[PG-13 | Dean/OFC, Sam/Dean | Het with a side of Wincest | 3,835 words]
Summary: He doesn't usually believe in maybes, but then again, he doesn't usually give his real name to his one night stands either.
Warnings: Angst. Misuse of Damien Rice’s lyrics (see title).
Many thanks to kasugai_gummie for the beta. Mistakes you see here are mine, mine, mine.
Dean has been eyeing the petite brunette sitting two seats away from him for some time now. She's a cute little thing with shoulder length dark brown hair and easy smiles at the bartender, who is clearly drooling over her. She looks vaguely Asian, something rarely seen in the middle of fucking nowhere.
She's been drinking screwdrivers the whole time and unlike most girls he knows, she holds her liqueur well. A bunch of local guys have been staring at her, but none have made any moves. Dean figures it's either because they've tried before and she's not interested or they've had a taste of her and they're not sure if they want to try a second time.
Dean thinks it's reason number one. Because if that body is anything to go by, there is no way that a man would say no to that.
"So are you going to make a move?" Dean isn't surprised at the lack of accent in her voice, but he is surprised that she's talking to him at all. "Or are you just going to stare at me all night?"
OK. She's perceptive too. Or Dean has been staring just a little too obviously, which is entirely possible, after his fourth longneck. But hey, she doesn’t look like she’s complaining.
"Nah. I've been waiting for you to make the first move." He answers instead, smiling his game smile at her. Of course, it works like a charm ‘cause she's smiling as well, turning her head to stare at him and then giving him a once over.
"Confident, aren't you?" She asks and her drink and the bartender are forgotten for now. Dean leans back a little and then turns in his chair to stare at her, propping his elbow on the counter.
"Wouldn't you be?"
"Hmm. I wonder," she says, sliding off her bar stool to stand next to Dean. Dean doesn't take his eyes off of her as she reaches for his beer bottle, tilts it back and finishes the whole thing.
"Y'know, I was drinking that," he says casually as she places the bottle back on the counter. The smile on her face is a definite come hither smile. Score.
"Why don't you come over to my place? I've got plenty of beer in my fridge," she says, then strolls out the door.
The sex was pretty damn good the first time and by the third time, it was pretty fan-fucking-tastic. But Dean has to go back to the motel, Dad's probably going to call him pretty soon and he doesn't want to answer the phone while someone is giving him a blowjob. It's also because, well, Dean is pretty sure that if he doesn't leave her tiny apartment now, he's never going to leave.
She's watching him while he looks around the bedroom for his clothes. He's zipping up his pants when she finally gets out of bed. When he pulls on his shirt, she's leaning against her bathroom door in her bra and a pair of shorts. His cock twitches at the sight of her, but he knows he's gotta go.
"Gonna ride into the sunset?" She asks with the same amused smile from the bar. Dean checks his watch. It's 5:30 AM. If anything, he'll be riding into the sunrise.
"Something like that," he answers, nodding his head.
"Well then you take care of yourself," she says slowly as she walks him to her front door.
"I will." He nods, looking down at her. He hesitates for a moment, but then leans down to kiss her one more time. Her hands aren't soft and dainty like any other girl's. They're softer than any guy's but they're callused too. Dean spent a lot of time staring at them last night, kissing the inside of her wrist, her palm, taking each finger into his mouth. She was amused, for the most part, but didn't stop him.
Right now, her fingers are stroking his scalp, running through his too-short hair. His hands are on her waist, thumb rubbing at the skin above her shorts. When he pulls away, her eyes are half-lidded but the smile is still on her face.
"Have a nice, long life, Dean Winchester," she whispers, kissing him once on his cheek. She rubs a finger over the same spot and Dean thinks that he might fall in love with her if given the chance.
"Maybe we'll meet again," he says to her, instead of his usual goodbye and good luck. He doesn't usually believe in maybes, but then again, he doesn't usually give his real name to his one night stands either.
