Cuts, bumps, bruises, even broken bones, as was the case with at least one of his knuckles, were nothing new to Dean, but the unease and knots plaguing his belly were. Pain he could handle, but the other stuff was bothering him. Especially, when he felt Roman's eyes on him from a few seats away where they were both stuck in detention. He had to force himself to keep his eyes on his split knuckles, and concentrate on Mr. Jericho's old C.D. player blasting 80's rock music.

Dean wasn't sure that was supposed to be allowed, but he also knew their Vice Principal, Mr. Regal, had given up on telling Mr. Jericho, their showy drama teacher who had tenure, what he could and couldn't do after the last time he'd tried to take away said C.D. player. It was sort of amusing having class outside when the V.P. couldn't shut the P.A. system off, which had been playing "Schools Out" from first bell, but he still thought Jericho could be a bit douchy. Right now he was pretty grateful for the distraction that was "Welcome to the Jungle."

That was until he recalled it was all about drugs, which was what had landed them in detention in the first place. Even if it was only sort of, it was the reason he could feel Roman's eye's on him.

Dean squeezed his fist closed concentrating on the pain to keep himself from snapping at Roman to look somewhere else, or maybe apologize, because he had to miss practice when they had a game tomorrow. The fact he was even fighting the later only farther unsettled him.

Roman didn't even have to be here, not really. Initially, Dean had been the only one singled out for punishment, because obviously it was all his fault. As soon as everything was broken up and Dean had given as good as he got, which was all that ever really mattered to him, especially when outnumbered, Coach Hayman was calling for his expulsion. Dean didn't want to care, but he felt his heart sink, even as he struggled to regain his breath, and his cousin shouted over coach Hayman calling bullshit.

"Charlie, shut up the fuck up," Dean snapped not wanting her to get in trouble too.

Suspension could jeopardize her scholarship; expulsion definitely would. If Seth was convinced Dean was nothing more than a no good drug dealer, so were others, and while he appreciated her creative threats, Dean didn't want her getting in trouble because of him, or deemed guilty by association. People knowing her "wayward" cousin had come to live with her was one thing, openly defending him was another.

"Language, Mr. Ambrose," Mrs. Guerrerro, the afternoon office aid, chastised. Dean wasn't sure how she heard him over all the rest, or why she was even there in the first place. "You're in enough trouble as is."

"Look at my team, William," Coach Hayman was still going and full of indignation gesturing to his players. "We have a game tomorrow and playoffs after that. This- this miscreant…"

"Was only fucking defending himself," Charlotte interjected heatedly.

Dean noticed no one chastised her for her language, but his glare was more so for her blatant disregard for his order she stay out of it. The rest was bad enough without ruining her future too. Everyone did, however, stop shouting.

"Roman put hands on him first," Charlotte ignored Dean's glare and set her own on the aforementioned offender. "Dean's an idiot, but he's not stupid. 6 on 1- not even Dean's that much of an idiot."

"Shut the fuck up, Charlotte," Dean growled at noticing much of the gathered crowd was looking at her as if seeing her in a whole new light.

The use of her proper name more so than anything else made his cousin pull up short, and while she shot him an angry look, he could have sworn she looked almost hurt.

"Language!" Mrs. Guerrerro chastised again, but it was over shadowed by Coach Hayman.

"My pitcher, Roman Reigns," Coach sounded like he was giving an opening statement in a courtroom. "Would never, and I mean never…"

"It's true," Roman cut in suddenly and loudly. "I would; I did."

"What?" Hayman looked at him wide eyed.

"It was a misunderstanding," Roman added quickly glancing at Dean then back at Mr. Regal. "But it's true. I grabbed him first."

"Well, then," Mr. Regal said after a moment. "We have an, um, no tolerance…"

"They were just trying to break up the fight," Roman interjected with another nervous glance at Dean. "They had nothing to do with it. It was our fault."

