SPN fic: Dreams in Color (Pre-series; Dean/OFC)
Title: Dreams in Color
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: R
Pairing/Characters: Dean/OFC
Disclaimer: Fun, not profit
Wordcount: c. 5500
Notes: Many thanks to the delightful parenthetical for betaing, and the fabulous sarahetc for Ameripicking. They're both wonderful.
Summary: Pre-series: takes place prior to 4.13 'After School Special' (no spoilers for any ep.)
The new school feels pretty much like the old one.
Dreams in Color
The new school feels pretty much like the old one.
Starting fresh in a new place is always a little weird, even if by this point Dean would probably find it weird if he didn't have to change schools at least twice a year. The last place - Freiburg, Ohio - was small and scruffy, with not enough kids to even make up a separate high school. Dean had done some token bitching about going to school with his little brother, but actually it was kind of cool. He'll miss being able to watch out for Sammy now they're back in separate schools, especially since Dad's taken to going on longer and longer solo hunting trips.
Not having Sam with him, bitching and fretting about having to make new friends all over again, makes Dean more self-conscious when he walks into school on the first day, feeling a little lost amidst the crowds of noisy, cheerful kids. He finds the front office and presents his transcripts, watching the secretary tut over how many schools he's been to, like always. First period is Algebra, which is okay - Dad's pretty hot on them having a good grasp of math, so it's one of the few classes Dean's actually kept up with. It helps that math is pretty much the same no matter what town they happen to be in - he's lost count of the number of books he's started in English class only to move on before they ever get to the end, but as long as he keeps on studying during the gaps when they're not in school at all, he usually finds he can pick up math more or less where he left off.
In the last school he was studying graphical drawing, but they don't offer that here, so second period he finds himself in shop class. That's fine with Dean - building things with his hands has always been one of his strong points - so he just settles down to the project they're supposed to be working on and keeps quiet. It pays to keep a low profile the first day or so, figuring out the different groups he might fit in with, and the right people to steer clear of. It's different for Sam, who can usually gravitate towards the right kind of people more or less immediately - the earnest AP types who sit around discussing chess moves or whatever. Dean has no trouble making friends, but he likes to take his time sizing people up before he gets too involved with them.
Dean doesn't notice the girl right away. He notices girls, no question about that: he spends most of sixth period English checking out the group of whispering, giggling chicks sitting two rows in front of him. It's another good reason for keeping his head down until he's got the lie of the land, because when you only stick in one place for a few months at a time, it pays to spend a little longer figuring out what makes the hottest girls tick. Not that Dean's had that much success so far - until recently he had way too many other things to worry about to bother with girls. That's changed - hell, has it changed - but he's still getting the hang of the whole boy-girl thing.
Anyway, it takes him a while to notice this girl, because she doesn't hang out with any of the others, and she's not fancied up like a good proportion of them, either. Dean thinks maybe she was absent his first week, because he definitely notices when he walks into shop class the second week and finds her bending over the workbench. She's struggling with the saw, trying to cut a tongue and groove so the two parts of her bookend fit together, and the angle is pushing her breasts up high and tight against the thin fabric of her grotty t-shirt.
Dean's mouth goes dry at the sight, and he has to swallow a couple of times before he can saunter over to talk to her. "Need some help with that?"
She looks up and regards him coolly. "No, thanks."
"Oh." Dean's not really sure what to say now she's shot down that opening. "Okay then."
She doesn't spare him a second glance, just goes back to what she was doing, shifting her grip a little on the saw to get the angle right. Dean watches her work, the way she saws smooth and steady, staying with the grain of the wood. Her t-shirt has 'Red Hot Chili Peppers' scribbled across it in magic marker; Dean guesses it's probably a band, although not one he's ever heard of.
"Can I help you with something?" The girl sets the saw down on the bench and turns to him, not exactly friendly.
"I'm, uh, Dean." He sticks his hand out in greeting, feeling like a ginormous dork. Maybe his technique with girls isn't exactly foolproof, but he's used to getting a bit more attention than this. Normally it's the girls who are the most interested in strangers, grilling Dean about where he's from and how come he's moved and all the rest, while the boys just shrug and include him in their baseball conversations, or not.
"Mel," she tells him, wiping her hand on the seat of her pants before she offers it to him.
"I just started here," Dean tells her, once it's clear she's not going to help him along any.
"Yeah." Mel picks up the piece of wood she just sawed and slots it into its partner piece. It fits almost perfectly, Dean notices, impressed in spite of himself. She raises one eyebrow and he gives her what he hopes is a confident grin, turns on his heel like he's seen guys in bars do.
He heads back to his own bench, where the pieces of his bookshelf are only just measured out. Not that they have much use for bookshelves, but he guesses that Sammy will like to have one while they stay here, if they stay long enough for Dean to finish it. Dean's always amazed by the number of books the kid manages to accumulate. They hardly ever spend money on things like that, use the library for school books when they can, but every time they move on Sam has a pile of cheap, second-hand paperbacks to pick over, deciding which to discard and which to add to his meager allowance of space in the trunk. If Dad gives Dean the Impala, like he's half-hinted he will, Dean's willing to bet that Sam will lobby hard to fill the extra space with shit like that: books and keepsakes. Dad will lobby just as hard (and more successfully, since he gets the final say) to increase their weapons cache. Dean's not too bothered either way: the only thing he really accumulates, apart from clothes (which none of them ever have all that many of) is tapes. The best thing about getting his own car is the fact the glove-box will be indisputably his, to fill with the music he'll get to pick out.
Dean grins to himself and hums a little under his breath. Stairway to Heaven, because he's feeling kind of cheesy. Three bars in, Mel starts to hum along.
Dean asks around, and the general consensus is that Mel's sort of weird. "But kinda cool," more than one person adds grudgingly. She has a job after school, mostly seems to keep herself to herself, and more than once she's missing from class when he looks for her.
It's not that long before Dean has a group of friends of his own, or acquaintances, at least. There's a loose assortment of kids who hang out and shoot the shit, including a few girls who are suitably intrigued by the idea of Dean's exotic life outside of their small town, without asking enough questions to be difficult. He kisses a couple of them, even gets his hand up Alyssa Morgan's shirt at her birthday party. She gets skittish after that, though, and Dean figures his status as an outsider is a bit of a mixed blessing. Girls aren't sure what category to put him into - whether he's a dangerous bad boy, or someone who'll want to go steady - and the uncertainty makes them nervous. It probably doesn't help that he's a little uncertain himself: he's fifteen years old and pretty damn interested in whatever the hell he can get, but he thinks it might be kind of nice to have an actual girlfriend.