"Maybe we will." But, Dean has a feeling that she doesn't believe in maybes either.
They are in Crystal Beach, just stopping there for the night before they head for the Everglades towards yet another job. They pick a bar with a good balance of locals and tourists. They don't pick a local bar because they'll get thrown out like they’re two underage high school students and they don't pick a tourist one because they only offer overpriced mocktails.
Sam sits down on one of the tables while Dean goes over to the bar to order their drinks. The bartender sets down two bottles of beer in front of him and before he can grab both bottles to bring back to the table, a hand reaches out to take one of them. Dean turns around. He's about to give the person a piece of his mind, but then all the words just disappear.
"You weren't drinking this, were you?" It's like someone just whacked him over the head with a two by four. He grips the counter, but doesn't fail to give her one of his smiles.
"You sure do get around, don't you?" He asks.
"And then some," she quips, smiling back at him. She leans closer and Dean raises an eyebrow when she sniffs him. "You get around too, from the smell of things." Any ordinary guy would be embarrassed by now, but Dean tips his head back and laughs.
"Still the firecracker, huh?"
"Wanna come find out?" She asks, as she placing a hand on his chest while the other sets the beer bottle down on the counter.
"Lemme tell my brother first. He's gonna think that I've ditched him for some hot chick."
"Oh? Weren't you about to do that?" She teases.
"Hell yeah, but I think his time of the month is coming, so he's extra pissy. Wouldn't want him to bitch at me for hours when we drive down tomorrow."
"Well, go on then. I wanna meet him." Dean looks at her for a moment, but she honestly looks like she's curious about Sam. Both he and Sam have been wary of girls, Meg is still fresh on their minds, but this one had plenty of chances to kill Dean before and didn't. Besides, Dean is pretty damn sure that she's not a demon of any kind.
Sam gives him a questioning look when he sees that Dean is not alone. Dean ignores him completely, just gives him his beer and motions his companion to sit down. She sits down next to Dean and then smiles at Sam.
"This here is my brother, Sam," Dean says, pointing at Sam. "Sam, this here is Lee Taylor." Sam looks surprised, mostly because Dean remembers her name and also because Dean doesn't look like he's about to bolt any moment. The other time that they bumped into one of Dean's conquest and the girl wanted to hang around him, he practically had to tell her that he had diarrhea just so he could get away from her. Never mind the fact that Dean swore that her name was Candy when it really was Martha.
"Hi, Sam." She extends her hand to Sam and Sam can only shake her hand with a discreet peek at Dean's face. But Dean has his poker face on.
"So, um, Lee?"
"From Lilly," she explains, "It's far too girly for me. My foster dad started calling me 'Lee' and it kinda stuck."
"Yeah?" Dean asks, amused. "You're plenty girly." She retaliates by poking him in the side. He squirms out of the way, but he's chuckling. Sam is itching to say "Christo," because there's no way in hell that this pod person is Dean.
Before he can excuse himself to go get some holy water from the Impala, she says, "So you boys are on some sort of road trip?"
"Something like that." Sam replies, biting his lip.
"Must be fun," she comments, then turns to look at Dean. "So I see that you took good care of yourself, Dean."
"'Course I did," he replies, grinning at her. "Wouldn't want to ruin a perfectly handsome specimen."
"Hmmm. Give yourself a couple hundred beer bottles and you're gonna ruin that girlish figure."
Sam is surprised when Dean laughs at that comment.
"Well aren't you the kettle?"
"Oh don't worry about that, I only steal your beer."
Dean clears his throat and then looks at Sam. "Anyway. Um, you'll be OK here, Sammy?"
"Yeah, man. Just go." Sam really wants to tell him to stay because he wants to know what the hell is going on. Though he figures that if Dean was able to keep Cassie a secret, then he'd probably keep this girl a secret too.
"Nice to meet you, Sam."
Sam nods. "You too." He watches them leave, silently.