Dean narrowed his eyes at Roman, who was begging him to back up his story, but at the same time he could tell he didn't really expect him to. Dean wasn't too keen on taking the fall for everyone, especially since he was sure Seth was the reason he had blood all over his face and jacket, but he was clearly going to be punished regardless. Besides, Dean was no snitch, not to mention Charlotte would go down with the rest.

Dean remained silent.

"Is that true?" Regal turned to Dean, and while he wasn't sure why in the hell he was asking him considering they wouldn't have believed him if he'd been the one to make the claim in the first place, Dean nodded. Regal sort of narrowed his eyes at Dean as if he was trying to see whether or not he was telling the truth, then sighed, "very well, to the nurse for those that need it, the others to class."

The V.P. motioned to the other kids who had gathered off to one side away from him and Roman looking beyond relieved at being let off the hook, aside from Charlotte who was sort of in the middle, too busy alternating her glare between Roman and Dean.

"As for you two," Regal turned his attentions back to Roman and Dean, though no one else had made a move to go anywhere, "we have a no tol…"

"Vice Principal Regal," Coach Hayman interjected when he realized Roman's confession put him in league with Dean, who he'd just been insisting be expelled. "Considering it was just a misunderstanding, and at least Mr. Reigns' first infraction, don't you think expulsion may be a bit extreme?"

Dean fought not to roll his eyes. Of course, no tolerance policy or not, now that the schools star pitcher faced expulsion the policy would become "no tolerance, except for in the case of a misunderstanding, especially when play offs start in two weeks". Not, that he didn't feel an irritating swell of hope that he too would fall under that clause when they swept the whole thing under the rug, even if he wasn't staying.

He'd never been expelled and he was sort of proud of that fact.

"Play-offs start soon, and…" Hayman continued when Regal paused to contemplate the situation.

"Detention," Regal said before Hayman could spell out the real reason for his leniency; they were favorites for state this year. "Both of you, after school with Mr. Jericho."

"Vice Principal Regal, we have practice…" Mr. Hayman began, but the bell rang cutting him off, and Mr. Regal spoke before he could pick up where he left off.

"Off you get, you lot," Regal waved at them impatiently as though he was trying to disperse a pesky flock of pigeons. "The nurse or class. Definitely the nurse for you Ambrose, if not a hospital, and you Uso," Dean realized he must've been talking to one of the twins, most likely the one spitting blood. "You- Jey…"

"I'm Jimmy," the guy corrected.

"Nurse, the rest of you, go now," Regal ignored the correction. "And detention for you two; 3:00."

Mr. Regal looked a bit flustered and clapped his hands at them as if to stay "chop, chop". Dean planned on hanging towards the back a bit. When the others were farther away he'd climb on his bike and head for a destination yet unknown; to freedom. Charlotte, who guessed his mind, gripped his shoulders firmly, and forcefully guided him towards the school. After everything, even if he did think she was stupid, he didn't want to spit in her face by taking off right away. He let her.

Dean wasn't supposed to care about anyone. Just him and his mom, because no one else would care about them, or so she said. That wasn't the case anymore, with his mom gone; it was only him. There was Charlotte now. Charlotte was family, so that was okay, right?

That train of thought stung and surprised him; Dean had the urge to flee once again.

It was nearly overwhelming. He was going to give into it, but suddenly Roman was right beside him. It was hard enough to ignore him when he was halfway across the room, it was impossible when he was right there. Dean glared at him as best he could with his left eye nearly swollen shut.

Roman looked as perfect as ever, even with the scratch across his cheek where Charlotte had caught him in her haste to put him in a head lock.

"Dean," Roman started.

The sound of his name on Roman's lips made it more difficult to keep his glare.

"Don't," Dean said sharply repeating Roman's earlier word and tone.

"I need to apologize," Roman told him anyway. "I am so sorry for…"

"It's whatever," Dean said quickly not wanting to hear what Roman was or wasn't sorry for; it would only amplify which parts were the cause of Dean's upset stomach, and he didn't want to know.

