Lilli's Home in the Glen April 19th"

The night was long dark, and not just due to the hour. Rain had been steadily falling throughout the day; something the gypsy rectified with a bit of careful spell work and a deft hand. There was a halo, it seemed, about a great, wide span of her home. Within that watery veil, a cheery, hungry set of flames crackled and glowed. The light amongst so much dark seemed more a star than an earthly thing of man's design; and perhaps it was. It was a witch's fire after all. The wagon at her back also had a tendril of smoke curling from it's small chimney, so despite the weather, the scene was calm, quiet, and undeniably cozy. Grinding away steadily, Lilliana had taken the lazy, rainy day to replenish her many salves and home remedies.

Dean had finished half a bottle of bourbon before gathering enough courage to visit Lilli's home in the glen. He'd been avoiding her for a day or so, afraid of how close they'd been getting, but unable to get her out of his head and troubled by newly emerged memories, he felt the need for some friendly companionship, other than his brother.

Wards were something the witch had found herself having without her even needing to erect them; odd. Very odd. But it only further cemented the idea of truths folks had been putting into her head as of late. More and more voices came from the wood work the older she became; people recognized her, a poster or two began to emerge(matches to she found later in the depths of her wagon amongst her many things). The world was all too surreal now, but as sure as it was strange, it kept spinning- meaning she with it. As the sensation of another rippled down her spine, Lilli squinted out into the rainy darkness, moving to set aside her mortar and pestle as she called out in a calm, even tone. "Awful lat'e fer someone t'be t'akin' a st'roll..."

He had no hat or umbrella and was probably soaked to the skin, the only shelter against the rain a turned up collar of his jacket, which being black, made him blend further into the night and the shadows. He paused a moment, as if deciding whether or not to continue toward the wagon or turn back around.

Seeing the figure hesitate, Lilli turned her attention fully to her mystery guest. Standing up, she gave her hands a slow, thoughtful wiping off on the edge of her skirt as she began an equally slow, purposeful step towards the outer-most ring of the waterless borders she'd erected above her home. "C'mon then, I don' have all nigh'. Be ya' friend or foe?" But even as the query left her lips, reaching out by secondary, more magical means, Lilli's eyes widened. Can't be. She thought as her eyes narrowed and focused anew into the dark. "D-dean?"

And just as she realized who he was, he was having second thoughts, thinking it might be better to leave her alone. He shook off the rain, but it didn't really do him any good, already soaked as he was, hands shoved in his pockets. He turned and glanced up at the unfamiliar sky which was filled tonight with clouds, dark and ominous, like his memories and his future.

"Dean....Tha' is ya'. Daf' fool. Ge' in here b'fore ya' cat'ch yer death an' make me go a-chasin' mine t' wrest'le ya' in here!" Horrified that he'd be walking such a distance in this weather with no real means of protection from the elements, especially give his recent injuries, Lilliana broached the queer little halo of the charmed space about her wagon. Oddly, the air about her kept still and dry even as she picked up a fairly quick pace to reach her friend's side. Not a drop touched her. It just seemed to crash, bead up, and roll away near a foot before any actual bit of her person.

He heard her and turned back to her, looking forlorn as a lost puppy out in the rain. Was it tears on his face or rain" It was hard to tell. If asked, he'd claim the latter. "Lilli, I..." His chin quivered, words failing him.

"Ya' st'upid arse. Ge' o'er here! Yer comin' in again, an' I don' care how much ya' say no this t'ime. We're cutt'in' tha' shor'." It wasn't too hard to imagine all that honey and wine in her voice grating down to a biting sort of growl, was it' The brogue was just that thick, as were all the other queerly spiced bits of worldly lilts to her tone. Reaching out, he'd no doubt feel the cease fo the rain long before he felt her fingers wrap around his wrist. Without waiting, she gave it an insistent tug, trying to pull him back to her, and apparently the dry, warm, protected little hovel of her wagon. "C'mon....T'ea an' a good bed'll do ya'."

"Lilli..." he repeated, tugging on her wrist to pull her toward him, seemingly oblivious to the rain, though he was soaked through and shivering. His heart was aching, feeling as if it was broken, a world of hurt and guilt heavy on his shoulders and he'd gone to the one person he felt might understand. He couldn't talk to Sam. He was Sam's protector, the older brother. He could show him no weakness. "He's dead..." he muttered, on the verge of tears.

