitating when I didn't reply.

I licked my lips, contemplatively taking my bottom one between my teeth. "Yeah, you can," I finally decided, focusing on the stone below my boots.

Dean lowered himself to the concrete beside me, clasping his hands between his knees. "I'm sorry."

I lifted an eyebrow. "What for?"

"Being a dickhead."

"You were."

"I know."

I had to push my pride aside. If he could do it, so could I. "I'm sorry, too," I said. Through it all, I took comfort in knowing that this would be behind us by tonight. If there's one thing Dean and I were good at, it was getting over things quickly. That's all I wanted. To put this place—everything and everyone in it—in our rearview and get out of dodge.

Dean's brows pulled together. "What are you sorry for?"

"Bringing up Sam."

He shrugged it off. "You were upset."

"That doesn't make it okay." It was a sore subject, and I had no right to weaponize it. Not after I'd gotten upset at someone else for doing it to me.

"I don't ever want you to feel like you can't talk to me," he muttered regretfully.

"Dean, you're the only person I can talk to," I insisted. "This whole thing was just a mess."

"You're right, it was. I guess I just got—I don't know…" Dean struggled to convey his point and cleared the gravel in his throat. "If you really wanna be with this guy—"

That was the last turn on planet Earth I expected this conversation to take. "I don't want that," I quickly replied. "It's over with Luke. I told him no."

"Really?" he asked, almost giddy.

"Yes," I laughed in spite of our situation, "really."

"Well, that's uh– I mean, that's–" Dean strumbled, trying to find something sympathetic to say on Luke's behalf. He couldn't find it, and his confusion quickly morphed into frustration. "Wait, why didn't you say that before?"

"Why didn't you give me the chance to?" I retorted pointedly.

"'Cause I was scared," he answered just as fast. "You could've walked right out of my life. I don't know what I'd do without you."

"I told you, I'm not going anywhere."

"I know, you did. And I believed you; I still do."

"Then what is it?" I pressed for an answer.

"Am I crazy to think that talk we had meant something?" he finally asked. Suddenly, everything clicked. To some extent, he probably felt betrayed, and part of his reaction this morning stemmed from the same reason I wanted to end it with Luke. Last night was a muffled confession—wading in shallow water to gauge how far out to swim. I suppose I didn't realize he dove into it as deeply as I had.

My chest burned, begging for air I couldn't seem to draw in. Dean's pupils dilated, full of honesty and tenderness—and maybe a little fear—while he anxiously awaited my answer. "No, you're not," I said, finally.

"Okay," he smiled shakily, "good."

"What do we do about it, Dean? 'Cause I've got to be honest, it's getting hard to ignore."

He pulled in a deep breath and pushed his words out with it, "Then we don't."

"We don't what?" I repeated doubtfully.

"Ignore it. I don't think I can anymore, either," he said, tentatively taking my hand. I looked down at our interlocked fingers, unable to ignore the warmth and comfort radiating from him. I didn't want to let go. But just before I got swept up in the moment, reality slammed down. Whatever we felt, whatever we not-so-secretly pined for, couldn't be. Our bubble would be burst by the pin that is John Winchester. Us—it wasn't something he'd allow.

"What about John?" I asked, beginning to release my grip, anticipating the apprehension to cross Dean's eyes like any other time his father was brought up regarding him doing something he shouldn't. I expected him to let go of my hand, but much to my surprise, his gaze steeled with conviction, and he held on tighter.

"Yeah, what about him?"

I balked. "Dean, you know what would happen if he found out."

"I know. But he's never around anymore," Dean said somberly. "He doesn't have to know."

"Why would you do that?" I asked, barely able to push the words out. Shock didn't cover what I felt.

A small, slightly unsure smile tugged on Dean's lips as he uttered, "I'm thinking I'd do just about anything for you." He swallowed audibly, cautiously trailing his fingertips across my cheek as he brushed my bangs behind my ear. I became locked in his emotion-charged gaze, stuck with no discernible way out. The gap between us so small, yet daunting. It wouldn't be the first time we kissed in a rush of emotion, and that hadn't ended well. We both got hurt and added another brick to the wall between us. But the difference this time was glaringly obvious. In his eyes was a look I'd caught thrown my way every so often, mostly when he thought I wouldn't notice. Now, it was far less guarded—free and open, allowing me to see the depths of affection he held.

