I do not own Supernatural, but I wish I did!

Enjoy!

PART 1

Dean Winchester.

The righteous man.

He wasn't very righteous anymore; he'd learned his lesson.

Years ago, we'd come across just another dive bar on a Friday. Just another Friday like tonight, in just another dive bar like this one. Right now he had his muscular shoulders tensed and his powerful forearms rested on the sticky bar top before him. It wasn't his perfect physique that had me leaning in closer, watching him intently. It was the way his mouth was pursed, the way he hung his head.

He's ashamed.

Of what?

"Dean."

My voice, barely a whisper, echoed between us and the glint of his green eyes told me I had his attention.

"Dance with me," I murmured.

I expected him to say no. I expected him to quirk a small smirk, take a swallow of his Coors, and shake his head.

What I didn't expect, was for him to look at me longer than a moment, and then take my hand into his before leading me towards an empty dark corner of the bar. I certainly didn't expect him to pop a quarter in the jukebox and pick a slow song that he knew was my favorite.

Dean didn't like slow songs, and I hadn't realized he paid enough attention to know which ones I did like.

When Dean had me wrapped up in his arms, his hold on me tight enough to make me worry, he settled his chin on the top of my head.

Slowly, so as not to startle him, I laid my hands flat against his chest and sighed.

"What's the matter?," I whispered. Dean didn't give me any indication that he'd heard me.

"I don't know how Sammy and I woulda made it if you hadn't come along. I ain't just sayin' that either. All night it's been on my mind. You never shoulda survived what ya did, and I can't help but wonder what woulda happened if ya hadn't," Dean told me softly. I frowned.

"Dean, that was three years ago. It's okay to forget about it," I argued. Dean pulled back and nudged me under the chin.

"I can forget about a lotta things, sweetheart. Like the fact that your hair clogs the drain, of the fact that you leave the milk out for too long when you make a bowl of cereal. But I won't ever forget the way you looked, sprawled out on the dark pavement, shakin' in a pool of your own blood," He told me. His green eyes had taken on a darker hue, and I wasn't sure if it was the lighting or my imagination.

I didn't want to break the moment, because Dean was one of my best friends and he never had 'chick flick' moments. Yet I could tell that right now, he needed comfort from me.

"Dean...I'm okay. We're okay. What made you think about this?"

He shook his head and tucked me into his chest again before he answered.

"Heard another hunter died. I've watched a lot of people die, and I don't want you to be one of 'em."
I swallowed audibly before responding, because honestly, what could I say? We both knew a promise of forever wasn't probable for us. I hadn't thought about starting anything romantic with anyone in years because the constant turmoil in our lives left too much to be desired.

I slid my arms around his neck and nuzzled my forehead against his stubble-covered chin.

"You and Sammy are my family. I ain't leavin' as long as you'll have me," I whispered. The bartender said something about 'last call,' and Dean swore under his breath.

"Shit, didn't realize it was so late. Ya okay to drive? Think I've had too much," He muttered as he untangled himself from me. I frowned at how quickly he was moving away from me, and was also concerned about the fact that he wanted me to drive.

Dean rarely (never) let anyone else drive baby.

I only nodded though, scared to mention either one of those things because Dean seemed...fragile.

So I followed him outside, and hesitated when he just handed me the keys to his beloved Impala. Sure, over the years I'd been the designated driver, but tonight I hadn't seen Dean drink more than one beer.

As I slid behind the wheel Dean clambered into the passenger seat and rested his head against the headrest as his eyes closed.

In silence we drove home, neither one of us making eye contact. In my head my brain was going insane, but how could I reach out to him? We'd had only a few nights like this; nights when Dean was inconsolable.

As the bunker came into view, Dean looked over at me as I put the car into park.

"I need some time. You okay to head inside?"

I swallowed my questions, my curiosity, and instead nodded my head.

"Yeah."

He only winked at me before he exited the vehicle, leaving me behind speechless. Worried, I headed inside to find Sammy.

"Sam?"

I heard a rustle of fabric, a muttered curse, and saw a tiny sliver of light flicker from beneath Sammy's bedroom door. When his door opened, his eyes searched the dark hallway worriedly before they landed on me.

