Topic: Good Times, Bad Times (AU)

Dean Winchester

Date: 2012-05-26 00:03 EST
((Follows after All Sense, No Feeling.(AU)))

Though eight a.m. might be a little too early for most people to think about alcohol, it was never too early for Dean. It was his little helper. It helped him kill a lifetime of pain, get through the day, and sleep at night. Or at least, that's what he liked to tell himself. Lately, it didn't seem to do any of those things, but it had become a habit that was hard to break, and he figured he wasn't going to live long enough to sorry about cirrhosis of the liver anyway, so what was the point"

Dean heard Jo....No, Nimue....turn the water on in the shower and he grumbled to himself as he tried not to think about her or her somewhat veiled invitation to join him. He tried not to think about the last time he kissed her or the desire to kiss her again. He tried not to think about the long, golden hair that softly framed her face, her soft brown eyes, or the warmth of her smile. He tried not to think about her standing naked beneath the shower, water cascading down her slender curves. He tried not to think about what she'd said to him, dropping hints that she was as attracted to him as he was to her. There was only one way to scrub those thoughts from his head and that was to drown them in a bottle. Dean perused the bottles behind the bar, finally choosing one that was filled with good old fashioned Tennessee whiskey. If that didn't kill the pain, nothing would. He pried open the bottle and poured himself a glass, tossing the contents back and letting it burn its way down his gullet.

The first one was always downed quickly, the second savored. He refilled the glass and took a slow sip, moving back toward the door to get a breath of fresh air and try to clear his muddled head. Maybe if the booze didn't do it, the fresh air would. Outside the sun was already shining brightly, reflecting off the lake just across the way, sparkling like a jewel in the golden morning light. As if to mock his pain, it was going to be a beautiful day. He stepped out onto the porch and settled himself on the stairs. Bobby would be here soon, and Dean needed to figure out just what he was going to tell the man to convince him he was telling the truth. Dean stared out at the water, enjoying the beauty and peace of the moment. He always loved mornings like this - quiet, peaceful, calm. There were so few of them in his life. He held the glass between his knees, mostly forgotten in his reverie, wishing heaven was like this, but knowing it wasn't.

When, finally, fresh and clean and in full control of her faculties, Nim thumped down the stairs, it was to find the bar and kitchen empty. A faint frown touched her brow as she paused behind the counter of the bar, peering through the door to where Dean's jacket was conspicuously absent from where it had been left. "Dean?" she called out warily, her first instinct to check the salt lines on doors and windows. They were unbroken, which could only mean ....Despite her recently made resolution not to care too deeply too openly, she was gripped with a sudden chill at the thought that he had just upped and left, without even a goodbye. Her stride lengthened as she moved unerringly for the back door, still calling for him. "Dean' Dean!" There was no one in the alley, no sign that the quiet had been broken by the passage of another person recently. Whirling away, Nim all but ran to the front entrance of Morgan's Landing, wrenching open the door as she called his name once again. "Dean?"

Her eyes fell on him where he was sat, and she felt that panic recede, breathing out a slow exhale of relief. "Oh, thank God," she murmured, stepping out into the sunshine with a little more decorum. White shirt and blue jeans, and sunlight shining on her hair, she moved to lean on the railing. "I thought I'd chased you off or something."

Her voice broke through the muddled mess of thoughts and emotions mucking up his head, and though he didn't look her way, his gaze fixed on the calm, still water of Lake Michigan, he acknowledged her presence by vocalizing his thoughts, almost without realizing it. "It's peaceful here. Pretty. Hard to believe there are monsters and demons walking around out there somewhere, isn't it?"

She smiled lightly, feeling a little honored that he'd just begun to speak, without needing to pretend that they didn't know one another well enough to be so relaxed. Shifting out of her lean, she moved around to thump down onto the stairs beside him, hands clasped loosely between her knees with a jangle of the charms on her bracelet. "Yeah, it can be," she agreed in a quiet voice, resisting the urge to rest her cheek on his shoulder with a vast effort. "It's not a bad view for a city, is it' Brian totally called it when he bought this place."

He wouldn't have minded if she had rested her head on his shoulder and probably wouldn't have scolded her for it. "When I was a kid, I used to wake up on mornings like this and think it was all just a bad dream. I used to think that if I kept my eyes closed long enough and wished hard enough, when I woke up, I'd be back home in my own bed, and everything would be okay. But as I got older, I realized that it's people like us that keep the world safe for people like them." He nodded his head at a few passersby who were going about their usual morning routine. Taking the kids to school, going to work, walking the dog, whatever it happened to be. "And I was okay with that. It gave my life meaning and purpose."

As she listened, Nim's face turned toward Dean's. Not enough to rest her gaze on his profile, not yet; but enough that her attention was clearly on him, given entirely to what he was telling her. That quietly indecipherable part of her mind suggested that this was a rare opportunity to know what was going on inside the man's head, and so she didn't say anything, letting him express his thoughts even as she sighed under her breath, giving into the unrelenting urge. Her cheek came to rest on his shoulder, dark eyes watching the normal people passing by in silence.

He said nothing when her head came to rest against his shoulder, thought he was well aware it was there, that she was there, right beside him, but instead of it causing him pain, her presence seemed to lend him comfort and even strength. "I've spent my whole life taking care of Sam. Never me. I wasn't important. So long as Sam was okay, nothing else mattered. I'm not sure I know how to go on without him. I mean, I did for awhile, but the life dragged me back in. It always does. I'm a hunter. I've been a hunter since the first day my dad put a gun in my hands. It's all I am. It's all I'll ever be, and I'm okay with that, too. So long as the sun shines again in the morning."

He wasn't sure what exactly it was he was trying to tell her. Maybe he was just trying to explain who he was really, deep inside, and why. Maybe he was trying to tell her why he did the things he did, said the things he said. He wasn't quite sure, but in the quiet, peaceful moment, he found himself opening up to her more than he had to anyone in a very long time.

"And the reason the sun shines in the morning is because of you," Nim murmured, hoping that she wasn't breaking this peaceful spell by speaking up. "You and every hunter." Without thinking, she loosed one hand from the other, tucking her arm underneath his to insinuate her fingers over his palm and between his fingers, stroking the pad of her thumb over his knuckle. It wasn't a conscious thing, this offering of touch as comfort, and yet it wasn't something she could ever recall having done with anyone else. "But you don't need to do this on your own, Dean-o."

