Two Weeks, Minus a Day
Title: Two Weeks Minus a Day
Summary: Dean’s never had a long term relationship, but there was this one time he got kind of close.
Word count: 2,850
Rated: R (Language & sexual situations)
Notes: Set preseries; Mild spoilers for “Route 666”
Genre: Het
Characters: Dean/Cassie
A/N: morganoconner wrote a lovely story about this relationship from a different angle. If you’re in a Dean/Cassie sort of mood, check it out!
Beta: Props to reading_is_in , with her quick turn around and sharp eye!
Disclaimer: Supernatural and it's characters belongs to WB/The CW, I own nothing and make no money.
***
Dean likes jobs near college campuses. There’re lots of bars, hot chicks, and all the marks are rich and easy. Has nothing to do with catching a glimpse of a life that he’ll never see firsthand, or with trying to understand a brother who made a different choice. Nope, college towns are nice because he can hook up with his pick of the privileged girls going through their rebellious phase.
Tonight it’s a sweet Asian thing, blue streaks in her hair and sticky red lips. He likes that she pushes him around despite being all of five feet tall. He’s bought her two mai-tais and the way she familiarly grabs his belt for support when she wobbles on her heels says he’s definitely in. Pleasantly buzzed himself, he lets her maneuver them into a booth towards the back with a couple of her friends, a blonde and a girl with dark skin and long curls, plus a gawky kid in a polo who’s trying to score with the blonde.
Names are exchanged, but Dean doesn’t bother to keep them in his head longer than a moment. The girl he’s going home with is Kimberly, and that’s enough. Even without names, he’s working the table easily, dissolving Kimberly and the blonde into to helpless laughter with his tall tales. Even their guy friend warms up once he gets it straight that this intruder wants nothing to do with the blonde (Sherry?), and Dean is feeling magnanimous enough that he dishes out a few compliments to help the poor dude. Sometimes his first night in a place is like this, all good vibes. Sometimes it’s getting his ass handed to him by a gang of locals over what exactly counts as cheating at pool.
He doesn’t even notice that the second girl is going to be a problem until she is.
“So, Dean,” She says. “It’s Dean, right?” The bitch-face she’s sporting reminds him a bit of Sammy.
“S’right, sugar,” Dean says, mostly not slurring. This girl isn’t in a rebellious phase; she probably takes school seriously. And with looks like hers, she’s got to be alone on purpose. Not the type who hooks up then, and it doesn’t look like she’s at all amused by her friend picking up a guy like Dean, either.
“Cassie,” she says in a tone that would peel paint. Kimberly at his side squirms a bit, and Dean gets the feeling that not only is she going to make him fend for himself, he might just be loosing his Friday night entertainment.
“Cassie,” he repeats, smiling at her with all the charm he can muster. “Sorry.”
“You haven’t told us anything about yourself,” Cassie states. “What brings you ‘round Athens? It’s not really a tourist attraction.”
“M’not really a tourist,” Dean answers. When she keeps looking at him, he adds “Business. Have a job to do few miles out.”
“Mhm. So what do you do, Dean?”
Kimberly has completely detached herself from his side, goddamn it. “It’s a little bit complicated, really,” he says. Burning corpses just doesn’t have a good ring to it, and he’s forgotten if he already made up a career for Kimberly.
“Oh, complicated.” She has a tight, unfriendly smile on her face and yeah, he has really put his foot in this one. “You’re one of those guys who think that women don’t have the head for business. Maybe we should just stay in the kitchen?”
“You’d look awful sweet in an apron,” he says, because he can.
“Imma go get ‘nother round,” Kimberly says, and jumps ship. The blonde has finally gotten a clue and ducked off to the dance floor with her ecstatic new friend.
Cassie leans forward over the table so he’s sure to hear it when she says, “You know, Kim can do a lot better than hooking up with a pig like you.”
Dean leans forward too, close enough that their noses almost touch. “You sure about that?” He appreciates the way she breathes a little quicker, probably used to pansy college boys who crumple under that vicious, beautiful mouth.