He's not sure why he keeps up his interest in Mel amidst all the other things he's got going on, except maybe that her lack of interest makes her more of a challenge. There's a guy in his math class who listens to the Chili Peppers, and Dean cadges copies of a couple of albums from him. He likes the music okay - one is noisy and chaotic, the other one kind of funky - although neither one is a patch on Led Zep or Metallica, in his opinion. It makes him like Mel more to know that she's not into the swoony, slushy stuff most of the girls seem to like, but it doesn't help him to talk to her.
Dad pulls Dean out of school for a couple of days to help him on a hunt, and Dean loses some more time after the swamp thing they're after catches Dad full across the shoulders with some kind of poisonous tentacle. It leaves him in too much pain to drive the car, and when they get back he limps shivering to his bed. Dean makes sure that Sammy gets to school - he's big enough now to walk in alone, thank god - and then hovers anxiously around the apartment, checking on Dad's fever every couple of hours. It's not really a big deal - Dad's had a lot worse in the past - but when Dean gets back to school he realizes he's forgotten all about the big book report they were supposed to be doing for English. He's tired and a little slow, so he stumbles over his excuse and the teacher decides that he just wasn't interested enough to do it (which, okay, that's probably not entirely unfair). As a result, he winds up staying after school to write the damn thing.
When Dean walks into study hall, Mel's there, hunched over in her seat. She's working on the same report he forgot to do.
"Shop class more your style than English?" He can't resist needling her a little, because she really has blown him off every time he's tried to speak to her, for no good reason that Dean can see.
"Not exactly," she says, without looking up. Her voice is tired, and when Dean takes a closer look he recognizes her hunched, dogged posture as the same one he catches himself adopting after one too many nights worrying over Dad or Sammy.
"My dad was sick," he offers impulsively. "Well, I kind of suck at English anyway, but my dad got sick and that's why I didn't write the report."
Mel puts her pen down and looks at him. "You tell Ms. Harbron that?"
"Nah." Dean doesn't elaborate. He guesses anyone could have stayed home a couple of days to look after a sick parent, but in his experience telling teachers stuff like that raises more questions in their minds than it lays to rest, and Winchesters don't want any of the help they have to give.
"I was working," Mel tells him. "I can't afford to turn down extra shifts when they get offered. I aced English class all last year."
"Sorry," Dean says uncomfortably.
She shrugs. "Sorry your dad was sick."
Dean pulls out his books and they both get on with their papers, but the silence feels companionable, not hostile. When the teacher tells them they can go, Mel asks, "Want to get a coke?"
Dean opens his mouth to say yes, then remembers Sammy, almost certainly sitting at home worrying right now. "I can't," he tells Mel. "But maybe Saturday?"
"I work Saturdays." Mel doesn't look upset that he turned her down.
"Sunday, then," Dean says. "Unless you go to church?"
Mel gives a short, unexpected laugh. "No church."
Dean grins back at her. "See you Sunday."
Surprise, surprise, Dad takes off again on Sunday morning, loading the car up with weapons even though he still can't stretch his arms above his head without wincing.
Dean hopes maybe Sammy will have plans with his own friends, but when he asks, Sam looks sulky and says "I thought we were going to hang out." Dean's so, so tempted to just take off and leave Sam on his own for a couple of hours - the kid's almost twelve, for Chrissake, plenty old enough to be home alone - but when he looks at Sam he just can't do it. Dad would probably kill him, anyway.
"You're lucky I'm such an awesome big brother," he tells Sam as they head into the diner where all the kids hang out. He buys them both a chocolate shake and nods towards the gaggle of middle-school kids in the corner. "You gonna go hang out?"
"Would rather hang out with you," Sam mumbles. His tone's rebellious, but Dean can see the way his eyes widen a little, nervous that Dean's going to make him go over there. Dean knows that Sam does have friends at his new school - he's stayed after school with study buddies, even eaten at kids' houses a few times - but evidently these guys aren't among them.
Dean sighs. This isn't a date, anyway, he tells himself. He and Mel are just hanging out. "Okay, then. But don't be a brat."
"Jerk," Sam mutters, but the tension in his shoulders eases. He pulls out a book from his bag and settles into the booth next to Dean, taking slow sips of his milkshake while he loses himself in A Wizard of something or other.
Dean almost doesn't recognize Mel when she comes in, because she's wearing a tight black top and skinny black jeans - not dressed up, exactly, but a hell of a lot more dressed up than she ever is at school. The top's low cut, disappearing in a smooth line under her jeans, and Dean has to shift a little in his seat and concentrate really hard on not popping a boner. He knew Mel was good looking, but now she looks really, really hot.
Mel laughs at the look on his face. "What? You thought my school clothes were the only things I ever wear?"
Dean swallows. "You look good."
"That's the idea." Mel sees Sam sitting next to him and her eyebrow lifts.
"This is my brother," Dean explains. "Sammy, this is Mel."
"Hey kid," Mel says.
Sam looks up from his book and smiles nervously. Usually he would have bridled at being addressed as 'kid', but Dean's noticed recently that Sam's started to become aware that there are boys and girls in the world, and he can tell the effect of Mel's low-cut top isn't lost on his little brother.
"My brother's in your class," Mel tells Sam. "He says you're okay. You can come over sometime with Dean, if you like."
"Thanks," Dean says. He means it, too, because the chances of him ditching Sammy on a regular basis are pretty slim, and the way Mel delivers the invitation makes it pretty clear that he will be going over to her place.
"No biggie." Mel slides into the seat opposite him. "I'll have a chocolate shake."
Dean gets up to go to the counter - it's busy, and the waitress hasn't got a lot of time to spare for kids who come in wanting nothing more than a couple of drinks. When he gets back to the booth, Mel's talking with Sam about the book he's reading.
"I like the idea of the names," she tells him. "Keeping your real name a secret. Because it's true, don't you think? It does give you power over someone, knowing their name."
Dean knows it's truer than she even realizes - they've hunted more than one thing that was vulnerable to exactly that. And Dad's worked plenty of jobs under a false name. "Keeping your name secret gives you power, too," he points out. "Because then you know something other people don't."
Mel looks thoughtful. "Yeah. I like that."
Just like that, Dean finds himself relaxing, falling into conversation with Mel like they've known each other their entire lives. He guesses that once she's decided she likes someone, that's it.