"What time do you have to leave?" She's in the bathroom when she asks him. Dean is still sprawled on her bed, staring at the ceiling.
"We've gotta pack up early, around 6 or so. I better be down there by 4:45 at the latest. I still need to shower and change," he says, grinning. "Sam takes forever in the shower."
She walks back out into the bedroom. This time she's wearing navy blue sweat pants and a gray t-shirt. Nothing like the first time they did this, but the sight of her still turns Dean on. He extends one of his hands towards her.
"Hey. C'mere." He realizes how intimate this gesture is; it's not something he'd do for just any girl. When she comes to his side, he curls his hand around her wrist, tugging her towards him.
"You and your brother, you seem close."
"We travel together," Dean says, quietly. Something passes in her face, too quick for Dean to catch, so he goes on. "That's all. We might've been close once, but that's ancient history now."
She rolls over, propped on top of Dean, both hands on his chest. "Is this my cue to ask what happened?" She's smiling ruefully down at him.
"Nah," he says, "this is my cue to change the topic." They both share a laugh. She rests her head on her hands, staring straight at Dean. He doesn't know why, but the story comes out anyway. He tells her about how close they were when they were younger. He tells her about Sam's hero worship and how it lasted until Sam was a teenager. By that time Dean became enemy number two while Dad became enemy number one. He even tells her about Sam escaping to Stanford and doesn't try to hide the bitterness in his voice.
She listens to all of it and doesn't ask him anything. She doesn't ask him about his mother, what it is that his family does and most importantly, she doesn't ask him how she'll fit into this picture. She takes it all in and touches Dean's cheek. When her hand falls away, they watch each other in silence.
They stay that way until Dean has to leave.
There are no words this time. Dean's not sure why, but he's afraid that if he speaks, he'll break the stillness. He's also not sure why breaking the stillness is bad. If he were in his normal state of mind, he'd be just a little freaked out. But it's still far too early for that.
She kisses him once. Just a soft pressure of lips, then lets him go. There are promises in her eyes and Dean knows he'll see her again. He doesn't know when, but he's sure of it.
They're somewhere in Massachusetts when Dean sees her again. They're in a diner this time. Sam's the one who spots her first. Dean feels his brother tense beside him and before he can ask Sam what's wrong, he sees her.
She's sitting by herself in one of the booths, staring out the window. There's a cup in front of her and she's stirring it, without looking. She looks a little lonely, nothing like the images of her in his head.
Dean hesitates for a moment but then walks towards her, even though he can feel that Sam doesn't want him to.
She's no longer stirring her cup, so it makes it easier for him to sit down and take her cup—coffee, black—to drink from it. She's startled to see him, but the smile that creeps on her face is familiar. Her eyes warm at the sight of him.
"What are you doing here?" There's something akin to wonder in her voice.
"We're just passing through," he says, grinning back at her, sitting down.
"You're still traveling with Sam?" She asks. Dean looks back at his brother, still standing by the door, staring at them. He turns back to look at her and nods.
"You're not going to ask me what I'm doing here?" She asks, taking her cup back from him. She takes a sip of the coffee, makes a face, and then adds sugar. Dean chuckles at her reaction and then shakes his head.
"Nope. You gonna tell me?"
"Nope." He remembers that smile. He has a feeling that she hasn't been smiling lately.
"I'm surprised you're not at some bar right about now."
"It's still early. Come back later, I'm sure I'll be at the bar then." She leans forward, placing her elbows on the table.
"Don't you know that you only meet assholes in those places?"
"Of course! I met you there, didn't I?"
"Oh, so I'm an asshole, now?"
"You never call, you never write..." Dean can see that she's kidding, but he can't help the guilt that rises from his chest. Most of it is leftover guilt—Cassie—but he has a feeling that in the months he spent chasing after things that go bump in the night, she's had her own set of troubles. It's none of his business, but he's always had a thing for damsels in distress, despite the fact that he hates being tied down.
