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The crisp night air, together with violet sky that loomed over those who were awake, tinged every single thing purple; even those objects hidden in shadows couldn’t escape the light violet gleam of the sky. Leaves, or at least what was left of them, rustled in the soft breeze that had no intention of dropping. Everything seemed to be carried away by the wind, the only thing unaffected by the cold rush of air was the old, quaint house in the middle of South Dakota, with its windows struggling to keep up with the pressure of the air hitting them faintly.
It wasn’t even late, the sun had set only an hour prior, yet something about the coldness of the air made the evening appear darker, more oppressive. In the midst of it all, however, two silhouettes lay on the roof of that same, isolated house.
The roof itself was responsible for giving the house that old look; so damaged were its tiles, with a few of them missing, that one would think the house was centuries old. Still, that didn’t mean it couldn’t be used for sitting and observing the lilac-coloured sky change into a darker shade of purple.
The barely audible sound of clinking bottles was the only thing opposing the whistling of the wind, as well as the occasional laughter coming from the rooftop. In fact, Dean’s gravelly voice cut sharply through the wind, not allowing its howl to overpower the sound that left his lungs.
Rarely was he this content, sitting on the roof and laughing like a kid who had just got his first bike. Even his dimples, that scarcely appeared nowadays, could be seen on his freckled face each time he would let out a laugh.
The person on his right wasn’t laughing as loudly as he was, but she was nothing if not happy. After Bobby had prepared dinner, the pair decided to take a couple of beers and go outside to unwind a bit, which was exactly what they were doing now, despite Bobby’s protests - It is cold. You two will get sick. Just stay inside.
Sometimes he sounded like a broken record, especially when it came to his daughter’s well-being. Dean, according to Bobby, was a grown man and “could do whatever he wanted”, because he wasn’t responsible for him. On the other hand, Bobby’s attitude towards his child was more critical; it didn’t matter that she was only a year younger than Dean – Bobby insisted on treating her like she was incapable of making her own decisions.
On one hand, she hated it. Hunts, dangerous situations, or just sitting outside in the cold – to Bobby, it was all the same. Irresponsible, he would say. She was expected to avoid any risky situations, because she knew how overbearing Bobby could be sometimes. During her time living with him, she learned to tune him out whenever he would berate her. He behaved like she was still that child he’d taken in all those years ago, unable to take care of herself.
On the other hand, she understood why he was the way he was. After losing everything when his wife died, Bobby just wanted to keep the only child he had safe. She didn’t go easy on him however, always insisting on helping both the Winchesters and other hunters, even though her pleadings usually fell on deaf ears.
Regardless, she was determined to spend some time with Dean, even if it’d make Bobby yell at her later. It was worth it, she knew it, considering she hadn’t heard Dean laugh that much since before John’s death. She knew how hard it’d hit him, so to say she was glad he was smiling would be an understatement.
She didn’t know whether to look at the rapidly changing sky, or the man next to her, taking a sip from his bottle, with his eyes glued to the tree whose leaves moved with each gust of wind. He’d said some stupid joke about Sam’s book he’d been reading recently, and the next ten minutes were spent chuckling about it. She couldn’t even remember what the joke was; her brain could only register the rare moment of cheerfulness between them.
They sat close to each other, close enough that their knees would sometimes brush. Neither of them paid any attention to the nearness of the other; they silently agreed to just exist next to each other, accepting the frequent lingering touches they unintentionally exchanged.
Neither of them was drunk, but they both felt a little dizzy. Dean thought it was due to the height they were at, and because the potential fall from there would be far from painless.
On the contrary, she almost didn’t notice the wooziness that had crept into her body. What kept her focus was the blending of the colours in the sky above them – purple, slowly mixing with darker shades, creating a perfect canvas for stars to paint the vastness overhead.
At some point, Dean mentioned something about taking a vacation, which prompted her to focus on his words. Before she had a chance to think about what to say, her mouth decided to act without consulting her brain. “Have you thought about just leaving?”
“Leaving what?” he replied, as his brows furrowed with confusion.