He found his eyes were watering again, but whether it was due to the sunshine on the lake or the emotional turmoil he was feeling inside, he wasn't going to say. Aware of the hand that had insinuated itself into his, he made no effort to pull away from her touch, once again finding that simple gesture comforting, reassuring him that he wasn't alone. He blinked the tears from his eyes and turned his head to regard the feisty, adorable blond at his side, his heart lurching once again at the realization that it really was Jo, no matter what she chose to call herself. "I don't even know what this is," he admitted quietly.

Feeling his eyes on her, nonetheless she didn't look up at him right away, letting her gaze wander over the flickering water of the lake a while longer. "Neither do I," she admitted reluctantly. "You know more than me." There was a pause as her thumb stroked over his knuckle once again, her cheek lifting from his shoulder to allow her eyes to meet his in the gentle stillness. "I think you're right, though. Whatever this is, we're in it together."

Her hand felt so good, so right in his, he found that no matter how much he wanted to pull away, he couldn't. His eyes met hers, and he felt that old familiar ache of loneliness and longing tugging at his heart. "Seems that way, doesn't it?" He held her gaze, searching her face, looking for some hint of what he should do. Should he kiss her, like he wanted to, like she seemed to want him to, or was that a bad idea" "Promise me when Bobby gets here, you won't let him kill me." It was meant as a joke, but he was only half joking. He'd been through this once before, and if Bobby so much as suspected he was a demon or a monster, he'd shoot first and ask questions later.

Her lips curved into a familiar lopsided smile, dark eyes warming under the amusing thought that this obviously capable, deadly man was going to use her - skinny, short Nim - as a human shield to avoid an untimely death at the hands of someone he considered more family than friend. "You really think he'd try?" she asked with quiet confidence in the newly companionable warmth and silence they were sharing. "Even with us to tell him how human you are?" Again, just like before, her gaze slipped, dropping to his lips for a split second before she caught herself. She'd promised herself she wouldn't do this, and yet here she was, all smiles and loving flirtation, and she couldn't stop herself.

He noticed how her gaze drifted, if only for a split second, and knew she wanted to kiss him as much as he wanted to kiss her. The only difference was he remembered what her lips tasted like, but to her, he was a stranger. "You don't remember me, you hardly know me, but you're willing to vouch for me. Both you and Brian. Holy water proves nothing. I'm supposed to be dead. How do you know I am who I say I am' And don't tell me it's just a feeling because that's not gonna wash with Bobby."

She bit her lip thoughtfully. "He didn't shoot me," she pointed out softly, grateful in a way that he hadn't taken her up on that unthinking, unconscious offer of her lips for his pleasure. She didn't want to push anything on him, especially not while he was in this limbo of confusion and grief. "I've never met the man, but Brian talks to him whenever he comes up against something he can't explain. He's gotta have mentioned me, right?" Just as he'd asked, she didn't mention her instincts or her gut feelings, knowing no one would take them on faith in this instant. "Maybe you should be ready to prove it in every way you can," she suggested in a quiet voice. "So you can start as soon as he sets eyes on you."

He frowned a little and looked away from her to look out on that sparkling water again. He wasn't really afraid of Bobby, and when it came down to it, he didn't really think he'd kill him. If he was the same Bobby Dean had known nearly all his life. That was the tricky part. If he wasn't the same Dean, then Bobby wasn't the same Bobby, but Dean had no way of knowing what the differences were. He'd just have to follow his gut instincts and take a chance. But all of this wasn't what was really bothering him. What was really bothering him went a lot deeper than that. "The Bobby I know is dead," Dean said, grief evident in his voice. "Sam and I gave him a hunter's funeral months ago."

Nim felt her heart constrict painfully at the throb of grief that colored not just his voice, but the whole sense of him. She had no memory of such a loss, she could not imagine it at all, and yet again, some part of her sympathized with unnerving ease. "Oh, Dean," she breathed, itching to wrap her arms around him, to offer comfort that could in no way make up for the crippling agony of such a loss. Her hand tightened in his, her body inching closer until she leaned up against him, laying her cheek once again on his shoulder as her other hand rose to grip the crook of his elbow. It was the closest to an embrace she dared to give him, as gently undemanding as she could muster in the warm sunlight.

He drew comfort from her closeness, her reassuring, understanding touch. His instincts told him to wrap an arm around her and pull her close, but he resisted the urge, pushing it aside, until the time was right, if the time was ever right. Not until she knew more about him, not until she knew exactly what she might be getting herself into. "You're here, Bobby's here..." He tilted his gaze toward her again, not even bothering to hide the grief and confusion that was troubling him. "Do you have any idea what it's like to see someone you thought you'd never see again?" He studied her a moment, her cheek resting against his shoulder, easily, comfortably, as if it was the most natural thing in the world, and he felt the heavy ache of longing in his chest again. Was it such a bad thing to be here" To have Jo and Bobby back, even if he couldn't have Sam' His chest tightened at the thought of Sam. Why couldn't he have them all" Why did it seem he always had to choose"

Dean Winchester

Date: 2012-05-26 00:07 EST
His question brought a pall of sadness to bear over her as the words struck a chord deep inside. For all that she put on a brave face, Nim felt keenly the loss of her memories, the impenetrable darkness that lurked in her mind and kept her from knowing who she had once been. It was worse with him here, knowing that he knew more about who she was than she did. "You know I don't," she said, her voice tiny in the bustling sounds of the street in front of them, her gaze fixed on their joined hands. "I'm probably twenty-seven years old, and I don't remember any of it but the last two of them." One shoulder rose and fell in an understated shrug. She felt more whole with Dean here beside her than she had in all of those two years. But how could she tell him that without putting him under intolerable pressure to act on her behalf and not his own"

He misunderstood her sadness, thinking it was his presence that made her sad, that made her realize all the things she didn't know about herself or had forgotten and he felt a pang of regret for asking her such a painfully pointed and selfish question. "Sorry. I shouldn't have asked you that. I'm an a*s." He resisted the temptation to hug her, to press a kiss against her forehead like he had just before he'd said goodbye for the last time. Instead, he only sighed and turned back to the lake and the increasingly busy street in front of them, but they were only people.