He lets her break eye contact first, and then leans back lazily, one arm over the back of the seat. He knows what he looks like, and he wants her to know too. Some bruised part of his ego wants her to be jealous of… whatever her name was. Kim.
Kim returns with drinks, another sugary concoction for herself and a beer for him. Cassie’s still working through a gin and tonic.
“To avoiding another four years of Bush,” Kim announces, raising her glass. It takes Dean a moment to figure out what she’s talking about. When he does, he can’t help but snort with amusement.
Cassie, of course, catches it. “Careful, Kim. Check out that military cut. He probably votes Republican.”
“Don’t vote anything,” Dean says.
Cassie laughs. “I should have known, you’re the type of American who can’t be bothered to actually exercise your rights. If you gave a shit about anything, Dean, you just might do some good in the world.”
And that, there, is just too funny. “You think I could save people by filling out a piece of paper?” Dean scoffs. “Honestly, Bush, Kerry-- doesn’t even matter. This here,” he gestures around the bar, “is real. People have to take care of themselves. Nobody in the Whitehouse is gonna do it for them.”
“And nobody’s saying they should. But policy in D.C. has real effects, no matter how far you stick your head in the sand. Who do you think dies when Bush goes to war?”
“Cassie,” Kim whines, but Dean talks over her.
“I think soldiers die, and I bet they don’t want your pity for doing their job. I help people by fixing what’s in front of me, not by standing on a street corner passing out buttons,” he snaps.
“Whatever else you’re doing doesn’t excuse you from participating in democracy. How many people died today in Iraq who weren’t soldiers? Or does it not matter if you can’t see it?“ Cassie’s cheeks are flushing slightly with the anger and alcohol, and Dean thinks for an irrational second that she’d make a decent hunter with all that passionate determination.
“He-ey, lets go dance,” Kimberly says, pulling at his arm. He has to check his annoyance at the interruption, because of course it’s good that she’s at least touching him again. Even though he hates dancing he lets himself get tugged over to the floor and stands obligingly behind her as she shimmies. His heart isn’t in it, though, and in a couple of songs (hard to count when you’re trying to ignore how ear-bleedingly bad the music is) she’s moved on to another tallish guy with a popped collar. Dean slinks off the dance floor to the bar.
Cassie’s there, waiting much too patiently for another G&T when with a body like hers she could have the bartender’s eye in a second. Dean elbows his way to the front and buys it for her, because he has some extra cash and at this time of night all the girls willing to go home with a stranger already have.
She’s surprised when he hands it to her, and he keeps a hand on the drink to ensure she doesn’t spill it. Not to brush his fingers against hers for a moment too long.
“You didn’t have to…” she starts.
“Don’t think she needs it,” Dean says, tipping his head in Kim’s direction. “And anyways I wanted to.” In the crush of people near the bar, they’re standing close enough that her knee knocks against his briefly when she shifts weight.
“I’m sorry,” she says unexpectedly. “Journalism major. I guess I get a little worked up over these things. “
Dean shrugs, unused to being surprised by a girl at a bar and not entirely comfortable with her sudden honesty. He doesn’t know what to do with it.
“Well, you’re forgiven. I just have that effect on women.” He notices that their fingers are still intertwined around her drink.
“God, you’re a sexist ass,” she says vehemently, but the expression darkening her eyes isn’t just anger.
Without letting himself think about it too much, he lets his hand slip off the glass and circle her wrist, hot to the touch of his chilled fingers.
“Room 34, Acropolis hotel,” he breathes into her ear, brushing his thumb over the pulse point at her wrist. Her curls tickle his face when she moves her head to look at him, nose to nose again.
And then he leaves, just turns and walks out, because he’s feeling weak at the knees like he hasn’t since he was 14 and first getting to touch Joanna Morgan’s breasts. He gets to the Impala, unlocks it and starts the engine by rote, his mind buzzing with all the things he is absolutely not thinking about.