"I would, but you know how life is for a young, good looking guy, out on the road." He winks at her and chuckles when she gives him a look of disbelief.
"Young, no way. Good looking," she pauses, giving him an once-over, "OK, maybe a little good looking."
"You sayin' I'm old?"
"I'm sayin' that you're not exactly going to start doing backflips any time soon, grandpa."
"Y'know I'm gonna get you back for that line, right?" He tries to hide his amusement, but fails miserably. Dean notices that she's staring behind him. Probably at Sam. He turns and sees his brother sitting on one of the bar stools. His arms are on the counter and the sight of him reminds Dean of a kicked puppy.
"It looks to me like you've got yourself a little problem there." She’s staring at Sam and when her gaze shifts to Dean, her lips are curled up. Dean glares at her for looking so amused at his current dilemma.
"Yeah, I've got a 6'4" problem," Dean mutters.
"I'm staying at the apartment next to the grocery store," she offers, nodding towards Sam. "Apartment 203. Come look me up if you want to."
"Which grocery store?"
"There's only one in town, you'll find it for sure." She laughs, ushering Dean away.
Dean sits down next to Sam and forces himself not to look back towards her.
"Shouldn't you be sitting with your girlfriend?" Dean wants to roll his eyes or at least smack Sam. He does neither.
"Jesus, Sam," he mutters, instead. "Look, man, she's just-" Sam glares at him. Dean knows that he can't say that she's just a girl. She's not. Instead, he swallows and stares at Sam in the face. "She's different, alright? And you're different too. You're Sam." Both of them heard the unspoken, You always come first.
They leave the diner and Dean doesn't look back. But he thinks about her that night, while sitting in front of the TV, not quite watching the movie.
"Go." Dean stares at Sam, half-afraid that his brother is telling him to get lost. When he looks at Sam, though, he sees that Sam isn't angry. He looks...resigned. "I know you want to. And it's alright, Dean." Sam smiles, just a little rueful. "You deserve a break now and again. Go have some fun."
Dean is a little pissed at that and wants to say that she's more than just one night of fun, but doesn't. Instead, he rolls his eyes and grabs the car keys.
"I'll be back in the morning, Sammy."
"Where are you off to this time?"
Dean is putting on his shoes, so he pauses for a moment. "Not sure. We're heading to Vermont, I think."
"Skiing?" Dean snorts and shakes his head.
"No way. Nearly got myself killed the last time I tried." She laughs and then tries to smother it when he glares at her. "We're...visiting a long lost relative."
"Doesn't sound like much fun."
"No, I guess it doesn't." Dean looks around the apartment. He thinks he's forgetting something.
"I'm not going to see you again." It's not a question. Dean stops looking for the thing that he’s forgetting long enough to look at her. He knows that she's not telling him that they won't cross paths.
"What, you're psychic?" He tries to lighten things up by joking, but the smile feels unnatural on his face.
"No." She shakes her head, still watching him. "I just have this feeling." She tilts her head and smiles. "If I'm right..." She stands up and walks to him. She places one hand on his chest and leans forward for a kiss. She tastes like the screwdrivers she was drinking the first time he saw her, like the beer she stole from him and like the coffee she was drinking that morning.
"Goodbye, Dean Winchester." She whispers against his lips. "Have a good, long life." She pulls away from him and slowly pushes him towards her door. "Take care of that little brother of yours." She adds, before closing her door.
It's not until he's on the other side of the door that Dean remembers. He didn't leave anything in her apartment, though he's supposed to. He reaches into his pocket and pulled out a silver bracelet. He doesn't know whether or not he should still give it to her, after she's said her goodbyes, but he can't bear leaving with it. So he bends down and slips the bracelet under her door and hopes she'll keep it.
They meet again in Alabama. She doesn't smile this time.
