July 6th-11th, 2006
In the days following their departure from Fitchburg, and subsequently Chicago, life largely returned to normal… or at least their version of normal, Sam reflected. Dean's crappy mood didn't persist – though any mention of Fitchburg, Chicago, or Lorelai seemed to bring it right back, and so, despite his curiosity, Sam had dropped the subject. They went back to hunting the things that went bump in the night, and in their downtime, Dean recommitted himself to looking for a good time.
It was during one of those off nights that Sam found himself in another dive, sitting at a high top with crowds all around, while Dean was back up at the bar. Sam wasn't sure how much time had passed, but he knew it had been more than enough for Dean to get the two beers he'd set out for when Sam heard his brother's laugh carrying across the room. That was when he looked up, and it didn't take long for him to find Dean… he was in full-on charmer mode, holding the attention of a brunette in a halter top, the promised drinks still in his hands.
Dean caught his eye and Sam waved him over, fighting his own exasperation and waning patience. This routine had already been becoming old in their months on the road together… but he'd had an even harder time stomaching it since May. When Dean signaled for him to hold on, Sam rolled his eyes and looked back down to the articles in front of him. It wasn't putting them any closer towards finding the demon that had killed their mom and Jess, but it would keep him sharp, and he preferred it to the alternatives Dean kept trying to pitch him.
"All right, I think we got something," he said when he noticed Dean finally approaching from his peripheral.
"Oh yeah, me too," Dean replied eagerly. "I think we need to take a little shore leave, just a bit. What do you think, huh? I'm so in the door with this one."
Sam looked up to see his older brother standing across from him, the two beers placed on the table between them, and an idiotic grin plastered on his face.
"So what are we today, Dean?" Sam heard himself asking without a lot of patience. "I mean, are rock stars? Are we army rangers?"
"Reality TV scouts," Dean told him proudly, "looking for people with special skills. I mean hey, it's not that far off, right? By the way, she's got a friend over there. Possibly hook you up. What do you think?"
Since his conversation with Lorelai in Fitchburg, Sam had been finding himself handling the grief part of things a little better. He wasn't over it – there was no over it – but there was something to what she's said about just having to push through and adapt that had hit. Doing better or not, however, Sam wasn't interested, and the last thing he wanted to do was to encourage the idiocy.
"Dean, no thanks, I can get my own dates."
"Yeah, you can but you don't."
"What is that supposed to mean?" Sam shot back, actually lifting his head from the newspaper this time, and Dean looked like he regretted the comment.
"Nothing."
Sam narrowed his eyes before catching that the girls at the bar were obviously watching them. A whole new wave of exasperation washed over him.
"Why are you still bothering with the ridiculous gimmicks and random chicks anyway? What about Lorelai? Aren't you –" but, at the mention of the brunette witch, Dean's face went dark – just like it always did these days – and Sam noticed his hands clench around the one beer he was still holding.
"Hey, Lor made it perfectly clear she doesn't want anything to do with me, and I'm not about to sit around and cry about it or wait for her to change her mind. What you got?"
Sam still very much doubted it was that simple, or that Lorelai had actually done anything of the sort if what he'd observed from her and Dean was any indicator. The venom in Dean's voice, however, and the hard set of his jaw didn't leave any room for argument, so instead Sam found himself launching into what he'd found out about the Telescas and the trail their dad had logged in his journal.
And when Dean ultimately slunk back to the bar a few minutes later, sliding his arms around both of the girls and effortlessly pulling them both in with that cocky smile of his, Sam sighed and half-heartedly looked towards his phone. Making the call he wanted to would guarantee a nuclear reaction, but if Dean didn't pull his head out of his ass soon, Sam thought he might not be above making it anyway. Especially if Dean was going to keep up the parade of random hook ups. At some point, enough had to be enough.
"Bloody hell! What in Merlin's name are you doing back here? Working or trashing the place?"
Lorelai wasn't sure how long she'd been ensconced in the back workroom of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, but at the sound of George's voice, she looked up from the floor, pushing pieces of escaped hair out of her face with the back of her hand. She guessed it had been a while, and she also guessed he'd been drawn by the alarmingly loud noise that had followed her most recent burst of frustration, in which she had impulsively pushed everything off the worktable with a swipe of her arm.
"Shit, did you hear that all the way from the floor?" she asked with a grimace. George rolled his eyes and strode fully into the room, pulling his wand as he did.