Dean glanced at my lips before returning to my eyes, asking for permission. I gave it freely in the form of a barely-moving nod. That gesture, however small, was enough for him, and he closed the space between us.

Our week undoubtedly went differently than it was supposed to and not one bit like I figured it would. In the whirlwind, we didn't end up looking for a job and spent not one iota of time thinking about monsters or how to kill them. Instead, we went to dinner and bars a few times and even saw a movie. That hadn't happened in a while. I suppose all that could've been classified as "dates," but we didn't acknowledge it.

Years of longing glances were overwhelming torture, and in my head, whenever I occasionally allowed a few daydreams to slip past the barrier, things were much more frantic when Dean and I finally gave in. In reality, nothing was rushed, and he made it a point to keep it that way. At first, I was a little frustrated by it; I wanted everything and wanted it now out of fear we wouldn't get another chance later. But then I realized how foolish that was of me and how sweet it was of him. He cared… a lot, enough to work up to it. Closer to the end of the week, it finally happened, and the wait was well worth it.

It felt like I blinked, and John was calling us to meet him in Arkansas. I figured it was the beginning of the end. I didn't want to, but I braced myself for it. Going in prepared was better than being blindsided. Eventually, the threat of getting caught would be too high, and things would have to return to "normal." Dean and I would have to dial it back until the switch turned off completely.

Almost the entire drive down, Dean held my hand or pulled me close and draped his arm across my shoulders. Somehow, he didn't seem to share my concerns; even after we arrived, he only doubled down on us, brushing his knee against my leg under tables, accidentally grazing against me as he walked past, or running his fingers across mine whenever I was handed something. Dean was far more brazen than I thought he would be, and John didn't appear to take note. It allowed me to force my fears aside and focus on how happy this made me.

There was an unwithering spark in Dean's eyes that hadn't been there as strongly before. I liked to believe I was the cause.

Three months had come and gone. John had taken to leaving more often, and the reason why would rarely be said. Sometimes, he'd tell us details of the hunt he found; others, he'd simply leave it in the air. Either way, when he went on solo trips, we were left to our own devices and didn't have to worry about him returning unannounced. That happened once. I still wasn't sure my heart had recovered from the shock of the door opening and his shadow spreading across the floor hours before he said he'd be back. Thankfully, nothing untoward was happening, or else it would've blown up in our faces right then and there.

Of course, we didn't enjoy lying to John—especially not Dean. Neither of us wanted to show that we were bothered by it to spare the other, but we always knew. Whenever Dean was down or upset, I was there for him just as he was for me. Since we were kids, we'd always been this way, but if anything, it was stronger now, and in my mind, that cemented what we were doing as the right thing. Hard as sneaking around was, we had to if we wanted to keep this going. I certainly wasn't prepared for it to end… not yet.

Romantic relationships weren't foreign to me; I had my fair share. Some spanned months, others only lasted a night—none made me feel like this. Blame it on the rush of something new or the thrill of breaking a rule, but my heart had never beat with such assuredness before. Deep down, I knew exactly what it meant. Time after time, those three little words came forward, and I hastily propelled them back. It hadn't been long enough to say that. I'm not sure it ever would be. Not only did I fear scaring him with such an intense confession so soon, but I also knew that if I said it out loud, that would make it really real. So, I resigned to recognizing those feelings only in private and going with the flow wherever it took me. As long as I was with him in any capacity, I'd be happy.

DPOV:

Life was so densely packed lately that correctly tracking the passing of time felt nearly impossible. Five months; that's how long Tori and I had kept this going. If I dwelled too long on who I had to lie to in order to have this, I struggled with the idea of it all. Whenever Dad looked at me a few beats too long, I sometimes swore disappointment shined back at me, like he knew. Then, I'd find Tori. Strangely, it wouldn't matter what he thought anymore. I knew the risks of him discovering us, but I also knew the rewards of having her this way. She was more than worth the occasional jitters. Plus, Dad was none the wiser. If he had the slightest inkling, he would've ripped me apart, and I'm still standing.