When he says that to her she laughs and says, "It doesn't happen very often."
She's teasing him, Dean knows, but he can tell she means it, too. Which makes him feel pretty good, he thinks.
Mel lives out on the other side of town from them, but her house isn't that different - two stories instead of one, but otherwise the same kind of scruffy little place, paint peeling off the weathered wood of the porch.
"I could repaint that for you," Dean offers.
Mel gives him a funny look. "You could repaint your own."
"We probably won't be here long enough for it to matter," he explains. "Dad doesn't like to settle in one place for too long."
"Oh." Mel leaves it at that, but she still doesn't want the porch repainted. If they could have spared the money for paint, Dean realizes, she probably would have done it herself.
Mel leads the way into the house and dumps her bag of groceries on the kitchen counter. "You want some OJ?"
"Rather have a beer," Dean jokes, but he accepts the glass of juice.
Mel's brother Ben digs out a box of cookies from the grocery bag and takes a handful, ignoring Mel's complaints about dinner, and he and Sam thunder off upstairs. Mel finishes putting the shopping away and leads the way through into the den. It's as dingy as the outside of the house - battered old furniture like the stuff you get from Goodwill - and about as clean as Dean keeps their place. It looks homey, though.
"We're home, Mom," Mel says, and Dean registers the figure curled on the couch: a small, frail woman with the same high cheekbones as Mel, but none of her liveliness. "This is my friend Dean."
"That's nice, honey," Mel's mom says, regarding Dean with dull, incurious eyes.
"We'll be upstairs if you want me," Mel says.
Her mom just nods and smiles vaguely. Mel squeezes her shoulder briefly and heads on up the stairs.
Dean follows her into her room. "Is your mom -" He hesitates, not sure what it is he wants to ask.
"She's fine," Mel snaps, eyes daring Dean to challenge her.
He nods and looks away, picks up one of the tapes lined up along the dresser. "Mine died when Sammy was a baby."
"Sorry." Mel sounds genuine, not like she's just embarrassed. She leans over and picks the tape out of Dean's hand. "So, have you ever heard Pearl Jam?"
They get into a routine, hanging out at Mel's place whenever she's not working and Dad's not around. When Dad is home, which isn't that often, he wants Dean and Sam drilling hard or working on their Latin. He's jumpier than usual, and Dean can tell he thinks he's on the trail of something big. Occasionally he takes them with him on a hunt, debriefing them afterwards and critiquing Dean's stealth and alertness.
Mel never questions their absences. The first time Dean has to go on a hunt, he tells her his dad needs help with a job, and she just nods and says, "See you when you get back, then."
The second time, she asks, "Does your dad need Sam's help, too?" Dean doesn't know what to say, afraid she's about to start asking questions he won't have good answers for, but she goes on, "Because if you can spare him, Ben's been on at me for ages about having a friend to stay."
"Thanks," Dean says. "Sam would like that." It's the truth, and Dean's grateful too - Dad doesn't let Sam actually help with hunts, and there's no one nearby who can take him off their hands for the night, so when Dean goes along Sam gets stuck sitting in a cold car for the entire night, drowsing and worrying about what's going on without him.
After that, Sam stays over with Ben a lot, even when Dean's at home. Sometimes Dean stays too, although Mel makes him sleep on the floor.
Her mom doesn't seem to mind what any of them do.
Despite the sleeping on the floor, Mel is definitely just as interested in Dean as he is in her. She waits for him after class and kisses him hot and urgent, hands fisted in the front of his shirt. Dean's had plenty of kisses, but they've mostly been tentative and a little ambivalent, cut short just as they start to get really good. Mel kisses like she wants Dean.
The kisses they share when they're alone are even more intense. They lie on Mel's bed or on the patch of dusty grass behind the gym, bodies pressed up tight together so Dean can feel the softness of her breasts against his chest, and the tantalizing press of her pelvic bone against his aching cock.
When things do progress to something more, it's Mel who instigates it, pushing up Dean's shirt to kiss frantically across his chest. Her mouth closes on one of his nipples, teeth grazing a little bit as her tongue swirls over the nub, sending shocks through his whole body. Dean works one hand up under her shirt in return, fumbling with her bra strap until she takes pity on him and sits back, deftly unhooking it so her breasts hang free. Dean cups her right breast, his cock giving a little jump in his pants at the warm, heavy feel of it in his palm. He rubs his thumb across her nipple, hardly breathing. Then the door slams back and Sam and Ben burst into the room, demanding to know whether they'll be allowed to go swimming on Saturday.
Dean snatches his hand away from Mel like it's been burnt, and they both spring apart, trying to pretend it's completely normal for them to be lying on her bed with their shirts half off. Dean doesn't even dare to glance at Mel while she argues the pros and cons with the kids, but when the door finally closes behind them he finds that she's managed to rearrange her bra well enough you could almost be fooled into believing it was fastened, at least if you weren't looking too closely. Which Sam probably was, the little perv.
Afterwards, Sam asks wide-eyed, "Were you and Mel having sex?"
"No!" Dean yelps, feeling his face flush bright red. He takes a deep breath and tries to assume a knowing tone. "When you're my age, Sammy, you'll realize there's a lot more to women than that. You have to take things slow."
"So you're still a virgin, then," Sam says, unimpressed. "I told Ben."
Thankfully, the Smurfs starts on TV and Sam settles down to watch, losing interest in Dean's sex life.
The next time that Dean and Sam stay over, Mel lets Dean sleep in her bed. They don't sleep naked - Mel sends Dean into the bathroom to strip down to his boxers and t-shirt, and when he returns she's wearing an oversized t-shirt of her own and a raggedy pair of sweatpants - but that doesn't change the fact that Dean's squashed up next to her in her narrow single bed.
They're both oddly reserved, lying unnaturally still next to each other. Dean's achingly aware of her body under her flimsy shirt, her breasts softer and rounder without a bra, and whenever one of them shifts a little her hand brushes against his naked leg, perilously close to the erection he's trying to ignore. After the fourth time, Mel laughs a little and plants her hand boldly on his thigh, giving it a little squeeze before she leaves it there.
They lie there for hours just talking; arguing over everything from whether Flea's a better bassist than John Paul Jones (Dean doesn't think that's even a question) to the perfect way to make a grilled cheese sandwich. Finally the whole neighbourhood's quiet, only the faint sound of cartoons drifting up from the den disturbing the peace. Dean knows that Sam and Ben will both be sprawled out in front of the TV, passed out on top of their sleeping bags because they're both too stubborn ever to admit they're tired.