"No, I was on my way back here to let you know we're closing up and see if you wanted to grab a bite. You on your hands and knees because you've been spending too much time around the Muggles again, or is something disastrous going to happen if I use magic to clean that up?" he asked bemusedly. Sighing, Lorelai fell back on her heels, motioning to the mess she's created.
"Be my guest."
George shook his head, but with a wave of his wand everything began righting itself and he offered her a hand, one that she gratefully accepted, allowing him to pull her to her feet.
"I take it you've hit a snag?" he remarked, brushing some dirt off her arm. Lorelai tossed the crumpled up piece of paper she'd still been holding onto the table and waved a dismissive hand at all of it, before slumping back against the adjacent desk, bracing with her hands.
"A snag?" she snorted. "Try all the snags."
It was Saturday, and after helping Bobby out with yet another demon earlier that week, Lorelai found herself once again trying to work on something, anything, that would be more effective than an exorcism, and ideally faster. Admittedly, it hadn't been her top priority – the project kept getting backburnered in the face of cases and real-time fire calls – but it was more than a little frustrating that after a year she was essentially no further than when she'd started working on this little pet project. She had hoped that perhaps a change of scenery would help her think clearer, but so far, she hadn't had much luck.
George gave her a sympathetic look and glanced over at some of the papers that had returned to the tabletop.
"I'd offer to lend an ear, but I only have one of those left, and seeing as the last time I offered you nearly bit it off…"
"Haha, very funny."
"What're you getting stuck on?" he asked, his voice taking on a more serious note. The real answer was a long list of things, but she ran a hand through her hair and focused on her most recent roadblock.
"I just can't get the right combination of runes. These materials are ancient, I'm having trouble deciphering half of what I'm looking at, and the level of detail's giving me a fucking migraine."
George studied her for half a beat before seeming to make up his mind about something and nodding.
"Right then. Time for a break. C'mon, you need to eat," he said, clapping her on the shoulder and beginning to steer her back towards the door.
"But Katie –" Lorelai began, glancing down at her watch.
"Is having dinner with Harry and Teddy. Or, I suppose, lunch for her. Either way, they wanted to invite you, but when Harry dropped by you had the door warded," George interrupted. Lorelai sighed but acquiesced anyway.
"Fine, fine! At least let me grab my things and freshen up."
George paused, turning to study her for a moment. Sensing his skepticism, she threw her hands up in a surrender motion. It was then that narrowed his eyes and pointed.
"You've got five minutes to meet me up front or I'm coming to find you," he threatened. Lorelai rolled her eyes and shoved him towards the door.
"Yeah, yeah. Enough with the dramatics, I'll be there."
True to her word, soon as George left, Lorelai started gathering her things off the table, reaching for her bag to put the research materials away. She'd get back to it in the morning, but it was getting late in London, and if she and Katie went home after she ate there'd still be time to make it an enjoyable Saturday for the kid. Her levels of frustration had hit such a boiling point anyway that she knew she wouldn't be all that productive.
Her eyes caught on a scrap piece of paper and Lorelai paused, her fingers brushing over the scribbled handwriting, her mind suddenly whirring – half in thought for her current predicament while her remaining braincells got caught up in her own memories.
It was a copy of a page she'd made from John Winchester's journal in Fitchburg. She and Sam had been ready to tear their hair out trying to find information on the striga, and at one point Sam had suggested swapping research materials, suggesting that, at least in his case, fresh eyes would possibly pick up on something he and Dean were overlooking. She'd only skimmed it – even though Sam had offered it freely, it had felt like an invasion of privacy seeing some of John's notes about the boys when they'd been kids, and Merlin knew she'd already invaded Dean's privacy enough – however unintentional it had been.
And while she hadn't found anything about the striga, there'd been a small note, insignificant enough that she'd have likely missed it if it hadn't been so close to an unrelated symbol that had caught her eye, talking about a legend about a "magic" gun that could kill anything. John hadn't put much stock in it, and Lorelai wasn't sure she did either, but he'd written down a name – Samuel Colt – and so she'd taken note. Perhaps it was worth researching that angle next. A break from the ruins was more than welcome.
As she startled back into movement though, realizing her allotted time was almost up, Lorelai couldn't help but find her mind still drifting back to that case, and, in particular, the aftermath. No matter how hard she tried to put it out of her mind, she'd been unable to chase away the memory of Dean's face – hard, angry, and hurt as he'd glared at her before walking out of the room and slamming the door. Her stomach churned with guilt every time she thought about it and now was no exception.