Now he was gone, again, without saying much about where he disappeared. It wasn't normal for him to do, but I wasn't about to pry. Whatever he was doing, I'm sure it was necessary. Not to mention, Tori and I got more alone time out of it. I couldn't say a thing about his secrets when mine was currently sitting beside me, her arm interlocked with mine and resting on the table. Tori absentmindedly tapped her finger on my sleeve. She had no idea how calming the soft pop of her nail hitting the leather was. We'd just finished a bitch of a ghoul hunt and had some time to kill out in the middle of rural Tennesee, so tonight, we stopped off at a local bar before heading back to the motel. Tori was already buzzed by the time we left and suggested stopping at a liquor store. Was it the most responsible idea for me to go along with? Maybe not. But it was the most fun, and dammit, we deserved it.

Three hours later, between the two of us, the bottle of tequila was almost halfway gone. In all the years we'd known each other and all the alcohol we'd consumed together, I never saw Tori so drunk. A near-permanent smile played on her lips; her eyes were completely glazed over, their usual blue hues dampened with mist. She had trouble sitting upright without swaying. It was cute until she complained that she couldn't feel her tongue anymore. That's when I had to take the bottle away. As we settled in bed, Tori snuggled into my arms and sighed, her warm breath gliding across my bare chest. Along with it came words—three, to be exact.

The quiet voices from the TV faded into a tinny hum; my hazy eyes were suddenly clear again. Any stupor I had going from the booze left. Pins and needles rattled down my legs like screws in a tin can, begging me to run to get rid of them. The more those words rolled around in my mind, the tighter my airways constricted. It'd be so simple to someone else, but it made my heart bang against my ribs. I'm surprised the thump didn't wake her up.

Think logically, I told myself. Tori's drunk—and was falling asleep—she doesn't know what she's saying. Anything could've come out. Shit, I've said some things after a drink or two I didn't really mean. That had to be it. Unless it wasn't, and she really, truly felt it. Both possibilities scared me in different ways. I wasn't prepared for any of this, though I guess I should've seen it coming. If I put myself in a world where the first was true, our lives would go by unchanged. Everything would remain the same. That should be fine, but the thought left me hollow.

If the second were true—if that's really how she felt—then I didn't know where to begin. Did I feel the same? ... Yes. Now, did I know how to tell her that? Hell, no. It's something she'd want to hear. On top of sneaking around, if I couldn't carry out that simple task, what else couldn't I do for her?

After our carefree night, the last thing I expected was an existential crisis, but here we are.

When birds began to chirp, I decided to go. I needed to, for her sake. Getting out of that bed was one of the hardest things I've done, but if I stayed and waited for her to wake, I feared what would happen. I moved slowly, and Tori didn't stir, but her hand clutched my arm as I attempted to leave. It's like, even unconscious, she knew what I was doing. Loosening her grip finger by finger, I broke free. Rather than digging around my bag, I threw on my clothes from the night before. Returning to the bed, I kissed her head, lingering for a moment to capture the vanilla-coated strawberry scent of her hair. I grabbed the keys on the way to the door and didn't look back at her. I wouldn't be able to go if I did. And I had to go.

TPOV:

A pounding headache woke me from my otherwise peaceful sleep. I didn't open my eyes, trying desperately to fall back into my dream. It was a good one—Dean and I were out for the day at a lake. We didn't have anywhere important to go and no one to answer to; we simply were—and we were in it together. Despite no longer being in that world, I could feel the warm breeze and taste the salty air on my tongue. Eventually, when sleep would no longer take me, and the illusion of toasty weather dissipated, my limbs started to feel like blocks of ice. I rolled over, expecting to be met with Dean to cuddle my coldness away, but instead found his side of the bed empty. I figured he must have gotten up already and used the extra space to stretch my sore muscles. Unfurling from the ball I'd been in only made me colder, so I retracted my arms and legs and pulled the comforter to my nose.

"Dean?" I called groggily, gaining no response. The blanket muffled my voice, so he probably didn't hear me. I moved it from my mouth and tried again—still, nothing. One of my stiff arms pushed me into a sitting position while the other kept the covers in place so I didn't freeze. The room was empty. From my vantage point, I couldn't see inside the bathroom. The shower wasn't running, but Dean had to be in there. Forgetting my lack of clothing, I slithered out of bed and immediately got hit with a chill. I snagged a blanket off the couch and wrapped it around myself before tip-toeing to the ajar bathroom door.

