Unseeing - Fic
Title: Unseeing.
Rating: PG 13, Note Swearing
Warnings: Bad Language
Pairing: Dean/OFC
Summary: For spn_flashback prompt: Dean falls for the girl next door, and when it comes time to move, it's him and not Sam that fights to stay, and John doesn't expect that.
This is Outsider POV, so it’s slightly different than the prompt implied, hope it’s still ok.
BIG Thank you to dakotas-tale for the fine beta. My eternal gratitude, is your reward.
Those bastards have hidden it again. Petra runs her hand along the side of the desk again anyway, but it’s not there. She hears a giggle behind her, not stifled, openly laughing at her, like she’s fucking deaf too, and she turns, glares in its direction.
“Give it back, Morris.”
No one answers her, just more laughter. Fourth week in a row Morris has found some way to torture her, and now she’s wishing she’d just gone on the damn date with him in the first place. Incurring his wrath has proven to not be worth it.
“Morris, my cane, give it back.”
She bites her lip, tries not to get upset, or angry. Both of those reactions are what they want. Where’s Miss McClusky anyway, while this is going on? Outside already, flirting with Mr Clark. Useless.
“It’s not funny, guys, I need it, come on.” Reason, perhaps they’ll see reason. She knows her voice sounded trembling that time, and when there’s still no reply, only laughter, tears sting her eyes. What will I do if they don’t return it?
“Give it back.” Whose voice is that? Low, threatening edge to it, kinda sexy, now she thinks about it. She’s heard it before, but can’t think who it is.
“What’s it to you, Winchester?” Winchester! The guy next door. That’s where she’s heard his voice, carrying on the wind to her window. She’s heard him with his brother outside, who must be younger, ‘cause his voice is higher, excitable. Dean Winchester’s coming to her aid then, is he? No one usually bothers. They either don’t care, or don’t wanna get on Morris’s bad side.
“Give her the cane back. C’mon man, you can’t be serious.”
There’s a shuffle of feet, the cane clacks on the floor, and she hears Morris exclaim.
“What the…”
Suddenly the cane’s being pressed into her hand. Gentle fingers brush hers.
“Here y’are.”
She goes to say thanks, but Morris is telling Dean he’s gonna, ‘live to regret it,’ and Dean’s laughing at him. Some of the kids shout, ‘fight,’ and she hears Miss McClusky’s high heels tap back in before she breaks them up. They both get detention.
“Miss McClusky…” Petra starts, but she’s not listening, won’t let her defend Dean. Dammit, now he’s got detention ‘cause of her.
**
Petra goes to detention after school. She gets there early, and waits outside for Dean. She hears dragging footsteps coming, forming the shuffling, uncertain gait of most High Schoolers.
“Dean…?”
Whoever that is doesn’t answer her. Maybe it isn’t Dean.
The next steps are a cocky strut, like whoever it is owns the whole damn school. Morris. She keeps her eyes averted from the door. He bumps her shoulder deliberately as he passes, asshole.
“Hey.” The voice in her ear makes her jump. Dean’s. She didn’t hear him coming.
“Dean?”
“Yeah. Did you get detention too?” Dean sounds puzzled. She’s distracted, for a moment, by his smell. A lot of the guys drown themselves in cologne, or frankly, don’t wash, and stink of BO. Dean smells older, somehow, like a man already, smells of oil and coffee, and vaguely, of mint. Shower gel? She shakes her head.
“No. I came to say sorry that you got detention helping me out. That’s not fair.”
“I’ve had it for less.” Dean sounds amused that she’s there. “They’re lucky I showed up for it.”
She nods, unsure what else to say. “It was a nice thing you did. Thanks for getting my cane back for me.”
“No problem. That Morris is a jerk, I can’t believe he’d…he’s a jerk.”
They’re both silent for a minute, but she can hear his breathing, so she knows he’s still there.
“You’d better go in.”
“Yeah. Petra, isn’t it?”
“Yeah.”
“Catch you around, Petra.”
She doesn’t hear his footsteps go into the room either, but the breathing’s gone, so she moves off.
**
He’s eating lunch near her the next day. She knows it’s him because he smells the same, and she can hear him faintly humming under his breath. She’s on the front steps of the school, and he’s below her somewhere. There’s grass there, she thinks, that must be where he’s sitting.
“What’s that you’re singing?” She raises her voice, and points her head in his direction so he knows she’s talking to him.
“Blue Oyster Cult,” Dean answers, saying each word carefully like she’s some idiot who’s never heard of them.
“Who the hell are they?” She keeps her voice level.
“If you’ve never heard of…” He trails off as he sees her smile. “You’ve heard of BOC?”
“I’m insulted by your incredulity. I’m blind, dude, I listen to a lot of music. Can enjoy that same as anyone.”
He laughs a low, throaty chuckle. “I guess you can.”
There’s silence for a couple of minutes, then Dean asks, hesitantly.
“What music do you like best?”
“The Seattle scene. Nirvana, Pearl Jam, Soundgarden to name the obvious ones.” Dean snorts at that. “What’s that for?”
“Nothing, it’s just all so…no one appreciates the classics anymore.” He says it ironically, like he knows he sounds like her Dad, but like he means it anyway.
“I like all kinds though.” It’s important that he knows that, that she’s not some girl who’s into music just cause she finds Eddie Vedder hot, or whoever. Well, that’s obviously not the case. “I’m guessing you’re a Metallica kinda guy.”
“Ain’t nothin’ wrong with Metallica.” He sounds defensive.
“Course there isn’t. Bet you have the mullet hair to go with it too.”
“That’s right, how’d you guess?” His voice is teasing now. The bell rings inside, and she struggles up. Dean arrives next to her, silently again, damn him.
“Walk you in?”
“Yeah.” They walk in together, and she can barely hear Dean’s footsteps next to hers. “You must have been really good at hide and seek as a kid.”
“Huh?”
“I can’t hear your footsteps at all.”
Dean laughs, but he makes his footsteps louder as they walk down the hall.
**
The next day, she sits on the grass instead of the steps, and Dean joins her without a word said about it. They eat lunch together every day after that, sat in their place, the two of them against the rest of them. They argue over music, bring it in for each other, and play it on her walkman. He begrudgingly admits Soundgarden are okay, she gets worryingly into Iron Maiden. He tells her about his Dad in reverent tones, and talks affectionately about his younger brother, which is kinda cute. They bitch about teachers they don’t like. He sort of becomes a friend, which is weird, cause Petra doesn’t have that many friends.
“You realize we’re neighbors, don’t you?” Petra interrupts Dean’s diatribe about the latest top 30 shit that bugs him.
“Yeah, I know.”
“Just checking.” ‘Cause it’s been two weeks, and neither of them have mentioned the fact that they live next door to each other, and that’s a bit weird. Petra unwraps her sandwiches, can hear Dean doing the same. Dean groans when he gets his open. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Well, I let Sam make the lunches today, and now I’ve got…” There’s a pause, and she hears Dean fiddling with his bag. “I’ve got one sandwich with barely any peanut butter in it, and one that’s tuna salad. I hate tuna, I told Sam that, but, well, he’s done it deliberately ‘cause I put garlic and chilli in his soup …”
“Want one of mine?”
“What you got?”
She holds it out for inspection. “Dunno?”
“It’s…egg. Ok, swap?”
She nods, and lets Dean gently remove from the sandwich from her hand, and place his into it, closing her fingers around it to be sure she’s got it. He’s always so careful when it comes to handing her stuff, or taking stuff from her. Always mindful that she’s blind, without making a big deal of it. He’s never even mentioned it, and usually it’s one of the first things people do. Ask a question, fumble over a sighted word they use, feel guilty when they mention something happening that she can’t see. Dean’s done none of those things.
“Garlic and chilli soup? Dude, that’s a bit mean.” She giggles at the thought of it anyway. “How old is Sam?” He’s mentioned Sam a lot, and she’s gathered he’s younger, but she doesn’t know how much.
“He’s nearly 12.” Dean’s quiet for a moment, then he says. “You know, I’ve got the car today…”
“Oh yeah?” Where’s he going with this?
“Want a ride home? You’re hardly out my way…” There’s a wink, or a smile, accompanying that, and she wishes she could see it.
“Sure. I’ll have to tell my usual ride not to worry. She’ll be glad to be rid of me.” Petra feels around for her trash.
“S’ok, I got it. See you here after school then?”
**
Marcie barely hides her shock when Petra tells her that she’s to go on without her. She does her best to cough it back.
“No need to sound like you think the apocalypse is coming.”
“I don’t. Guys have offered you rides before. You don’t usually accept ‘em, that’s what makes me look around for some flying pigs.”
“Dean’s different.” Why is he so different? Cause he likes music, cause he stood up for her? ‘Cause he throws out her trash without her asking?
“That must be Dean waiting for you over there? Bottom of the front steps?”
“Yeah.” Petra looks to where she knows Marcie will be looking. She hears Marcie let out a long, slow whistle.
“Man. I can see why you did. I’d like a ride on that.”
“Marcie.” Petra manages to nudge Marcie, but she joins in her giggle anyway. “He’s hot then is he?” Not that it matters to her.
“I’ll say.”