"It's not whatever, Dean," Roman insisted.

Roman's eyes were earnest and warm as they scanned Deans bruised, cut and swollen face. Dean could almost feel how sorry he was. He had to look away when he noticed Roman's eyes were shinning in a way that made his own throat feel tight. He clenched his hand in another tight fist. This time re-opening his split knuckles, concentrating solely on the pain.

"Dean," Roman sounded alarmed, but that didn't fully register, because Roman's hands were suddenly gently urging his to open.

"It is," Dean snatched his hands back, slightly grateful for his new bruises when he felt his face flush.

"It isn't," Roman insisted, but didn't reach for Dean's hands again. "I am sorry Dean. I wasn't- I just wanted to check on you."

"I'm fan-fucking-tastic, thanks," Dean snapped sarcastically, thinking of how much better off he was before Roman had showed up, which was saying something, because he wasn't exactly in good shape before that.

The look on Roman's face made him want to take it back, but he didn't know how, so he looked down at his hands again, hunching his shoulders letting his hair fall forward, covering his now marred face.

"I guess I deserved that," Roman said quietly after clearing his throat.

Dean wanted to tell him he didn't, not really. It was Seth, not Roman, but he remained silent. Instead, he told himself he shouldn't even be talking to Roman. Especially, because he'd made up his mind. When he suddenly found Mr. Regal and a couple other teachers breaking up the fight, as Charlotte refused to release the head lock she had on Roman, and blood cascaded from Dean's split eyebrow, he decided he had to go. It was a mess; he was a mess.

Dean felt like he was suffocating.

"Dean," Roman's voice was soft, and as much as Dean hated himself for it, he couldn't not look at him. "I am really, really, sorry."

This time he could absolutely feel how sorry Roman was, but he could only blink at him. His inherent suspicion bubbled up. What exactly was it that Roman was sorry for? Dean shook his head; he didn't want to know. He'd already decided that too.

"I really just wanted to talk to you- to make sure you were alright," Roman continued when he received no response. "I like talking to you, or at you, I guess is more accurate."

Dean was taken aback by Roman's candidness. His glare softened, if only minutely and his brow furrowed a bit though it stung. Roman took courage from it.

"That right there- you- sometimes…" Roman's eyes darted away as he searched for words, embarrassed, maybe, but it didn't stop him from continuing. Dean respected that. "Sometimes I get a genuine reaction, when I'm lucky you respond, and when I'm really lucky you smile. Well, sort of smile, but when you do, I- like it."

Dean realized Roman was blushing, and it caused his stomach to do a little summer sault, even as the knots tied themselves tighter. He wanted to ask Roman what he meant when he said he liked it, to explain it in detail, but didn't know how. His face burned, the thought made him feel stupid, so he ducked his head.

No one ever really wanted to spend time with him, not like- that. While Charlotte often showed up at random times to annoy him or poke fun at him, it was because she had nothing else better to do. This seemed different though, like Roman felt like it was all some sort of- privilege. As though he thought Dean's sort of smiles were something to be treasured- a prize of some sort.

The lack of warning bells and suspicion, made him suspicious. The strange ache in his chest made him fidget. It wasn't right. No one cared about Dean, not really. No one ever had. His mom had tried for a while, but even she got too- tired; of life, of him. Roman looked sincere, absolutely genuine- he couldn't be, though. Dean scowled as Roman opened his mouth to elaborate, maybe, but he never got a word out.

"This is sweet and all," Mr. Jericho cut in startling them.

They both flushed brilliantly and quickly moved away from one another. Dean was suddenly aware the music had stopped, and of just how close he and Roman had been.

"But I got places to be; people to do, vamoose."

Had it been any other teacher, Dean might've thought Jericho was trying to be funny, angling to be the "cool" teacher, but the dude was just weird.