"Come back to bed. I'm freezing," I laughed. Again, there was nothing. I pushed the door open and stepped inside. Dean wasn't here, either.

When I surveyed the room this time, I saw everything more clearly. Dean's boots were missing, and so were his clothes from the last night, along with his duffle bag. His wallet, which rested next to the near-empty bottle of tequila just last night, was gone, too. My muscles were no longer taut from the cold; they were stretched by suspicion as I flew to the window and opened the curtain, finding the parking space directly in front of our room vacant.

My temples pulsed as a reminder of my very intense hangover. I sat down on the edge of the bed and almost sank to the floor. Why would he leave? Everything was fine. Better than fine, actually. It wasn't like Dean to just up and disappear. He wouldn't do that to me, so something must've happened.

Painstakingly, I ran through the night to find what could've caused this. First, we went to a bar. After that, we got food and the tequila and returned to the motel. We barely left the bed. There wasn't one single thing I could pinpoint to elicit this reaction. Then, it hit me like a lightning bolt. Just before I fell asleep, my endorphin-riddled, uninhibited brain thought it'd be a great idea to let slip something I'd been avoiding. Of course, I wanted to tell him; it's all I ever thought about, but I knew I needed to do it right. This was not that. I needed to call and get him to come back so I could explain.

My vision fizzled, accompanied by a jolt of pain through my head that made my stomach churn. I ignored it for the most part, struggling to properly turn my jeans right side out so I could dig through the pockets. Suddenly, the lock clicked and turned, and Dean opened the door, stopping dead in his tracks when he looked up at me from the carryout bag and tray of two coffee cups he held. I was relieved; he was here. Then it dawned on me how stupid I probably looked, and I wished he had waited until I called so I wasn't caught kneeling on the couch with only a blanket draped over my shoulders and my arm stuck through the leg of my jeans.

"Uh… everything alright?" he asked, tentatively entering the room and shutting the door with his hip.

"Oh, I just– you were gone, and I wanted to call you," I said, floundering to pull my arm from the fabric. How the hell do I get my leg through this damn thing?

Dean set the things he carried on the table and came over. "Here, let me help," he said, taking my jeans from the waist and tugging them downward while I pulled my arm back. Thankfully, he freed me. He folded them in half and tossed them aside.

I messaged the part of my elbow that had somehow gotten stuck. "Thanks."

"You must be freezing; it's cold in here," he said, rubbing my arms through the blanket to try and warm me up.

"Yeah, well, my space heater left," I teased.

"Well, your space heater," Dean laughed, "wanted to get you breakfast. I should've turned the AC up," he added regretfully. "Sorry."

I let my foot fall onto the floor so I could sit, keeping the other tucked beneath me. "It's okay. You didn't know."

Dean cracked a mischievous grin. "I guess I'll just have to find some other way to warm you up."

My teeth dragged across my bottom lip and my eyes looked him up and down. "I'm sure we can come up with something."

"But first." He pulled back and held up a finger. "Food."

Usually, a hangover meant no desire to eat, but I was actually hungry. Maybe it came from all that freaking out. "That sounds good," I chuckled.

"And you know, I hate to say it," he started jokingly, "but you should probably put some clothes on."

Almost on cue, my teeth chattered, and Dean ventured to the closet. I was perplexed until he pulled out our duffle bags. So that's where they were, I thought. Here I was, for the past half hour, thinking Dean had taken his things and left when the proof he had every intention of returning was right under my nose. If I'd forgotten about the bags, possibly I hadn't said what I thought I did. Maybe it was part of my dream; it wouldn't be the first time.

Dean dug around in one of the duffles, pulling out a long-sleeve shirt and a pair of thick sweatpants. He kissed my head as he delivered them to me and went to the table to unpack our food while I dressed. Even after I finished, I still kept the blanket around me like a cocoon. Beside my styrofoam container of my favorite breakfast foods was a bottle of ibuprofen and a cup of coffee. "How'd you know?" I asked, pouring a couple pills into my hand.

"Just a hunch."

"What about you? You drank a lot, too."