Back at the motel room he catches himself pacing and checking the clock. Dad’s been getting separate hotel rooms since the incident with the cowgirl and the boots… but it’s ridiculous to think that matters. Cassie obviously isn’t going to take him up on his sleazy offer. He doesn’t even know what he was doing. She thinks he’s an asshole and even if she didn’t nobody would just follow a stranger to their hotel room on the basis of one drink and…
There’s a knock at the door. He opens it and she’s standing there in the flesh, looking flustered and even more perfect than he remembered.
“Hi,” she says, shifting her weight and gracing him with a nervous half-smile. “I’m really not the kind of girl that does this but… what the hell, right?“
“You actually came,” Dean says, which is a much less suave opening than he’d been planning.
“Please tell me you weren’t kidding,” she says in a rush, “because I’m starting to feel like an idiot, and if you keep staring at me like that I…”
Dean cuts her off with his mouth. He kisses her as sweetly as he knows how, trying to let her see that he’s not a mistake. He cups her jaw and moves his tongue softly against her lips, even though what he wants to do is yank her inside the threshold, slam the door, and fuck her against it until she moans his name.
As it is, Cassie’s the one to shove him back into the room and close the door behind them.
“If I knew you were gonna be a gentleman about this I wouldn’t have come,” she says breathlessly, shucking her shirt over her head. Dean thinks he managed to say, “thank god,” before he thrusts them both up against the door, his hand the only thing keeping her head from cracking against the hard wood. Their mouths crash together in a kiss that’s anything but soft.
There are absolutely too many layers between them. Dean pops her fly and shoves the denim down clumsily, thankful when she jiggles her hips to help. Cassie curses against his mouth, hurrying through the excess of buttons on his shirt. He jerks it open before she can finish and shakes it off one handed, fumbles in his back pocket for a condom and commends his past self for having the foresight to have one handy. Cassie takes it from him, leaving him free to slip a hand between her legs while the other works through her long curls. She rolls the condom over him with confident motions, and he makes a seriously embarrassing noise. While she’s busy tugging her underwear and pants the rest of the way down and kicking one foot free, he thinks about chupacabras and other unsexy things. Then she hitches both legs around his waist and finally- finally- he pushes into her.
It’s over much too quickly despite the chupacabras, but he keeps her up against the door, pressing her hips back as he goes to his knees. He loops one of her thighs over his shoulder, and makes it up to her until he’s hard again. Then he brings her to the bed and they do things properly.
This is day one.
Of course, Dean doesn’t start counting at all till day three. The morning of day two, he’s too surprised that she’s still there. Partially because he’s half convinced himself that he hallucinated the last night’s tryst, and partially because even if he didn’t, a girl like Cassie should be long gone, should have started making up her excuses for what they did mere hours after they did it. But Cassie doesn’t seem to understand that he’s the type of guy you make excuses for. They spend most of day two in bed, which is when he decides he won’t look a gift horse in the mouth. On day three her continued presence is solidified when she actually calls his number and asks him over to her apartment. Making small talk with the roommates, he gets the idea he should be keeping track of how long this has been going on. The last longest relationship he’s had before was six days with a head cheerleader back in high school.
Days four through six with Cassie go much too quickly with laughter and sex and eating out at cheap joints that cater to students. While she’s in class, he researches the haunting while Dad interviews the locals. When she gets back to her dorm, they kiss like it’s been weeks since they parted rather than hours, fuck till they’re too tired to keep going, and lay in each-others arms until they’re up for another round. Dean admits sometime around day five that they’re spending a fair amount of time cuddling, and that he likes it. Not that he’d ever admit that to anyone, but it’s a nice thing to know.
Day seven, their one week anniversary, they have a blow-out fight over politics and Dean’s lack of them, and Dean’s sure they’re done. It’s terrible. He’s not used to wanting a girl he can’t have. Wanting a specific girl at all. He misses exploring Cassie’s body, having someone who knows his sweet spots. The memory of how she smells and all the ways he can make her say his name forms a hard knot in his throat. He breaks down and calls her, and the make-up sex is so good he almost wants to start another fight. Day eight, she does it for him (over Sammy this time, whom he mentions but won’t explain) and the apologies are just as good the second time around.