"Dean," Mel says.
He turns to look at her. "Yeah?"
She doesn't say anything else, just kisses him, soft press of lips giving way to deep, wet making out.
Dean pulls off her t-shirt, then his own, pressing her close so he can feel the softness of her naked breasts against his chest. Their hands are everywhere, stroking bare skin while they kiss and kiss, rubbing up against each other. Dean ruts up against Mel's hip, his dick hard and urgent. When she slides her hand between them and under the waistband of his shorts, he can hardly choke back his shout.
Mel's fingers are awkward at first, too gentle and not quite at the right angle as they wrap around his dick, but it doesn't matter. It still feels unbelievably hot.
He scrabbles at the waist of her pants, working his way down to feel between her legs. It's all wet heat down there, soft and yielding when he tentatively crooks a finger, and Dean feels her hand tighten around him in response. It's barely a moment before he loses it, shooting helplessly into his shorts.
Mel holds on, crushing her lips against his to swallow his cries. When he finishes, she pulls her hand away and wipes it against his shorts. "Gross," she tells him.
"Sorry," Dean says. It is pretty gross: cooling jizz splattered across the inside of his shorts, but he's too boneless and dazed to care. He's jerked off a thousand times, come in his pants more than once when they've been making out, but none of those times have ever felt anywhere near as good as this.
"It's okay," Mel tells him. "It felt kind of cool."
Dean realizes something. "Sorry you didn't get to - you know."
Mel laughs at the look of consternation on his face. "Dean Winchester, sex god." He blushes, and she kisses him. "Next time, you'd better make the first move."
He changes into a clean pair of shorts before they fall asleep, turning away a little rather than bothering to go into the other room. When he turns back, Mel's eyes are on him.
"You're so... you're sexy, Dean," she tells him.
Dean grins and wiggles his hips a little before he climbs back into bed, feeling warm and happy. She turns to face the wall and he curls in behind her, hand resting on her belly. He kisses the back of her neck, breathing in her sweaty-sweet smell.
"Love you, Mel," he whispers, and she squeezes his hand in response, shifting closer into his embrace.
"You need to buy condoms," Mel informs Dean, right in the middle of a game of pool.
He misses his shot, almost scratching the baize with the end of his cue. "Okay."
"By Saturday." Mel takes the cue from his hand and pots three balls, one after another.
"Okay," Dean says again, not even trying to hide the grin on his face. They've done a lot of making out, but this is different: this is the real thing. Dean's actually going to lose his virginity, and he feels awesome.
He feels a little less awesome when he's struggling with the condom, trying to concentrate on sliding it down over his dick when his entire body's singing out "Gonna get laid! Gonna get laid!" He's belatedly realizing that it probably would have been a good idea to practice this part beforehand.
"You're a dumbass," Mel tells him. She tosses the ruined condom in the bin and opens a fresh one, her tongue protruding a little through her teeth as she eases it out of the foil. Dean focuses desperately on that, and on the way she goes a little cross-eyed in concentration, instead of on the maddening squeeze and stroke of her fingers as she rolls the rubber down his dick.
Dean takes his time kissing and touching her, even though he's going half-crazy thinking about how it's going to feel when he's actually inside her, and it pays off, because she's wet and open when he finally presses in. She's so unbelievably hot and tight, and Dean can't stop his hips from thrusting forward, hard and deep. Mel lets out a little ah of pain and clutches at his shoulders, fingers digging in, and he forces himself to stop.
"Mel?" he asks, voice shaking.
She takes a deep breath. "Go on."
Dean thrusts again, as careful as he can, and she shifts position a little bit. "Yeah. Yeah, that's it."
Her arms come up to pull him closer, and they're actually doing it, they're having sex. Dean can't slow down any more, never mind stop, because he's thrusting and thrusting inside her, surrounded by hot smooth tightness, and it's the most amazing thing he's ever felt. It lasts maybe a minute, and Dean's frankly amazed that he makes it even that long.
Mel doesn't come, but she doesn't seem to mind, just lies back with a pleased smile on her face while he pulls out carefully and ties the condom off. "I love you, Dean," she tells him when he comes back to the bed.
Dean would be lying if he said that was the best part of the whole thing, but it does rate pretty near the top.
They get better after the first couple of times - a whole lot better - and eventually Dean gets the hang of holding off until she's come, reaching down between their bodies to touch her clit and help things along. He gets more creative as he grows in confidence, fascinated and pleased by the way he can make Mel sign and moan. He's always been good with his hands.
Summer starts, and Dad keeps on with his solo hunting trips, leaving Dean to keep an eye on Sam. It's an easy job: Sam's happy, hanging out with Ben and the other friends he's made at school, and bugging Dean a lot less than he used to. Between watching out for him and picking up a few shifts at the local mechanic's, Dean spends all his time with Mel, which is awesome. They're settled - content - and it's easy to feel like things are never going to change.
It's pretty much the cherry on the cake when Dad comes home and says, "Come to the car dealership with me."
He's been planning to get another vehicle for a while now - ever since Dean turned fifteen and got his license for real. They drive out to the second-hand dealer, and Dad picks out a solid Sierra Grande, plenty of room for weapons and a lot more besides.
"You better take good care of the car," he tells Dean.
"Yes, sir," Dean promises. He can hardly wait to get home and polish her up, maybe drive over to Mel's. She's seen the Impala plenty of times before, but never when it was his.
"Start packing tonight," Dad says, and it all comes crashing down. "We head out on Friday."
"Just for a hunt, right?" Dean already knows the answer. The car is Dad's apology to him, because for the first time ever Dean is going to mind more than Sam about moving on.
"We've been here a long while," Dad says. "I've got a good lead out in Oregon." His eyes are sorry, and when Dean turns and storms off, he doesn't shout after him.
When Dean tells Mel, her eyes fill with tears, but she doesn't argue. She just gives one sharp, hurt nod. "You said you don't ever stay in one place for long."
It's worse for her, Dean knows, because when he's gone she'll still be here, taking care of her mom and working in the grocery store. There's no way of apologizing for that.
They make love the night before Dean leaves. After, he stays awake the whole night, holding on to her.
He gets up when the sun rises and creeps out of the house without saying goodbye.
The new school feels pretty much like the old one.
Dean makes a beeline for the cheerleaders and spends the whole afternoon talking to the dumbest, hottest one. She bores him to tears, but she laughs at his jokes and kisses him after school, and Dean figures that'll do.