"Let's go," Jericho clapped before scooping his already packed shit into his arms. "Detention ended ten minutes ago, out."

Seeing Mr. Jericho was serious, and conscious of his own sudden disappointment at knowing his time with Roman was up, Dean quickly popped up and hurried for the door.

"Excellent, Mr. Ambrose," Dean didn't respond to Mr. Jericho's praise, he just kept his head down, and heard him next address Roman. "Mr. Reigns, that is your cue as well."

Dean was already five paces out the door by the time he heard Roma's chair push back, scraping across the floor, which echoed down the empty hallway. The fact he wanted to slow down and wait caused him to pick up the pace. Roman was dangerous in a whole new way; a way Dean never fathomed anyone could be, at least to him. Survival was his focus for so long; attachments were pointless. Romantic attachments were ridiculous, not that Roman would ever want him. Not like he was becoming painfully aware he wanted Roman.

Everyone left him anyway. This whole town was dangerous: Suburban Hell. He was waiting for someone to pull the rug out from under his feet.

"Dean!" Roman called after him.

The sudden warmth that flooded through him, was more unsettling than any sort of warning bell.

"Dean!" Roman wasn't giving up even as Dean ducked his head, counting the steps to the door. "Wait up!"

No, Dean wouldn't wait; he couldn't. He had to keep going. Ignoring the uncomfortable pull in his gut, he pressed on.

"Dean," he loved and hated the way his name sounded on Roman's lips. "Please!"

His feet betrayed him, his steps faltered. Roman was much closer now, having jogged up behind him. The hair on his neck stood on end for different reasons than he was accustomed to. Reasons he refused to acknowledged.

"Dean, please."

Dean stopped abruptly, but it felt as though it was against his will, as his body warring with his mind. It caused his anger to flare.

"Why do you say my name so fucking much?" Dean was sure he could have made it the final five steps to freedom had the other man not continuously called his name, which despite the bleeding that made his chest ache had never sounded so- nice.

"Because," Roman's face held a mixture of relief, slight irritation and sheepishness. "When I don't, you ignore me."

"What?" he wasn't sure whether it was the actual words or the way cute, suddenly popped into his head, but he was thrown; again.

Roman was either blushing or flushed from his short jog. Dean's brain quickly decided it was the former without permission. His eyes shone with sincerity, but there was a small scowl on his face, which Dean somehow knew wasn't directed him, but at himself.

"You don't have to explain…"

"When I used to talk to you, like in the beginning, when you first got here, you ignored me," Roman cut him off, speaking quickly, and unmistakably blushing, now. "I wasn't going to give up, though." Roman smiled shyly and his eyes darted away for a second. "After a couple weeks, I noticed that if someone said your name, you looked, so I thought I'd try it too, before I gave up, ya know? Not that I wanted to," Roman assured him quickly. "But I didn't want you to like hate me either- anyway, well, it worked, and I- well… "

Roman actually ducked his head chuckling embarrassed, and the word cute popped in Dean's head again.

"What?" Roman cocked his head quizzically and Dean felt mortified at realizing he'd spoken aloud.

Dean had never so much as thought the word cute, not really, anyway. He'd certainly never spoken it aloud. It was an insult, right up there with adorable, or precious; whatever else people who spent too much time looking at cat pictures on the internet had in their vocabulary. Roman was nothing like those stupid pictures, he was- Dean shook his head to rid himself of that line of thinking.

Had Roman called him cute he would have taken offense, and he didn't want to get into another fight, especially about something so embarrassing. Dean just turned away, his face burning.

"Dean, wait, I'm sorry…"

Dean was positive Roman was going to grab him, just like he had earlier, so his instincts had him spinning on his heal. Roman had already begun to snatch his hand back before he completed his rotation.

"Sorry," there it was again; an apology.

No one ever apologized to Dean, and certainly not this much, it was weird; suspicious.