Petra walks over to Dean with a new jaunt in her step.
“Hey.”
“Ready to go?” Dean lets her take his arm without any preamble, like he’s expecting it. He’s not awkward about it either, just lets her, walks slower than he usually would because he’s got her attached to him. They walk a short distance, then stop. “Here we are.” Dean sounds proud. Proud of his car, of course.
“Now Dean, you do realize something.”
“What?”
“I can’t see your car. You’ll have to describe her to me.”
“I’ll bore you to death with it.” Dean isn’t exaggerating. They stand there for ten minutes while he discusses the wheels, and the paint job. They get in, and he describes the interior, in detail. In the end, she’s forced to interrupt him.
“Dean, Dean. I’m a girl. Shiny and black, would have done me, or sweet ride, or cool classic car, I’m kinda lost here.”
“Oh, ok, sorry.” He’s quiet, humbled, and she feels awful for stopping his excitement.
“No I’m sorry, Dean, you’re just trying to tell me about your car. Paint a complete picture, I get it.”
“It’s ok, I was…it’s fine.” She can’t make out whether he is fine or not, that tone isn’t giving anything away. He drives off, and they are quiet for a long time, and she worries she’s upset him.
“Dean…”
“I have to pick up Sam.” She nods, guesses the subject is closed.
Dean gets out the car when they get to Sam’s school, but she isn’t left waiting long. There’s a loud squeak as another door opens, and she hears scrambling of feet across leather as Sam presumably gets in the back. Doors slam shut again.
“I’m Sam, hi.” A hand taps her quickly on the shoulder, then pulls back fast. “You’re Petra, then, from next door?”
She doesn’t have time to answer him, before he’s off, telling them both about his day, about some test he had. He talks constantly nearly all the way home, but stops the minute Dean speaks to hear what Dean has to say. Dean acts like a parent, almost, questioning Sam about his work, sounding really proud when Sam says he aced some test, getting stern when Sam says some kids are picking on him.
“Want me to sort them out?” It’s brusque, and the undertone of violence is unmistakeable. Petra wouldn’t like to be those kids picking on Sam.
“No, Dean. I can manage, honest.”
Dean doesn’t reply, she guesses he nodded or something.
“Hey, are you making mac and cheese tonight, Dean? Wanna come in for some Petra, there’s enough for Petra too isn’t there?”
“Sure, there’ll be enough.” She can’t tell if he wants her there or not, there’s no giveaway in that tone. There’s silence for a moment then Dean adds. “I can do something better than mac and cheese if you want, I can cook…”
Petra interrupts him. “Mac and cheese would be great.”
It is great. It’s the best mac and cheese she’s ever had, to be precise. The three of them eat it - Dad Winchester ‘out of town’ apparently - and spend most of the meal talking about Sam’s day, again. Dean’s getting them out some ice cream after, and Sam insists on bringing out a pot he made in class the week before.
“I’m sorry, you should never have said you were interested,” Dean says quietly to her. “You’ll have to hear all about it now.”
“I don’t mind. He’s cute.” She means it too. She imagines him to be all wild legs, and flailing arms, to go with his excitable voice. He speaks to Dean like he’s looking at him with wide, admiring eyes, and she thinks how Dean must inspire that a lot. There’s authority to his voice no matter who he speaks to. Sam’s footsteps thunder back in excitedly.
“Here you go.” His chair scrapes as he pulls it closer to her. She hears the clunk of the pot on the table, and reaches out her hands hesitantly for it.
“Sam, you should put her hands on it, help her find it. Pet, I’m sorry, he’s…”
“It’s okay, Dean.” It is okay, too. She’ll find it soon enough. She reaches her right hand forward, and brushes against a clay surface, then clasps both hands round it. She runs her fingers round it. It’s a good pot, bit wobbly at the side, but a good effort. He’s made some kind of markings in the clay too, nice touch. They feel deliberate, like they mean something. She tells him so, and Sam acts like he’s never heard such praise.
“You mean it?”
“Yeah, feels good to me.”
“Told you it was good.” Dean bangs a couple of bowls down onto the table.
“You’re my brother, you have to say that.” It’s deadpan, but Sam seems pleased to hear it again.
“She’s a guest, maybe she’s just being polite,” Dean teases, and Petra spends the next couple of minutes reassuring Sam that it really is good.
Sam finally leaves them alone, and goes to do his homework. Dean and her chat about nothing, like always. Petra realises this is the first time they’ve been alone, and feels nervous. Dean doesn’t try anything though. They chat, and he walks her home.
Mom and Dad quiz her when she gets home, and Mom’s nervous. She’s seen Dean outside, and calls him ‘dangerously handsome'. The conversation gets waylaid by Dad teasing Mom about liking Dean, but Mom soon gets back to her point. Dad says it’s fine though, that she’ll be safe with Dean, that the younger brother will always be around. Petra holds her breath the whole time, and thinks how Mom only gives in ‘cause she’s so relieved that Petra has a friend at last.
Petra wonders, when she lies in bed that night, why she wanted Dean to try something. She has no idea what he looks like. She barely knows him, really.
**
“I got you something,” Dean announces at lunch a couple of days later.
“A present?” She wipes her hands on her jeans. “For me?”
“No, when I said, I got you something, I really meant that I had a present for Sally Watson, and I was just kidding around about the you part.” He nudges her when he finishes saying it, and she nudges him back.
“Give it, give it.” She holds out her hands like a cup in front of her. She feels Dean take one hand in his, and his hand’s strong, and his thumb rubs the back of her hand distractedly.
“Ready?”
She doesn’t answer him for a minute, enjoys him being this close to her, lets him rub her hand some more.
“Ready?” He sounds like he’s worried she hasn’t heard him, sounds impatient to give her the gift.
“Ready.”
Something plops into her hand, and then Dean closes her fingers over it.
“For you.”
She feels round the edges of a small rectangular object, feels the join of the…
“It’s a cassette tape?”
“It’s a cassette tape.” Dean is very pleased with himself. “I made you a tape of some of the music we’ve talked about, and you said you didn’t have. ‘Course, I wrote the track list on it, then Sam pointed out that you couldn’t read the track list, but…”
“It’s ok, my Mom can read it out to me. Wow, Dean, that’s great, thanks.”
She wants to hug him, or kiss him, or something, but she doesn’t hear him move any closer to her.
“Can I give you a hug?” What an idiot she is, for having to ask.
“Sure.” Dean seems surprised she asked. She feels his arms press around her back, press her to him, and she moves her arms around him. His back is broad, muscular. She tries not to run her hands over it, buries her face into the crook of his neck, breathes in his scent, still oil and coffee, but the shower gel’s orange smelling now. She holds the moment as long as possible.
“Thanks Dean.” He pulls away from her, kisses the side of her head awkwardly as he moves back.
“No problem.”
**
Petra’s at the Winchesters for dinner, again, and Dad Winchester arrives home while they’re eating. The door slams open, and Sam and Dean both scramble to their feet next to her.
“Dad!” Sam excitedly races toward his Dad, but she hears him stop short of where he is.
“Sir, you’re home.”
Dean calls his Dad Sir, how weird, Petra thinks to herself. She isn’t sure whether to stand, but stays where she is, cause, well, it feels weird to stand to attention with the pair of them.
“Hey Sammy.” His voice is deep, like hailstones falling onto the floor in tiny showers. Heavy footsteps march across the room toward her. “Dean.”
“Dad.” Sam’s fallen silent behind Dad, and she guesses that that’s because of her. She can feel the looks going on between them buzzing past her skin like flies.
“Dad, this is Petra. Petra, this is my Dad, John.”
“Pleased to meet you, sir.” Now Dean’s got her ‘Sir-ing’ away. Petra holds her hand out where she thinks Mr Winchester is. A strong, callused hand grasps it, shakes it with just the right amount of pressure.
“Petra. Hope my boys have been taking care of you.”
“Yessir.” It seems the right thing to say. “Dean cooks better than my mom does, I like coming round here.”
Dean stifles a laugh next to her.
“I’m glad. I’m afraid you’ll have to go home now though, I have chores for the boys to attend to. Dean, walk her back.”
Everybody’s quiet while Dean gets her bag, and walks her out. As soon as they’re outside she hears Dean let out a large breath.
“You ok, Dean?”
“Yeah, fine.” It’s that non-committal voice again, that means everything isn’t fine, but he’s too much of a boy to admit it.
“So that’s your Dad.”
“That’s Dad. He’s… I know he seems strict, but you know, he has to be, bringing up us two kids alone, he doesn’t mean anything by it, if he seems…” Dean’s stumbling over his words, and Dean doesn’t do that often. Usually he knows exactly what he’s going to say.
“It’s ok, Dean.” She doesn’t know what else to say.
“He kinda chucked you out.” Dean says it like it hurts him to admit it.
“I don’t mind. You’ve got chores.”
“Yeah, chores.” Dean says it funny, like he doesn’t consider them chores, but she doesn’t press him.
“It always been you three?” She’s never asked him that, in all this time. Like he’s never asked about her sight, she’s never pried about where his mom is. She’s sorry she was the one to break their unspoken agreement.