For a moment, her hand hovered over her cell phone, contemplating, for what must have been the hundredth time, picking it up and calling. It was short-lived, however. Even if she wanted to reach out, which she didn't, it would have to wait until she got back to New York. And by then, she was sure she'd have talked herself out of it again.
She always did.
"Have fun! And don't do anything I wouldn't do!" Dean called out as Sam headed towards the door. His brother flipped him off before disappearing into the night and Dean sighed, looking around the room as he heard the Impala rumble to life outside. Briefly, his eyes caught on the table where Sam had left their dad's journal and the newspapers with the stories about the killings, and he debated what to do. There wasn't much more to go off of until they got their hands on whatever providence-crap Sam was going to ask Sarah about and there was no TV in the room. There was a bar within walking distance, and the idea of going and blowing off a little more steam was mildly appealing for a second, but his heart wasn't really in it. Brandi had been fun the other night, but – despite what he'd told Sam – the lure of the random hookup had somewhat lost its luster in recent weeks.
Five minutes later, Dean found himself settling back onto his bed, snapping shut his phone after hanging up with the local pizza place. The silence was loud, and Dean couldn't help but frown, his eyes stuck on the device.
It had been two weeks since Chicago, and every time Dean thought about it, his insides still twisted in a mix of anger, hurt, and frustration. For once, he hadn't been tempted to reach out to her, but there'd been a small part of him – a part he largely tried to pretend didn't exist – that had hoped she might reach out to him. If they'd proven anything to each other, though, it was that neither of them seemed to know how to fix the damage they kept wreaking on whatever was between them that could still be salvaged.
He wondered where Lorelai was. He wondered if she remembered what she'd said that night, or if she'd been too far gone. He wondered if it were that night or the morning after she regretted more, or it were just that she regretted meeting him at all. Then he wondered if she even thought about him enough to regret it, and realized he wasn't sure which would be worse.
He wondered how she was doing, what she was working on…
With a groan and a concerted effort, Dean tossed the phone towards the foot of the bed, out of arms reach, and settled back against the pillows, closing his eyes.
This had to stop. It wasn't doing him any good, he was only driving himself crazy. Whatever questions, hopes, doubts – whatever – he might have, it didn't change the truth of what he had told Sam.
Lorelai Baudelaire had made it perfectly clear that he was not someone she wanted to be involved with. And Dean may have loved her, but he wasn't about to beg or sit around crying about it. They were adults and they each had their lives to live. If she was getting on with hers, he needed to keep getting on with his.
"I'm telling you man, I'm sure of it," Sam said, turning the picture around and handing it over to Dean. "The painting at the auction house, Dad is looking down. Painting here, Dad's looking out. The painting has changed, Dean."
The trip out to the bookstore had been helpful, but as they dug into the details of the Merchant family further and tried to parse out what the hell was going on with the creepy painting, Sam wasn't getting a great feeling. They were getting answers, but the path those answers were taking them down didn't look like it was going to be a simple one.
"All right," Dean acknowledged, taking the paper from Sam and looking down at the image himself. "So you think daddy dearest is trapped in the painting and handing out Columbian neckties like he did with his family?"
"Well yeah, it seems like it. But if his bones are already dusted then how are we gonna stop him?"
The 'since toasting the painting didn't work' went unsaid, but Sam knew it was felt by both of them. As pissed as he'd been at the stunt Dean had pulled with the wallet, Sam couldn't help but wonder what would've happened otherwise. They'd thought the job was done. Talk about unpleasant surprises.
"All right, well," Dean began to reason, his eyes still scanning the image, "if Isaiah's position changed then maybe some other things in the painting changed as well. You know, could give us some clues."
It was a solid train of thought, and Sam wished he'd thought of it. That was Dean though – he may have hated research, but he was quick on his feet.
"What, like a Da Vinci Code deal?"
Dean gave him a blank look. Of course.
"I don't… know. Uh, I'm still waiting for the movie on that one. Anyway, we gotta get back in and see that painting." Sam watched Dean stand up and begin walking back towards the beds, and he knew what was coming before the words even came from Dean's mouth. "Which is a good thing, 'cause you can get some more time to crush on your girlfriend."
Sam scoffed, indignation flaring to life immediately. Dean was unbelievable sometimes. Hypocritical for sure. Considering the way he was ready to fly off the handle any time Lorelai's name was so much as mentioned, he had a lot of nerve being as pushy as he had been since they'd gotten to town.
"Dude. Enough already."
Dean had dropped down onto his bed but looked back at Sam, clearly not understanding. "What?"