Day ten he finally cracks the case that brought them to Athens in the first place. Would have been quicker if he had put some real effort in, but Cassie is distracting. That night he and Dad burn the bones, and Cassie yells at him for almost three hours when he comes to her place all riled up on the adrenaline and smelling like smoke. Then they have sex, and then she patches up the cut over his eye and gives him some frozen peas for his ankle. It’s the tenderest care he’s had since Sam…well, just since Sam.
Day eleven, Dad wants to know why Dean keeps making excuses to stay. That night he thinks about leaving Cassie while they eat dinner. She asks him why he looks so down and he says “I love you,” and she kisses him and laughs and says, “That’s a good thing,” and “I love you, too.”
Day twelve, Dean knows he’s going to have to leave, tomorrow night at the latest. Day thirteen in the morning, he watches Cassie sleep. The way her nose twitches is familiar. The rhythm of her breathing is familiar. Dean never realized until this moment that he wants familiar. But he does, he wants it badly enough it makes him sick. He’s in bed with a hot, naked chick, and all he wants to do is watch her nose twitch. And that’s when it comes to him. He’s going to explain exactly what it is he does, Winchester rules be damned.
Dean grins to himself. It’s a stupidly easy solution. He’ll be gone a lot, sure, but Ohio’s close to the center of the country, within driving distance of plenty of hunts. Dad’ll let him take jobs nearby when Dean tells him why he needs it, maybe even let him do some work alone. He’ll swing by Cassie’s place whenever he can, for a few days every couple weeks at least. Cassie loves him, and she’ll wait for him. He presses soft kisses on her shoulder and neck as she stirs awake with a pleased little moan. For his part, he knows he’s never going to want an easy lay on the road again.
Day 14, what would have been the second full week of the longest relationship he’s ever had, Dean is alone in the Impala, following Dad to the next anonymous town, and he knows he’s never going to want anything but an easy lay on the road again.
Coda.
Summary: Dean’s never had a long term relationship, but there was this one time he got kind of close.
Word count: 2,850
Rated: R (Language & sexual situations)
Notes: Set preseries; Mild spoilers for “Route 666”
Genre: Het
Characters: Dean/Cassie
A/N: morganoconner wrote a lovely story about this relationship from a different angle. If you’re in a Dean/Cassie sort of mood, check it out!
Beta: Props to reading_is_in , with her quick turn around and sharp eye!
Disclaimer: Supernatural and it's characters belongs to WB/The CW, I own nothing and make no money.
***
Dean likes jobs near college campuses. There’re lots of bars, hot chicks, and all the marks are rich and easy. Has nothing to do with catching a glimpse of a life that he’ll never see firsthand, or with trying to understand a brother who made a different choice. Nope, college towns are nice because he can hook up with his pick of the privileged girls going through their rebellious phase.
Tonight it’s a sweet Asian thing, blue streaks in her hair and sticky red lips. He likes that she pushes him around despite being all of five feet tall. He’s bought her two mai-tais and the way she familiarly grabs his belt for support when she wobbles on her heels says he’s definitely in. Pleasantly buzzed himself, he lets her maneuver them into a booth towards the back with a couple of her friends, a blonde and a girl with dark skin and long curls, plus a gawky kid in a polo who’s trying to score with the blonde.
Names are exchanged, but Dean doesn’t bother to keep them in his head longer than a moment. The girl he’s going home with is Kimberly, and that’s enough. Even without names, he’s working the table easily, dissolving Kimberly and the blonde into to helpless laughter with his tall tales. Even their guy friend warms up once he gets it straight that this intruder wants nothing to do with the blonde (Sherry?), and Dean is feeling magnanimous enough that he dishes out a few compliments to help the poor dude. Sometimes his first night in a place is like this, all good vibes. Sometimes it’s getting his ass handed to him by a gang of locals over what exactly counts as cheating at pool.