“Yeah. Mom… “ Dean pauses while he opens the gate for her, then he’s back at her side, and she takes his arm, even though she doesn’t really need to, to walk the short distance home. “Mom died when Sam was just a baby.”
“I’m sorry.”
“S’ok. I was very young. I don’t really remember before.”
He says it like it’s in capitals with neon lights around it. As if his life has a big dividing line down the middle of it. Here she is, only knowing him in the after. She knows what it’s like to have a divide like that. She wants to press for more detail, but doesn’t.
“Sam was just a baby?” She repeats, for the sake of saying something.
“Yeah.” There’s so much heartbreak in that word, that she stops walking, stops to hear the rest. “He doesn’t remember her at all.”
“That’s so sad, Dean. You must’ve had to be there for him a lot.” Dean’s quiet. She bets he isn’t nodding, or anything. Just looking at her. “You seem to look out for him a lot.”
“I try.” Dean’s quiet again, and she waits, looks at where he is, and wills him to continue. He takes in a breath, and she feels the promise of more before it’s out there. “Dad needs the help. Sam’s an easy kid - for the most part.” He sounds older than he should. “I was his first word,” Dean says suddenly, as if changing the subject. He starts to move off, and she moves with him.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. Well, he…” Dean’s embarrassed, but he carries on, “I used to ask, who’s the best brother, and try and get him to point - I was only young - and one day he did. And said, Dee.”
He quickens their pace toward her front door. He sounds like he thinks he’s made a fool of himself, so she makes her mood light.
“Dee’s a letter Dean. How do you know you didn’t just miss the ABC?”
“Ha ha. It was my nickname.” His voice is teasing, light again, the one he usually uses with her, and she’s glad to have it back.
“Maybe I’ll call you it from now on.”
“If you like.”
“Of course his first sentence was, ”me do it”, so, that shoulda been my hint,” Dean says wryly. They’re at her door, and he leaves her with a quick squeeze of her arm.
**
Dean’s really quiet the next day, expelling every word he says to her with effort. He doesn’t even leap in with a pretend eulogy for Kurt Cobain when she mentions Nirvana, so she knows something must be wrong.
“So,” maybe a change of subject, “you see they decided on the theme for that dance? Under the sea. I mean, what is this, the fifties?”
Dean doesn’t reply. He half laughs, like he’s not really listening, and shifts his weight. He’s doing that a lot, shuffling around not like he’s impatient to go, but like he can’t get comfortable.
“Wassup with you?” She punches his shoulder lightly, and he winces, moves away from her touch. “Dean? Are you ok?”
“I’m fine.” It’s clipped, slamming the book shut on the topic before it’s even open.
“You’re not fine. You can’t sit still, you’re quiet.” She stares at him, and has no idea what he’s doing. He gives a couple of deep breaths but doesn’t answer her. “Have you been in an accident? Or, or a fight?”
A couple more breaths, but otherwise nothing.
“Is it those boys that were beating up Sammy?”
“I dealt with them a long time ago.” Now he sounds pissed that she’d think he’d take this long to deal with them. This Dean is scary, not ‘cause of the fight, but ‘cause suddenly she’s no idea who’s sitting in the dark next to her.
“Fine. Don’t tell me. I thought we were friends, that we talked about stuff, but if this is how it’s gonna be…” Petra pauses, gives him a chance to leap in, but he says nothing. She struggles up, and he reaches to help her but she throws his arm off. “I’m blind, not an invalid.” It’s cruel, and she hears his sharp intake of breath, but doesn’t care.
Petra avoids Dean all day, but when she gets to last period she knows he’s there waiting for her. He clears his throat, and shifts his weight, but doesn’t speak.
“Dean.”
“I went hunting, last night, after the chores. That’s where I got hurt.” He says it all of a rush, like he has to tell her before he changes his mind.
“Oh. Hunting what? Like, wildlife and stuff?” Why did that have to be a secret?
“Yeah, like wildlife and stuff.” He repeats the words in exactly the tone she says them, surprised.
“What the hell were you doing out that late hunting?” There’s something strange going on with Dean’s Dad that she can’t get to the bottom of.
“Dad took us. He does that, sometimes. And I had to push Sam out the way, I went down pretty hard. I didn’t tell you, cause, well, I know how weird it sounds.” He's not in a rush now, every word is measured, full of self control.
“It’s fine. As long as I know, I don’t care what you were doing. You’re ok?”
“I’ll live. Just sore, that’s all.” He pauses, clears his throat. “Anyway, I’m cutting, not going into last period, so...”
“But you’re standing outside it Dean.” How can he not be bothered about getting caught? “Surely Mr Clark has seen you already?”
“He’s too busy flirting with Miss McClusky. Wish they’d just screw already, and get it over with.”
She laughs out loud at that, and he moves closer to her, like he’s moving out of somebody’s way, and he’s standing really close. “They’re screwing already Dean. This is them making up after some argument.” He chuckles agreement at her, and she feels his breath warming her cheek. “You want me to cover you?”
“Not bothered. I’d better go, see ya tomorrow.”
Dean brushes his hand over her back before he leaves, a deliberate apologetic touch, and she smiles up at him. Petra listens to his footsteps disappear down the corridor. She wonders how he can be so carefree about things like detention, and school, and what others think of him, yet care so much about Sam, and his father, and his music, and her. At least, she hopes she makes the list.
**
They’ve now been friends for three months. Friends who see each other every day, and hang out at Dean’s house, and at school, and why hasn’t he tried to kiss me? Petra tries not to think about it, but the more she knows him, the more she likes him, and the more she thinks about it. I’m hideous, that must be it, she tells herself.
She sits as close to him as she possibly can at all times. She touches his arm or his leg wherever possible. She purses her lips at him as he talks. He ignores all such signs. Petra’s heard the restroom gossip. She knows that before he was friends with her, Dean put it about, to put it bluntly. She also knows Dean’s stopped making out with lots of girls recently, and figures that must be to do with her, to do with their friendship. So, what’s wrong with her? She refuses to ask him point blank, but it starts to get on her nerves.
At lunch, he feeds her a piece of his sandwich, for crying out loud. She closes her lips around his finger, and he leaves it there a second too long, before removing it, but still no attempt to kiss her.
That’s it, she’s not gonna say anything, she refuses to embarrass herself like that, it’s fine, she…
“Am I hideous, Dean?”
“What? No?” He sounds like she’s caught him with his hand in the cookie jar. “No.” He says again.
“Really? You think I’m attractive?”
“Wassup, Petra?” He sounds weary, like he so doesn’t want to have this conversation.
“Nothing.” She crosses her arms, and drops it, and Dean being Dean, doesn’t push it.
Dean walks her to her next class.
“Petra, you know…never mind.”
“What?” She looks in his direction, hears him shove his hands deep in his pockets.
“I just… apart from Sam, you know you’re my only friend, right? My best friend, like you chicks like to say.”
“Yeah.” She didn’t know that, and it’s nice to hear it.
“Good, I just… that’s all.” She hears him walking off down the corridor, wonders what brought on that strange declaration of friendship. She remembers his voice saying best friend, and fancies that he says it with import, that she matters. She thinks how he mustn’t say that to many people, but that he kisses loads of people, and that makes her feel less bad about the fact that he hasn’t kissed her.
**
Petra wants to know what Dean looks like. She only wants to know because Sally comes up to her as she’s washing her hands in the restrooms one day.
“Listen, I’m just saying this, because like, we used to be friends, and I wanna look out for you, okay?”
“Oh-kay.” Petra answers her slowly, wondering what the hell this is about. She can hear Sal fidget from foot to foot, not speaking. “Spit it out, Sal.”
“Well, like, you’ve been hanging out with that Dean kid a lot, and, well, you should see him Petra. He wears that leather coat all the time; he’s a regular James Dean, and he looks like trouble. I mean, he’s hot, alright, and that’s trouble in itself, but he looks like he’s been in fights half the time, or like he hasn’t been to bed, and I don’t want you getting into something with this guy, who’s obviously trouble and, well…”
Sal trails off, and goes back to fidgeting from foot to foot. Petra feels her blood boiling, tries to keep her voice calm as she answers.
“Sal, I know you’re just trying to look out for me, but I can look out for myself, really.”
“Petra, come on, don’t be mad, it’s just, you can’t see what he’s like and…”
Petra whirls round, grabs her cane so she can make a quick exit.
“I see exactly what he’s like,” she hisses at Sal. “Better than you do, better ‘n anybody does. He’s not the trouble you think he is. He’s a sweet, kind, generous guy, who looks out for me, and his brother, and would do anything for you if you asked.” She should probably stop there, but now the lid’s off, all her opinions come fighting their way out. “And you know, he nearly got in a fight for me, when he didn’t even know me, so if he gets in fights, I don't give a shit. If he looks like he didn’t go to bed, I don’t care. If he’s hot, well, good for him.”
She wants to say something about the nerve of Sal to choose this to be a friend over, but she stomps out, stomps outside to where Dean’s waiting for her.
“What crawled up your ass?” Is Dean’s greeting as she sits down onto the grass. She hears him get up, and shuffle closer to her.
“Nothing.” She crosses her arms, doesn’t want to tell him.
“Come on, tell me.” His voice is wheedling.
