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Jenny wasn’t looking at him anymore as she spoke, “love doesn’t have to be this thing you can’t breath without. Love can be…”, he followed her gaze, and found Sam at the end of it. It made him smile; idjits . “Uh...love can be safety. Everything doesn’t have to burn...you can love someone and it can last.”
Dean’s eyes remained on the peeling corner of his beer, the condensation making his hand damp and keeping his mind from leaving this moment. Later, when Sam was making moon-eyes at the younger Mills, he’d blow them both out of the water and wonder how the hell these two had snuck in under their radar. It was an unspoken thing; Sam and Dean weren’t built for this. But that was only half true--a part of Dean knew that Sam was. He could see it, all those years ago, with Jessica. Sam may have been a hunter, but he took to domesticity in a way Dean was always seeming to run away from, in some way or another. Thing was, it was always taken away from Sam. It wasn’t fair, but it was one of those things his little brother had learned to accept.
When this thing started with Jenny Mills, Dean wasn’t worried. Hell, he thought it could be a good thing; Jenny was more casual than either of them ever had been. The only thing that gave it away, that they were fucking, was the way they avoided each other’s eyes in group settings. It’d made Dean laugh, because Sam wasn’t used to no string like this and he could see his brother barely keeping his head above water with the younger woman. Sam deserved some fun, and after everything Dean had put him through--with Amara, and the Mark of Cain, and Crowley--Jenny couldn’t have come at a better time.
But Sam wasn't used to no strings, and Dean knew the inevitable end would come. So, he was surprised, when Jenny stuck around a while. He was floored when she came back a second time. And after all their late night conversations about how bad this could end, after all the good points Dean made about the impracticality and danger of what they were doing, Sam would just smile this smile Dean couldn’t place and tell him, ‘I got this’ .
Dean didn’t believe him.
Not at first.
So he did what any loving brother would do for another--he did his damndest to sabotage it. He spent more time than he’d care to admit trying to play keep away between them. Sam knew him better, but Jenny caught on first--she explained, after she’d punched him square in the jaw for his efforts--that she was him, before all this; a untrusting cynic who saw the end of something before it began. But she wasnt that person anymore and if she wasn’t going to let herself get in her way, she damn sure wasn’t going to let him .
So they were here, now. Sitting at a bar, Sam hustling a pool table and Jenny explaining--with her words this time--why the hell they were doing any of this shit. “So”, Jenny turned back toward the bar, picking at her own bottle label, because she’d been holding it in her warm hands too long, “what are you so afraid of?”
Dean’s thumb absently stroked the sore part of his jaw, before he faced towards the liquor bottles on the back wall. He shrugged, seeing Jenny’s face turned to him in his periphery. “That he’ll get hurt.”
“Bullshit”, Jenny said as simply as you would your first name in passing, “you couldn't help that, even if you tried, and you tried . He’s a grown ass man and he’s going to do what he wants. And I didnt ask you about Sam”, he brought his eyes over to her, and felt laid bare beneath the stare, “I asked what scared you .”
Dean resisted the urge to turn to the pool table behind them. Resisted the urge to look just a bit below his brother’s shoulder at the ex-cop who still wore her holsters beneath her leather jacket, and smiled easy; the Mills sister who’d snuck in under his radar and ruined him. Dean’’s tongue felt heavy, and so he opted not to speak, but he’d forgotten how easy he was to read. He wore his emotions on his face and in his shoulders; they were like the covers of the book that gave away all his secrets. Jenny didn't say anything. She didn't have to--she wore her emotions the same way and he didn't even have to look at her to see the smug ass look on her face.
Abbie came later.
And when she did, she came guns blazing, looking for her sister and willing to mow him down to get to her. It wasn't the greatest meet-cute foretold, what with the both of them pointing pistols in each other’s faces and screaming about ‘de-escalation’. Sam and Jenny had emerged from their very lovely coffee run in the knick of time, for an angel had made it into the fray and been shot for his efforts.
It took them a minute to get along.
But when they did, something in Dean clicked . The first time he’d realized she meant something to him, Castiel had called him on it. The angel-turned-hunter, who was partnering with the king of hell to cage Lucifer --was calling for backup, and Dean had said something about calling in the calvary and Castiel had said, “huh.”
