((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"
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"