She looked at him, taking a sip of her own drink before continuing. “This life. Hunting,” her voice was quiet, and she had no idea why she felt so nervous all of a sudden. They’d talked about it before, yet her question surprised her more than it surprised Dean.
He thought for a second, closing his eyes, almost like he was trying to imagine his life without hunting. What else am I supposed to do, he wanted to ask her, but decided against it. “Nah, not really. It would be boring without constantly having to chase something.”
She knew he was lying; she could almost feel the dishonesty in the air around her, but before she could say something, he asked her the same question. Her situation was more complicated. She almost never went on hunts, mostly because of Bobby, but even if he wasn’t there to stop her, she doubted she would actively live that kind of life. She wanted to help whenever she could, but searching for trouble wasn’t something she was interested in. Dean knew that; he was just asking to avoid any additional questions she had. “It’s not like I’m actually a hunter, Dean. I just do research and make sure Bobby doesn’t drown himself in alcohol.”
Dean couldn’t help but frown at that, not because she wasn’t right, but because she was. To some extent, she was a reason why Bobby was alive, and Dean knew how worried she was about him. Not wanting to ruin the mood, he gave her a faint smile and looked her straight in the eyes. “Of course you’re a hunter; maybe a lazy one, but still a hunter.”
She rolled her eyes and took another sip, causing Dean to chuckle again. “Look who’s talking, you can’t go on a single hunt without needing to call Bobby for something. We basically do most of the work,” she said sarcastically, bitting her lip to maintain the serious look on her face.
“You wish you did most of the work. How difficult is it to flip through random books from time to time?” His tone was playful, and he was unable to suppress a grin that formed on his face.
In response, a dramatic gasp left her mouth, her hand resting on her chest to highlight how offended she was. “I would tell you to do research on your own next time, just to see how tough it can be, but I just remembered you’d never learned how to read properly.”
Now Dean was the one whose eyes widened exaggeratedly, almost like her words had actually hurt him. She smiled at him, waiting for a sarcastic response, but it never came; on the contrary, his reply was just two simple words. “Fair point.”
For a while, neither said anything else. The sky had turned completely black, making stars gradually appear. Dean usually didn’t mind the silence when she was with him, but tonight, his mind didn’t let him enjoy the peace with her. John still haunted every waking moment of his day, even though he’d never admit it to anyone; not to Sam, not to Bobby, not even to her. It was his burden to carry alone, the responsibility and guilt of his father’s death a constant weight on his shoulders. He could’ve done something to prevent it, but instead he just accepted it. There must have been something he could have done to help his dad, so why did he just give up?
He let out a shaky breath, before sipping his drink again in an attempt to conceal the tension that tormented him, not wanting his friend to ask him about it. She, of course, knew what he was doing, and wondered whether she should say something or let him be.
Dean’s anxiety always turned into anger, and she wasn’t sure she was in the mood to argue. It was never directed at her, but that didn’t mean she never felt it in her bones. Not that she took it personally, because she never did; she just knew how frustrated he was, and that there was nothing she could say to make him feel better.
It was the same right now – he was visibly nervous, and it was only a matter of time before that feeling became something that looked more like anger than sadness. Maybe that was the reason she decided to say something instead of having to witness his temper. “I planned on visiting Jo these days. I might stay there for a few days.”
Dean didn’t answer immediately, which made her think he hadn’t heard her. Only when he shrugged did she realise he had, in fact, heard her every word. “You planned on going alone?” She nodded, which prompted him to continue. “It’ll be boring without us.”
She couldn’t read his expression, unsure whether he was being serious. He seemed to be joking, but something felt off for some reason. Still, she didn’t cave in, and just ignored the seriousness that painted his features. “If by boring, you mean peaceful, then yeah, it’ll be extremely boring.”
“Right, because hanging out with Jo and random hunters who pass by is not boring,” he laughed, with some bitterness present in his voice.
She somehow managed to conceal her annoyance quickly enough so Dean didn’t get a chance to notice it, although it flew through her whole body. “Since when do you have a problem with Jo?” She asked sincerely, her voice laced with confusion.