She snorted with laughter, shaking her head as her cheek lifted from his shoulder to let her gaze touch on his profile, studying the strong features with intense familiarity. "It's not your fault I don't remember myself," she told him firmly, squeezing his arm. "Hell, I spent the last two years thinking I must have been some kind of monster to deserve this. It's kind of a relief to know that I wasn't." She drew in a sharp breath, clearing her throat. "Not that this is about me." She leaned close, the heat of her breath touching his cheek for a moment before she drew the courage to kiss his cheek. "Stop blaming yourself for things beyond your control and come help me set up the bar, princess. Gotta open up sometime soon."

His brows lifted, a little surprised at her reaction to his self-deprecation. Stop blaming yourself. She'd said that to him at least once before - once as a ghost. You blame yourself for all this crap that isn't your fault. Or something like that. He didn't recall her exact words. Maybe she was right, maybe he did, but he wasn't going to let the past repeat itself. He wasn't going to let her sacrifice herself again. Not for him. He watched her as she came close, unaware he was holding his breath, waiting for her to decide what to do, and then she brushed a kiss against his cheek, not for the first time since he'd arrived here, and he felt his heart lurch in his chest. "Nim..." That name felt foreign on his tongue, but he had to force himself to get used to saying it somehow. "Do you remember me at all?"

She stilled, surprised as much by the question as by his effort to get her name right, nose to nose with him for the third time in twenty hours. But it was a hard question to answer. "I don't ....I don't have any memory of you, but ..." She struggled to find the right words to express herself, trying so hard not to distract herself with the way her eyes had locked to his once again. "I feel like I know you. I've been so comfortable with you from the get-go, it's almost as though the memories don't matter. You know how I feel, and I think that kinda proves I do remember you. I still have a lot to learn, but ....you're a part of me, somehow." And oh, how she wanted to kiss him now, to show him the muddle of confusion and affection that colored her every hint of a thought in his direction. Surely emotion this strong couldn't be faked, or formed in a matter of hours.

He felt it, too; he always had. Fatal attraction, that's what it was. She was so close, close enough that he could kiss her if he dared. He gazed into her eyes, eyes that were so hauntingly familiar, her face burned into his brain, his memories, always a part of him, even when she was no longer alive. It would be so easy to give in to those feelings, the tug of emotion. Too easy. "You're better off without me, you know. It was because of me..." He broke off, not wanting to go there again, not wanting to repeat himself. She already knew the weight of guilt he was carrying around because of her. There was no point in reminding her and causing her any more pain. His tongue darted out to nervously lick at dry lips, the glass of bourbon nearly forgotten in his hand. "It wasn't all bad. There were good times, too."

His reminder of the story he had told of her death almost earned him a wince, but she didn't flinch away. If she accepted it as simple fact, made no mention of it, perhaps he would stop blaming himself for a choice she had made in the life she didn't remember. The flicker of his tongue over his lips caught her gaze, the delicate pink of her own tongue echoing that motion with something that might have been the same nerves. "Then let go of the bad times," she whispered to him, all her good intentions forgotten so close in this moment. All it would take was a minute lean forward ....Without realising it, she was doing just that, just millimeters away from the kiss they were both academically trying to avoid.

He felt drawn to her, like a magnet, but he held his ground, maintaining the minute distance between them, so close he could smell her. Her scent reminded him of summer, and he longed to draw her into his arms and bury his face in her hair, to taste her lips again and let nature take its course, let whatever might happen between them just happen, but something held him back. He wanted to do what she asked, to let go of all the sadness and the grief and the nightmares, but he didn't know how. It was all too much a part of him. Help me....He found himself wanting to ask for her help. Help me find my way out of the darkness. But he said nothing, only his eyes hinting at some deeper struggle that he couldn't put into words yet, if ever. He set the glass of bourbon aside and lifted a hand to touch her face, fingers gently grazing her cheek, no words spoken.

She had nothing more to say, no more attempts at advice or wisdom. Her breath was slow and steady, mingling with his as the tip of her nose circled his unconsciously, the brush of his fingertips drawing a soft flush to her skin beneath his touch. She could see his struggle with something as yet undefined, her own eyes burning with what she felt, what she wanted, what she hoped he wanted too. The hand in his trembled in the grip of their still intimacy, the street around them forgotten as, for the briefest of moments, her lips just touched his.

Her lips touched his and her kiss was returned, softly, tenderly, if only briefly, a flame that had only been a spark a moment before flaring suddenly and shockingly to life. Love at first sight, she'd said. He wasn't so sure about that. Even if she didn't remember him, didn't remember herself or her past, it wasn't the first time she'd seen him or even the first time they'd kissed. Eyelids drifted closed as he lost himself to her kiss, remembering the first and only time he'd kissed her, and he knew without doubt that she was who he thought she was. The kiss was a tender one, innocent, chaste, but with a fire beneath it that spoke of emotions that burned deep, into their very souls. The kiss broke after a long moment, and he drew a slow breath and leaned his forehead against hers.

She was all softness as he took her kiss and returned it, the subtle motion of her lips nothing more than chaste, never parting or offering anything deeper than what they shared in that moment. Dark eyes that had burned into his in those moments before they had come together with a kiss had fallen closed, and suddenly this wasn't the first kiss she had thought it might be. It was a kiss she'd had before, in a time and place she could not recall, and would never stop wanting more of. The slow intake of her breath as he broke from her matched his, both hands now wrapped about the one as she leaned into him. What could she possibly say now that could in any way move them on from this"

"We should go inside," he told her quietly, his forehead still leaning gently against hers, lifting a hand to run his fingers through her hair, pushing it gently away from her face. Brian would be back soon, and Bobby would be arriving soon, and he didn't want either of them to drive up and see them there, afraid what they might say, shattering the privacy of the moment with questions and possible accusations. No, he wasn't trying to take advantage of her. He'd never forced himself on anyone before, and he wasn't about to start now, but this wasn't about just the desires of the flesh. This went far deeper, and until he could sort it all out in his head, it couldn't go much further.