He'll be moving on again soon.
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: R
Pairing/Characters: Dean/OFC
Disclaimer: Fun, not profit
Wordcount: c. 5500
Notes: Many thanks to the delightful parenthetical for betaing, and the fabulous sarahetc for Ameripicking. They're both wonderful.
Summary: Pre-series: takes place prior to 4.13 'After School Special' (no spoilers for any ep.)
The new school feels pretty much like the old one.
Dreams in Color
The new school feels pretty much like the old one.
Starting fresh in a new place is always a little weird, even if by this point Dean would probably find it weird if he didn't have to change schools at least twice a year. The last place - Freiburg, Ohio - was small and scruffy, with not enough kids to even make up a separate high school. Dean had done some token bitching about going to school with his little brother, but actually it was kind of cool. He'll miss being able to watch out for Sammy now they're back in separate schools, especially since Dad's taken to going on longer and longer solo hunting trips.
Not having Sam with him, bitching and fretting about having to make new friends all over again, makes Dean more self-conscious when he walks into school on the first day, feeling a little lost amidst the crowds of noisy, cheerful kids. He finds the front office and presents his transcripts, watching the secretary tut over how many schools he's been to, like always. First period is Algebra, which is okay - Dad's pretty hot on them having a good grasp of math, so it's one of the few classes Dean's actually kept up with. It helps that math is pretty much the same no matter what town they happen to be in - he's lost count of the number of books he's started in English class only to move on before they ever get to the end, but as long as he keeps on studying during the gaps when they're not in school at all, he usually finds he can pick up math more or less where he left off.
In the last school he was studying graphical drawing, but they don't offer that here, so second period he finds himself in shop class. That's fine with Dean - building things with his hands has always been one of his strong points - so he just settles down to the project they're supposed to be working on and keeps quiet. It pays to keep a low profile the first day or so, figuring out the different groups he might fit in with, and the right people to steer clear of. It's different for Sam, who can usually gravitate towards the right kind of people more or less immediately - the earnest AP types who sit around discussing chess moves or whatever. Dean has no trouble making friends, but he likes to take his time sizing people up before he gets too involved with them.
Dean doesn't notice the girl right away. He notices girls, no question about that: he spends most of sixth period English checking out the group of whispering, giggling chicks sitting two rows in front of him. It's another good reason for keeping his head down until he's got the lie of the land, because when you only stick in one place for a few months at a time, it pays to spend a little longer figuring out what makes the hottest girls tick. Not that Dean's had that much success so far - until recently he had way too many other things to worry about to bother with girls. That's changed - hell, has it changed - but he's still getting the hang of the whole boy-girl thing.
Anyway, it takes him a while to notice this girl, because she doesn't hang out with any of the others, and she's not fancied up like a good proportion of them, either. Dean thinks maybe she was absent his first week, because he definitely notices when he walks into shop class the second week and finds her bending over the workbench. She's struggling with the saw, trying to cut a tongue and groove so the two parts of her bookend fit together, and the angle is pushing her breasts up high and tight against the thin fabric of her grotty t-shirt.
Dean's mouth goes dry at the sight, and he has to swallow a couple of times before he can saunter over to talk to her. "Need some help with that?"
She looks up and regards him coolly. "No, thanks."
"Oh." Dean's not really sure what to say now she's shot down that opening. "Okay then."
She doesn't spare him a second glance, just goes back to what she was doing, shifting her grip a little on the saw to get the angle right. Dean watches her work, the way she saws smooth and steady, staying with the grain of the wood. Her t-shirt has 'Red Hot Chili Peppers' scribbled across it in magic marker; Dean guesses it's probably a band, although not one he's ever heard of.
"Can I help you with something?" The girl sets the saw down on the bench and turns to him, not exactly friendly.
"I'm, uh, Dean." He sticks his hand out in greeting, feeling like a ginormous dork. Maybe his technique with girls isn't exactly foolproof, but he's used to getting a bit more attention than this. Normally it's the girls who are the most interested in strangers, grilling Dean about where he's from and how come he's moved and all the rest, while the boys just shrug and include him in their baseball conversations, or not.
"Mel," she tells him, wiping her hand on the seat of her pants before she offers it to him.
"I just started here," Dean tells her, once it's clear she's not going to help him along any.
"Yeah." Mel picks up the piece of wood she just sawed and slots it into its partner piece. It fits almost perfectly, Dean notices, impressed in spite of himself. She raises one eyebrow and he gives her what he hopes is a confident grin, turns on his heel like he's seen guys in bars do.
He heads back to his own bench, where the pieces of his bookshelf are only just measured out. Not that they have much use for bookshelves, but he guesses that Sammy will like to have one while they stay here, if they stay long enough for Dean to finish it. Dean's always amazed by the number of books the kid manages to accumulate. They hardly ever spend money on things like that, use the library for school books when they can, but every time they move on Sam has a pile of cheap, second-hand paperbacks to pick over, deciding which to discard and which to add to his meager allowance of space in the trunk. If Dad gives Dean the Impala, like he's half-hinted he will, Dean's willing to bet that Sam will lobby hard to fill the extra space with shit like that: books and keepsakes. Dad will lobby just as hard (and more successfully, since he gets the final say) to increase their weapons cache. Dean's not too bothered either way: the only thing he really accumulates, apart from clothes (which none of them ever have all that many of) is tapes. The best thing about getting his own car is the fact the glove-box will be indisputably his, to fill with the music he'll get to pick out.
Dean grins to himself and hums a little under his breath. Stairway to Heaven, because he's feeling kind of cheesy. Three bars in, Mel starts to hum along.
Dean asks around, and the general consensus is that Mel's sort of weird. "But kinda cool," more than one person adds grudgingly. She has a job after school, mostly seems to keep herself to herself, and more than once she's missing from class when he looks for her.
It's not that long before Dean has a group of friends of his own, or acquaintances, at least. There's a loose assortment of kids who hang out and shoot the shit, including a few girls who are suitably intrigued by the idea of Dean's exotic life outside of their small town, without asking enough questions to be difficult. He kisses a couple of them, even gets his hand up Alyssa Morgan's shirt at her birthday party. She gets skittish after that, though, and Dean figures his status as an outsider is a bit of a mixed blessing. Girls aren't sure what category to put him into - whether he's a dangerous bad boy, or someone who'll want to go steady - and the uncertainty makes them nervous. It probably doesn't help that he's a little uncertain himself: he's fifteen years old and pretty damn interested in whatever the hell he can get, but he thinks it might be kind of nice to have an actual girlfriend.