"What's wrong?"

I noticed he was shirtless, something any woman would notice and shrugged.

"Dean. Something's wrong with him. I don't know what."

His brow furrowed and he inhaled sharply.

"He's been havin' trouble with the mark. He can't seem to turn it off."

This information had me literally cringing, and my brain suddenly tried to think of fifty different scenarios in which this ended okay- and none of the were even remotely plausible.

"What do I do?"

Sam frowned, wrapped an arm around me and tucked me into his warm chest.

"I don't know. I honestly don't," He whispered sadly. I wanted to scream, shout, anything.

"He's not gonna be okay, is he?," I asked.

Sam huffed out a breath, pulled away so he could tuck a strand of hair behind my ear and quirked a smile.

"We're always okay. We'll figure it out."

I wanted to point out the fact that at this point I knew when he was lying, but I didn't have the courage to admit what we both knew.

This wasn't going to end well.

"Okay. Goodnight, Sam."

"Goodnight."

As I headed into my room, the heavy sound of Dean's pacing met my ears, and even though it literally pained me to leave him alone...I didn't leave my room once.

"You locked your door last night," Dean murmured. My gaze flicked to his, and I adjusted the way I was sitting so I could see him better.

The library was quiet this morning, and it made me wonder if Sam was still asleep.

"You said you needed time," I replied.

He scares you.

Don't lie.

I turned the page in the book I was reading, wanting more than anything to meet his eyes but not wanting to scare him off.

I chanced a small peek at him and noticed he was wearing a wrinkled blue plaid shirt and that he had deep purple circles under his eyes. His sandy hair was in a subtle disarray, which made it look purposefully messy.

He sat down in the chair next to me, his knees brushing mine, and he placed a heavy hand on my bare thigh. I twitched, wondering when I would ever get over that. Get over the past, and learn not to flinch when Sam or Dean touched me; they'd never raise a hand against me.

"I wasn't mad at ya last night, sweetheart."

His firm words reassured me, but I rolled my eyes and swallowed audibly.

"I just wanted to give you space," I explained. Slowly, he nodded, and I sighed with relief.

"Where did you end up spending your time?," I asked. He quirked a small smile, a gesture that was just so Dean that it made my heart clench, and wiggled his eyebrows.

"Met with an old friend."

Oh.

He slept with someone.

I wasn't sure why that upset me; maybe because he pushed me away only to bring a stranger in closer, or maybe because I myself had no idea what to do to help Dean. Maybe my bone-crushing- loneliness that made my heart weep was why I was so upset.

Either way, I pushed Dean away, and pretended like I was stretching.

"Well, I've got some shit to do today. Catch ya later, okay?," I asked brightly. While the only reaction I got was the raising of Dean's eyebrows, I still nodded my head a couple of times and left the room, taking my hurt feelings with me.

Dean Winchester was a hard man, a complicated man, and I well knew it.

He'd first shown me that the week I moved in.

Night terrors. Dean Winchester has night terrors.

I tried not to notice, but every night at the same time his screams tear through the darkness like a plague.

Every night he roams the halls like a lost man, like a blind man.

And every night I watch with sorrow tainting my mind as he tried and fails to find himself.

Even though I watch him, he has no idea that I pay close attention; I know him like the back of my hand.

I know that when he's really hurt, as he often is when he scours the hallways, his spine is so tense I could bounce a quarter off of it.

I know that when his shoulders pitch forward slightly, he's ready to lose it.

When his hair stands on end, I know the exact way his fingers weave through the sandy strands.

I know.

"What are ya doin'?"

I flinched, tore myself away from Dean's gentle grasp, and effectively placed three feet between us. His green eyes watched me knowingly, and his full lips twitched with the words he refused to say.

"I'm sorry."

"I wish I could help you."

"Why are we so broken?"

The words lingered in the air between us as the pain that we both harbored thickened the midnight air. Dean didn't reach for me again, and I didn't ask him why his eyes were red as if he'd been crying; which I knew he had been.

Instead, I closed the distance between us, pressed my hand against his heart, and nodded my head slowly.

It took him but a moment to realize that I was telling him that I understood; his heart was broken, but mine was too.