Her eyes fluttered as he spoke, brown meeting green as she breathed in the unique, familiar scent that was Dean. She wasn't asking for anything more than he was prepared to give, and somehow she thought he knew that. "We should," she agreed, her own voice soft, reluctant to move away in case the movement destroyed this intimacy between them, never to be regained. "I've got chores." She bit her lip, nuzzling without conscious thought as her nose slid against his for a moment before she slowly began to draw away from him.

As seemingly reluctant to part from her as she was from him, he let her draw away from him, a slightly confused frown on his face, unable to hide the turmoil he was feeling inside, but pushing it aside for now. With any luck, they'd have time to sort it out later. He pushed to his feet, pulling her up with him as he stood, still holding her hand. "I know my way around a bar pretty well. Maybe I can help." It was the least he could do to repay Brian's hospitality, after all, and it would keep his mind busy and off his own troubles.

Her smile flickered as he drew her up, that intense connection fading from immediacy as he offered them both a way out of the corner they kissed their way into with a little dignity. "Yeah, you probably can," Nim agreed, a spark of her sunny disposition renewing itself brightly in her smiling eyes as she turned, leading him by the hand back into the bar as though it were the most natural thing in the world. "Gotta put all that muscle to some use, right?"

He chuckled, amused at her question, knowing he wasn't all that muscular, not compared to his brother anyway. His was an athletic build, like a quarterback or a soccer player, tall and lean, not muscle-bound like Sam. "If you say so. What are you gonna have me do' Scrub the floor?" He leaned over to snatch the half-full tumbler of bourbon off the porch stairs before turning to follow her back inside.

"Nah, I don't see you as a scrubber," she chuckled teasingly, finally dropping his hand with a supreme effort as she looked back at him. "I kinda like the idea of you fumbling around in the dark trying to turn me on, though." Her dark eyes held his for a long moment, daring him to jump to the wrong conclusion before she clarified her suggestion.

He arched a brow, not following her train of thought, assuming she was flirting with him again. "Are you a light switch or are we talking double entendres?" He absently swirled the bourbon in the glass, more out of habit than anything else.

Nim burst out laughing, the sound filling the empty bar with strangely welcoming echoes. "The pumps, Dean," she told him, rolling her eyes teasingly. "Honestly, do you think I'd be that obvious if I was going for subtle wit?" She reached out to begin pulling chairs down from where they rested on tables, giggling to herself. "Or do you need me to hold your hand down in the cellar, too?"

He smirked at her teasing. "You can if you want, but I think I can handle it." He tossed back what remained of the bourbon, not wanting it to go to waste, or so he told himself, and set the empty glass on the bar. "Where's the door?" he asked, swinging his gaze around the room for a door to the basement.

Dean Winchester

Date: 2012-05-26 00:19 EST
There was a jangle as she unhooked the heavy key ring from her belt, hefting it in one hand before throwing it over to him. "Floor hatch behind the bar," she told him. "Blue Yale key." Flashing him another smile, a reward for engaging with her teasing, she turned back to the chairs and tables, working with accustomed efficiency to get the bar fit for use by the time Brian got back from his errands.

"Floor hatch. Awesome." He sighed, as he caught the key ring. What sounded like a simple chore was sounding more and more like work. "If I'm not back in ten minutes, send out a search party." He was only half kidding. He spent more time than he liked in creepy basements and cellars. He gave her a quick, admiring glance before making his way behind the bar, fishing through the key ring for the key in question. Once he found it, he unlocked the door and pulled it open, peering down into the hole in the floor that led to the cellar beneath the bar.

There was a thump from the bar behind him, and Nim leaned right over, resting one hand on his back to keep herself from falling face first through the hole he had just opened up. Her other hand rummaged along the shelves under the bar counter she was perched on, coming up with a flashlight which she handed to him with a cheeky twinkle in her eyes. "Light switch is on your left, bottom of the stairs, Dean-o," she informed him, pushing to slide back onto her feet once again.

He turned at the sound of the thump, feeling her hand against his back as she used him to keep her balance. "You're lucky I'm not afraid of the dark," he replied, snagging the flashlight and clicking it on. He wasn't all that thrilled to be climbing down into the bowels of the bar, but somebody had to do it, and he'd rather it was him than her. "You do this everyday or what?" he asked as he started down the stairs, shining the flashlight in front of him to light his way.

"Everyday," she told him with a slight shrug, making her own way around behind the bar to check the measures on the spirits hanging on the wall. Her eyes turned curiously toward him as he disappeared down into the cellar. "Morning, evening, when a barrel needs changing, that sort of thing." She smirked faintly. "Gonna tell me I shouldn't be doing that now?"

"Don't tempt me!" He replied, his voice sounding muffled as he arrived at the foot of the stairs and looked around for a light switch. Finding it, he flicked the light on and looked around for the barrels. "What am I supposed to do?" he called to her from the cellar. Though he claimed to know his way around a bar, this was not exactly what he had in mind.

"Aw, geez ..." Her laughter grew louder as she gave in, swinging down through the hatch to land halfway down the stairs with practised ease, jogging down beside him. "You know your way around a bar, huh' I could be wrong, but I think you've been bullshitting me, Dean-o," she teased laughingly. "That, or you're trying to impress me." She stuck her tongue out at him, side stepping around a partition wall and pointing toward the row of barrels that were connected to the pumps above them. "That better?"