He's not sure why he keeps up his interest in Mel amidst all the other things he's got going on, except maybe that her lack of interest makes her more of a challenge. There's a guy in his math class who listens to the Chili Peppers, and Dean cadges copies of a couple of albums from him. He likes the music okay - one is noisy and chaotic, the other one kind of funky - although neither one is a patch on Led Zep or Metallica, in his opinion. It makes him like Mel more to know that she's not into the swoony, slushy stuff most of the girls seem to like, but it doesn't help him to talk to her.
Dad pulls Dean out of school for a couple of days to help him on a hunt, and Dean loses some more time after the swamp thing they're after catches Dad full across the shoulders with some kind of poisonous tentacle. It leaves him in too much pain to drive the car, and when they get back he limps shivering to his bed. Dean makes sure that Sammy gets to school - he's big enough now to walk in alone, thank god - and then hovers anxiously around the apartment, checking on Dad's fever every couple of hours. It's not really a big deal - Dad's had a lot worse in the past - but when Dean gets back to school he realizes he's forgotten all about the big book report they were supposed to be doing for English. He's tired and a little slow, so he stumbles over his excuse and the teacher decides that he just wasn't interested enough to do it (which, okay, that's probably not entirely unfair). As a result, he winds up staying after school to write the damn thing.
When Dean walks into study hall, Mel's there, hunched over in her seat. She's working on the same report he forgot to do.
"Shop class more your style than English?" He can't resist needling her a little, because she really has blown him off every time he's tried to speak to her, for no good reason that Dean can see.
"Not exactly," she says, without looking up. Her voice is tired, and when Dean takes a closer look he recognizes her hunched, dogged posture as the same one he catches himself adopting after one too many nights worrying over Dad or Sammy.
"My dad was sick," he offers impulsively. "Well, I kind of suck at English anyway, but my dad got sick and that's why I didn't write the report."
Mel puts her pen down and looks at him. "You tell Ms. Harbron that?"
"Nah." Dean doesn't elaborate. He guesses anyone could have stayed home a couple of days to look after a sick parent, but in his experience telling teachers stuff like that raises more questions in their minds than it lays to rest, and Winchesters don't want any of the help they have to give.
"I was working," Mel tells him. "I can't afford to turn down extra shifts when they get offered. I aced English class all last year."
"Sorry," Dean says uncomfortably.
She shrugs. "Sorry your dad was sick."
Dean pulls out his books and they both get on with their papers, but the silence feels companionable, not hostile. When the teacher tells them they can go, Mel asks, "Want to get a coke?"
Dean opens his mouth to say yes, then remembers Sammy, almost certainly sitting at home worrying right now. "I can't," he tells Mel. "But maybe Saturday?"
"I work Saturdays." Mel doesn't look upset that he turned her down.
"Sunday, then," Dean says. "Unless you go to church?"
Mel gives a short, unexpected laugh. "No church."
Dean grins back at her. "See you Sunday."
Surprise, surprise, Dad takes off again on Sunday morning, loading the car up with weapons even though he still can't stretch his arms above his head without wincing.
Dean hopes maybe Sammy will have plans with his own friends, but when he asks, Sam looks sulky and says "I thought we were going to hang out." Dean's so, so tempted to just take off and leave Sam on his own for a couple of hours - the kid's almost twelve, for Chrissake, plenty old enough to be home alone - but when he looks at Sam he just can't do it. Dad would probably kill him, anyway.
"You're lucky I'm such an awesome big brother," he tells Sam as they head into the diner where all the kids hang out. He buys them both a chocolate shake and nods towards the gaggle of middle-school kids in the corner. "You gonna go hang out?"
"Would rather hang out with you," Sam mumbles. His tone's rebellious, but Dean can see the way his eyes widen a little, nervous that Dean's going to make him go over there. Dean knows that Sam does have friends at his new school - he's stayed after school with study buddies, even eaten at kids' houses a few times - but evidently these guys aren't among them.
Dean sighs. This isn't a date, anyway, he tells himself. He and Mel are just hanging out. "Okay, then. But don't be a brat."
"Jerk," Sam mutters, but the tension in his shoulders eases. He pulls out a book from his bag and settles into the booth next to Dean, taking slow sips of his milkshake while he loses himself in A Wizard of something or other.
Dean almost doesn't recognize Mel when she comes in, because she's wearing a tight black top and skinny black jeans - not dressed up, exactly, but a hell of a lot more dressed up than she ever is at school. The top's low cut, disappearing in a smooth line under her jeans, and Dean has to shift a little in his seat and concentrate really hard on not popping a boner. He knew Mel was good looking, but now she looks really, really hot.
Mel laughs at the look on his face. "What? You thought my school clothes were the only things I ever wear?"
Dean swallows. "You look good."
"That's the idea." Mel sees Sam sitting next to him and her eyebrow lifts.
"This is my brother," Dean explains. "Sammy, this is Mel."
"Hey kid," Mel says.
Sam looks up from his book and smiles nervously. Usually he would have bridled at being addressed as 'kid', but Dean's noticed recently that Sam's started to become aware that there are boys and girls in the world, and he can tell the effect of Mel's low-cut top isn't lost on his little brother.
"My brother's in your class," Mel tells Sam. "He says you're okay. You can come over sometime with Dean, if you like."
"Thanks," Dean says. He means it, too, because the chances of him ditching Sammy on a regular basis are pretty slim, and the way Mel delivers the invitation makes it pretty clear that he will be going over to her place.
"No biggie." Mel slides into the seat opposite him. "I'll have a chocolate shake."
Dean gets up to go to the counter - it's busy, and the waitress hasn't got a lot of time to spare for kids who come in wanting nothing more than a couple of drinks. When he gets back to the booth, Mel's talking with Sam about the book he's reading.
"I like the idea of the names," she tells him. "Keeping your real name a secret. Because it's true, don't you think? It does give you power over someone, knowing their name."
Dean knows it's truer than she even realizes - they've hunted more than one thing that was vulnerable to exactly that. And Dad's worked plenty of jobs under a false name. "Keeping your name secret gives you power, too," he points out. "Because then you know something other people don't."
Mel looks thoughtful. "Yeah. I like that."
Just like that, Dean finds himself relaxing, falling into conversation with Mel like they've known each other their entire lives. He guesses that once she's decided she likes someone, that's it.
When he says that to her she laughs and says, "It doesn't happen very often."