Dean avoided her gaze, and instead focused his eyes on the bottle in his hand. “I don’t have a problem with her; I have a problem with people who visit that place,” he abruptly stopped, like he wanted to collect his thoughts before continuing. He waited for a moment, and finally spoke again. “Plus, is it safe to just go somewhere alone? Maybe if Sam and I could-“
“Stop acting like Bobby, I’m not twelve,” she interrupted him, her tone harsh and angry. He looked at her again, staring at the furrowed brows and pressed lips on her face. “I’m getting sick of always being here; I just need a break. You’re the one who mentioned a vacation in the first place.”
Dean squeezed the bottle in his hand, trying his best not to lose his temper over this, especially because she was right. She was more or less stuck here with Bobby, forced to live a life Dean knew she hated, even if she didn’t want to admit it. “I did, but in that case, you’d go with us. I mean, we wouldn’t just leave you here.”
He almost missed the way her cheeks turned red. Even though her face was barely visible, he somehow managed to see the way wind ruffled her hair and how much she struggled to keep her eyes open. When she didn’t reply, he took it as a sign to continue. “You’re an idiot, I swear.”
“How am I an idiot?” she asked loudly enough for everyone to hear; she was glad they didn’t have any neighbours, because her voice would’ve been loud enough to wake them up. “You guys go everywhere without me, so don’t act like it’d be weird if you took a vacation without me.”
“We don’t take you on hunts with us mostly because Bobby would actually strangle us,” Dean replied with a faint smile on his face, as she chuckled at his comment. No matter how tired she looked, Dean thought she was utterly beautiful; the way her hair moved, covering her eyes from time to time; and her eyes, staring at him, left no room for arguments. He liked that about her – no matter how much he pushed, she always pushed back harder. She was stubborn enough that even Bobby said it was easier to convince him to do something than her.
“Whatever, I still think I’ll visit Jo,” she said in a firm voice, signalling to Dean that the conversation was over. “Where would you go? If you went on a vacation, I mean.”
Dean thought for a second, unsure of his own answer. Kansas, of course, he wanted to say, but he knew that wasn’t an answer she hoped to hear. Plus, she knew how much he wanted to go back to Lawrence, and how impossible it’d be to simply go home. “Texas, I think,” he said enthusiastically, but instantly took notice of the look on her face – she was unimpressed, for sure. “What? What’s wrong with Texas?”
She suppressed a giggle, her eyes never leaving his. “Nothing, just…out of all places in the world, you’d go to Texas?”
“Well, it’s not like we can go to Australia.”
“Why not? You’d need less than a day to get there by plane,” she said seriously, oblivious to Dean’s little problem with flying.
Just the thought of having to fly somewhere made his skin crawl, and she was aware of it, which was exactly why she’d said it so teasingly. “Sweetheart, I’m not boarding another plane. Ever.”
She chuckled quietly, putting her elbow on her knee, and leaning her head against her hand. “Dean Winchester, the big, scary hunter, is afraid of flying. It’s ironic, isn’t it?”
“Is it?” he asked curiously, even though he knew it was, in fact, ironic. Still, he refused to let her have this one, so he just stared at her, waiting for her explanation.
“It kind of is. You’ve killed vampires, demons, ghosts, yet your biggest fear is flying? Come on, it’s a bit ironic,” she joked, her mouth still forming a smile.
“My biggest fear is having to listen to this bullshit all night long, but here we are,” he laughed now too, unable to take his eyes off her reaction.
She cleared her throat, drinking what was left of her drink, before answering him quietly. “You love it.”
Maybe he did. “Where’d you go?” he asked, trying to keep his thoughts at bay.
Her hand rested on her chin for a moment, while she thought about it; really thought about it. Dean almost laughed at how concentrated she seemed, regardless of how insignificant the question was. “Somewhere exotic, I’m not sure where exactly though. But, it’d be far from here.”
With a puzzled look on his face, he couldn’t resist focusing on that last thing she’d said. “Why? I thought you liked it here.”
She almost scoffed at that, because she knew Dean knew what she’d meant, but for some reason insisted on hearing her explain for the hundredth time. “I do, I guess; but imagine being able to visit all those cities, like-“
Dean suddenly interrupted her, his smirk growing again. “Don’t say Paris. All chicks want to go there.”
