Sunset had been and gone, and in that shifting time, Dean and Nim had left the road to hole up in another nameless, faceless motel. As true darkness fell outside and the stars came out of play, Nim rolled onto her side, propping her head on her hand as she looked down at Dean with a slow, lazy smile. The sheets lay rumpled around them, tucked about in some belated display of modesty as though that could make a denial of the spirited affirmation that had passed between the lovers almost from the moment they had stepped through the now locked door to their hired room. Her palm rested against his chest, golden hair pooling against the pillow by his shoulder. "Hey," she murmured tenderly, drawing her fingertip against his cheek as she gazed down at his faraway expression. "Where'd you go?"
Dean blinked out of the thoughts that had been haunting him all day, ghostly memories he was having trouble putting to rest. The tiniest difference here in this world, however innocent, almost seemed to cause a domino effect - a chain reaction of events that was significantly different from the life he'd known back home - and he couldn't help but wonder what other differences there were here that he didn't know about yet. He'd turned quiet after their latest tryst, almost too quiet, and though he was weary with exhaustion, his body sated, it wasn't the kind of quiet that signalled contentment. He turned his head toward her, eyes looking very green in the dim lighting of the motel room. "Just thinking," he admitted, drawn out of those thoughts by the gentle touch of her hand.
"Anything I can help with?" She settled lower against his side, the gentle caress of her fingertip turning to a smooth glide of her palm down the line of his throat to resume that rest against the heat of his chest, feeling the steady thump of his heartbeat there. "You don't have to hold everything inside."
He reached over to tuck a lock of blond hair behind her ear, fingers brushing her cheek. It was at times like this when he looked on her in awe, wondering when he was going to wake up and find out he was only dreaming. A faint smile curled his lips, touched by her desire to share whatever burdens and secrets he held close. Where should he start' Hadn't she said that all of that was no longer important, and yet, somehow it was. It was what made him who he was, and now that his life was tangled with hers, she had a right to know all of it. "I was just thinking about the first time we met," he admitted. Though that hadn't been what was weighing most heavily on his mind, it wasn't too far from the mark. "You're the only girl..." He paused to correct himself. "....woman who ever came close to understanding me."
Oh, Lisa had tried, but Lisa had never lived The Life. Not really. She'd lived a normal life until she'd met him, and though she'd tried to be understanding and sympathetic, she could never really understand.
Her first thought was to question which first time he meant' Did he mean the first time he met Jo, or Nim' And yet, somehow she knew he meant Jo, the girl she'd been and would never be again, still struggling to reconcile that jealousy of someone who was herself with his memories of a lifetime she had lost. "The only one?" she asked softly, catching and understanding the implication that there had been others, maybe many others. She didn't want to know about his long list of conquests, but if he wanted to tell her, she would listen. Nim would do anything for Dean, whether he knew that or not.
"The only one," he reiterated, going over the long list of women in his head. Though the list of women he'd spent time with was lengthy, there were only a handful who'd really made a lasting impression. Cassie, Lisa, Jo. Jo who was now Nim. He didn't really make a distinction between the two; there was no need. No matter what she called herself, she was still his Jo, and now his Nimue. He chuckled a little to himself. "I thought your mom was gonna kill me, but I won her over in the end."
His chuckle brought a soft snicker to her lips, imagining what her mother must have been like to be able to intimdate so much that even in a memory he felt it. "You were scared of my mom?" she asked with quiet incredulity, feeling a strange sense of d"j" vu as she spoke.
"Hell, yeah," he smiled, not missing the fact that she'd asked him that once before, what seemed like a long time ago. "If I'd asked you out, I'm pretty sure she'd have kicked my a$$." His fingers trailed a soft caress against her cheek before pulling away, the smile on his face fading a little at the bittersweet memories that were flooding his mind. "I think she was afraid you'd follow me into becoming a hunter, and for a long time, I blamed myself for that, but the truth was you didn't do it because of me. You did it because of your father."
She snorted with laughter softly, her head turning to catch his fingertips with kisses before his hand retreated from her reach. "You'd have taken that a$$-kicking, too," she murmured softly, her gaze lowering once again to watch as a single finger traced the smooth lines of the charm that marked his chest. "He must really have been something, to inspire so much without being there to see it."
His gaze remained fixed on her face, even as her own gaze drifted to the inked pentagram on his chest, her touch strangely calming, soothing. It would be so easy to take her in his arms right now and make love to her again. He knew she wouldn't protest; she'd embrace every kiss, every precious moment spent alone with him as if it was their last. But there were things that needed to be said, that she needed to know. "I never met him, but you told me about him. He was a hero. He was your hero." That much had been clear in her telling about him to Dean. There was no more perfect word to describe him to her but that.
Her eyes lifted to meet his as he watched her, the expression in those familiar dark depths gentle and unjudging. "I was just a kid when he died," she said quietly, drawing from what he had told her in the past, on what little he knew about her childhood. "He could have been the worst kind of man imaginable, and I would have idolised him. Because he was my dad, and I knew what he died doing. It doesn't take much to make a hero in a kid's eyes, Dean."
He couldn't really disagree with that. There'd been a time when he'd put his own father on a pedestal and thought him a hero. He still did in some ways, but the bubble had burst a long time. The fantasy had given way to reality, and he'd learned that his father was just a man who was trying to do his best in an impossible situation. "I used to think that about my dad, too, but sometimes I wished he'd have been more father and less hunter."