He looked over to see her swinging down through the hole in the floor - or ceiling depending on your point of view - and joining him in the cellar, smirking when she stuck her tongue out at him. "Show off." He turned to see what she was pointing at and the smirk faded. "I said I know my way around a bar, not beneath one." Nim laughed again, turning to set her back to the wall as she grinned up at him. "Oh, I see," she drawled with easy sarcasm, a lot of the tension between them eased by the kiss shared in the sunshine. "Forgive me for crediting you with more smarts than you really got." Her eyes twinkled teasingly in the sparse light as she smirked back at him. He narrowed his eyes at her in the dim light, her remark prickling at his pride, for some reason. He might not have graduated from high school, but he thought he did well enough. "You don't have to be a rocket scientist to be a hunter." He looked her over, from head to toe, the kiss, though brief, still burning on his lips. "You're lucky you're cute or I'd turn you over my knee and spank you." "Oh please," Nim found herself giggling as one brow rose, daring him to try. "You wouldn't even get one good hit in, and you know it." She hadn't meant anything by her comment, but if he was going to engage in the flirtatious teasing, then she wasn't giving him any leeway. "Anyway, cute" Dean-o, I'm damned gorgeous, you're just not lookin' right." He rolled his eyes at pretty much everything she'd just said and stepped over to one of the barrels, glancing up at the pumps above their heads and frowning as he tried to figure out how it all worked. "You gonna help me or just stand there looking pretty?" Quiet footsteps made their way across the floor in the bar above them, silent but for the errant creak of a floorboard. "Big man's asking the girl for help?" she snickered, rolling herself from the wall to step up beside him, insinuating herself half in front of him as she reached up to touch her fingertips to the pressure valve that was only just in her reach. "You wanna turn that until the pressure reads between 370 and 410. Then we check the flow upstairs, and I'll probably have to come down and change a couple of the barrels anyway." Looking back over her shoulder, she met his gaze astutely, very aware of him so close to her. "Got that?" Dean scowled at her for poking fun at him. "It's your bar," he replied. He watched as she reached for the valve, stretching an arm out to help her, his fingers brushing against hers, listening to her instructions. "Yeah, I got..." He broke off, turning his head toward the faint sound of a floorboard creaking somewhere above them, and he froze, some second sense warning him something was wrong. "Did you hear that?" Had that quiet creak not insinuated itself into her awareness in the same moment, Nim would probably have been distracted all over again by the feel of Dean's hand on hers, the way he was pressed up against her back as they both reached up. But she did hear the creak, twisting almost instantly to look toward the steps down from the hatch. "Yeah, I heard it," she murmured very softly, one hand dropping to draw her ever-present knife from her belt. "Brian doesn't walk quiet." His eyes still fixed on the hatch, ears pricked to listen for further movement, reaching instinctively for her arm to pull her behind him and out of harm's way. Whether she was armed and able to defend herself didn't matter. If anyone was going to come through that hatch, they were going to encounter him first. He laid a finger across his lips to hush her and started silently toward the opening in the ceiling. No sooner had he reached the stairs when the door slammed shut and the key was heard turning in the lock. Being set behind him might have rankled, but Nim wasn't stupid. Even unarmed, Dean was a superior hunter - that much was clear just from the way he held himself, the easy readiness in his stance as they both turned toward the hatch, watchful and wary. She didn't even object to being hushed, but the sudden slam of the hatch made her jump. Her mouth dropped open incredulously when they then heard the key turning. "You left the keys up there?" she demanded in a low hiss, advancing across to where he was stood with a long stride. "No, you did! You were up there last, remember?" he countered, glaring at her a moment, before arching his head back at the now closed hatch. It was darker now that the hatch door was shut, but the lights were thankfully still on, and he still had the flashlight. "Maybe someone's trying to rob you." Yeah, that was it. A simple thief. That was all it was. Brian would be back soon, and he'd let them back out, but Dean wasn't patient enough to wait that long. He handed her the flashlight and started toward the stairs. Her own eyes narrowed toward him as he climbed the stairs, but she blessedly chose not to argue any further. It wouldn't help, after all. "There's nothing up there to steal," she frowned, rising up behind Dean. "No one comes into the Landing unless they're a hunter or stupid." He made no reply as he inched up the stairs, but he didn't have long to wait before he found out who it was that had locked them in the cellar. A familiar voice called through the hatch door, one Dean knew all too well. "I ain't here to steal nothin'," the voice said. "Though I think I just might have a beer." Nim scowled at the grain of the wood above Dean's head. Brian was going to kill her for being so careless. "Better leave the money, or when I get out, I'm gonna shoot you in the ass!" she called up to the bar above, sheathing her knife with a sharp movement. Her hand touched against Dean's back, her voice lowering once again. "That better be Brian's friend. I didn't hear any of the traps break." "Bobby!" Dean shouted, ignoring Nim for the moment. He knew the man who was prowling around the bar above them better than anyone, certainly better than Brian, and he knew him well enough to know what he was thinking. "Bobby!" Dean shouted a second time, banging a fist on the door above his head. "Let us out, and I'll explain everything!" Rolling her eyes, both at being ignored as well as the almighty racket of Dean's yelling and banging on the hatch over his head, Nim backed downward a couple of steps, turning to take a seat. Annoying as it was to be locked up, it was a little funny that Dean and Brian's much-lauded Bobby would rather lock them up than shoot first, as Dean had been worried he would. She glanced up at Dean, settling in to wait patiently for some resolution or intention to be stated. "I don't think so," the muffled voice in the bar above their heads replied. "You can explain from there, and then, if I believe you, we can talk about letting you out." Dean stopped pounding on the door, eyes narrowed angrily. "Look, I know you think I'm dead, but I'm not! We've been through this once before. How am I supposed to prove it to you? You know me better than anyone! It's me, I swear!"

Upstairs, Bobby had procured himself a bottle of something stronger than beer and was pouring himself a glass. If it was Dean, he had a lot of explaining to do, and if it wasn't, well....He'd deal with that when the time came.