"Wha'"! Who's dead?" Her voice leapt from angry to alarmed in record time-which was honestly no time flat. Just a breath, and her eyes were back from the molten innards of an angry volcano to the still, calm air of a sky at sunset. Lilli's first thoughts, of course, were of Sam. "Oh lover....oh darlin'. Wha' happened?" Tentative as well as wide eyed, she tried her damnedest to keep them both moving backwards. He was close; she could smell him and what heat his body still kept through all the wet, fresh rain. And the alcohol. Her bare feet, while dry from her own magic, squelched in the long soaked ground below them.

"Dad....I..." His voice broke, as he followed her toward the wagon, brooking no argument, feeling too defeated and too full of grief to argue. "I remember." His heart ached, knowing his father wasn't coming for them, and knowing it was because of Dean he was dead. Dad. The word shook through her like thunder down a metal rod. Were it not for her intensely warm, dry person and the equally warm, dry glow of her wagon as she knocked the door open and hauled them both inside, Lilliana didn't doubt she would have felt her teeth chatter. He'd feel her hands in what might seem like everywhere at once; prying the wet shirt from his clammy skin, brushing back the soaking strands that tried to keep plastered against his face, her lips to his cheek, warm breath to his neck as she tried to murmur all manner of comforting nothings into his ear, the soft, dry skate of her hands against his, trying to pry him to the inescapable nest of her bed.

"Darlin', honey-swee', angel....C'mon. Int' bed. Le' Lil' help. Yer bound t'cat'ch yer death like this." Each word an attempt to soothe, each gesture, each touch; the concern and old sorrow was bright in her eyes.

He once again made no attempt to fight her, numbly following her wherever she'd lead him, to her bed or to the gates of hell. He only wanted to hold her close and know he wasn't alone. He felt a stab of pain when he thought of Sam, who he'd left back alone at the inn, but he didn't want Sammy to see him this way, couldn't let him see him this way. Better to leave him alone than let him see his brother a broken mess. He let her take his wet things off, or at least some of them, shivering with cold, his hands like ice.

Mindful of all that cold, cold flesh, Lilli did her best to get him dry before she pulled up the world of her sleeping space around him. Given the design of her wagon, it was quite the cozy, tucked space. Large enough for several, yet small enough to give that feeling of being pleasantly enclosed and warm; like a squirrel in a well carved hollow. But this squirrel happened to be a gypsy, and this particular gypsy was a hedonist to the very core; less than her proper age or no, it seemed Lilliana McClae's taste for all the sumptuousness she could surround herself in had started early. Lush comforters, body conforming pillows, just the right, springy firmness to the mattress laid on that cozy, high ceiling-ed shelf of a sleeping space. Curtains it seemed could close it; but they were drawn back, allowing one a view of the entire innards of the exotic caravan.

Setting her rump to the edge of the bed, Lilliana set a hand to Dean's forehead while the other sought to curve around one side of his neck. She was no doubt checking his pulse, but the touch was much more intimate than clinical; familiar. Another attempt to console. She was a creature of touch to the very core. "Dean....sweet'lin'." She breathed quietly.

Though cold and wet, he felt slightly feverish, but whether it was from the rain or the grief, it was hard to tell. Heartsick and lonely, he reached to draw her close, needing to know he wasn't alone. Tears filled his eyes and spilled over onto his cheeks, tears he wouldn't allow Sam to see.

"I won' leave..." One didn't need a touch of other or the kind an empath might to see the deep need in another's eyes. It was a need every creature had felt at some point; some more than others. As a creature who'd very much suffered a similar need; haunted by a similar want, the gypsy shooshed the hunter a bit more as she gave into the pull of his shivering embrace and followed him down into the dangerously cozy nest of her bed. "Close yer eyes....Jus' list'en t' the rain w' me." Like a doll ready to hug back, she let him hold her as he will, though she was unwilling to let his cheek and ear stray too far from the whisper of her lips. "The sky'll cry w' ya' t'nigh'."

Snuggled against her and buried in the warm, safe cocoon that was her bed, the shivering slowly stopped, replaced by something far more painful. Heart-wrenching sobs breaking, he clung to her, burying his face in her hair, his fingers clutching the cloth of her shirt. "I'm sorry," he whispered, unsure whether he was apologizing to her or to his father or both, feeling like his heart was breaking and he'd never be the same again.