"What?" Sam immediately parroted back. "Ever since we got here, you've been trying to pimp me out to Sarah. Just back off, all right?"
"Well, you like her, don't you?" Sam looked back in disbelief and before he could say anything, Dean seemed to take that for an answer and continued on. "All right, you like her, she likes you, you're both consenting adults…"
"Oh yeah? So if it's that simple then what the hell's up with you and Lorelai?"
Dean's eyes narrowed slightly, but Sam was surprised that for once, it didn't seem to set his brother off. At least not as much as mention of her normally did.
"Oh no, don't go there. That ain't the same thing and you know it, so don't try and act like it is. There's a lot of baggage with Lor. You just met this girl. There's no baggage. It's actually simple."
"Even if it is," Sam shot back, his frustration rising and breaking through his voice, "what's the point, Dean? We'll just leave. We always leave."
It was possibly the thing he'd hated about growing up hunting the most, though it certainly wasn't the only thing. Never having a home, never having roots. Any time he'd made friends, connected with anyone, it never mattered… he couldn't keep them in his life, and he always lost them.
And now, after Jess… Sam wasn't sure that he could let himself try to find connections like that again even if they didn't have to move around. But that was something he could deal with later. Point B didn't matter if he couldn't solve Point A.
"Well, I'm not talking about marriage, Sam," Dean's dry voice cut through his musings.
"You know, I don't get it. What do you care if I hook up?"
Sam was halfway expecting a fight… part of him even wondered if he was trying to start one. But Dean didn't rise to the bait and remained where he was – perfectly calm.
"'Cause then maybe you wouldn't be so cranky all the time," he quipped back, and Sam rolled his eyes. That was Dean too, always with the humor.
Sam huffed and looked away, but could still feel Dean's gaze on him, and a moment later, he heard Dean shifting to sit up. "C'mon, Sam. Why do you get on me about Lor? It isn't about just hooking up, okay? I mean, I… I think this Sarah girl could be could for you."
It was borderline touchy-feely for Dean, at least for the conversations that he and Dean usually had. On one hand, Sam was surprised to hear that despite his complaining, Dean did understand why he had been such a pest about Lorelai, and on the other hand, desperate to end the conversation.
He'd been trying to do a better job processing all the dark thoughts that had been swirling in his head since November, and the conversation he'd had with Lorelai in Fitchburg had helped… but there were pieces of the whole mess that he was still coming to terms with himself. Dean, however, pressed on, even if his voice did gentle a bit.
"And… I don't mean any disrespect, but I'm sure this is about Jessica, right? Now, I don't know what it's like to lose somebody like that, and I know that I didn't know her… but… I would think that she would want you to be happy. God forbid have fun once in a while. Wouldn't she?"
Sam blinked back tears, refusing to let them spill over. The answer was yes. He knew the answer was yes. And that only made the guilt he was still wrestling with feel heavier.
"Yeah, I know she would," Sam admitted softly, and then sighed. "And yeah, you're right. Part of this is about Jessica. But not the main part."
"What's it about?"
Sam stayed quiet, not even willing to entertain answering, even though his mind began to wander anyway. Dean, king of keeping things to himself, seemed to understand, and laid back the way he'd been before, crossing his arms again. "Yeah, all right. Well, we still gotta see that painting. Which means you still gotta call Sarah, so…"
The silence hung between them for a moment, but there was no argument to be made. And so Sam cleared his throat and picked up the phone. They had a job to get done, and he wasn't about to let his own complicated feelings get in the way of that.
In that moment, it was with some grudging respect that Sam realized Dean had largely been doing the same thing since May, and he wondered if maybe his brother deserved a little more credit than he'd been giving him.
"I know, I know, I know!" Lorelai began calling out as soon as she'd pushed the door to her apartment open, rushing through with her bag hoisted over her shoulder and takeout swinging from her hands. She kicked it shut behind her, not pausing as she moved automatically towards the kitchen. "I'm –"
"Late," Katie finished for her dryly, though the glimmer of amusement in her little sister's eyes let Lorelai knew she wasn't really mad. Still, Lorelai paused in the mouth of the room, giving her a sheepish look and held up her haul.
"I brought food," she offered, and Katie squinted at the bag.
"Chinese, or did you stop at that Thai place?"
"Chinese. And I stopped at Kowalski's for dessert," Lorelai answered, holding up the other bag. A wide smile spread across Katie's face, and she threw her pencil down on the table, pushing it away, along with her open book and notepad.
"Well then, I suppose you're forgiven."