She's teasing him, Dean knows, but he can tell she means it, too. Which makes him feel pretty good, he thinks.
Mel lives out on the other side of town from them, but her house isn't that different - two stories instead of one, but otherwise the same kind of scruffy little place, paint peeling off the weathered wood of the porch.
"I could repaint that for you," Dean offers.
Mel gives him a funny look. "You could repaint your own."
"We probably won't be here long enough for it to matter," he explains. "Dad doesn't like to settle in one place for too long."
"Oh." Mel leaves it at that, but she still doesn't want the porch repainted. If they could have spared the money for paint, Dean realizes, she probably would have done it herself.
Mel leads the way into the house and dumps her bag of groceries on the kitchen counter. "You want some OJ?"
"Rather have a beer," Dean jokes, but he accepts the glass of juice.
Mel's brother Ben digs out a box of cookies from the grocery bag and takes a handful, ignoring Mel's complaints about dinner, and he and Sam thunder off upstairs. Mel finishes putting the shopping away and leads the way through into the den. It's as dingy as the outside of the house - battered old furniture like the stuff you get from Goodwill - and about as clean as Dean keeps their place. It looks homey, though.
"We're home, Mom," Mel says, and Dean registers the figure curled on the couch: a small, frail woman with the same high cheekbones as Mel, but none of her liveliness. "This is my friend Dean."
"That's nice, honey," Mel's mom says, regarding Dean with dull, incurious eyes.
"We'll be upstairs if you want me," Mel says.
Her mom just nods and smiles vaguely. Mel squeezes her shoulder briefly and heads on up the stairs.
Dean follows her into her room. "Is your mom -" He hesitates, not sure what it is he wants to ask.
"She's fine," Mel snaps, eyes daring Dean to challenge her.
He nods and looks away, picks up one of the tapes lined up along the dresser. "Mine died when Sammy was a baby."
"Sorry." Mel sounds genuine, not like she's just embarrassed. She leans over and picks the tape out of Dean's hand. "So, have you ever heard Pearl Jam?"
They get into a routine, hanging out at Mel's place whenever she's not working and Dad's not around. When Dad is home, which isn't that often, he wants Dean and Sam drilling hard or working on their Latin. He's jumpier than usual, and Dean can tell he thinks he's on the trail of something big. Occasionally he takes them with him on a hunt, debriefing them afterwards and critiquing Dean's stealth and alertness.
Mel never questions their absences. The first time Dean has to go on a hunt, he tells her his dad needs help with a job, and she just nods and says, "See you when you get back, then."
The second time, she asks, "Does your dad need Sam's help, too?" Dean doesn't know what to say, afraid she's about to start asking questions he won't have good answers for, but she goes on, "Because if you can spare him, Ben's been on at me for ages about having a friend to stay."
"Thanks," Dean says. "Sam would like that." It's the truth, and Dean's grateful too - Dad doesn't let Sam actually help with hunts, and there's no one nearby who can take him off their hands for the night, so when Dean goes along Sam gets stuck sitting in a cold car for the entire night, drowsing and worrying about what's going on without him.
After that, Sam stays over with Ben a lot, even when Dean's at home. Sometimes Dean stays too, although Mel makes him sleep on the floor.
Her mom doesn't seem to mind what any of them do.
Despite the sleeping on the floor, Mel is definitely just as interested in Dean as he is in her. She waits for him after class and kisses him hot and urgent, hands fisted in the front of his shirt. Dean's had plenty of kisses, but they've mostly been tentative and a little ambivalent, cut short just as they start to get really good. Mel kisses like she wants Dean.
The kisses they share when they're alone are even more intense. They lie on Mel's bed or on the patch of dusty grass behind the gym, bodies pressed up tight together so Dean can feel the softness of her breasts against his chest, and the tantalizing press of her pelvic bone against his aching cock.
When things do progress to something more, it's Mel who instigates it, pushing up Dean's shirt to kiss frantically across his chest. Her mouth closes on one of his nipples, teeth grazing a little bit as her tongue swirls over the nub, sending shocks through his whole body. Dean works one hand up under her shirt in return, fumbling with her bra strap until she takes pity on him and sits back, deftly unhooking it so her breasts hang free. Dean cups her right breast, his cock giving a little jump in his pants at the warm, heavy feel of it in his palm. He rubs his thumb across her nipple, hardly breathing. Then the door slams back and Sam and Ben burst into the room, demanding to know whether they'll be allowed to go swimming on Saturday.
Dean snatches his hand away from Mel like it's been burnt, and they both spring apart, trying to pretend it's completely normal for them to be lying on her bed with their shirts half off. Dean doesn't even dare to glance at Mel while she argues the pros and cons with the kids, but when the door finally closes behind them he finds that she's managed to rearrange her bra well enough you could almost be fooled into believing it was fastened, at least if you weren't looking too closely. Which Sam probably was, the little perv.
Afterwards, Sam asks wide-eyed, "Were you and Mel having sex?"
"No!" Dean yelps, feeling his face flush bright red. He takes a deep breath and tries to assume a knowing tone. "When you're my age, Sammy, you'll realize there's a lot more to women than that. You have to take things slow."
"So you're still a virgin, then," Sam says, unimpressed. "I told Ben."
Thankfully, the Smurfs starts on TV and Sam settles down to watch, losing interest in Dean's sex life.
The next time that Dean and Sam stay over, Mel lets Dean sleep in her bed. They don't sleep naked - Mel sends Dean into the bathroom to strip down to his boxers and t-shirt, and when he returns she's wearing an oversized t-shirt of her own and a raggedy pair of sweatpants - but that doesn't change the fact that Dean's squashed up next to her in her narrow single bed.
They're both oddly reserved, lying unnaturally still next to each other. Dean's achingly aware of her body under her flimsy shirt, her breasts softer and rounder without a bra, and whenever one of them shifts a little her hand brushes against his naked leg, perilously close to the erection he's trying to ignore. After the fourth time, Mel laughs a little and plants her hand boldly on his thigh, giving it a little squeeze before she leaves it there.
They lie there for hours just talking; arguing over everything from whether Flea's a better bassist than John Paul Jones (Dean doesn't think that's even a question) to the perfect way to make a grilled cheese sandwich. Finally the whole neighbourhood's quiet, only the faint sound of cartoons drifting up from the den disturbing the peace. Dean knows that Sam and Ben will both be sprawled out in front of the TV, passed out on top of their sleeping bags because they're both too stubborn ever to admit they're tired.