"He loved ya', ya' know." She breathed again to his skin. Ushering as much tenderness as she could into the words with each windy syllable, Lilliana moved just enough to stroke along the back of Dean's neck. She couldn't touch him enough it seemed. Couldn't feel enough. Couldn't impart enough. "....ya' wouldn' be cryin' so hard if he hadn'." There were her lips again, pressing gently; pecking the way a kiss of the late summer's air might to your sun burnt temple. "Embrace i', don' wast'e his love. Keep i', t'reasure i'." Whatever had happened, she believed the man when he said his father was dead. The circumstances didn't matter. Just the tears. Just the pain.

He looked up at her through a haze of tears, pain evident in his eyes. Pain that went deep and tore into his soul. "He died because of me, Lil," he told her, his voice ragged with grief. "It was supposed to be me."

"Paren's aren' s'posed t' bury their children." She replied slowly, patiently. The control was hard, simply due to all the emotions his intense reaction was bringing out in her. Fleeting, sorrow-born moments of jealousy. Fear. Compassion. They all tugged at her as she tugged gently down on Dean's chin. Only her tug was much less gut wrenching. "....would ya' wast'e such sacrifice b' throwin' away wha' yer Da' t'ried t'save" Would ya' undo the frui's o' his labor made ou' o' love?" If she could only make him understand before her own tears spilt over the tight, narrowed rims of her eyes.

The tears still came. Once released, it felt like they'd never stop, like a damn breaking and letting loose a flood. He shook his head at her, face flushed and feverish with grief and pain. "He wasn't supposed to....I didn't want him to..." The story came out slowly, in broken bits and pieces, of how Dean had been at the brink of death, until his father had traded his own life for his son's. A deal made with a demon, one soul for another. A bargain Dean would have prevented, if he could, but one he'd eventually repeat in order to save Sam. Like father, like son. It was the Winchester way.

Dean's broken tale continued long into the night, longer still than his sobbing did. Lilliana, however, spoke very little. It was evident no matter what bit of advice and reasoning she had to offer, his tears would continue to fall. All she could do was hold him, touch him, let him use her as an anchor to a world where death and hurt didn't bleed into; her arms. As his piteous babble turned to incoherent mumbles, the gypsy began to extend a bit of magic over the hunter. Not much. Just a little. Just enough to keep the fever from developing, and to hopefully keep him sleeping through till the morning. Torn between extracting herself to clean up, and remaining tucked in Dean's clinging arms, Lilliana eventually conceded and joined him in the bed. Though her smile was sad, it was still a smile she wore to bed that evening. Tomorrow was another day; another chance. She could only hope it'd be better.

(Note: Dean and Lilli are approximately 27 years old at the time of this scene. Huge thanks to Lil's player for this.)

The moment was shattered by her voice, as she finally acknowledged his presence and seemed to awkwardly turn the conversation toward tea or some such thing. He'd never been much of a tea drinker. Coffee kept him going, and alcohol put him to sleep. His drugs of choice. Simple as that. He frowned a little, sadness tugging at his heart even as she made a joke and tried to make light of things. No, that wasn't going to work. Not this time, but did he dare cross the line in the sand that would change their relationship forever from friends to lovers" He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came to him. He'd remembered upon waking the deal he'd made at the Crossroads for Sam's life and the fact that he had been given a year to live, but did that mean he only had a day' One year before they came for him and took him to Hell. He didn't regret making the deal. Sam was alive because of it. Ironically, he'd been angry and hurt and full of guilt when his father had done the same thing. "Lilli, I..." he stammered. What was he supposed to say' Were her emerging memories any better than his" He hoped so, for her sake.

That voice of his. It was too much. Every syllable screamed for an intervention; every gesture seemed to need a compliment. The ache in her couldn't be ignored, it seemed, much like his couldn't. Their pain seemed quite separate however, yet at the same time intertwined. Feelings complicate things. Lilli chided herself for the umpteenth time as she felt her feet give in and begin the cross the distance she'd just traversed in order to start that much desired tea. The stove had only been going for a few moments, but given the interior of her home, those few moments were she needed to be rid of the afghan she'd taken with her. Dropping it soundlessly, she looked down to the spaces between the freckles that dotted his face, hoping to be able to seem as though she were staring at him without actually staring. Something about his eyes tugged at her too hard; that pain that seemed so far beyond her, yet so similar. "C'mere." She murmured simply. And there she was, back to last night all over. It was the only way she seemed to be able to comfort him, so what else could she say?