She almost seemed offended, even though her answer wouldn’t have been Paris. Or maybe it would’ve been, she wasn’t sure anymore. “Dean, don’t be sexist,” she said sarcastically, cursing herself mentally for having drunk her whole drink already, while rolling her eyes.
“I can’t be sexist, I love women; and women love me.”
Another loud sigh left her mouth. “That doesn’t mean you can’t be sexist.”
“Sure it does,” Dean said, but then noticed a scowl on her face, showing obvious aloofness. “Hey, who’s an expert here?”
“Sleeping with every woman you see doesn’t make you an expert,” the second she said it, Dean opened his mouth to protest, but she cut him off. “And don’t say you have so many other great qualities.”
His eyes widened for a moment, surprised at the fact she knew exactly what he was going to say. He quickly regained his composure, before responding loudly. “But I do.” Dean immediately noticed her doubtful look, urging him to give her examples. “For starters, I’m a great kisser-”
She sighed again, interrupting him. “That doesn’t count.”
Laughing, Dean’s mischievous look told her he wasn’t going to back down, as he’d already knew what he was going to say. “All women I’ve been with beg to differ.”
She gave him a slightly disgusted look, but decided not to answer him, and instead focus her eyes on the darkness in front of her. How late was it? They hadn’t been there for that long, right? “How many have you been with?” Her own question surprised her, as she abruptly turned her head so she didn’t have to look at him.
Dean, on the other hand, simply chuckled, taking the last sip of his own drink. “I don’t know, I didn’t count. Why? You jealous or somethin’?”
That, however, did make her turn around and look at him. She shifted slightly, unsure if she wanted to get closer to him or move away. “Why would I be jealous? I’m just curious.”
For a minute Dean didn’t say anything, while she tried to decipher what that look in his eyes meant. He didn’t seem angry, but he wasn’t particularly happy either. She couldn’t have got drunk from one beer, so her eyes were probably playing tricks on her because of the darkness around them, but he seemed bothered by her answer. But why? What had she said that had upset him? Her thoughts weren’t giving her a break, but luckily for her, Dean’s voice finally broke the silence. “Do you think there’s something out there?”
She would’ve been confused what he was talking about if he hadn’t been looking at the sky above them; it was far from clear, with only a few stars being actually visible, but it was still beautiful. “You mean like aliens?” she asked, to which Dean just nodded silently without actually looking at her. “Probably. I mean, if demons exist, who knows what else is there.”
After letting out a deep breath, Dean closed his eyes, enjoying the breeze that still hadn’t stopped. “Yeah, but we’ve seen them; we know they exist,” he went quiet again, like he himself didn’t know where this conversation was going.
She knew something was bothering him, he wasn’t his usual self, so she wondered whether to keep the conversation light or not. “If they ever decide to pay us a visit, we’ll see them.”
“What if they can take human form? Like doppelgängers or some shit,” he laughed at his own comment and opened his eyes, still not taking them off the vastness that was above them. “What if they can disguise themselves as hot blondes? How would we know they exist if we can’t distinguish between them and real chicks”
While he grinned, waiting for her response, she just looked at him and fought the urge to laugh. “You’re gross, you know that, right?”
Dean shrugged, putting his arms behind his head, while he still lay on the roof. “Whatever. You just don’t see the vision.”
Deciding to ignore him, she remained silent and lay down next to him. Neither said anything for the next few minutes, just enjoying each other’s company in silence; the problem was, Dean had forgotten how to quiet his brain. It was constantly active, repeating same things all day every day. He could’ve done something differently; could’ve saved John. No matter how much he tried, he couldn’t erase the image of his father dead from his head. He was stuck in a loop, with no way of turning it off, even when he slept.
She’d noticed it. Needless to say, she’d taken notice of his different attitude, as well as how much his overall mood had changed. Sam had mentioned something about Dean being more reckless on hunts, not caring about getting hurt; even if he hadn’t told her, she would’ve figured it out anyways. He didn’t usually have this many bruises after allegedly fighting ghosts; then again, maybe he was lying about that too. God knows what he was doing when he left the house in the middle of the night, returning the following morning tired, dirty, and covered in injuries.