"I didn't- I just…" Roman ran his hands roughly through his hair, and Dean found a part of him wondering if it was as soft as it looked.

Once again, mortified he took a step back. What the hell was wrong with him?

"Please, Dean, don't go," Roman said as soon as his shoe scuffed the ground in his retreat. "I'm no good at this."

Roman shook his head. Dean had the urge to ask him what he meant by "this", but remembered Seth's words. Why else would Roman be talking to him?

"Listen man," Dean sort of snapped finding his anger again. "I don't do, or sell drugs, so just leave me alone, okay?"

Roman was the one that looked mortified this time, but Dean ignored the sting the hurt in his eyes caused him and pressed on.

"Tell your friends too, just…" Dean found it hard to speak the words again. The ones that put the hurt in Roman's eyes, but the thought that, maybe, it was more disappointment at him not having drugs than actual hurt allowed him to continue firmly. "Leave. Me. Alone."

There is was again. That look like Dean had just suckered punched him. It made his chest ache. I made him want to apologize, to comfort him; something. Dean pushed it away, as concerned voices echoed down the hallway.

"Roman?"

"Annie?"

Dean spun back around to see the twins and Charlotte standing by the door, looking apprehensive, a bit confused, but tense. He had no idea how hadn't heard it open.

"Uce?" one of the twins, the one with the busted lip, Jimmy, questioned in a way that Dean knew he was asking Roman if he was okay.

"I'm good," Roman responded quickly.

The twins relaxed, Charlotte scowled, and Dean let out an incredulous huff. He had just been trying to leave, again, but of course, it was the miscreants fault. Roman had started this whole fucking thing in the first place by bothering him. Not to mention gotten him jumped and almost expelled.

They wanted to know if Roman was okay? Un-fucking-believable.

"I didn't ask for this," Dean's voice echoed around them. "I didn't ask for any of this."

He turned back on Roman, anger and hurt in his heart.

"Leave me the fuck alone," Dean growled, then turned back to the others. "All of you."

No one spoke for a beat, and for some reason that just made him madder, especially since they were all looking at him warily. Charlotte included, as though he was about to snap, and attack them. He was so mad he might have had he possessed less self-control.

"I fucking mean it."

Dean didn't wait for a response. He stormed passed, resisting the urge slam his shoulder into them. The weather had gone from over cast to fucking pouring. The temperature had dropped as well, it was cold, but Dean ignored it and stomped across the parking lot towards his bike. It was passed time he left.

"Annie!"

Charlotte's voice reached him despite the howling winds, but he pretended it didn't.

"Goddamnit, Dean!"

He almost stopped and turned around. The use of his given name told him she was actually distressed and being serious, but he couldn't chance stopping; not again.

"You are not fucking riding your goddamned bike home in this weather!"

She was closer this time, which told him she'd jogged to catch up with him, but he kept going, almost to his bike. Five paces.

"Dean, I swear to fucking god!"

Charlotte let her threat hang in the air as he reached his bike jamming his helmet on to his head. It hurt, and his swollen eye made it even more difficult to see on top of the rain. He didn't care, instead he started his bike. The rain pelting his helmet drowned out every other sound, which included Charlotte's shouting. He knew she'd be shouting at him, even without looking, which he didn't bothering doing before he took off.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Dean was no longer chilled to the bone, and the pain had mostly subsided, leaving only his various cuts stinging a bit from showering. Despite his intentions to leave for good when he'd torn out of the parking lot without so much of a glance, when Charlotte had caught up too him in her little red sports car he knew she'd keep following him until he went home, or crashed. Now, he simply lay on his bed blinking up at his ceiling.

A lot of the time his new life felt like a dream, or sometimes a nightmare. He often had the urge to pinch himself. He resisted it, along with closing his eyes for as long as he could manage. Aside from the nightmares, his anxieties about suddenly waking up back in his old shitty apartment and life, struggling just to survive, plagued him nightly. Dean hated being afraid. Some nights were better than others, and he often wondered whether or not he would be better off just leaving.