He doesn’t even notice that the second girl is going to be a problem until she is.
“So, Dean,” She says. “It’s Dean, right?” The bitch-face she’s sporting reminds him a bit of Sammy.
“S’right, sugar,” Dean says, mostly not slurring. This girl isn’t in a rebellious phase; she probably takes school seriously. And with looks like hers, she’s got to be alone on purpose. Not the type who hooks up then, and it doesn’t look like she’s at all amused by her friend picking up a guy like Dean, either.
“Cassie,” she says in a tone that would peel paint. Kimberly at his side squirms a bit, and Dean gets the feeling that not only is she going to make him fend for himself, he might just be loosing his Friday night entertainment.
“Cassie,” he repeats, smiling at her with all the charm he can muster. “Sorry.”
“You haven’t told us anything about yourself,” Cassie states. “What brings you ‘round Athens? It’s not really a tourist attraction.”
“M’not really a tourist,” Dean answers. When she keeps looking at him, he adds “Business. Have a job to do few miles out.”
“Mhm. So what do you do, Dean?”
Kimberly has completely detached herself from his side, goddamn it. “It’s a little bit complicated, really,” he says. Burning corpses just doesn’t have a good ring to it, and he’s forgotten if he already made up a career for Kimberly.
“Oh, complicated.” She has a tight, unfriendly smile on her face and yeah, he has really put his foot in this one. “You’re one of those guys who think that women don’t have the head for business. Maybe we should just stay in the kitchen?”
“You’d look awful sweet in an apron,” he says, because he can.
“Imma go get ‘nother round,” Kimberly says, and jumps ship. The blonde has finally gotten a clue and ducked off to the dance floor with her ecstatic new friend.
Cassie leans forward over the table so he’s sure to hear it when she says, “You know, Kim can do a lot better than hooking up with a pig like you.”
Dean leans forward too, close enough that their noses almost touch. “You sure about that?” He appreciates the way she breathes a little quicker, probably used to pansy college boys who crumple under that vicious, beautiful mouth.
He lets her break eye contact first, and then leans back lazily, one arm over the back of the seat. He knows what he looks like, and he wants her to know too. Some bruised part of his ego wants her to be jealous of… whatever her name was. Kim.
Kim returns with drinks, another sugary concoction for herself and a beer for him. Cassie’s still working through a gin and tonic.
“To avoiding another four years of Bush,” Kim announces, raising her glass. It takes Dean a moment to figure out what she’s talking about. When he does, he can’t help but snort with amusement.
Cassie, of course, catches it. “Careful, Kim. Check out that military cut. He probably votes Republican.”
“Don’t vote anything,” Dean says.
Cassie laughs. “I should have known, you’re the type of American who can’t be bothered to actually exercise your rights. If you gave a shit about anything, Dean, you just might do some good in the world.”
And that, there, is just too funny. “You think I could save people by filling out a piece of paper?” Dean scoffs. “Honestly, Bush, Kerry-- doesn’t even matter. This here,” he gestures around the bar, “is real. People have to take care of themselves. Nobody in the Whitehouse is gonna do it for them.”
“And nobody’s saying they should. But policy in D.C. has real effects, no matter how far you stick your head in the sand. Who do you think dies when Bush goes to war?”
“Cassie,” Kim whines, but Dean talks over her.
“I think soldiers die, and I bet they don’t want your pity for doing their job. I help people by fixing what’s in front of me, not by standing on a street corner passing out buttons,” he snaps.
“Whatever else you’re doing doesn’t excuse you from participating in democracy. How many people died today in Iraq who weren’t soldiers? Or does it not matter if you can’t see it?“ Cassie’s cheeks are flushing slightly with the anger and alcohol, and Dean thinks for an irrational second that she’d make a decent hunter with all that passionate determination.
“He-ey, lets go dance,” Kimberly says, pulling at his arm. He has to check his annoyance at the interruption, because of course it’s good that she’s at least touching him again. Even though he hates dancing he lets himself get tugged over to the floor and stands obligingly behind her as she shimmies. His heart isn’t in it, though, and in a couple of songs (hard to count when you’re trying to ignore how ear-bleedingly bad the music is) she’s moved on to another tallish guy with a popped collar. Dean slinks off the dance floor to the bar.