And because she didn’t want to pressure him into telling her something he’d rather keep to himself, she stayed quiet. Rarely did she leave his side though; if he was purposefully being careless on hunts, trying to get hurt, she had no intention of letting him be alone. Sam had a similar idea, but Dean didn’t mind yelling at his brother if he bothered him. She, on the contrary, was one of the few people Dean was incapable of arguing with.
He realised what she’d been doing, watching him like a hawk every waking minute of every day. If he was in Bobby’s small, old kitchen, searching for something to eat, she would be sat at the table, watching his every move. If he was in the living room on the couch, just twiddling his thumbs, she would occupy a creaking rocking chair, which made a sound each time it’d move.
Dean never said a word. There was no need for it. In a sense, he appreciated her presence more than a serious conversation about something that couldn’t be changed. John was dead, end of story. Discussing it wouldn’t change anything, it’d only make things worse. He wished he could just forget everything that had happened during the past few months. If he could, he’d erase it all without thinking twice.
The worst part of it was that he still needed to get up every morning and go on with his life like nothing had happened. There were still monsters to be killed, people to be saved. He felt obliged to continue doing what he’d been doing his whole life and just move on, like John had never existed.
Even Sam seemed more in control of his emotions than him. Was he handling it well? Probably not, but at least he seemed all right. Dean knew everyone had noticed a change in him, but he was so tired that he had no motivation left to conceal what was going on inside of him. So, hunts became dangerous, he became reckless, and every decision he made was questioned by everyone – are you sure you’ll be safe? Maybe you shouldn’t go alone. Let Sam come with you, don’t be an idiot.
Bobby was the only one who wasn’t afraid to be blunt. He would tell Dean exactly what he thought, and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t appreciate it. Yet, even Bobby knew when to stop and which lines not to cross; the same could be said for the woman that lay next to him right now.
Dean was glad she avoided talking to him about John, but was stubborn enough to keep her eye on him; he just wished he didn’t feel like a burden because of it.
Since he was deep in thought, she guessed he was mentally torturing himself again because of John’s death. Sometimes she felt like she was able to read his mind, just by looking at him. “We should watch a movie tonight,” she said quietly, not daring to look at him.
Dean let out a quiet laugh, like she’d said something insane. “Let me guess, a horror movie?” She just stared at the sky, smiling faintly. “I knew it, you’re so predictable.”
She yawned dramatically, pushing herself on her elbows. “Sorry I don’t want to watch a bunch of men fight over liquor for two hours for the millionth time.”
“How dare you insult the greatest movie ever made? And that’s not what The Untouchables is about,” Dean’s reply was quick, his brows slightly furrowing.
“Yet you knew which movie I was referring to without me having to say its name.”
Dean sighed, not bothering to reply right away. “I’m going to need more beer because of you, I swear.”
She giggled, sticking out her tongue, before lying down again. Having closed her eyes, she tried to clear her head; tiredness had crept into her whole body, her eyes suddenly struggling to stay open. Her breathing became steadier, like her body was trying to tell her to go to bed, even though it knew she would stay on that roof forever if she could. Not only was it uncommonly peaceful and quiet, it was also strange for Dean to be this quiet. Their bickering sometimes lasted for hours, both of them mocking the other until Sam stepped in and told them to shut up, so he could focus on his research.
Driving in the Impala was always filled with meaningless arguments over music, food, and sometimes over nothing at all. They would tease each other just for the hell of it. Maybe it was a distraction after a particularly bad hunt; or them trying to ignore the growing tension in the air after spending two days inseparable.
Even Sam couldn’t figure them out; he knew them well enough to know how they felt about the other. It was obvious how close they’d got to each other, needing to spend as much time as possible with the other. Even when they “argued”, it was obvious to everyone the tone in their voices was playful, never serious.