Dean Winchester

Date: 2012-05-26 00:22 EST
"Could try being calm," came a quiet murmur from the young woman sat a few steps down, settled in for the long haul, but for the most part, Nim was staying out of this. She didn't particularly want to become a target if Bobby decided that Dean wasn't to be trusted. Overhead, there came the familiar sound of heavier steps entering the Landing, and Brian's voice, muffled but audible, greeting his friend in a relieved, jovial tone. "Bobby! When'd you get in, you ol' scoundrel?" Bobby poured himself a glass of bourbon and saluted Brian with the glass. "Not more than a few minutes ago. I hope you don't mind, but I locked the kids up in the cellar "til they can cool off. Too many raging hormones." He tossed back the glass in its entirety. It had occurred to Bobby that if Dean wasn't Dean, it might not be the best idea to lock the girl up with him, but he hadn't had much choice. "Brian, is that you?!" The voice beyond the cellar door called again. "Bobby's off his rocker. Tell him to let us out!" Brian's smirk got to his face before his brain caught up with the content of Bobby's response. "The kids?" he repeated through a vaguely suspicious frown, lowering his gaze over the bar to the cellar hatch in the floor as he heard Dean yelling his name. His clear gaze turned to Bobby with an unspoken promise of retribution if he didn't get a satisfying answer to his next question. "Nim down there?" he called back to the hollering voice below them. There was a faint pause, and Nim's voice cut cleanly through everything else in answer. "No, I'm on the roof, Bri," was yelled back, the sarcasm palpable despite the muffling of the thick wooden floor that separated them. Brian's threatened scowl turned back to a smirk as he nodded to Bobby. "So ....raging hormones is it?" he asked mildly. "Can't be much of a danger then, if you've locked my girl down there with him." It wasn't Dean who answered his question but Bobby. "She's down there. They were getting all cozy when I got there." Bobby's expression changed, turning remorseful. He lowered his voice for Brian's ears only. "I'm sorry, Brian, but I had no choice. If it is Dean, no harm, no foul. If it isn't, I need to know for sure." Bobby refilled his glass with liquid amber courage. He'd pay Brian for the bottle later, when this was all sorted out. Dean banged on the door again, bruising his hand and muttering a curse. "Son of a bitch." "If it isn't, and she gets hurt, I'll be takin' it out on your back, Bobby," Brian warned his friend, still speaking in that mild tone as he moved to lock the doors once again. Something told him this was one encounter he didn't want other hunters walking in on. "Best make it quick, the timer on the bulb down there don't last more'n ten minutes." "There are worse things to fear than the dark, and you know it," Bobby told Brian, just as calmly in return. He knew he was taking a calculated risk in locking the girl up with whoever was wearing Dean's meat suit, but it was a chance he'd been willing to take. "This shouldn't take long." Nim looked up as Dean cursed, reaching up with a hand to catch his wrist. "Banging isn't going to make him let us out any faster, you know," she told him pointedly. "I could start screaming, that might get him to open up." She grinned teasingly at Dean, ridiculously at ease with the fact that his father figure in this universe may or may not still be itching to shoot him. Brian's answer to Bobby was quiet enough that the pair below wouldn't even hear him speaking. "She's scared of bein' in the dark down there, don't ask me why," he said, pouring himself a glass from Bobby's chosen. "You plannin' on shootin' the boy?" "Yeah, if you want him to shoot now and ask questions later." Dean scowled, the ache in his hand putting him in an even fouler mood. Nim tapped her cheek with the flashlight, considering things for a moment before putting it into his hand. "If you wanna hit the hatch, hit it with that," she suggested. "Splinters in knuckles are a bitch to get out." Bobby took another sip of the bourbon before setting the empty glass down. "Not unless he gives me reason." He pulled a gun from somewhere inside his jacket and set it on the bar. "You keep an eye on that, just in case." The gun wasn't just any gun, but a special gun. The gun. The one Sam and Dean had used to kill the yellow-eyed demon. The only gun in existence that was capable of killing a demon - not just sending its soul back to hell, but killing it for good. The gun was a revolver made special by none other than Samuel Colt back in 1835 for a hunter. The gun was capable of killing just about anything supernatural, including demons. Brian rolled his eyes at Bobby's calm intent, nodding as the weapon was laid down in front of him, attempting to appear nonchalant about the fact that one of the most powerful weapons known to man was on his bartop. "Not takin' chances, are you?" he asked in a quiet tone, lifting the Colt to eye-level, openly admiring of the gun. "You do know if he's not real, then she ain't either." "Nope," Bobby replied, shrugging at the man's statement. "Only one way to find out. You ready?" He eyed the other man with a steady gaze. He wasn't crazy, and he was hoping to hell that by some miracle, it was Dean, but he wasn't taking any chances. Brian wasn't happy about the idea of having to shoot either of the young people currently trapped beneath them, but he knew Bobby was right. He nodded, taking a better grip on the Colt as he rested the barrel on his forearm. "Nope, but it's gotta be done. Let's get it over with." Bobby looked grim. He was taking no pleasure in this, and he was dreading looking into the boy's face and having to harden his heart until he knew for sure it was him. If Dean proved he was who he said he was, then, it was likely Nim was telling the truth, too. He knew Brian had already put Dean to the holy water test, which ruled out demons, but there were other possibilities, and Bobby needed to rule them out. Dean took the flashlight from Nim. It was too late to worry about splinters, he wagered, but he'd worry about that later, if there was a later. He knew in his heart that Bobby would want to believe him, but he had no way of knowing his own history here or what might make the man believe him. There was one thing, but it was a long shot. He glanced up at the ceiling as he heard footsteps approaching and recognized Bobby's gait. "Stay behind me. It's me he doesn't trust, not you." Her head tipped back as a second set of footsteps joined the first, taking up a position on the other side of the bar but in full view of the hatch once it was opened. Brian. Nim rose to her feet, turning to look up at the hatch as she reached for Dean. "Come away from the hatch," she murmured, jumping violently as suddenly the light bulb snapped and went out. "Dean ..." Her hand fisted in the back of his jacket as she fell silent. Dean heard Nim's voice behind him, sounding worried, fearful even, and he went to her, drawn to her by the sound of her voice. As soon as the lights went out, the flashlight flicked on, almost immediately, and he slid a protective arm around her, drawing her close. "Don't worry. It'll be okay." All the fear went out of him at that moment, and his body tensed, steeling himself for the moment of truth. He handed her the flashlight, almost instinctively knowing somehow that she was afraid, even if she tried to look brave. Well, who wouldn't be with nightmares like hers" He understood that fear all too well. It was humiliating to be afraid of the dark down here, when she was so confident above. It didn't help that Dean obviously thought she was afraid of whatever Bobby and Brian had in store for him. The beam of the flashlight showed her glancing into the shadows in tense silence, her face pale as the familiar sensation of being somehow buried alive, trapped in the darkness, wrapped itself around her. As her fingers took hold of the flashlight, she stepped close under Dean's arm, looking up toward the hatch in silent longing. She didn't care what was waiting for them up there. "C'mon," she murmured under her breath. "Open the damned door, let us out ..." He felt her tense against him, her fear almost palpable, despite her attempt to seem brave, and his arm tightened around her, protectively. It never occurred to him that they might think he was holding her close to use her as a shield or to threaten her life. In all truth, he would willingly sacrifice his life for hers, but they didn't know that and neither did she. As if someone heard her request, the hatch was pulled open and Bobby's voice was heard calling down the hole. "Send the girl up first."