She knew a little about John Winchester. A very little. Just enough from Brian's knowledge to understand that the man had been consumed by revenge, that he had given his sons little or no choice in following him down that road. Nim's gaze turned gently compassionate as Dean spoke, her palm flattening over his heart once again. "Everyone has regrets, baby. That's just how it goes."
Dean blinked out of the thoughts that had been haunting him all day, ghostly memories he was having trouble putting to rest. The tiniest difference here in this world, however innocent, almost seemed to cause a domino effect - a chain reaction of events that was significantly different from the life he'd known back home - and he couldn't help but wonder what other differences there were here that he didn't know about yet. He'd turned quiet after their latest tryst, almost too quiet, and though he was weary with exhaustion, his body sated, it wasn't the kind of quiet that signalled contentment. He turned his head toward her, eyes looking very green in the dim lighting of the motel room. "Just thinking," he admitted, drawn out of those thoughts by the gentle touch of her hand.
"Anything I can help with?" She settled lower against his side, the gentle caress of her fingertip turning to a smooth glide of her palm down the line of his throat to resume that rest against the heat of his chest, feeling the steady thump of his heartbeat there. "You don't have to hold everything inside."
He reached over to tuck a lock of blond hair behind her ear, fingers brushing her cheek. It was at times like this when he looked on her in awe, wondering when he was going to wake up and find out he was only dreaming. A faint smile curled his lips, touched by her desire to share whatever burdens and secrets he held close. Where should he start' Hadn't she said that all of that was no longer important, and yet, somehow it was. It was what made him who he was, and now that his life was tangled with hers, she had a right to know all of it. "I was just thinking about the first time we met," he admitted. Though that hadn't been what was weighing most heavily on his mind, it wasn't too far from the mark. "You're the only girl..." He paused to correct himself. "....woman who ever came close to understanding me."
Oh, Lisa had tried, but Lisa had never lived The Life. Not really. She'd lived a normal life until she'd met him, and though she'd tried to be understanding and sympathetic, she could never really understand.
Her first thought was to question which first time he meant' Did he mean the first time he met Jo, or Nim' And yet, somehow she knew he meant Jo, the girl she'd been and would never be again, still struggling to reconcile that jealousy of someone who was herself with his memories of a lifetime she had lost. "The only one?" she asked softly, catching and understanding the implication that there had been others, maybe many others. She didn't want to know about his long list of conquests, but if he wanted to tell her, she would listen. Nim would do anything for Dean, whether he knew that or not.
"The only one," he reiterated, going over the long list of women in his head. Though the list of women he'd spent time with was lengthy, there were only a handful who'd really made a lasting impression. Cassie, Lisa, Jo. Jo who was now Nim. He didn't really make a distinction between the two; there was no need. No matter what she called herself, she was still his Jo, and now his Nimue. He chuckled a little to himself. "I thought your mom was gonna kill me, but I won her over in the end."
His chuckle brought a soft snicker to her lips, imagining what her mother must have been like to be able to intimdate so much that even in a memory he felt it. "You were scared of my mom?" she asked with quiet incredulity, feeling a strange sense of d"j" vu as she spoke.
"Hell, yeah," he smiled, not missing the fact that she'd asked him that once before, what seemed like a long time ago. "If I'd asked you out, I'm pretty sure she'd have kicked my a$$." His fingers trailed a soft caress against her cheek before pulling away, the smile on his face fading a little at the bittersweet memories that were flooding his mind. "I think she was afraid you'd follow me into becoming a hunter, and for a long time, I blamed myself for that, but the truth was you didn't do it because of me. You did it because of your father."
She snorted with laughter softly, her head turning to catch his fingertips with kisses before his hand retreated from her reach. "You'd have taken that a$$-kicking, too," she murmured softly, her gaze lowering once again to watch as a single finger traced the smooth lines of the charm that marked his chest. "He must really have been something, to inspire so much without being there to see it."
His gaze remained fixed on her face, even as her own gaze drifted to the inked pentagram on his chest, her touch strangely calming, soothing. It would be so easy to take her in his arms right now and make love to her again. He knew she wouldn't protest; she'd embrace every kiss, every precious moment spent alone with him as if it was their last. But there were things that needed to be said, that she needed to know. "I never met him, but you told me about him. He was a hero. He was your hero." That much had been clear in her telling about him to Dean. There was no more perfect word to describe him to her but that.
Her eyes lifted to meet his as he watched her, the expression in those familiar dark depths gentle and unjudging. "I was just a kid when he died," she said quietly, drawing from what he had told her in the past, on what little he knew about her childhood. "He could have been the worst kind of man imaginable, and I would have idolised him. Because he was my dad, and I knew what he died doing. It doesn't take much to make a hero in a kid's eyes, Dean."
He couldn't really disagree with that. There'd been a time when he'd put his own father on a pedestal and thought him a hero. He still did in some ways, but the bubble had burst a long time. The fantasy had given way to reality, and he'd learned that his father was just a man who was trying to do his best in an impossible situation. "I used to think that about my dad, too, but sometimes I wished he'd have been more father and less hunter."
She knew a little about John Winchester. A very little. Just enough from Brian's knowledge to understand that the man had been consumed by revenge, that he had given his sons little or no choice in following him down that road. Nim's gaze turned gently compassionate as Dean spoke, her palm flattening over his heart once again. "Everyone has regrets, baby. That's just how it goes."