"Dean," Mel says.
He turns to look at her. "Yeah?"
She doesn't say anything else, just kisses him, soft press of lips giving way to deep, wet making out.
Dean pulls off her t-shirt, then his own, pressing her close so he can feel the softness of her naked breasts against his chest. Their hands are everywhere, stroking bare skin while they kiss and kiss, rubbing up against each other. Dean ruts up against Mel's hip, his dick hard and urgent. When she slides her hand between them and under the waistband of his shorts, he can hardly choke back his shout.
Mel's fingers are awkward at first, too gentle and not quite at the right angle as they wrap around his dick, but it doesn't matter. It still feels unbelievably hot.
He scrabbles at the waist of her pants, working his way down to feel between her legs. It's all wet heat down there, soft and yielding when he tentatively crooks a finger, and Dean feels her hand tighten around him in response. It's barely a moment before he loses it, shooting helplessly into his shorts.
Mel holds on, crushing her lips against his to swallow his cries. When he finishes, she pulls her hand away and wipes it against his shorts. "Gross," she tells him.
"Sorry," Dean says. It is pretty gross: cooling jizz splattered across the inside of his shorts, but he's too boneless and dazed to care. He's jerked off a thousand times, come in his pants more than once when they've been making out, but none of those times have ever felt anywhere near as good as this.
"It's okay," Mel tells him. "It felt kind of cool."
Dean realizes something. "Sorry you didn't get to - you know."
Mel laughs at the look of consternation on his face. "Dean Winchester, sex god." He blushes, and she kisses him. "Next time, you'd better make the first move."
He changes into a clean pair of shorts before they fall asleep, turning away a little rather than bothering to go into the other room. When he turns back, Mel's eyes are on him.
"You're so... you're sexy, Dean," she tells him.
Dean grins and wiggles his hips a little before he climbs back into bed, feeling warm and happy. She turns to face the wall and he curls in behind her, hand resting on her belly. He kisses the back of her neck, breathing in her sweaty-sweet smell.
"Love you, Mel," he whispers, and she squeezes his hand in response, shifting closer into his embrace.
"You need to buy condoms," Mel informs Dean, right in the middle of a game of pool.
He misses his shot, almost scratching the baize with the end of his cue. "Okay."
"By Saturday." Mel takes the cue from his hand and pots three balls, one after another.
"Okay," Dean says again, not even trying to hide the grin on his face. They've done a lot of making out, but this is different: this is the real thing. Dean's actually going to lose his virginity, and he feels awesome.
He feels a little less awesome when he's struggling with the condom, trying to concentrate on sliding it down over his dick when his entire body's singing out "Gonna get laid! Gonna get laid!" He's belatedly realizing that it probably would have been a good idea to practice this part beforehand.
"You're a dumbass," Mel tells him. She tosses the ruined condom in the bin and opens a fresh one, her tongue protruding a little through her teeth as she eases it out of the foil. Dean focuses desperately on that, and on the way she goes a little cross-eyed in concentration, instead of on the maddening squeeze and stroke of her fingers as she rolls the rubber down his dick.
Dean takes his time kissing and touching her, even though he's going half-crazy thinking about how it's going to feel when he's actually inside her, and it pays off, because she's wet and open when he finally presses in. She's so unbelievably hot and tight, and Dean can't stop his hips from thrusting forward, hard and deep. Mel lets out a little ah of pain and clutches at his shoulders, fingers digging in, and he forces himself to stop.
"Mel?" he asks, voice shaking.
She takes a deep breath. "Go on."
Dean thrusts again, as careful as he can, and she shifts position a little bit. "Yeah. Yeah, that's it."
Her arms come up to pull him closer, and they're actually doing it, they're having sex. Dean can't slow down any more, never mind stop, because he's thrusting and thrusting inside her, surrounded by hot smooth tightness, and it's the most amazing thing he's ever felt. It lasts maybe a minute, and Dean's frankly amazed that he makes it even that long.
Mel doesn't come, but she doesn't seem to mind, just lies back with a pleased smile on her face while he pulls out carefully and ties the condom off. "I love you, Dean," she tells him when he comes back to the bed.
Dean would be lying if he said that was the best part of the whole thing, but it does rate pretty near the top.
They get better after the first couple of times - a whole lot better - and eventually Dean gets the hang of holding off until she's come, reaching down between their bodies to touch her clit and help things along. He gets more creative as he grows in confidence, fascinated and pleased by the way he can make Mel sign and moan. He's always been good with his hands.
Summer starts, and Dad keeps on with his solo hunting trips, leaving Dean to keep an eye on Sam. It's an easy job: Sam's happy, hanging out with Ben and the other friends he's made at school, and bugging Dean a lot less than he used to. Between watching out for him and picking up a few shifts at the local mechanic's, Dean spends all his time with Mel, which is awesome. They're settled - content - and it's easy to feel like things are never going to change.
It's pretty much the cherry on the cake when Dad comes home and says, "Come to the car dealership with me."
He's been planning to get another vehicle for a while now - ever since Dean turned fifteen and got his license for real. They drive out to the second-hand dealer, and Dad picks out a solid Sierra Grande, plenty of room for weapons and a lot more besides.
"You better take good care of the car," he tells Dean.
"Yes, sir," Dean promises. He can hardly wait to get home and polish her up, maybe drive over to Mel's. She's seen the Impala plenty of times before, but never when it was his.
"Start packing tonight," Dad says, and it all comes crashing down. "We head out on Friday."
"Just for a hunt, right?" Dean already knows the answer. The car is Dad's apology to him, because for the first time ever Dean is going to mind more than Sam about moving on.
"We've been here a long while," Dad says. "I've got a good lead out in Oregon." His eyes are sorry, and when Dean turns and storms off, he doesn't shout after him.
When Dean tells Mel, her eyes fill with tears, but she doesn't argue. She just gives one sharp, hurt nod. "You said you don't ever stay in one place for long."
It's worse for her, Dean knows, because when he's gone she'll still be here, taking care of her mom and working in the grocery store. There's no way of apologizing for that.
They make love the night before Dean leaves. After, he stays awake the whole night, holding on to her.
He gets up when the sun rises and creeps out of the house without saying goodbye.
The new school feels pretty much like the old one.
Dean makes a beeline for the cheerleaders and spends the whole afternoon talking to the dumbest, hottest one. She bores him to tears, but she laughs at his jokes and kisses him after school, and Dean figures that'll do.
He'll be moving on again soon.