Dean tensed, looking to Nim and offering a tight smile. "It's okay. Go ahead. Brian's up there. He won't let anything happen to you." Relief poured off Nim as light flooded down to them, erasing the sense of being trapped, of being caught and unable to escape. But she was reluctant to move away and leave Dean exposed, knowing that so much as one wrong glance could result in shots being fired. Dark eyes met his worriedly for a long moment before she spoke up, raising her voice for the benefit of the men above. "I'm not coming up until I know Dean's not in any danger from either of you." In the bar above, Brian felt himself smirk again. As much as Nim may have just put herself into the firing line, he was proud of her for going with her gut this much. He'd never known her gut to be wrong. "Told you she was stubborn." His eyes flickered toward Bobby, thumb drawing back the hammer on the Colt in readiness. Bobby grunted in reply, not liking this one bit. If Dean was Dean, the girl wasn't in any danger, but if he wasn't, she was a sitting duck. "Stubborn's just another word for stupid," Bobby replied, backing away from the hatch and producing an iron dagger from somewhere within his jacket. "One at a time and take it slow," he called back down the hatch. "I'll go," Dean volunteered, figuring if he came up first, Bobby's attention would be on him and Nim would be able to find safety with Brian. He didn't wait for her to argue, but paused just long enough to press a brief kiss against her lips. "It'll be okay. Promise." Was he telling her that because he really believed it or to reassure himself" Bobby was close enough to the hatch to hear them, to hear what they were saying, and his heart softened. Either it really was Dean or someone was playing their part well. Though he had no idea how it could possibly be Dean, he whispered a silent prayer to a God he wasn't sure he believed in to make it so.

Dean Winchester

Date: 2012-05-26 00:25 EST
Her mouth opened, yes, but her protest was stopped by the surprise of his kiss to reassure her. Dark eyes blinking to stare at him, Nim absent-mindedly turned the flashlight off as she stepped out from under Dean's protective arm. "I'm gonna hold you to that one," she breathed back, falling into step at his back. every muscle in her body tensed for action. Brian wasn't close enough to hear the details of what was being said, but he knew Nim well enough to understand that if she'd made this decision, she would stand by it, regardless of anyone's objections. And if Bobby got proof that this was Dean Winchester, then there weren't many others Brian would more willingly trust his girl to. But right now" That was a big if. Dean wanted to reach for her hand as he led the way up the stairs, but he thought better of it. It was better if he put as much distance between himself and Nim as possible. If something went awry and Bobby made the wrong choice, he didn't want her in harm's way. He started slowly up the stairs, spreading his arms wide as he emerged at the top to show he was unarmed. He glanced first at Bobby, then at Brian, an eyebrow briefly arching when he recognized the Colt in Brian's hand, c*cked and ready for firing. Ironically, they didn't need the Colt to kill him - the bullet from any ordinary gun would do. He glanced back at Bobby, and his heart constricted with emotion. The last time he'd seen Bobby was just two days ago, but it had been Bobby's ghost.

"Just take it easy and let me explain," he told the older man. "I'm listenin'," Bobby replied, eyes on Dean, trying to hide his own tumult of emotions at the sight of the younger man, who was the closest thing he'd ever come to having a son. Nim came into view behind him, walking just as slowly, just as carefully, keeping her hands in plain sight as she came to a halt at Dean's side, no doubt closer to him than he was happy with. The unfamiliar face of the man whose opinion of the matter was going to decide so much was studied with solemn eyes, memorised as being Bobby even as the two men began to talk. Then her gaze flickered to Brian. He winced at the disappointment that flared in her gaze on seeing him armed and ready, but did not waver. She could shout at him later. "Alone," Dean replied, his gaze still fixed on Bobby, unmoving with arms spread wide, as still as a statue. There were reasons he didn't want Nim or Brian there when he talked to Bobby. Good reasons. Mostly, he had no idea how this was going to go down, and he didn't want Nim there to witness it if it went badly. Nim's head snapped about as soon as Dean made that stipulation, the fierceness returned to her pale face as she frowned at him. Hadn't she already told him she wasn't going to leave him in any circumstance where he was in danger of any kind" "Not a chance," she heard herself say sharply, turning her gaze to Bobby, dark eyes asking him to disregard Dean's insistence. Brian, for his part, almost relaxed when it seemed as though Nim was going to be kept out of this. And then she opened her mouth. He tensed again, clenching his jaw but keeping quiet. One thing he didn't want was to be the one who pulled the trigger on the young woman who had become something of a daughter to him in the last two years. Dean didn't need to look at Nim to know what expression she wore on her face - stubborn, almost stupidly brave - too much like himself in too many ways. "Just go. I'll be fine. He's not gonna shoot me. He's too happy to see me." Dean took a chance in guessing that Bobby was feeling as much turmoil in seeing Dean alive as Dean was in seeing Bobby alive. Dean slowly lowered his arms, relaxing just a little, a pleading tone to his voice. "It's me, Bobby, I swear. Don't make me tell embarrassing stories to prove it." Bobby snorted at the younger man's threat. "Embarrass yourself maybe. If you think I'm gonna stand here and get weepy while you share your feelings, you've got another guess coming." Being told to go - "just go" - struck hard, stinging deep as again Nim felt as though she was being treated like a child, and it showed in her eyes, in the tightening of her expression. Her fingers tightened on the flashlight, knuckles turning white as she found herself looking down for a moment, dismissed without a second thought. Her eyes lifted again to Brian, hurriedly slipping away as she found too much empathy in her friend's gaze. But it was enough to calm her from her bristling at Dean's orders, her hand reaching out slowly to set the flashlight on the bartop. She wasn't going to do as he told her, of course, even if that involved following on where she wasn't invited. The room seemed to narrow to Bobby and Dean, at least in Bobby's eyes. He knew the girl was close, too close for comfort, and he knew Brian had his back, but Brian's first loyalty and concern would be to the girl. He should never have given him the Colt. As for Dean, he was all too aware of Nim's stubborn insistence on staying, but he couldn't worry about that now. It was about proving himself to Bobby now. He had hoped she wouldn't have to witness this, but it was too late to worry about that now. If the situation wasn't so serious, Dean would have smiled at Bobby's retort. "I'm not a demon. Not a doppleganger. Not a skinwalker." Dean paused a moment before continuing. "Not Leviathan either."