"Yeah, I already took some," he said, sitting on the chair beside mine. I kept my coffee nearby while we ate, every so often cradling it to warm my fingers. I took comfort in knowing everything was perfectly normal, and I overreacted. I've never been so happy to be crazy.

One thing I did notice, however, was the looks Dean kept sending my way. He always kept an eye on me when he thought I wasn't paying attention, but it seemed like he was lost in thought, building the courage to speak. Asking him what was wrong felt like it would only worsen his discomfort, so I avoided the question. Finally, he appeared to calm down, and we finished our food. Well, Dean did. I stopped halfway through, not wanting to take advantage of my appetite. Since my hangover swallowed me up, we opted to stay in for the day and settled on the couch. I'd stay right here forever if I could.

"How's your headache?" he asked out of the blue.

"Not too bad," I answered. Dean stroked my hair and gently ran his fingers through the ends. It made me want to fall asleep, and if he didn't speak again, I just might've.

"You, uh," he cleared his throat, "remember anything from last night?"

"I remember guzzling that bottle of tequila and then passing out," I chuckled and cringed at the shockwave doing so sent through my skull. "And a few other things," I added suggestively, peering up through my eyelashes.

He laughed, but something was off; his tone wasn't right. He sounded nervous. "No, not that."

"What is it, then?" I asked, reluctantly pulling up and out of his arms. I wanted to look at his face to understand better what was happening.

Dean let me go, but not very far, keeping a hand on my lower back. "Just something you said." He tried to shrug off the weight on his shoulders, but it refused to budge. The red flush in my face from being cold washed away. Five minutes ago, I never wanted to see another drink as long as I lived. Now, I wished I had another bottle on hand. Those three pin drops weren't part of a dream, and I have to own up to it.

"It wasn't supposed to come out like that," I defended.

"Or it wasn't supposed to come out at all?" he countered cautiously.

"No, that's not it," I placed a reassuring hand on his leg, "trust me, I've wanted to tell you for a while."

Dean's eyebrows flashed. "How long is a while?"

I laughed off my embarrassment. "A long time."

"And you didn't want to because… ?"

"Because I didn't want you to be worried that things are moving too fast, and–"

"Too fast?"

"I mean, am I wrong? I figured that's why you left."

"Kind of," he admitted remorsefully. "I was always gonna come back, though," he managed to comfort me while looking frustrated with himself. "I just needed to clear my head."

"Did it work?"

Dean pressed his lips together thoughtfully. "I don't know."

"Look, we can just forget it ever happened, okay?" I said. If that's what he needed, then it's what I'd do.

"We can?" Panic arose in his eyes that he quickly quelled. "I mean, is– is that what you want?"

"Not if you don't." I just wanted him to understand that we'd move on his terms. I was in no rush.

"Well, I can't just forget that."

"Then what's the matter?"

"Because I–" he huffed. "I gotta be upfront with you. I don't know how to do this, Tor; I'm not used to all this stuff."

"That's what you're worried about?" I asked; he nodded, albeit hesitantly. "Dean, people say I love you all the time, and they don't mean it. You show it; you always have, and that's way more important."

Some pressure came off him but more remained. "I just don't want to screw this up."

"You're not screwing anything up, Dean," I said, cradling his face. I needed to tell him the whole truth so he would know my reason for holding back how I felt didn't rest solely on him, but how could I say it without sounding like I wanted this to end when that couldn't be farther from the truth? "These past few months have been some of the best of my life. Part of the reason I was scared to say anything is because I'm afraid of the day…"

"That we have to stop?" he finished knowingly. All I could do was nod. "That's not gonna happen, Tor."

I smiled sadly, letting my hand fall from his face and rest on his chest. "Don't make promises that aren't yours to keep."

"I don't care if it isn't. I'm promising you, right here, right now," Dean jutted a finger on his leg with each word and held my wrist with eyes full of conviction. "This isn't going anywhere." The tightrope we strategically walked seemed as though its end was an unfathomable distance away, but now it looked closer than ever. I could sprint across because his words were an indestructible safety net.

"In that case, I'd really like to tell you something," I said.

A smile tugged at the corner of his lips and filled my stomach with butterflies—the good kind—the kind that makes you feel like you're going to float away. "What's that?" he asked.

"I love you."

The rest of the weight left Dean, and lifted his lips into a featherlight smile. "Me too."

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