And that's okay.

We would be okay.

"What's got your head in the clouds, kid?," Sam asked me. I jumped, almost slicing off a digit with the knife I was holding, and swore.

"Moosey the jolly brown giant, don't scare me like that! I got enough scars lining this meat suit," I muttered as I sucked my thumb into my mouth. He snorted and pulled my finger from my mouth before inspecting it in the bright sunlight.

"You'll be fine. You sleep okay? I haven't seen ya all day," Sam asked me. I shrugged.

"I'm fine."

His hazel eyes assessed me carefully, from the tips of my toes to the top of my head.

"You're lying."

I opened my mouth to argue, but Dean came bustling into the room, and I froze. How could I even articulate the way that I was feeling? Suddenly jealous of the fact that Dean Winchester had his eye on every female in the world (and maybe even other planets) besides me? That I was starting to become frightened to be left alone with the man I was possibly in love with, all because of a mark on his arm?

That maybe, maybe, Dean wasn't Dean anymore?

Sam's eyes narrowed and he looked from Dean to myself and then back at Dean again.

"What? What'd I do?"

Dean's wide green eyes fell on me and something flickered in his eyes; something I recognized. Shame.

What did that mean?
"I'm outta here," I muttered, scurrying towards the garage and effectively closing myself away from the men that made me nervous and the feelings that made me sad. I heard both Winchester's call my name but I ignored them both and climbed behind the wheel of my car.

Time wasn't ever on my side, and apparently, neither was my heart.

I was sincerely hoping that since the hour was nearing midnight, no one would be awake. However, since I could see the light on in the library, I knew that wasn't happening. Hesitantly, I made my way through the bunker. It was pitch black down the hallway that led to my bedroom, but I could hear pacing. By the tread of the boot, it was Dean, and I wasn't surprised in the least. I set my jacket down onto my bed and tip-toed towards the library where the sound of his heavy-soled boots were working the carpet into a frenzy. He had his hands hanging at his sides, periodically clenching into fists. His hair stood on end, and so I stopped to lean against the doorjamb to watch him for a moment.

He's beautiful.

"Dean," I murmured.

His gaze shot to mine over his shoulder and the wide-eyed-panicked look he had on his face made me pause. He didn't say a word as he watched me with those frightened eyes, and I didn't have the heart to turn away from him.

Not when he had that look on his face.

"I don't feel right," He whispered. I frowned.

"What do ya mean?," I asked, taking a step towards him. He canted his head to the side, and I stopped in my tracks. The expression on his face, the predatory gleam in his eyes, it hadn't faded.

"I want to kill."

I swallowed, took a step back. He took a step forward.

"I don't know...what to say," I finally whispered. Dean's chin fell towards his chest and he heaved, a solid breath that was more like a whine, and I suddenly realized that it didn't matter if I was scared.

It didn't matter if I was terrified that he would hurt me, because he needed me.

So I crossed the room to where he was standing and threw my arms around his neck. He was ready, he caught me fast and wrapped his arms around my middle like he was afraid that if he let me go he'd disappear.

"I'm sorry. I keep thinkin' about you and how this ain't fair to you. I shoulda told you sooner, given ya the chance to split-,"

"Stop it. I ain't going anwyhere, Dean."

"But the picture of you, spread out on that sidewalk, bleedin' out, it's on constant replay in my head. I don't wanna hurt you," He whispered brokenly into my ear. I swallowed my own tears and pulled away so I could see his face. I smiled, barely, but I made it.

"Listen to me. You won't hurt me, Dean. I know you wouldn't," I said firmly.

His green eyes never left my face.

"Neither one of us are sure of that," He finally admitted.

I wanted to tell him he was wrong, but he wasn't and I could never hide anything from Dean Winchester.

"I'm willing to risk it. Do you know why?," I whispered.

His hold on me tightened for only a moment before he eased his hold into a more gentle grasp.

"Why?," He asked.

"I love you. And I know you love me. We're family. We would die for each other."

His eyes fell to the floor between us and finally, finally he graced me with a smile.

"We're gonna be okay?"

I nodded.

"We're gonna be okay."