“What?” Dean had asked, distracted, checking the clip on a couple of guns he was storing away in preparation for the drive to Ohio.
“Abbie”, he’d said in that dry rumble he said everything but there was something Dean couldn't read in his voice and it stilled his hands, “you said Abbie’s name first.”
Dean had turned his shoulder, away from the study he knew she was sitting in like he could deny any of it; his hackles up, like Castiel cared, “ so ?”
This time the smile was unmistakable in the angel’s voice, and Dean’s hand itched to snatch it off him, “it looks like you’ve made a new friend, Dean. Good for you.”
It was all downhill from there. He didn’t want to, but he liked Abbie. She was funny and made good calls and appreciated a good pie crust. She liked baseball, but he could forgive her for that. And she liked cheesy horror movies, even still--in their line of work. Dean didn’t remember he could smile this much, and had forgotten what it was like to have good friends, because all of his died on him. Abbie didn’t. She’d seen a lot, and lost a lot. So had had he. He always seemed to share grief with Sam, but there was something about pushing through it with Abbie--the things he couldn't grieve with his brother, the injustices he’d done against him that Dean couldn’t share, he had the safety to do with Abbie. They weren’t tangled in with one another. There was nothing hanging over their heads; he didn’t owe her anything, and she didn’t owe him. They just occupied space together and left each other a little lighter each time and he liked Abbie Mills.
He didn’t mean to love her.
It dawned on him, one day, when Dean had walked in on Sam and Jenny defiling his kitchen, and hadn’t cared about their embarrassment as he recounted it to Abbie. She was going to cook dinner that night, but took Dean’s shoulder and guided him towards the garage, “ nope. They can have it. We’re going.” And they’d gotten in his car and planned on driving to the burger place down the street, but he missed his turn and they’d both realized too late, so they just kept driving . And they talked. And it was so easy . And they were sitting there, eating three kinds of drive thru fries and talking about the plausibility of aliens running the government, or something, and Dean’s stomach started to sink. Because he was damn near forty and he felt fucking light-headed . His hands trembled a little and when he looked at Abbie, laughing at her own jokes, he couldn’t help the smile pulling at his lips at all.
He was fucked .
So he couldn't turn around. He couldn't look over his shoulder at the pool table behind them, at Abbie, smiling into a beer bottle and busting everyone’s balls because he’d have to say it . Jenny wouldn't let him get away with not saying it. She laid a heavy hand on his shoulder and took a deep drink from her bottle before swiveling out of her chair and standing in his space because he’d decided not to look at her and she’d decided she didn’t care, “word of advice? Don’t fight it. Only makes that shitty, airy-feeling in your head worse.”
He watched her back as Jenny walked into Sam’s arms and pressed into him, a smile fighting its way to the surface of her lips that his brother released after he’d dipped his head low to say something into her ear and his eyes gravitated to where Abbie was, checking some kid and pointing the end of her bottle at them while she retreated from the table and made her way towards him. He turned back to the bottles and downed the rest of his beer.
“Hey”, she said to the back of his head when he didn’t turn to her. He could see the confused pull of her eyebrows as she slid into the seat her sister had just been occupying, “you two friends again?”
Dean smiled, the bruise on his jaw reminding him that he could only do so much, “I dont think she’s gonna punch me again…” he smirked at her, “ today .”
Abbie shook her head, “you like living dangerously, Winchester--it’s a little unsettling”, she ordered another beer, and turned to him, smiling. Her eyes were a little hazy, and he couldn't tell if it was from the booze or something else but he didn't want to read into it. His head was still too full of air anyway and he couldn't trust his eyes, “what’s going on?”
I’m in love with you. “Nothin’”, he pulled at the cuff of Abbie’s sleeve where it had rolled up around her forearm and she looked down at his hands before he distracted them both with, “I kinda wanted some fries. You up for it?”
It’s as close as he would get to saying it, for now. Sam may have secretly been built for this, but Dean knew himself to know to tread lightly. These things never worked for him--and if he wanted a chance, he’d have to start slow. Fries today. Maybe ‘I love you’ would come tomorrow.
Her smile was easy, like always, as she took the beer bottle from the bartender and threw a bill down for her tab, “thought you’d never ask.”