Another thing Sam thought was strange was the fact that Dean had never tried to sleep with her. He often wondered if she was aware how weird it was for his older brother to not try to get her to spend the night with him. He never thought he would see Dean actively avoiding the chance of getting laid. It was so out of character that he had asked him about it, but was met only with “mind your business” and a disapproving look.
Even now, while they lay next to each other, the last thing on Dean’s mind was sleeping with her. He would be more than happy to just lie there the whole night if that was what she wanted. Dean didn’t even know that she had him wrapped around her finger, but she probably didn’t know that either. If she told him to pack his bag and run away with her, leaving this whole life behind, he would do it in a heartbeat.
His head turned towards her, looking at her seemingly sleeping form. “You good?” he murmured quietly, causing her to open her eyes and stare back at him.
She nodded, focusing on the freckles scattered across his face. He looked gorgeous, she thought, before adjusting her position so she could lie on her side. “Let’s go to Texas; or California.” was all she said, her voice barely audible.
Dean would’ve missed it if his eyes hadn’t been glued to her lips when she said it. For a moment, he was completely confused, but quickly remembered their previous conversation. “Are you sure you’re okay?” he said, half joking.
“Yeah, let’s just go somewhere. It doesn’t have to be either of those places, you know.”
Dean, too, changed his position, lying on his side so he could face her properly. “No, Texas is good. We’ll go,” he announced softly, matching her tone. He assumed she was either drunk or sleepy, but it wasn’t that late, nor had she drunk too much. “Wanna go to sleep?”
She smiled mischievously, closing her eyes. “Only if you join me.”
Dean thanked God it was dark outside, because he could feel his face being on fire. He didn’t want to know how red his cheeks were, but the thing he couldn’t ignore was the way his heart started beating fast. Why was he getting nervous, it was only her; plus, it was crystal clear she was joking. He cleared his throat, and waited for her to open her eyes before answering. “Did you really get drunk off one beer? What are you, sixteen?”
She rolled her eyes, partially disappointed at his reaction. She didn’t expect him to completely ignore her comment and not say something in the same manner. “D’you think Bobby would let me visit Jo and Ellen if I take you and Sam with me? We could spend a week there, just relaxing.” It became obvious then that she was, in fact, getting tired. Her brain jumped from one topic to another, making it hard for Dean to follow her rambling.
She talked about everything, from what she’d eaten recently, to which movies she’d watched. Dean didn’t dare interrupt her, especially when her speech became even more slurred. He decided it was time to go back inside, but the second he tried to sit up, he was met with her hand gently guiding him to lie back down. “Five more minutes,” was all she said, before going completely quiet.
Dean complied, but couldn’t stop himself from staring at her tired features. “Sweetheart, you’ll fall asleep here, and I don’t know how I’ll get you down. Let’s just go inside, and we can-“
“But it’s so nice out here. Fresh air, you know,” she joked, blinking at him in an attempt to persuade him to stay there.
In response, Dean laughed, still watching her. “Fresh air, really? Here?”
Her brain had completely stopped functioning properly, which became more obvious the longer she talked. She started whispering something about staying there the whole night, which made Dean scowl at her. It getting harder and harder to stay awake, and she knew that if she closed her eyes, she would fall asleep within seconds.
Dean must’ve noticed it too, the way she fought the urge to doze off, so he made up his mind to annoy her until she agreed to go inside. Luckily for him, it didn’t take much convincing, because she abruptly sat up and looked around her. “You’re right, let’s just go. Bobby will kill me if I stay here all night.”
Dean felt relief wash over his body while he watched her go down the ladder they’d previously used to climb to the roof. Her movements were slow, each step more careful and the previous one. Dean silently watched her reach the ground, before finally following suit.
She didn’t bother to wait for him, so instead just made a beeline for the front door, and disappeared into the dark hallway. Dean did not take it personally, he knew how tired she was, so he just let her go inside without saying a single word.
Before going inside, Dean glanced one more time at the night and darkness that encircled the house, trying his best not to think about everything that still needed to be done. It can wait until tomorrow, he thought, a faint smile finding its way to his face, before he too decided to go to bed; he deserved at least one somewhat peaceful night’s sleep.