No more words. No more tears. No more wasted time. Time was of the essence, it seemed. He wasn't really sure how much of it he had left. He tossed the covers off and moved to his feet, towering over her, no longer a shy timid boy, but a man with needs and desires and wanting more than just a kiss. He pushed the fiery curls away from her face and dipped his head downward to meet her lips. He couldn't tell her he loved her because he didn't, or maybe he did. He wasn't quite sure. He'd only been in love once, he thought, though he'd denied it. Denying his feelings to everyone around him, but unable to deny them to himself. He'd always followed his heart, not his head, and his heart had not always led to wise choices.

There was a moment hanging between the space his mouth was so keen on taking away from hers where Lilliana hesitated. Thoughts here, there, and faraway touched her thoughts. A world of possibilities and could be's all surrounded by the couldn'ts and the shouldn't's. He'll think I'm taking advantage. The first thought that kept her from even toeing at the fine line between friend and lover, seemed so very, very far away now. From the beginnings of the grooves in his face to the ends of his dark, tired stubble, the gypsy had to concede there was no mistaking the man for a boy who didn't know any better. Hiding there behind his eyes were memories he'd yet to share, memories he wouldn't share, and memories yet to come. Yet amongst them all, her image was a myriad of carvings, little oasis' of space amongst the chaos, in periodic points through the turmoil that was his life. She knew it because his image was quite the same. Deeper still, the unconscious desire to touch precious niches of flesh better left to the hours between midnight and morning....But there was only that moment. Then it was gone. Gone beneath the dip and press of his lips she quite readily accepted with reaching, curling arms to better seek the space she'd so recently, so foolishly had left lying there in the bed without her.

He couldn't tell her about the deal he'd made with the demons, the trade he'd made of his soul for Sam's life. He didn't want to hear her lecture him and he certainly didn't want her pity. Something had changed, shifted in him during the night, a silent resolve to do what had to be done, no matter how horrible it might seem. In that silent resolve, there was courage, but with that courage came determination. If there was a way out of it, he'd find it or die trying, never giving up. But those were fleeting thoughts now that she was close. He was bound and determined to make her his if only for a few short hours, another memory to savor, remember, and look back on when the days seemed dark and dismal. It was him now who feared he was taking advantage of her, and yet, she was a grown woman now, far from the spunky girl he'd met weeks ago who'd turned his hair pink just for fun. He cupped her face in his hands and claimed her lips, kissing her tenderly at first before deepening the kiss. No words needed to be spoken now. No permission given. If she wanted to stop him, she only had to pull away and say so. He wouldn't force her, but if she allowed it, he wasn't going to stop. Not this time.

If Dean was looking for a sign Lilli wanted him to stop, he wouldn't find one. Not even if he tried. His mouth was simply too blissful a contagion to let go of; she met it tilt for tilt, deepening as she felt the pressure in his jaw ease and open wider. Releasing a deep breath through the nose, a low, pleasant noise curled up from the back of her throat. Everything about him felt too good to push away, from the stubble on his face to the rough texture of his hands. It all set a shiver to her spine she couldn't shake off.

Their time together always seemed right, even from the first. From childish rivalries and games to the awkward sweetness of adolescence, and now, oh now. Now they were desperate adults with what felt like years behind them. Years wasted in the tip toe of wanting, though ultimately richer for all the sharing. She knew he wouldn't stay, she knew it wouldn't last, she knew tomorrow she'd wake and remember just enough more that her heart might be swallowed up by another. But that was not now. Now was for them. Now was so thoroughly dominated by the taste of him she could hardly think. And the gypsy would be damned if she didn't share every bit of herself with the hunter in her arms.

She'd seen him at his weakest, he'd seen her at her most foolish. The tears, the clumsiness, the scars, the vulnerable moments all compiled into one great piece that only added to the beautiful, loyal, strong puzzle that was Dean Winchester. The word love came and went as swiftly as a violent summer wind; never once lingering, but having had it's effect, made her melt to him all the more. It wouldn't last, she knew it wouldn't. The best things never did after all, but that's what made it all the sweeter. That's what made her move, made her touch and press. He'd feel her hands along his nape, tracing lines with her nails to the broad, open sweep of his shoulders, fisting softly; needing, wanting, as she lived for the now.

Dean lost himself to her kiss, lips sweeter than any he'd ever tasted, but it was always that way. Each lover more cherished than the last, until the next came along, none of them ever lasting. As much as he wanted to, he couldn't make any promises. Each time he opened his heart, it was that much harder to close it, that much harder to let go. There would be no happy ending, and it made her kiss all the more bittersweet, knowing he'd have to let her go.

But he didn't want to think about that now. For just a little while, nothing else mattered. The rest of the world be damned. It was just Lilli and Dean.