“It was about you.”
“Oh.” That gruff, angry tone is back. “What about me?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“It does matter. Tell me. Tell me what happened. People hassling you about me?” There’s that scary edge to his voice again. She’d better not tell him who said it.
“It’s just… one of the girls came up to me, said I’d better be careful cause you’re trouble. You look like you’ve been up all night, getting into fights, and you’re too hot to not be trouble, and I should be careful.”
“Oh.” It’s nonplussed this time. “Well those things are probably true, I…”
She can’t believe he’d say that.
“How can you say that Dean? I told her to go to hell. I said you were kind and generous, and she had to look beyond…I told her to go to hell. She said I couldn’t see what you really were, and I said I saw you better ‘n most, and…”
“What?” Dean shuffles, and she feels his whole body pressing up against hers at the side. Every inch where they touch burns her.
“I think I do, I do see you better than most, don’t I?” She holds her breath as she waits for his reply, and it takes a really long time to come. She almost gives in, tries to think of a joke to break the tension between them that’s starting to suffocate her.
“I don’t think I’m as kind and all that, as you think I am.” He’s barely audible next to her, and she’s never heard him sound so unsure, never seen that crack in him so wide.
“You don’t give yourself enough credit.” He doesn’t answer her, so she tries to laugh it off. “You hang out with a blind girl all day, after all.”
“I wish you wouldn’t joke about yourself like that.” Dean’s voice is crisp, cutting, like he’s angry at her now, and this isn’t going well.
“I wish you’d see how beautiful you are inside.” God, she can’t believe she said something so cheesy. “God, I didn’t mean that to sound, well I did mean it but…”
“Didn’t mean it to sound so much like a line? That’s ok, there are easier ways to try and get me into bed you know, but I accept vague flattery.”
They both laugh. The topic’s closed, she knows that. She hopes he heard what she had to say. There’s one more thing she wants to ask him, and now seems the time.
“Dean? Can I…”
“What, sleep with me? I like a girl who takes the direct approach.” She feels herself go red, and nearly nods, or something, but Dean interrupts her thoughts. “Can you what?”
“Can I feel your face, to see what you look like, so I can, picture you to myself?” She’s only done this with a few people. Most people she remembers from before, Dean, Dean’s one of the few new people who matters enough to ask.
“Sure.” He’s hesitant in his voice, but his hand takes hers firmly, and he lifts it, and puts it on his cheek. She runs her fingers over a sharp cheekbone, sharp enough to cut herself on, she kids, as she lightly traces its course across his cheek. She moves her hand up, across a firm strong forehead, briefly dips into short, spiky hair, then down, runs a palm across eyes with long lashes. The lashes flutter and tickle her palm as she passes over them, runs her hand down, and ends at his mouth. She traces the outline of full lips with her fingers, and my God, who has lips that full. She leaves her fingers there longer than she should, and he kisses them gently before she pulls her hand away.
Neither of them speak for a minute, then Dean hesitantly, shyly, asks, “Well?”
“You’re…” Petra can’t find the words.
“So hot I’ve stunned you into silence? Yes, that often happens.”
She tries to tickle him but he’s too quick for her, and ends up tickling her first, the moment between them broken.
**
Petra’s doing homework that weekend with her window open, when she hears it. The voices are low at first, and barely audible. Then she hears Sam’s voice clearly shouting, “Leave?”
They’re moving? She’s in such shock she nearly forgets to listen in. Dean’s moving? She’s knows they’re a family that move a lot, but never really thought that meant leaving her someday. She pulls her chair nearer to the window to hear better.
“Sam…” That’s Mr Winchester’s voice. He sounds tired of the whole conversation already, like he’s had it a million times before.
“Dad, do we have to leave? Move already?” That’s Dean. His voice is level, and it’s like he’s fighting to keep it calm.
“Dean, why the hell… you know it does.”
“I don’t mind moving this time.” Sam sounds sulky, like he doesn’t really mean that.
“I don’t wanna go.” Still level, Dean and his self control winning out.
“Dean.” Mr Winchester is tired of both of them now. “Dean, I’m not getting into this. We’re leaving.” There’s silence for a while, then Mr Winchester adds, “you’re dismissed, Dean, go pack.” It’s firm, she wouldn’t argue with that tone, and there’s more silence from Dean, but she guesses he doesn’t leave the room because Mr Winchester adds, “Dean,” in a really scary voice.
“I want to stay, this time, I wanna…”
“Dean.” Mr Winchester sounds surprised. “You’re really pushing this?” Then he adds, suspiciously, “It’s that girl isn’t it?” Petra feels cold all over, guilty that she’s the girl causing this. Also kinda pleased, that Dean’s fighting to stay with her. It is her?
“It’s nothing to do with Petra.” Oh thank God, it’s not some other girl.
“Oh no? Cause you know, if you’ve got some hero complex, thinking she needs you, well she managed fine without you before, she’ll manage fine again…”
“It’s not a…it’s nothing to do with her Dad.” Dean’s voice is louder now, like he’s losing it despite himself. “I want to stay, because I want to stay, please? Just this once?”
“No Dean, we can’t stay.”
There’s silence for a while, a lot of banging doors and stomping around, then she hears Dean’s voice again.
“Dad…seriously. Is it an important lead? Could you check it out, and us stay here, still stay in this area, cause…”
“Dean.” Mr Winchester’s really getting mad, like Dean only has a couple more questions before his Dad’s anger wins out over his surprise.
“Ok, sorry.” Silence again.
Mr Winchester must have calmed down, because he asks Dean something Petra can’t hear, but Dean speaks fairly loudly in response.
“I said it’s not to do with her…” Brief silence again. “Okay, maybe, maybe part of the reason I don’t wanna go, is cause I…I like her and I wanna stay, okay? It’s not a hero complex thing, it’s just…she’s my friend. I don’t often ask.” Dean sounds like he knows this is a waste of time, but he has to ask it anyway.
Mr Winchester launches into a long speech about ‘not getting attached to people,’ and how, ‘he can go say goodbye, cause they’re leaving tonight.’ Dean tries to interrupt, but Mr Winchester speaks over it, and by the time it’s over Dean mutters something she can’t hear in response. She guesses it’s a, ‘yessir,’ because then she hears Dean telling Sam they have to go say goodbye to her.
Petra moves away from the window so it won’t be so obvious she was listening. The doorbell rings, and she hears Mom answer it, let Dean in. Footsteps echo along the hall toward her door - two sets. There’s a quiet knock at the door.
“Come in, Dean.”
“I hate it when you do that.” But he’s grinning, or sounds like he is, when the door pushes open.
“Hey Petra.” It’s Sam, sounding subdued.
“We’ve come to say goodbye, Pet, we’re moving.” Dean says it bluntly, and boy, he would not be good at breaking bad news to someone. He certainly likes to rip the band-aid off.
“Oh.” She tries to sound surprised, but can’t. “Leaving tonight?”
“Yeah.” Dean clears his throat. “Yeah,” he says more certainly. “Sam wanted to say ‘bye too. Say ‘bye Sam.”
Sam’s feet shuffle toward her. “Petra, I brought you the bowl I made.” He presses it into her lap, and as soon as it’s there, flings his arms around her neck, squeezing her with a surprisingly strong grip.
“I can’t take this Sam,” Petra disentangles herself from him. “You made it.”
“Dad won’t let me take it with us, and you liked it, didn’t you?” He seems so hopeful, that she doesn’t have the heart to refuse him.
“I loved it. Okay then, thanks Sam.”
Sam lets out his breath, and starts to shuffle away from her.
“Okay Sam, you go home, tell Dad I’ll be five minutes, okay?”
“Sam?” Petra calls, as Sam moves toward the door. “Look out for Dean for me, okay?”
“Of course,” Sam answers, in that serious way he has sometimes, when things are really important. Then he’s gone, door swinging shut behind him, and Dean comes and sits next to her on the bed. Dean and her are alone on her bed, and she can’t enjoy it.
“So this is goodbye. Sudden.”
“It is always is, for us,” Dean says. “I’m sorry, I wish I had more time, or more warning.”
“It’s okay.”
They sit there in silence for a couple of minutes. Dean surprises her by putting an arm around her, pulling her close to his side. She puts her head in his chest, and he envelops her completely in a hug. They stay like that for what feels like forever, then Dean pulls away. He leaves his hands holding her shoulders.
“I have to go. I just…”
“It’s ok. You don’t have to say anything, Dean.” What else is there to say, other than goodbye?
“I wanted you to know, I’d have taken you to that dorky dance that’s on, if you wanted, and it could’ve been a date, if you’d have liked…”
“I would have liked,” she jumps in, eager. She holds back the tears that are building in her chest.
“Me too. I’m sorry, that we never… I’m sorry.” Dean lets out a large breath. “Man, next town, I’m keeping myself to myself, I hate goodbyes.”
She laughs. “Me too. Let’s not say it.”
“Okay.”
There’s silence for a minute, then a soft pair of lips brush hers, and he gets up from her side. She knows he’s gone before she hears the door slam cause the room’s that much dimmer.
***
***
Comments are welcomed with huge Sam length arms.