Cassie’s there, waiting much too patiently for another G&T when with a body like hers she could have the bartender’s eye in a second. Dean elbows his way to the front and buys it for her, because he has some extra cash and at this time of night all the girls willing to go home with a stranger already have.
She’s surprised when he hands it to her, and he keeps a hand on the drink to ensure she doesn’t spill it. Not to brush his fingers against hers for a moment too long.
“You didn’t have to…” she starts.
“Don’t think she needs it,” Dean says, tipping his head in Kim’s direction. “And anyways I wanted to.” In the crush of people near the bar, they’re standing close enough that her knee knocks against his briefly when she shifts weight.
“I’m sorry,” she says unexpectedly. “Journalism major. I guess I get a little worked up over these things. “
Dean shrugs, unused to being surprised by a girl at a bar and not entirely comfortable with her sudden honesty. He doesn’t know what to do with it.
“Well, you’re forgiven. I just have that effect on women.” He notices that their fingers are still intertwined around her drink.
“God, you’re a sexist ass,” she says vehemently, but the expression darkening her eyes isn’t just anger.
Without letting himself think about it too much, he lets his hand slip off the glass and circle her wrist, hot to the touch of his chilled fingers.
“Room 34, Acropolis hotel,” he breathes into her ear, brushing his thumb over the pulse point at her wrist. Her curls tickle his face when she moves her head to look at him, nose to nose again.
And then he leaves, just turns and walks out, because he’s feeling weak at the knees like he hasn’t since he was 14 and first getting to touch Joanna Morgan’s breasts. He gets to the Impala, unlocks it and starts the engine by rote, his mind buzzing with all the things he is absolutely not thinking about.
Back at the motel room he catches himself pacing and checking the clock. Dad’s been getting separate hotel rooms since the incident with the cowgirl and the boots… but it’s ridiculous to think that matters. Cassie obviously isn’t going to take him up on his sleazy offer. He doesn’t even know what he was doing. She thinks he’s an asshole and even if she didn’t nobody would just follow a stranger to their hotel room on the basis of one drink and…
There’s a knock at the door. He opens it and she’s standing there in the flesh, looking flustered and even more perfect than he remembered.
“Hi,” she says, shifting her weight and gracing him with a nervous half-smile. “I’m really not the kind of girl that does this but… what the hell, right?“
“You actually came,” Dean says, which is a much less suave opening than he’d been planning.
“Please tell me you weren’t kidding,” she says in a rush, “because I’m starting to feel like an idiot, and if you keep staring at me like that I…”
Dean cuts her off with his mouth. He kisses her as sweetly as he knows how, trying to let her see that he’s not a mistake. He cups her jaw and moves his tongue softly against her lips, even though what he wants to do is yank her inside the threshold, slam the door, and fuck her against it until she moans his name.
As it is, Cassie’s the one to shove him back into the room and close the door behind them.
“If I knew you were gonna be a gentleman about this I wouldn’t have come,” she says breathlessly, shucking her shirt over her head. Dean thinks he managed to say, “thank god,” before he thrusts them both up against the door, his hand the only thing keeping her head from cracking against the hard wood. Their mouths crash together in a kiss that’s anything but soft.
There are absolutely too many layers between them. Dean pops her fly and shoves the denim down clumsily, thankful when she jiggles her hips to help. Cassie curses against his mouth, hurrying through the excess of buttons on his shirt. He jerks it open before she can finish and shakes it off one handed, fumbles in his back pocket for a condom and commends his past self for having the foresight to have one handy. Cassie takes it from him, leaving him free to slip a hand between her legs while the other works through her long curls. She rolls the condom over him with confident motions, and he makes a seriously embarrassing noise. While she’s busy tugging her underwear and pants the rest of the way down and kicking one foot free, he thinks about chupacabras and other unsexy things. Then she hitches both legs around his waist and finally- finally- he pushes into her.