"Leviawhat?" Bobby echoed. The word sounded familiar. He'd heard of it somewhere, read of it, but he couldn't quite place it at the moment. "Said that a coupla times when he first got here last night," Brian offered, tearing his eyes from Nim's hotly stinging silence to shift his gaze over to Dean. "Thought you might know what it was, Bobby. Don't ring no bells to me." Bobby didn't take his eyes off Dean, waiting until Brian was finished before responding. "Go on," he told Dean, trying not to look too intrigued, though he was. "Leviathan," Dean repeated. "The monsters we were hunting back home before I found myself here." Dean went on to explain everything that had happened over the past few months back in his own world, leaving very little out. He knew the story probably sounded crazy, but crazy was a way of life for them. He didn't leave out the part about Bobby being fatally shot in the head, or about him becoming a ghost. He explained how just two days ago, Bobby had asked the boys to burn the last remaining possession that kept his soul tethered to that world and put him to rest. To his credit, Dean's voice never wavered, not until he got to the part where they had to say good-bye. By the time Dean's story was done, he looked pale and tired and worn. It was the most Nim had heard Dean say yet. All the sting left her, the bristle of her anger fading in a wash of compassion for what he had been through so very recently. She forgot the immediate danger, the weapons trained on Dean by two men who should have known better, her focus turned upon the man at her side. Her hand found his once again, smoothing into his palm to entwine their fingers as she leaned up against him, offering that silently tactile comfort once again. Behind Bobby, Brian was frowning, mildly horrified by what he had heard, convinced enough in his own mind to let the Colt lower partway from its battle-ready place. But it was Bobby who had to break the silence, to begin the process of making the decision. No one else could. Dean felt Nim's hand slide into his, her fingers tangling with his own, and he drew comfort from that simple gesture. He didn't pull away this time, he let her take his hand. If no one else believed in him, at least she did, and he'd be forever grateful to her for that. Bobby stood his ground, his expression impassive, not interrupting, not saying a word, letting the younger man tell his tale, though his heart was aching as he thought about how he'd lost the boys in a similar fashion. He watched as the girl Brian thought of as his own daughter slipped her hand into Dean's, and for the first time, his gaze turned toward her, recognizing the faith and the trust she had placed in Dean - a man she hardly even knew. A long moment passed as Bobby seemed to weigh his options. He turned back to Dean, dropping the pretense, lowering the knife a fraction. "Boy, I saw you die. You and your brother. I gave you both a hunter's funeral. And now, here you stand, alive and well, claiming you're from some other world. What am I supposed to believe" I grieved you once. I don't want to grieve you again." "Twice," Dean broke in. He let go of Nim's hand and shrugged off his jacket and the shirt beneath it, handing them both to her. Despite the gravity of the situation, Nim felt herself smile just a little, unable to keep herself from murmuring, "Sounds familiar." Her gaze flickered to Bobby, warmth returning to her eyes even as she took jacket and shirt from Dean. That gut feeling of hers flared once again, giving her confidence to take a step back as she watched Dean carefully, trusting to Bobby's good sense and Brian's caution that no one was going to be hurt. Bobby watched as Dean yanked up the sleeve of his t-shirt to expose a mark in the shape of a hand burned into his left shoulder - the mark of the angel who'd pulled him out of perdition. It had faded some over the last few years, but it was a mark he'd carry with him for the rest of his days, a mark that couldn't be faked. That scar proved that at least the flesh and blood before them belonged to Dean. And if he wasn't a demon, that only left one more thing, but that was highly unlikely, given what had happened in this world. "Dean?" Bobby asked, finally, as if some light went on in his head. "Is it really you?" The Colt made a loud clatter on the bartop as Brian lowered it abruptly, shocked by the sight of the scar Bobby had told him about years before. Seemingly more confident than anyone else in the room, Nim reached out to release the c*cking hammer on the Colt, taking up a lean against the bar as she watched Dean and Bobby face off, locked in precious moments of recognition. She didn't let her own eyes linger on the beauty of the marred skin Dean showed them all, understanding now why he had not flinched from her own scars. He knew. "That's what I've been trying to tell you!" Dean exclaimed, relieved. Now that Bobby had decided, he wasted no time, shoving the knife away and moving to embrace the young man he had always thought of as a son. "You were dead, Dean," Bobby said as he hugged him. "So were you," Dean replied, returning the older man's embrace, not really caring if Nim and Brian were watching. His eyes filled with tears as he hugged Bobby close, his fingers clutching the man's jacket as if to make sure he was really real. There was a loud thump as Nim kicked the hatch shut finally, bending to retrieve the keys from the lock and hook them onto her belt. As tender as the moment between Dean and Bobby was, she didn't want to intrude, hugging both jacket and shirt in her folded arms as she turned to face Brian, who was still slightly shell-shocked. They fell to quiet conversation about nothing to fill the silence, giving the two men some kind of privacy. Dean had yet to hear the tale of his and Sam's deaths, but he was in no real hurry to hear it and Bobby seemed in no hurry to tell it. This was a time for celebration. The two men embraced for a moment, as a long lost father and son might do, and then Bobby pulled away to take a closer look at him, patting his cheek fondly, a smile breaking through his scraggly, graying beard. "I'd say this calls for a celebration. Best booze in the house, Brian. Top shelf." Dean held Bobby's gaze, blinking away the tears. How did one describe what it felt like to see someone you loved again after believing you'd never seen them again? And it had happened twice in as many days.

Looking over Nim's head, Brian smiled faintly at the assumption that he kept the best booze in the bar. "Through the kitchen, take a look in the cabinet behind the couch," he instructed, upnodding toward the door to the kitchen that would take them to the living room he was directing them to. His blue eyes lowered to Nim, who seemed to be trying to make herself as small and quiet as possible, not wanting to distract or detract from the happiness shared behind her. "We should open up." Bobby slid an arm around Dean's shoulders and led him away from the bar in the direction Brian had indicated. A drink or two and then, they'd talk. Really talk. There was a lot to talk about. Hours later, they'd still be in there talking. By the time the sun went down, Dean would know how he and Sam had died, and Bobby would hear about Jo. ((Many thanks to Nimue!!))