Link to sequel they meet up again here, let me know what you thought of this one though, hee
Rating: PG 13, Note Swearing
Warnings: Bad Language
Pairing: Dean/OFC
Summary: For spn_flashback prompt: Dean falls for the girl next door, and when it comes time to move, it's him and not Sam that fights to stay, and John doesn't expect that.
This is Outsider POV, so it’s slightly different than the prompt implied, hope it’s still ok.
BIG Thank you to dakotas-tale for the fine beta. My eternal gratitude, is your reward.
Those bastards have hidden it again. Petra runs her hand along the side of the desk again anyway, but it’s not there. She hears a giggle behind her, not stifled, openly laughing at her, like she’s fucking deaf too, and she turns, glares in its direction.
“Give it back, Morris.”
No one answers her, just more laughter. Fourth week in a row Morris has found some way to torture her, and now she’s wishing she’d just gone on the damn date with him in the first place. Incurring his wrath has proven to not be worth it.
“Morris, my cane, give it back.”
She bites her lip, tries not to get upset, or angry. Both of those reactions are what they want. Where’s Miss McClusky anyway, while this is going on? Outside already, flirting with Mr Clark. Useless.
“It’s not funny, guys, I need it, come on.” Reason, perhaps they’ll see reason. She knows her voice sounded trembling that time, and when there’s still no reply, only laughter, tears sting her eyes. What will I do if they don’t return it?
“Give it back.” Whose voice is that? Low, threatening edge to it, kinda sexy, now she thinks about it. She’s heard it before, but can’t think who it is.
“What’s it to you, Winchester?” Winchester! The guy next door. That’s where she’s heard his voice, carrying on the wind to her window. She’s heard him with his brother outside, who must be younger, ‘cause his voice is higher, excitable. Dean Winchester’s coming to her aid then, is he? No one usually bothers. They either don’t care, or don’t wanna get on Morris’s bad side.
“Give her the cane back. C’mon man, you can’t be serious.”
There’s a shuffle of feet, the cane clacks on the floor, and she hears Morris exclaim.
“What the…”
Suddenly the cane’s being pressed into her hand. Gentle fingers brush hers.
“Here y’are.”
She goes to say thanks, but Morris is telling Dean he’s gonna, ‘live to regret it,’ and Dean’s laughing at him. Some of the kids shout, ‘fight,’ and she hears Miss McClusky’s high heels tap back in before she breaks them up. They both get detention.
“Miss McClusky…” Petra starts, but she’s not listening, won’t let her defend Dean. Dammit, now he’s got detention ‘cause of her.
**
Petra goes to detention after school. She gets there early, and waits outside for Dean. She hears dragging footsteps coming, forming the shuffling, uncertain gait of most High Schoolers.
“Dean…?”
Whoever that is doesn’t answer her. Maybe it isn’t Dean.
The next steps are a cocky strut, like whoever it is owns the whole damn school. Morris. She keeps her eyes averted from the door. He bumps her shoulder deliberately as he passes, asshole.
“Hey.” The voice in her ear makes her jump. Dean’s. She didn’t hear him coming.
“Dean?”
“Yeah. Did you get detention too?” Dean sounds puzzled. She’s distracted, for a moment, by his smell. A lot of the guys drown themselves in cologne, or frankly, don’t wash, and stink of BO. Dean smells older, somehow, like a man already, smells of oil and coffee, and vaguely, of mint. Shower gel? She shakes her head.
“No. I came to say sorry that you got detention helping me out. That’s not fair.”
“I’ve had it for less.” Dean sounds amused that she’s there. “They’re lucky I showed up for it.”
She nods, unsure what else to say. “It was a nice thing you did. Thanks for getting my cane back for me.”
“No problem. That Morris is a jerk, I can’t believe he’d…he’s a jerk.”
They’re both silent for a minute, but she can hear his breathing, so she knows he’s still there.
“You’d better go in.”
“Yeah. Petra, isn’t it?”
“Yeah.”
“Catch you around, Petra.”
She doesn’t hear his footsteps go into the room either, but the breathing’s gone, so she moves off.
**
He’s eating lunch near her the next day. She knows it’s him because he smells the same, and she can hear him faintly humming under his breath. She’s on the front steps of the school, and he’s below her somewhere. There’s grass there, she thinks, that must be where he’s sitting.
“What’s that you’re singing?” She raises her voice, and points her head in his direction so he knows she’s talking to him.
“Blue Oyster Cult,” Dean answers, saying each word carefully like she’s some idiot who’s never heard of them.
“Who the hell are they?” She keeps her voice level.
“If you’ve never heard of…” He trails off as he sees her smile. “You’ve heard of BOC?”
“I’m insulted by your incredulity. I’m blind, dude, I listen to a lot of music. Can enjoy that same as anyone.”
He laughs a low, throaty chuckle. “I guess you can.”
There’s silence for a couple of minutes, then Dean asks, hesitantly.
“What music do you like best?”
“The Seattle scene. Nirvana, Pearl Jam, Soundgarden to name the obvious ones.” Dean snorts at that. “What’s that for?”
“Nothing, it’s just all so…no one appreciates the classics anymore.” He says it ironically, like he knows he sounds like her Dad, but like he means it anyway.
“I like all kinds though.” It’s important that he knows that, that she’s not some girl who’s into music just cause she finds Eddie Vedder hot, or whoever. Well, that’s obviously not the case. “I’m guessing you’re a Metallica kinda guy.”
“Ain’t nothin’ wrong with Metallica.” He sounds defensive.
“Course there isn’t. Bet you have the mullet hair to go with it too.”
“That’s right, how’d you guess?” His voice is teasing now. The bell rings inside, and she struggles up. Dean arrives next to her, silently again, damn him.
“Walk you in?”
“Yeah.” They walk in together, and she can barely hear Dean’s footsteps next to hers. “You must have been really good at hide and seek as a kid.”
“Huh?”
“I can’t hear your footsteps at all.”
Dean laughs, but he makes his footsteps louder as they walk down the hall.
**
The next day, she sits on the grass instead of the steps, and Dean joins her without a word said about it. They eat lunch together every day after that, sat in their place, the two of them against the rest of them. They argue over music, bring it in for each other, and play it on her walkman. He begrudgingly admits Soundgarden are okay, she gets worryingly into Iron Maiden. He tells her about his Dad in reverent tones, and talks affectionately about his younger brother, which is kinda cute. They bitch about teachers they don’t like. He sort of becomes a friend, which is weird, cause Petra doesn’t have that many friends.
“You realize we’re neighbors, don’t you?” Petra interrupts Dean’s diatribe about the latest top 30 shit that bugs him.
“Yeah, I know.”
“Just checking.” ‘Cause it’s been two weeks, and neither of them have mentioned the fact that they live next door to each other, and that’s a bit weird. Petra unwraps her sandwiches, can hear Dean doing the same. Dean groans when he gets his open. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Well, I let Sam make the lunches today, and now I’ve got…” There’s a pause, and she hears Dean fiddling with his bag. “I’ve got one sandwich with barely any peanut butter in it, and one that’s tuna salad. I hate tuna, I told Sam that, but, well, he’s done it deliberately ‘cause I put garlic and chilli in his soup …”
“Want one of mine?”
“What you got?”
She holds it out for inspection. “Dunno?”
“It’s…egg. Ok, swap?”
She nods, and lets Dean gently remove from the sandwich from her hand, and place his into it, closing her fingers around it to be sure she’s got it. He’s always so careful when it comes to handing her stuff, or taking stuff from her. Always mindful that she’s blind, without making a big deal of it. He’s never even mentioned it, and usually it’s one of the first things people do. Ask a question, fumble over a sighted word they use, feel guilty when they mention something happening that she can’t see. Dean’s done none of those things.
“Garlic and chilli soup? Dude, that’s a bit mean.” She giggles at the thought of it anyway. “How old is Sam?” He’s mentioned Sam a lot, and she’s gathered he’s younger, but she doesn’t know how much.
“He’s nearly 12.” Dean’s quiet for a moment, then he says. “You know, I’ve got the car today…”
“Oh yeah?” Where’s he going with this?
“Want a ride home? You’re hardly out my way…” There’s a wink, or a smile, accompanying that, and she wishes she could see it.
“Sure. I’ll have to tell my usual ride not to worry. She’ll be glad to be rid of me.” Petra feels around for her trash.
“S’ok, I got it. See you here after school then?”
**
Marcie barely hides her shock when Petra tells her that she’s to go on without her. She does her best to cough it back.
“No need to sound like you think the apocalypse is coming.”
“I don’t. Guys have offered you rides before. You don’t usually accept ‘em, that’s what makes me look around for some flying pigs.”
“Dean’s different.” Why is he so different? Cause he likes music, cause he stood up for her? ‘Cause he throws out her trash without her asking?
“That must be Dean waiting for you over there? Bottom of the front steps?”
“Yeah.” Petra looks to where she knows Marcie will be looking. She hears Marcie let out a long, slow whistle.
“Man. I can see why you did. I’d like a ride on that.”
“Marcie.” Petra manages to nudge Marcie, but she joins in her giggle anyway. “He’s hot then is he?” Not that it matters to her.
“I’ll say.”