It’s over much too quickly despite the chupacabras, but he keeps her up against the door, pressing her hips back as he goes to his knees. He loops one of her thighs over his shoulder, and makes it up to her until he’s hard again. Then he brings her to the bed and they do things properly.
This is day one.
Of course, Dean doesn’t start counting at all till day three. The morning of day two, he’s too surprised that she’s still there. Partially because he’s half convinced himself that he hallucinated the last night’s tryst, and partially because even if he didn’t, a girl like Cassie should be long gone, should have started making up her excuses for what they did mere hours after they did it. But Cassie doesn’t seem to understand that he’s the type of guy you make excuses for. They spend most of day two in bed, which is when he decides he won’t look a gift horse in the mouth. On day three her continued presence is solidified when she actually calls his number and asks him over to her apartment. Making small talk with the roommates, he gets the idea he should be keeping track of how long this has been going on. The last longest relationship he’s had before was six days with a head cheerleader back in high school.
Days four through six with Cassie go much too quickly with laughter and sex and eating out at cheap joints that cater to students. While she’s in class, he researches the haunting while Dad interviews the locals. When she gets back to her dorm, they kiss like it’s been weeks since they parted rather than hours, fuck till they’re too tired to keep going, and lay in each-others arms until they’re up for another round. Dean admits sometime around day five that they’re spending a fair amount of time cuddling, and that he likes it. Not that he’d ever admit that to anyone, but it’s a nice thing to know.
Day seven, their one week anniversary, they have a blow-out fight over politics and Dean’s lack of them, and Dean’s sure they’re done. It’s terrible. He’s not used to wanting a girl he can’t have. Wanting a specific girl at all. He misses exploring Cassie’s body, having someone who knows his sweet spots. The memory of how she smells and all the ways he can make her say his name forms a hard knot in his throat. He breaks down and calls her, and the make-up sex is so good he almost wants to start another fight. Day eight, she does it for him (over Sammy this time, whom he mentions but won’t explain) and the apologies are just as good the second time around.
Day ten he finally cracks the case that brought them to Athens in the first place. Would have been quicker if he had put some real effort in, but Cassie is distracting. That night he and Dad burn the bones, and Cassie yells at him for almost three hours when he comes to her place all riled up on the adrenaline and smelling like smoke. Then they have sex, and then she patches up the cut over his eye and gives him some frozen peas for his ankle. It’s the tenderest care he’s had since Sam…well, just since Sam.
Day eleven, Dad wants to know why Dean keeps making excuses to stay. That night he thinks about leaving Cassie while they eat dinner. She asks him why he looks so down and he says “I love you,” and she kisses him and laughs and says, “That’s a good thing,” and “I love you, too.”
Day twelve, Dean knows he’s going to have to leave, tomorrow night at the latest. Day thirteen in the morning, he watches Cassie sleep. The way her nose twitches is familiar. The rhythm of her breathing is familiar. Dean never realized until this moment that he wants familiar. But he does, he wants it badly enough it makes him sick. He’s in bed with a hot, naked chick, and all he wants to do is watch her nose twitch. And that’s when it comes to him. He’s going to explain exactly what it is he does, Winchester rules be damned.
Dean grins to himself. It’s a stupidly easy solution. He’ll be gone a lot, sure, but Ohio’s close to the center of the country, within driving distance of plenty of hunts. Dad’ll let him take jobs nearby when Dean tells him why he needs it, maybe even let him do some work alone. He’ll swing by Cassie’s place whenever he can, for a few days every couple weeks at least. Cassie loves him, and she’ll wait for him. He presses soft kisses on her shoulder and neck as she stirs awake with a pleased little moan. For his part, he knows he’s never going to want an easy lay on the road again.
Day 14, what would have been the second full week of the longest relationship he’s ever had, Dean is alone in the Impala, following Dad to the next anonymous town, and he knows he’s never going to want anything but an easy lay on the road again.
Coda.