While Lorelai began unloading the food onto the kitchen counter, Katie got to her feet and went through the motions of clearing the kitchen table and pulling out the plates and silverware. It had been a long, boring day, filled with meetings and court appearances, topped off by an SOS call from Ezra when Margo brought in a mutilated corpse, and he didn't have a tech available to do an autopsy. She'd have been hard pressed to think of a worse Monday.
Katie, at least, seemed to have had a better day, and Lorelai happily lost herself in the conversation, catching up on the details of her sister's day. The kid was getting too old, too fast, and Lorelai wasn't sure what to do with it aside from just be relieved that Katie at least seemed to have a better head on her shoulders than Lorelai'd had at that age.
"If you're home on time tomorrow night, I can take you back," Katie told her excitedly after recounting a story about a small art gallery she'd found with a friend near Little Italy. "They had a lot of cool stuff, and the place next door had the best cannoli."
"Better than Nat's?" Lorelai asked as the pair of them finally settled down at the table, plates piled high with food. Katie pursed her lips and made a face, but before she could answer the question, she seemed to have some sort of realization. Her eyes lit up and she was jumping back to her feet.
"Oh! I almost forgot. Nat sent this stuff over today for vacation. She said we can have the guest house again… and she wanted to know if you would be inviting Dean."
Lorelai had barely glanced down at the papers Katie had handed her when her heart skipped a beat at the last piece of information, and she looked up with wide eyes.
"What?" she asked, her voice higher than she'd have liked. Katie shifted uncomfortably before sliding back into her seat. "Why would she ask that?"
"Um… I'm not sure. When he came to pick me and Julia up after Olivia and Ian's engagement thing, Nick did mention that you'd brought Dean and his brother. And you know Nat," Katie answered reluctantly, picking up her fork and beginning to stab at her food. Lorelai sighed and put the paperwork off to the side, tiredly rubbing at her temple while copying Katie's movements with her other.
One of these days, she really needed to figure out a better way to deal with her meddlesome friends and family. She loved them all dearly, but the constant curiosity and need to know about her personal life drove her insane.
"I'll kill Nick," she muttered. Katie eyed her carefully, hesitating on her next bite.
"So I take it that's a no?" Lorelai glared and Katie held up her free hand in surrender. "What? I'm just asking."
"Yes, it's a no. I'll call Nat after we eat. So c'mon, tell me more about the gallery."
Katie seemed reluctant, but they slowly returned to the conversation they'd been having before, and soon enough the air felt light again.
By the time Lorelai was finally getting ready for bed later that night, however, every bone in her body crying out for sleep, her mind was still in turmoil. Absentmindedly, she picked up the paper Nat had sent confirming all the details, and then, as if on autopilot, she found herself digging in her nightstand before her fingers closed around a familiar photo.
It was the one she'd pulled from the mirror all those months ago but hadn't been able to part with. The one of her and Dean from last year's vacation, when things had been somehow both simpler and more complicated. Arms around each other, large smiles on their faces… both of them still… hopeful, maybe?
Lorelai sighed and dropped both the photo and the paperwork into the drawer, flicked off the bedside lamp, and settled in under the covers.
Inviting Dean was a ridiculous notion, one that she couldn't believe had even entered Nat's mind… but Lorelai still couldn't shake the guilt at how they'd left things… couldn't stop replaying that morning over in her head. And now, she couldn't help but find herself longing for how things used to be.
She missed him. As infuriating as he was, she missed Dean, and it was getting too hard to lie to herself about that.
So maybe they weren't in a place where she was comfortable inviting him on family vacations, or where she could hope for some kind of future… but maybe she could at least try and bridge the gap a bit. Just because she wasn't happy with how things were, didn't mean they had to stay that way. The thought of trying, of putting herself out there was terrifying… especially when she considered the very real possibility that Dean might not be interested… that he was probably still pissed. The fact that she hadn't heard from him at all since Chicago spoke volumes. But she'd never know if they kept going the way they were.
In the end, she sighed and rolled over, burying her head in the pillows and trying with everything she had to push it all out of her mind for the time being. It was all something she could figure out in the morning. Right now, sleep was calling.
It was mid-morning when Dean's phone began ringing. Sam was still inside with Sarah, making sure the painting was being dealt with, while he was out in the car, cleaning up all the notes and information they'd pulled on the case, his eyes scanning through the county records one last time out of curiosity, putting together those final pieces they'd missed the first time.
"Uh yeah, hello?"
He'd answered without looking, still distracted, but his heart nearly stopped when he heard the voice that came back.
"Hey."