The reality wasn't nearly as bad as the anticipation.

Tonight, though he struggled not to farther explore the why, was worse than usual. More than once he'd been ready to go. The decision had already been made, then reasons that were just as unsettling, or maybe even the cause of his fears stayed his feet.

Hope.

Hope; born of Charlotte's protectiveness, and understanding as well as the way his name sounded on Roman's lips. If he was being honest with himself, he didn't want to leave, not really, and it made it all the worse. Once again, his survival instincts screamed at him to run. Fear gripped him and he obliged, ignoring his body's protests Dean scrambled out of his overly large bed, tossing his too fluffy comforter on the floor. He began throwing everything he could reach into a duffle bag; everything but the credit cards.

He would keep the cash. He would need it. There were no strings attached; not like with credit cards, anyway. Once it was gone, it was gone.

Resisting the urge to take a last look at what had simultaneously been his safe haven, and his own personal hell, he headed for the door. Dean almost laughed, his hand poised to grasp the knob, when he caught the clock out of the corner of his eye, which read 12:00. A split second went by and he couldn't help it.

Laughter bubbled up from somewhere deep inside him. Not real laughter, there was no amusement or joy in it, but mirthless; almost hysterical laughter. His bag slid from his shoulder with a dull thud. This was it, Dean was cracking up; it was finally happening.

Just as he was on the precipice of what felt like no return, a soft knock at the door somehow sobered him quickly. He wasn't sure how he even heard it, but he froze, his heart racing. There was another knock. Then the door creaked open. Dean stumbled back a bit unsure of what to expect. His were nerves on end, for more reasons than he would admit or accept.

"Happy Birthday, to you…"

The voice was soft, quiet, and eerily familiar; Dean held his breath.

"Happy Birthday, to you…"

The door creaked open farther; blood pounded in his ears.

"Happy Birthday, dearest Deanie…"

"Mom?"

Dean's voice was barely audible, breathless. His eyes were wide; palms sweating.

"Happy Birthday, to you…"

The door pushed all the way open, and behind it stood a figure, hands outstretched, cradling a cup cake impaled by a sparkler instead of a candle.

"Happy Birthday, Deanie."

The breath he'd been holding escaped in a gasp. Suddenly, he found himself on his ass; his feet tangled in his duffle bag straps. The shadow stepped into the room, obscured by the sparkler. Dean tried to scramble backwards, but his flailing limbs weren't cooperating, his feet only became more entangled.

"Annie?"

Dean stopped, blinking rapidly, his chest heaving, as the figure stepped farther into the room, suddenly bathed in pale moon light.

"Charlotte?"

Dean's body sagged in relief when Charlotte lowered the cupcake, coming into focus now that she was no longer obscured by the pyrotechnics. Annie, not Deanie.

"Who else would it be?" his cousin frowned, and even more so when her eyes fell the duffle bag trapping his feet.

"No one; nothing," her sincere concern, and his embarrassment at thinking it had been his mom had him finally able to scramble to his feet. He kicked his duffle bag away, "laundry."

Whatever she saw in his eyes caused her to nod and force a smile, though he knew she didn't believe him.

"What, Orphan Annie's too bad-ass for cupcakes now?"

Dean scoffed indignantly, grateful for her sarcastic teasing and keen ability to read him.

"Fine," Charlotte bristled then plucked out the sparkler. "Fuck you, more for me."

"Pshh," Dean snatched the giant cupcake as Charlotte exaggeratedly stuck out her tongue to lick off the icing. "Cupcakes are the epitome of bad-assery."

Dean was calming rapidly in the presence of his cousin, and her easy teasing caused his embarrassment to dissipate considerably, or at least distract him from it. Even the residual horror of being convinced he was seeing his mom faded. It was almost dizzying, but he forced himself to take a deep breath, and willed his heart rate to slow.