Petra walks over to Dean with a new jaunt in her step.
“Hey.”
“Ready to go?” Dean lets her take his arm without any preamble, like he’s expecting it. He’s not awkward about it either, just lets her, walks slower than he usually would because he’s got her attached to him. They walk a short distance, then stop. “Here we are.” Dean sounds proud. Proud of his car, of course.
“Now Dean, you do realize something.”
“What?”
“I can’t see your car. You’ll have to describe her to me.”
“I’ll bore you to death with it.” Dean isn’t exaggerating. They stand there for ten minutes while he discusses the wheels, and the paint job. They get in, and he describes the interior, in detail. In the end, she’s forced to interrupt him.
“Dean, Dean. I’m a girl. Shiny and black, would have done me, or sweet ride, or cool classic car, I’m kinda lost here.”
“Oh, ok, sorry.” He’s quiet, humbled, and she feels awful for stopping his excitement.
“No I’m sorry, Dean, you’re just trying to tell me about your car. Paint a complete picture, I get it.”
“It’s ok, I was…it’s fine.” She can’t make out whether he is fine or not, that tone isn’t giving anything away. He drives off, and they are quiet for a long time, and she worries she’s upset him.
“Dean…”
“I have to pick up Sam.” She nods, guesses the subject is closed.
Dean gets out the car when they get to Sam’s school, but she isn’t left waiting long. There’s a loud squeak as another door opens, and she hears scrambling of feet across leather as Sam presumably gets in the back. Doors slam shut again.
“I’m Sam, hi.” A hand taps her quickly on the shoulder, then pulls back fast. “You’re Petra, then, from next door?”
She doesn’t have time to answer him, before he’s off, telling them both about his day, about some test he had. He talks constantly nearly all the way home, but stops the minute Dean speaks to hear what Dean has to say. Dean acts like a parent, almost, questioning Sam about his work, sounding really proud when Sam says he aced some test, getting stern when Sam says some kids are picking on him.
“Want me to sort them out?” It’s brusque, and the undertone of violence is unmistakeable. Petra wouldn’t like to be those kids picking on Sam.
“No, Dean. I can manage, honest.”
Dean doesn’t reply, she guesses he nodded or something.
“Hey, are you making mac and cheese tonight, Dean? Wanna come in for some Petra, there’s enough for Petra too isn’t there?”
“Sure, there’ll be enough.” She can’t tell if he wants her there or not, there’s no giveaway in that tone. There’s silence for a moment then Dean adds. “I can do something better than mac and cheese if you want, I can cook…”
Petra interrupts him. “Mac and cheese would be great.”
It is great. It’s the best mac and cheese she’s ever had, to be precise. The three of them eat it - Dad Winchester ‘out of town’ apparently - and spend most of the meal talking about Sam’s day, again. Dean’s getting them out some ice cream after, and Sam insists on bringing out a pot he made in class the week before.
“I’m sorry, you should never have said you were interested,” Dean says quietly to her. “You’ll have to hear all about it now.”
“I don’t mind. He’s cute.” She means it too. She imagines him to be all wild legs, and flailing arms, to go with his excitable voice. He speaks to Dean like he’s looking at him with wide, admiring eyes, and she thinks how Dean must inspire that a lot. There’s authority to his voice no matter who he speaks to. Sam’s footsteps thunder back in excitedly.
“Here you go.” His chair scrapes as he pulls it closer to her. She hears the clunk of the pot on the table, and reaches out her hands hesitantly for it.
“Sam, you should put her hands on it, help her find it. Pet, I’m sorry, he’s…”
“It’s okay, Dean.” It is okay, too. She’ll find it soon enough. She reaches her right hand forward, and brushes against a clay surface, then clasps both hands round it. She runs her fingers round it. It’s a good pot, bit wobbly at the side, but a good effort. He’s made some kind of markings in the clay too, nice touch. They feel deliberate, like they mean something. She tells him so, and Sam acts like he’s never heard such praise.
“You mean it?”
“Yeah, feels good to me.”
“Told you it was good.” Dean bangs a couple of bowls down onto the table.
“You’re my brother, you have to say that.” It’s deadpan, but Sam seems pleased to hear it again.
“She’s a guest, maybe she’s just being polite,” Dean teases, and Petra spends the next couple of minutes reassuring Sam that it really is good.
Sam finally leaves them alone, and goes to do his homework. Dean and her chat about nothing, like always. Petra realises this is the first time they’ve been alone, and feels nervous. Dean doesn’t try anything though. They chat, and he walks her home.
Mom and Dad quiz her when she gets home, and Mom’s nervous. She’s seen Dean outside, and calls him ‘dangerously handsome'. The conversation gets waylaid by Dad teasing Mom about liking Dean, but Mom soon gets back to her point. Dad says it’s fine though, that she’ll be safe with Dean, that the younger brother will always be around. Petra holds her breath the whole time, and thinks how Mom only gives in ‘cause she’s so relieved that Petra has a friend at last.
Petra wonders, when she lies in bed that night, why she wanted Dean to try something. She has no idea what he looks like. She barely knows him, really.
**
“I got you something,” Dean announces at lunch a couple of days later.
“A present?” She wipes her hands on her jeans. “For me?”
“No, when I said, I got you something, I really meant that I had a present for Sally Watson, and I was just kidding around about the you part.” He nudges her when he finishes saying it, and she nudges him back.
“Give it, give it.” She holds out her hands like a cup in front of her. She feels Dean take one hand in his, and his hand’s strong, and his thumb rubs the back of her hand distractedly.
“Ready?”
She doesn’t answer him for a minute, enjoys him being this close to her, lets him rub her hand some more.
“Ready?” He sounds like he’s worried she hasn’t heard him, sounds impatient to give her the gift.
“Ready.”
Something plops into her hand, and then Dean closes her fingers over it.
“For you.”
She feels round the edges of a small rectangular object, feels the join of the…
“It’s a cassette tape?”
“It’s a cassette tape.” Dean is very pleased with himself. “I made you a tape of some of the music we’ve talked about, and you said you didn’t have. ‘Course, I wrote the track list on it, then Sam pointed out that you couldn’t read the track list, but…”
“It’s ok, my Mom can read it out to me. Wow, Dean, that’s great, thanks.”
She wants to hug him, or kiss him, or something, but she doesn’t hear him move any closer to her.
“Can I give you a hug?” What an idiot she is, for having to ask.
“Sure.” Dean seems surprised she asked. She feels his arms press around her back, press her to him, and she moves her arms around him. His back is broad, muscular. She tries not to run her hands over it, buries her face into the crook of his neck, breathes in his scent, still oil and coffee, but the shower gel’s orange smelling now. She holds the moment as long as possible.
“Thanks Dean.” He pulls away from her, kisses the side of her head awkwardly as he moves back.
“No problem.”
**
Petra’s at the Winchesters for dinner, again, and Dad Winchester arrives home while they’re eating. The door slams open, and Sam and Dean both scramble to their feet next to her.
“Dad!” Sam excitedly races toward his Dad, but she hears him stop short of where he is.
“Sir, you’re home.”
Dean calls his Dad Sir, how weird, Petra thinks to herself. She isn’t sure whether to stand, but stays where she is, cause, well, it feels weird to stand to attention with the pair of them.
“Hey Sammy.” His voice is deep, like hailstones falling onto the floor in tiny showers. Heavy footsteps march across the room toward her. “Dean.”
“Dad.” Sam’s fallen silent behind Dad, and she guesses that that’s because of her. She can feel the looks going on between them buzzing past her skin like flies.
“Dad, this is Petra. Petra, this is my Dad, John.”
“Pleased to meet you, sir.” Now Dean’s got her ‘Sir-ing’ away. Petra holds her hand out where she thinks Mr Winchester is. A strong, callused hand grasps it, shakes it with just the right amount of pressure.
“Petra. Hope my boys have been taking care of you.”
“Yessir.” It seems the right thing to say. “Dean cooks better than my mom does, I like coming round here.”
Dean stifles a laugh next to her.
“I’m glad. I’m afraid you’ll have to go home now though, I have chores for the boys to attend to. Dean, walk her back.”
Everybody’s quiet while Dean gets her bag, and walks her out. As soon as they’re outside she hears Dean let out a large breath.
“You ok, Dean?”
“Yeah, fine.” It’s that non-committal voice again, that means everything isn’t fine, but he’s too much of a boy to admit it.
“So that’s your Dad.”
“That’s Dad. He’s… I know he seems strict, but you know, he has to be, bringing up us two kids alone, he doesn’t mean anything by it, if he seems…” Dean’s stumbling over his words, and Dean doesn’t do that often. Usually he knows exactly what he’s going to say.
“It’s ok, Dean.” She doesn’t know what else to say.
“He kinda chucked you out.” Dean says it like it hurts him to admit it.
“I don’t mind. You’ve got chores.”
“Yeah, chores.” Dean says it funny, like he doesn’t consider them chores, but she doesn’t press him.
“It always been you three?” She’s never asked him that, in all this time. Like he’s never asked about her sight, she’s never pried about where his mom is. She’s sorry she was the one to break their unspoken agreement.