Dean feels cold and numb. It might be because it's November and they're in the morgue. Sam is speechless beside him. Neither of them expected to see her on the coroner's slab. The nametag reads "Amie Lee," not "Lillian Taylor."
Her personal possessions have been placed on a tray, on the coroner's desk. Dean walks over and shifts through. Crumpled receipts from grocery stores, a folded twenty dollar bill, a bunch of change and...
Dean doesn't breathe when he picks up the bracelet. He'd remember the thing anywhere. He's glad that she kept it, though he wishes that she's still around to maybe tease him about leaving that for her. Sam stares at the bracelet too, recognizing it from months and months ago. He stays silent, even as Dean walks back to where they've placed her body.
Dean stares at her for a long time, not knowing what to do and feeling as if he should say something, even if she won't hear him or answer him, even if it is too late. Then Dean's hand seems to take a mind of its own, reaching out to touch her hair. He's surprised that it feels like the last time. Though the last time he ran his fingers through her hair, her eyes were shut and her mouth was open after he had made her come for the third time that evening.
He pulls away and stares at her hand. He takes one of them and flinches slightly at how cold it feels, not warm like it used to be. It might not be warm, but the calluses feel the same. He doesn't realize that he's stroking her hand until Sam rests a hand on his shoulder.
"Dean, we've got to go," he says. His quiet voice seems to echo in the stillness of the morgue. "The coroner's going to come back any minute."
Dean looks down at her once more, places her hand back down. He lets out a ragged breath, a little surprised at how unsteady he sounds, and then nods at Sam.
"Yeah. Let's go."
Dean is quiet when they go back to the motel. Sam sits in front of his laptop, doing research. Occasionally, he'd sneak a glance at Dean. But Dean simply stares blankly at the television.
"You loved her, didn't you?" The question was quiet and unexpected. And for a moment, Dean doesn't know the answer. But then he thinks about her laugh, her kisses, her hands and the way she smiles at him. He nods.
"Yeah," he says, softly. Then louder, "Yeah, I think I did."
"We'll get this thing, Dean," Sam says, solemnly. Dean nods, stares at his brother for the first time since the morgue.
"I know we will, Sammy."
Later, they’ll find whatever spirit or creature that killed her and he’ll salt and burn its remains. But for now, Dean lays still in the dark. Sam is draped over him like a blanket, breath wet against Dean's neck. Normally, he'd push Sam away. Any other day, he'd even kick Sam out of bed for taking up so much space. Today, he grips Sam's arm and welcomes his weight.
Today, he mourns a girl and at the same time feels guilty that he's alive, that he's with Sam, and that he likes how his life is.
"Have a good, long life." He’s heard that twice from her. Dean knows that his life is good now. He's got Sam. As for the long part, he's certainly going to fight off death as long as he can, but he's never been the hoping kind.
Then again, he thinks, as he closes his eyes, I've never been the kind to believe in maybes either.
That’s part one of (hopefully only) 3. The second story is Sam’s side and it’s the Sam/Dean part of the story. The third part isn’t done yet, but it’s what should be the conclusion of this mini-‘verse.
Lee/Amie went through several "visual" changes. At first, when I was thinking about her character, she looked like Kristin Kreuk. But then I realized that she probably can't pull "hot" too well, so I switched to Eliza Dushku (think Tru, not Faith). But then I realized Tru wasn't a very good example but I still didn't want to use Faith. And using the girl who plays Dylan in "The L Word" is probably not a good idea, so then I switched to Jessica Alba. And yes, Jessica Alba isn't Asian, but she can pull a sexy chick in a bar and a slightly vulnerable girl at a diner. Also? She's hot.
Oh and a little fun fact: My friend wanted me to use Tyra from Friday Night Lights as Lee's "concept art". But that's a world of no because Sam would kick Dean's ass for getting with a girl who looks like Jess. Though I gotta admit, a Dean/Tyra fic sounds pretty awesome. I might give it a try one of these days.