"You should get that on a t-shirt," Charlotte followed him out onto the balcony, and he felt her concerned gaze on his back, but she was trying for his sake.

When he'd first moved, he'd often escaped up to the roof when the finery, and his new seemingly too good to be true circumstances got to be too much. The first time Charlotte joined him, the day he got his landlord's letter, he'd been torn between anger and gratitude. Anger almost won out, it usually did, but when Charlotte simply lay beside him and trained her eyes on the stars just as he'd been, he let it go.

It then became their spot.

As Dean handed up his cupcake to Charlotte his survival instincts kicked in, screaming at him to run. However, the uncharacteristically warm smile Charlotte gave him caused the shouting to become more like whispering. It might have been a mistake, the whispering said so, but hope was a very dangerous thing.

"Ah, ah, ah," Charlotte chastised once he was settled beside her and reached for the cupcake. "You gotta make a wish first."

Dean narrowed his eyes as she held up the sparkler wearing a mischievous grin. He thought wishes were stupid, but he had never been one to turn down a challenge; ever. Smirking, he licked his forefinger and thumb, before clamping them down around the sparkling part of his make shift candle. It was something his mother had always done too, a family tradition apparently, so he knew it was impossible for him to blow it out, and just because he made a wish as it fizzled out.

It burned, but he barked out a laugh at the incredulous look on his cousin's face. This time it was a real laugh, and it felt good, so he kept laughing when she joined him once her surprise wore off.

"Why the hell didn't I think of that!?" Charlotte was still laughing as Dean plucked the cupcake from her hand smiling triumphantly. "I've been sharing my cupcakes my whole life! Does it hurt?"

"It's worth it," Dean shrugged smugly. "I love cupcakes."

Tradition dictated his success at putting out the sparkler meant he was entitled to eat the whole thing himself, but it was a rather large cupcake, so he pealed of the wrapper and carefully tried to split it down the middle. It worked okay. There were a lot of crumbs in his lap and a chunk fell onto the shingles, but the brilliant smile Charlotte gave him when he handed her half made that worth it too.

"Thanks!"

She was beaming and he allowed himself to smile back for a moment before digging in and averting his eyes to the stars. It was the best cupcake he'd ever eaten, and he was sure it had to do with more than the baker. It was also his absolute favorite; chocolate with vanilla icing; that made it even better. He wondered if it was Charlotte's favorite too; it had been his mom's as well. He didn't ask, though.

"What'd you wish for Annie?" Charlotte question after a long while.

They'd been laying side by side in comfortable silence.

"Like I'm telling you," Dean scoffed.

"Don't tell me you believe in that bullshit," it was Charlotte's turn to scoff.

Dean shrugged though she couldn't see him, because while he didn't really believe in it, why risk it; just in case.

"You of all people," he more heard her shake her head in amusement than anything else. "You're un-real, you know that, Annie?"

Dean shrugged again, but smiled, because her voice was laced with affection and he was sure if he turned his head he'd be greeted with the same warm smile she'd given him earlier. They fell quiet for another long moment, but it wasn't the comfortable silence from before. He could tell she had something to say. It made him a bit fidgety. Dean hated the anticipation. Fortunately, it didn't last much longer.

"Dean?" the use of his given name made him tense, and while she felt it, she pretended she didn't. "I'm glad you're here."

He didn't respond. He didn't know how, her words made his eyes sting a little, because he knew she meant it. If he was being honest, in that moment he was glad he was there too, so he nodded.

"Please don't leave."

Her voice was so quiet he wasn't sure if he was meant to hear it, so he pretended he didn't, but just in case he was, he scooted a bit until his arm was pressed against her. The intimate moment was rarity, but he found he sort of liked it, and as she leaned farther into him, he thought about how if his wish came true, he wouldn't have to, as well as realizing more than anything; he really didn't want to.