“Yeah. Mom… “ Dean pauses while he opens the gate for her, then he’s back at her side, and she takes his arm, even though she doesn’t really need to, to walk the short distance home. “Mom died when Sam was just a baby.”
“I’m sorry.”
“S’ok. I was very young. I don’t really remember before.”
He says it like it’s in capitals with neon lights around it. As if his life has a big dividing line down the middle of it. Here she is, only knowing him in the after. She knows what it’s like to have a divide like that. She wants to press for more detail, but doesn’t.
“Sam was just a baby?” She repeats, for the sake of saying something.
“Yeah.” There’s so much heartbreak in that word, that she stops walking, stops to hear the rest. “He doesn’t remember her at all.”
“That’s so sad, Dean. You must’ve had to be there for him a lot.” Dean’s quiet. She bets he isn’t nodding, or anything. Just looking at her. “You seem to look out for him a lot.”
“I try.” Dean’s quiet again, and she waits, looks at where he is, and wills him to continue. He takes in a breath, and she feels the promise of more before it’s out there. “Dad needs the help. Sam’s an easy kid - for the most part.” He sounds older than he should. “I was his first word,” Dean says suddenly, as if changing the subject. He starts to move off, and she moves with him.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. Well, he…” Dean’s embarrassed, but he carries on, “I used to ask, who’s the best brother, and try and get him to point - I was only young - and one day he did. And said, Dee.”
He quickens their pace toward her front door. He sounds like he thinks he’s made a fool of himself, so she makes her mood light.
“Dee’s a letter Dean. How do you know you didn’t just miss the ABC?”
“Ha ha. It was my nickname.” His voice is teasing, light again, the one he usually uses with her, and she’s glad to have it back.
“Maybe I’ll call you it from now on.”
“If you like.”
“Of course his first sentence was, ”me do it”, so, that shoulda been my hint,” Dean says wryly. They’re at her door, and he leaves her with a quick squeeze of her arm.
**
Dean’s really quiet the next day, expelling every word he says to her with effort. He doesn’t even leap in with a pretend eulogy for Kurt Cobain when she mentions Nirvana, so she knows something must be wrong.
“So,” maybe a change of subject, “you see they decided on the theme for that dance? Under the sea. I mean, what is this, the fifties?”
Dean doesn’t reply. He half laughs, like he’s not really listening, and shifts his weight. He’s doing that a lot, shuffling around not like he’s impatient to go, but like he can’t get comfortable.
“Wassup with you?” She punches his shoulder lightly, and he winces, moves away from her touch. “Dean? Are you ok?”
“I’m fine.” It’s clipped, slamming the book shut on the topic before it’s even open.
“You’re not fine. You can’t sit still, you’re quiet.” She stares at him, and has no idea what he’s doing. He gives a couple of deep breaths but doesn’t answer her. “Have you been in an accident? Or, or a fight?”
A couple more breaths, but otherwise nothing.
“Is it those boys that were beating up Sammy?”
“I dealt with them a long time ago.” Now he sounds pissed that she’d think he’d take this long to deal with them. This Dean is scary, not ‘cause of the fight, but ‘cause suddenly she’s no idea who’s sitting in the dark next to her.
“Fine. Don’t tell me. I thought we were friends, that we talked about stuff, but if this is how it’s gonna be…” Petra pauses, gives him a chance to leap in, but he says nothing. She struggles up, and he reaches to help her but she throws his arm off. “I’m blind, not an invalid.” It’s cruel, and she hears his sharp intake of breath, but doesn’t care.
Petra avoids Dean all day, but when she gets to last period she knows he’s there waiting for her. He clears his throat, and shifts his weight, but doesn’t speak.
“Dean.”
“I went hunting, last night, after the chores. That’s where I got hurt.” He says it all of a rush, like he has to tell her before he changes his mind.
“Oh. Hunting what? Like, wildlife and stuff?” Why did that have to be a secret?
“Yeah, like wildlife and stuff.” He repeats the words in exactly the tone she says them, surprised.
“What the hell were you doing out that late hunting?” There’s something strange going on with Dean’s Dad that she can’t get to the bottom of.
“Dad took us. He does that, sometimes. And I had to push Sam out the way, I went down pretty hard. I didn’t tell you, cause, well, I know how weird it sounds.” He's not in a rush now, every word is measured, full of self control.
“It’s fine. As long as I know, I don’t care what you were doing. You’re ok?”
“I’ll live. Just sore, that’s all.” He pauses, clears his throat. “Anyway, I’m cutting, not going into last period, so...”
“But you’re standing outside it Dean.” How can he not be bothered about getting caught? “Surely Mr Clark has seen you already?”
“He’s too busy flirting with Miss McClusky. Wish they’d just screw already, and get it over with.”
She laughs out loud at that, and he moves closer to her, like he’s moving out of somebody’s way, and he’s standing really close. “They’re screwing already Dean. This is them making up after some argument.” He chuckles agreement at her, and she feels his breath warming her cheek. “You want me to cover you?”
“Not bothered. I’d better go, see ya tomorrow.”
Dean brushes his hand over her back before he leaves, a deliberate apologetic touch, and she smiles up at him. Petra listens to his footsteps disappear down the corridor. She wonders how he can be so carefree about things like detention, and school, and what others think of him, yet care so much about Sam, and his father, and his music, and her. At least, she hopes she makes the list.
**
They’ve now been friends for three months. Friends who see each other every day, and hang out at Dean’s house, and at school, and why hasn’t he tried to kiss me? Petra tries not to think about it, but the more she knows him, the more she likes him, and the more she thinks about it. I’m hideous, that must be it, she tells herself.
She sits as close to him as she possibly can at all times. She touches his arm or his leg wherever possible. She purses her lips at him as he talks. He ignores all such signs. Petra’s heard the restroom gossip. She knows that before he was friends with her, Dean put it about, to put it bluntly. She also knows Dean’s stopped making out with lots of girls recently, and figures that must be to do with her, to do with their friendship. So, what’s wrong with her? She refuses to ask him point blank, but it starts to get on her nerves.
At lunch, he feeds her a piece of his sandwich, for crying out loud. She closes her lips around his finger, and he leaves it there a second too long, before removing it, but still no attempt to kiss her.
That’s it, she’s not gonna say anything, she refuses to embarrass herself like that, it’s fine, she…
“Am I hideous, Dean?”
“What? No?” He sounds like she’s caught him with his hand in the cookie jar. “No.” He says again.
“Really? You think I’m attractive?”
“Wassup, Petra?” He sounds weary, like he so doesn’t want to have this conversation.
“Nothing.” She crosses her arms, and drops it, and Dean being Dean, doesn’t push it.
Dean walks her to her next class.
“Petra, you know…never mind.”
“What?” She looks in his direction, hears him shove his hands deep in his pockets.
“I just… apart from Sam, you know you’re my only friend, right? My best friend, like you chicks like to say.”
“Yeah.” She didn’t know that, and it’s nice to hear it.
“Good, I just… that’s all.” She hears him walking off down the corridor, wonders what brought on that strange declaration of friendship. She remembers his voice saying best friend, and fancies that he says it with import, that she matters. She thinks how he mustn’t say that to many people, but that he kisses loads of people, and that makes her feel less bad about the fact that he hasn’t kissed her.
**
Petra wants to know what Dean looks like. She only wants to know because Sally comes up to her as she’s washing her hands in the restrooms one day.
“Listen, I’m just saying this, because like, we used to be friends, and I wanna look out for you, okay?”
“Oh-kay.” Petra answers her slowly, wondering what the hell this is about. She can hear Sal fidget from foot to foot, not speaking. “Spit it out, Sal.”
“Well, like, you’ve been hanging out with that Dean kid a lot, and, well, you should see him Petra. He wears that leather coat all the time; he’s a regular James Dean, and he looks like trouble. I mean, he’s hot, alright, and that’s trouble in itself, but he looks like he’s been in fights half the time, or like he hasn’t been to bed, and I don’t want you getting into something with this guy, who’s obviously trouble and, well…”
Sal trails off, and goes back to fidgeting from foot to foot. Petra feels her blood boiling, tries to keep her voice calm as she answers.
“Sal, I know you’re just trying to look out for me, but I can look out for myself, really.”
“Petra, come on, don’t be mad, it’s just, you can’t see what he’s like and…”
Petra whirls round, grabs her cane so she can make a quick exit.
“I see exactly what he’s like,” she hisses at Sal. “Better than you do, better ‘n anybody does. He’s not the trouble you think he is. He’s a sweet, kind, generous guy, who looks out for me, and his brother, and would do anything for you if you asked.” She should probably stop there, but now the lid’s off, all her opinions come fighting their way out. “And you know, he nearly got in a fight for me, when he didn’t even know me, so if he gets in fights, I don't give a shit. If he looks like he didn’t go to bed, I don’t care. If he’s hot, well, good for him.”
She wants to say something about the nerve of Sal to choose this to be a friend over, but she stomps out, stomps outside to where Dean’s waiting for her.
“What crawled up your ass?” Is Dean’s greeting as she sits down onto the grass. She hears him get up, and shuffle closer to her.
“Nothing.” She crosses her arms, doesn’t want to tell him.
“Come on, tell me.” His voice is wheedling.
“It was about you.”