Dean faltered, his hand dropping the materials back onto the bench seat, the rest of him freezing in place. To say the call was unexpected would have been an understatement.
"Hey, Lor," he said slowly, his brain starting to catch up. "Everything alright?"
He couldn't think of why she'd be calling, unless something was wrong.
"Oh! Um, yeah. Sorry. Yeah, everything's fine. I just… wanted to check in. Make sure you and Sam were doing okay."
An awkward silence followed, and if Dean didn't know better, he'd say she sounded nervous. Any other time, he might have found it endearing, but today he just found himself annoyed. She should be nervous. After the way she'd left things, she had a lot of nerve just calling him up like things were normal. The hell was she doing, calling to "check in" on him and Sam?
"We're fine," he told her gruffly. "Just finishing up a case. Look, Lorelai, I don't –"
"I'm sorry," she blurted, and between how quickly she'd said it and how unprepared he was, Dean thought he might have heard her wrong.
"What?"
He waited a beat and heard her drawing in breath on the other end. With startling clarity, he realized she was nervous, and he felt some of the wind fall from his sails.
"I'm sorry," she repeated, slower this time, and Dean could still hardly believe his ears. "I… I… overreacted… in Chicago… and I'm sorry. I don't, I didn't mean to…"
Dean sighed, running a hand down his face. As far as apologies went, it was pretty lackluster, but coming from Lorelai, he knew it was a big deal. It was also more than he'd managed after Kinston, when he'd been the one that had fucked up.
He could stay mad, and there was a part of him that wanted to… but the part of him that had been floundering for longer than he wanted to admit questioned what that would get either of them.
"It's okay, Lor," he said tiredly, cutting off her stammering. "It's… look, we've both made some mistakes here."
"Yeah," she agreed softly, and Dean could easily picture her on the other end, biting her bottom lip, fidgeting with the bracelet on her left wrist or picking at her nails. "I guess we have."
The weight of their history hung between them for a moment, stretching across the miles. Dimly, Dean wondered where she was. His best guess was New York City. It was only a few hours away. Maybe he could convince Sam to spend that extra day or two here. Dean wasn't sure if he was really ready for what might come next, but he knew that they weren't going to solve everything over the phone – not when he needed to get back inside, and she was probably working – and he knew that one of them needed to be willing to break the cycle.
"You know, Sam and I aren't too far from the city… if you want I could –" but Lorelai made a noise that had him falling quiet before he could finish the thought.
"I don't… I know we need to talk. I just… I'm not ready for that yet. But I didn't want to leave things the way we did. It wasn't a mistake… at least not to me, and I just… I needed you to know that."
Dean breathed in deeply, trying not to let the disappointment hit too hard. He wasn't sure what else he should have expected. Lorelai had always been guarded, always needed more time than even he did.
"It wasn't a mistake for me either. You could never be a mistake, Lor."
The silence stretched again, and Dean wished she were there instead of on the phone. Reluctantly, he realized he needed to get going. He still had loose ends to tie up.
"Look, Lor, I gotta get back. Sam and I –"
"Oh, shit, sorry. I didn't even think to ask –"
"It's fine. I'm… I'm glad you called."
"Me too," she admitted, and the corner of Dean's mouth twitched up into a smirk. "Are we… I don't know, are we –"
"We're good," Dean finished for her, realizing as the words came that he meant them. They still had a lot to figure out, but there'd be time for that. He heard her breathe a sigh of relief.
"Okay. I'll talk to you then."
"Yeah. Take care."
And as Dean pocketed the phone, regathered the papers, and turned towards the auction house he felt a sense of peace washing over him and a certain lightness in his step. He was sure there was still a lot of crap to come – he knew whenever the dam eventually broke, they'd both have a lot of shit to get out, and he figured it would probably be ugly. But Dean thought that he might be willing to take the ugly instead of nothing. The nothing, he decided, was worse.
First chapter of the new year! And we're closing in on the end of season one. Big things coming. Thank you all for reading, I hope you all enjoyed ❤️
In other news, not updating every week is somewhat killing me (I might be a tad bit impulsive and want to post everything as soon as its ready), but having an every other week schedule is already working for me. I'm decently ahead on this fic, have made headway on a multi-chapter prequel for this I'll post in the somewhat near future, mapped out and started drafting four oneshots for my other Dean x OC series/collection, and have some loose notes for some other ideas... So long story short, thank you all for your patience on the updates here, and if you're enjoying this story hopefully you enjoy some of the other stuff I have coming
See you all 1/26!