Questions (rp post for notpenelope)
There had been shock, at first. Surprise to the utmost edge of that.
Then there had been awkwardness. But that only lasted so long. It was Vegas, after all, and after the girls - the girls! - had cleared up that job they were there for... it was vacation. And they ended up treating it as such.
There was also awkwardness about sleeping arrangements, but that only lasted so long too. In the end, they paired up - by bed, not by room. Same room, all four. With mutually assured privacy.
It only took, however, three nights in this arrangement before Cassie found him in a moment of being alone - fiddling with the car, as a matter of fact - and asked.
"What's the deal with the nightmares?"
He did manage not to hit his head on the hood. Barely. "Hmm?"
"Don't Hmmm? me, Dean Winchester!" She took a breath, then softened her tone. "You both have them. Every night. There was nothing of the kind, before, and we both know it. So, what's going on?"
Dean wiped his hands clean, and closed the hood, then turned to lean against it, facing her. Though not quite looking up. "You sure you wanna know? Because I can tell you that you're not gonna like it."
"Hit me."
"Right. I was..." and he couldn't say it. Couldn't just blurt out like that that he'd been dead. And in hell. He didn't want her to have to deal with that too, not just yet, not ever, nobody should have to-- "Ugh. About a year and a half ago, things, our hunting gig, took a turn for the weird. As a result... I was... gone, for about four months." He pursed his lips, and looked away. "Left Sam alone. It wasn't pretty from his side of things. Where I was, wasn't pretty either. Then I got, uh, rescued. By new players altogether, who really clinched the goings-on as bizarre even for us. Not exactly shiny great, but... job's still the job."
He took a breath, and found his throat tight. Would that ... ever get less difficult to talk about? And this was garbled and imprecise and it was the best he could come up with on his own steam. And sounded idiotic.
And he couldn't bring himself to look up at her. Great, Dean. Can't tell her the full story, can't gloss things over enough for her to accept them. Great going.
Then there had been awkwardness. But that only lasted so long. It was Vegas, after all, and after the girls - the girls! - had cleared up that job they were there for... it was vacation. And they ended up treating it as such.
There was also awkwardness about sleeping arrangements, but that only lasted so long too. In the end, they paired up - by bed, not by room. Same room, all four. With mutually assured privacy.
It only took, however, three nights in this arrangement before Cassie found him in a moment of being alone - fiddling with the car, as a matter of fact - and asked.
"What's the deal with the nightmares?"
He did manage not to hit his head on the hood. Barely. "Hmm?"
"Don't Hmmm? me, Dean Winchester!" She took a breath, then softened her tone. "You both have them. Every night. There was nothing of the kind, before, and we both know it. So, what's going on?"
Dean wiped his hands clean, and closed the hood, then turned to lean against it, facing her. Though not quite looking up. "You sure you wanna know? Because I can tell you that you're not gonna like it."
"Hit me."
"Right. I was..." and he couldn't say it. Couldn't just blurt out like that that he'd been dead. And in hell. He didn't want her to have to deal with that too, not just yet, not ever, nobody should have to-- "Ugh. About a year and a half ago, things, our hunting gig, took a turn for the weird. As a result... I was... gone, for about four months." He pursed his lips, and looked away. "Left Sam alone. It wasn't pretty from his side of things. Where I was, wasn't pretty either. Then I got, uh, rescued. By new players altogether, who really clinched the goings-on as bizarre even for us. Not exactly shiny great, but... job's still the job."
He took a breath, and found his throat tight. Would that ... ever get less difficult to talk about? And this was garbled and imprecise and it was the best he could come up with on his own steam. And sounded idiotic.
And he couldn't bring himself to look up at her. Great, Dean. Can't tell her the full story, can't gloss things over enough for her to accept them. Great going.