“Oh.” That gruff, angry tone is back. “What about me?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“It does matter. Tell me. Tell me what happened. People hassling you about me?” There’s that scary edge to his voice again. She’d better not tell him who said it.
“It’s just… one of the girls came up to me, said I’d better be careful cause you’re trouble. You look like you’ve been up all night, getting into fights, and you’re too hot to not be trouble, and I should be careful.”
“Oh.” It’s nonplussed this time. “Well those things are probably true, I…”
She can’t believe he’d say that.
“How can you say that Dean? I told her to go to hell. I said you were kind and generous, and she had to look beyond…I told her to go to hell. She said I couldn’t see what you really were, and I said I saw you better ‘n most, and…”
“What?” Dean shuffles, and she feels his whole body pressing up against hers at the side. Every inch where they touch burns her.
“I think I do, I do see you better than most, don’t I?” She holds her breath as she waits for his reply, and it takes a really long time to come. She almost gives in, tries to think of a joke to break the tension between them that’s starting to suffocate her.
“I don’t think I’m as kind and all that, as you think I am.” He’s barely audible next to her, and she’s never heard him sound so unsure, never seen that crack in him so wide.
“You don’t give yourself enough credit.” He doesn’t answer her, so she tries to laugh it off. “You hang out with a blind girl all day, after all.”
“I wish you wouldn’t joke about yourself like that.” Dean’s voice is crisp, cutting, like he’s angry at her now, and this isn’t going well.
“I wish you’d see how beautiful you are inside.” God, she can’t believe she said something so cheesy. “God, I didn’t mean that to sound, well I did mean it but…”
“Didn’t mean it to sound so much like a line? That’s ok, there are easier ways to try and get me into bed you know, but I accept vague flattery.”
They both laugh. The topic’s closed, she knows that. She hopes he heard what she had to say. There’s one more thing she wants to ask him, and now seems the time.
“Dean? Can I…”
“What, sleep with me? I like a girl who takes the direct approach.” She feels herself go red, and nearly nods, or something, but Dean interrupts her thoughts. “Can you what?”
“Can I feel your face, to see what you look like, so I can, picture you to myself?” She’s only done this with a few people. Most people she remembers from before, Dean, Dean’s one of the few new people who matters enough to ask.
“Sure.” He’s hesitant in his voice, but his hand takes hers firmly, and he lifts it, and puts it on his cheek. She runs her fingers over a sharp cheekbone, sharp enough to cut herself on, she kids, as she lightly traces its course across his cheek. She moves her hand up, across a firm strong forehead, briefly dips into short, spiky hair, then down, runs a palm across eyes with long lashes. The lashes flutter and tickle her palm as she passes over them, runs her hand down, and ends at his mouth. She traces the outline of full lips with her fingers, and my God, who has lips that full. She leaves her fingers there longer than she should, and he kisses them gently before she pulls her hand away.
Neither of them speak for a minute, then Dean hesitantly, shyly, asks, “Well?”
“You’re…” Petra can’t find the words.
“So hot I’ve stunned you into silence? Yes, that often happens.”
She tries to tickle him but he’s too quick for her, and ends up tickling her first, the moment between them broken.
**
Petra’s doing homework that weekend with her window open, when she hears it. The voices are low at first, and barely audible. Then she hears Sam’s voice clearly shouting, “Leave?”
They’re moving? She’s in such shock she nearly forgets to listen in. Dean’s moving? She’s knows they’re a family that move a lot, but never really thought that meant leaving her someday. She pulls her chair nearer to the window to hear better.
“Sam…” That’s Mr Winchester’s voice. He sounds tired of the whole conversation already, like he’s had it a million times before.
“Dad, do we have to leave? Move already?” That’s Dean. His voice is level, and it’s like he’s fighting to keep it calm.
“Dean, why the hell… you know it does.”
“I don’t mind moving this time.” Sam sounds sulky, like he doesn’t really mean that.
“I don’t wanna go.” Still level, Dean and his self control winning out.
“Dean.” Mr Winchester is tired of both of them now. “Dean, I’m not getting into this. We’re leaving.” There’s silence for a while, then Mr Winchester adds, “you’re dismissed, Dean, go pack.” It’s firm, she wouldn’t argue with that tone, and there’s more silence from Dean, but she guesses he doesn’t leave the room because Mr Winchester adds, “Dean,” in a really scary voice.
“I want to stay, this time, I wanna…”
“Dean.” Mr Winchester sounds surprised. “You’re really pushing this?” Then he adds, suspiciously, “It’s that girl isn’t it?” Petra feels cold all over, guilty that she’s the girl causing this. Also kinda pleased, that Dean’s fighting to stay with her. It is her?
“It’s nothing to do with Petra.” Oh thank God, it’s not some other girl.
“Oh no? Cause you know, if you’ve got some hero complex, thinking she needs you, well she managed fine without you before, she’ll manage fine again…”
“It’s not a…it’s nothing to do with her Dad.” Dean’s voice is louder now, like he’s losing it despite himself. “I want to stay, because I want to stay, please? Just this once?”
“No Dean, we can’t stay.”
There’s silence for a while, a lot of banging doors and stomping around, then she hears Dean’s voice again.
“Dad…seriously. Is it an important lead? Could you check it out, and us stay here, still stay in this area, cause…”
“Dean.” Mr Winchester’s really getting mad, like Dean only has a couple more questions before his Dad’s anger wins out over his surprise.
“Ok, sorry.” Silence again.
Mr Winchester must have calmed down, because he asks Dean something Petra can’t hear, but Dean speaks fairly loudly in response.
“I said it’s not to do with her…” Brief silence again. “Okay, maybe, maybe part of the reason I don’t wanna go, is cause I…I like her and I wanna stay, okay? It’s not a hero complex thing, it’s just…she’s my friend. I don’t often ask.” Dean sounds like he knows this is a waste of time, but he has to ask it anyway.
Mr Winchester launches into a long speech about ‘not getting attached to people,’ and how, ‘he can go say goodbye, cause they’re leaving tonight.’ Dean tries to interrupt, but Mr Winchester speaks over it, and by the time it’s over Dean mutters something she can’t hear in response. She guesses it’s a, ‘yessir,’ because then she hears Dean telling Sam they have to go say goodbye to her.
Petra moves away from the window so it won’t be so obvious she was listening. The doorbell rings, and she hears Mom answer it, let Dean in. Footsteps echo along the hall toward her door - two sets. There’s a quiet knock at the door.
“Come in, Dean.”
“I hate it when you do that.” But he’s grinning, or sounds like he is, when the door pushes open.
“Hey Petra.” It’s Sam, sounding subdued.
“We’ve come to say goodbye, Pet, we’re moving.” Dean says it bluntly, and boy, he would not be good at breaking bad news to someone. He certainly likes to rip the band-aid off.
“Oh.” She tries to sound surprised, but can’t. “Leaving tonight?”
“Yeah.” Dean clears his throat. “Yeah,” he says more certainly. “Sam wanted to say ‘bye too. Say ‘bye Sam.”
Sam’s feet shuffle toward her. “Petra, I brought you the bowl I made.” He presses it into her lap, and as soon as it’s there, flings his arms around her neck, squeezing her with a surprisingly strong grip.
“I can’t take this Sam,” Petra disentangles herself from him. “You made it.”
“Dad won’t let me take it with us, and you liked it, didn’t you?” He seems so hopeful, that she doesn’t have the heart to refuse him.
“I loved it. Okay then, thanks Sam.”
Sam lets out his breath, and starts to shuffle away from her.
“Okay Sam, you go home, tell Dad I’ll be five minutes, okay?”
“Sam?” Petra calls, as Sam moves toward the door. “Look out for Dean for me, okay?”
“Of course,” Sam answers, in that serious way he has sometimes, when things are really important. Then he’s gone, door swinging shut behind him, and Dean comes and sits next to her on the bed. Dean and her are alone on her bed, and she can’t enjoy it.
“So this is goodbye. Sudden.”
“It is always is, for us,” Dean says. “I’m sorry, I wish I had more time, or more warning.”
“It’s okay.”
They sit there in silence for a couple of minutes. Dean surprises her by putting an arm around her, pulling her close to his side. She puts her head in his chest, and he envelops her completely in a hug. They stay like that for what feels like forever, then Dean pulls away. He leaves his hands holding her shoulders.
“I have to go. I just…”
“It’s ok. You don’t have to say anything, Dean.” What else is there to say, other than goodbye?
“I wanted you to know, I’d have taken you to that dorky dance that’s on, if you wanted, and it could’ve been a date, if you’d have liked…”
“I would have liked,” she jumps in, eager. She holds back the tears that are building in her chest.
“Me too. I’m sorry, that we never… I’m sorry.” Dean lets out a large breath. “Man, next town, I’m keeping myself to myself, I hate goodbyes.”
She laughs. “Me too. Let’s not say it.”
“Okay.”
There’s silence for a minute, then a soft pair of lips brush hers, and he gets up from her side. She knows he’s gone before she hears the door slam cause the room’s that much dimmer.
***
***
Comments are welcomed with huge Sam length arms.
Link to sequel they meet up again here, let me know what you thought of this one though, hee