See clearly now, PG13 with warnings
So I wrote Unseeing for spn_flashback, which was Outsider POV, from the POV of a girl who’s blind, and goes to school with Dean.
It was about how she views him, and people seemed to like it, even reading it when OFC normally puts them off (so sweet). They were even kind/crazy enough to ask for a sequel. So here it is.
Title: See clearly now
Rating: PG 13 with warnings
Warnings: Bad Language, implied sex (some kissing, touching, nothing explicit)
Pairing: Dean/OFC
Summary: Dean gets recognized while using a false name on a job…
Many, many thanks to dakotas-tale for beta'ing this, and holding my hand, and generally being a fab friend. Without her, it would be full of random antelope references (I’m not kidding).
It's set sorta current time, whilst avoiding any specific spoilers for end of series 1/start of series 2.
Those jerks forgot the decorations. She knows that ‘cause she overheard a couple of people mention how bare the room looks. Petra steels herself to go deal with them, until she hears Anne approaching.
“Anne, are there no decorations? I asked for decorations.”
Sometimes she wonders what her job has come to, when these are the things that concern her.
“I know, I’ve told ‘em. Never mind that, I’ve someone else for you to meet.”
Petra sighs, tries not to get annoyed about all the things people think they can get away with. She lets Anne drag her over to whoever it is that it’s desperately important she meet. These events are always a sufferance at best, a long line of, ‘thank you for coming,’ and, ‘your money means a lot to us.’ Sometimes, a long line of pitying questions, and of people speaking around her, not at her.
Petra puts on her best smile as Anne comes to a stop, and says, “This is Doug Sampson. Doug, this is Petra; Petra will be able to answer your questions about the venue we’re standing in.”
There’s something about that name that’s familiar, but she brushes it off. She’s heard it among the list of sponsors, or donators, or something. A venue history freak, then. Petra puts her hand out. “Pleased to meet you, Doug.”
There’s a silence, a beat too long, and Petra wonders if he’s freaking out at her cane. Really, why come to a benefit raising money for blind people, if that freaks you out? Maybe he just hasn’t heard her. Then he clears his throat and says, “Yeah, pleased to meet you, Petra,” and grips her hand firmly, really firmly. He shakes it for a long time, and she feels him looking at her, and wonders if maybe she’s got food on her face. “Very pleased to meet you,” he adds, and there’s something about how gravelly it is, some undertone to his words, that makes her blush. There’s also something familiar about his voice, as if she knows him.
“Have we spoken before, Doug?”
“Maybe, I’m not sure,” Doug answers, and he sounds uncomfortable.
“I’ll leave you two to it, then,” Anne sounds delighted to have pawned them off on each other, and Petra hears her feet race off through the crowd.
“You had questions about the venue, Doug? I’m sorry, are you one of our donors?”
“Yeah, I’ve…donated,” Doug says, and she hears him shifting his weight from foot to foot, and she swears he’s still looking at her; but really, she has no idea, it’s just a gut feeling. There’s a moment’s silence again, then he takes a deep breath. “The venue - I’m interested in anything you know about its history. Anne said you booked it?”
“Yeah, I did a lot of research too.” Petra launches into a speech about when the house was built, and how old it is, and the family that lived there, and Doug has the decency to sound interested, and to ask questions. Petra likes him, he’s easy to talk to, and funny, and charming, but she can’t concentrate on any of those things because all the time they’re speaking it’s niggling at her, where she’s heard his voice before. It’s like the words to a song where she can’t remember the title.
“You organize a lot of these events?” Doug sounds interested in her now, and she smiles.
“Yeah, there’s a team that plans them, but I get involved as much as possible.”
“They forgot the decorations? Jerks,” Doug says, and she smiles. He then makes a joke about how they’re wheeling out some hastily made paper chains, and she grins. He moves closer to her, his foot bumps her foot, and she can smell his cologne, and a faint smell of coffee underneath it. There’s nothing special about that, but it awakens something in her senses.
“I read somewhere that people died here,” Doug adds, and it’s pointed, as if asking why she didn’t mention it earlier.
“Yeah, there are stories. Jealous husband kills his wife’s lover by pushing him down the stairs, and ever since there have been stories of similar deaths. Really, I think it’s a case of a couple of nasty accidents. Coincidence.”
“I don’t believe in coincidence,” Doug says, in a funny way. “Well, most of the time,” he adds, and he brushes her arm with his, the way she likes to, to check people are still there. Only he can see that she hasn’t gone anywhere.
“I must have spoken to you on the phone, Doug; your voice is too familiar.” Petra frowns, trying to think. “Can you remember what about?”
There’s a cry in the distance, some kind of shout, and they both look toward it.
“I gotta go,” Doug says, “I’ll find you later.”
With a squeeze of her arm, he’s gone. Petra shrugs, tries not to think anything more of it.
**
Petra’s hanging out by the food, trying to be inconspicuous. Counting the minutes until she can leave, of course; she doesn’t hear Doug’s footsteps approach among the din of the room, but she smells him next to her, and hears him noisily eating.
It’s the way he eats, the way he clears his throat before he opens his mouth to speak, the way he brushes her shoulder as he says, ‘hey…’
“Dean Winchester.”
The words are out of her mouth before she knows she’s said them, and he recoils back from her, the hand slipping off her shoulder.
“W… what?” He sounds caught out, and she’s convinced of it. That’s Dean’s voice, huskier with the patina of age, but Dean nonetheless. That’s how Dean would smell, how Dean would act, and it might be ten - God, twelve - years ago, but her senses don’t forget. Her senses remember, unconsciously, where her mind forgets.
“It’s Dean. You’re Dean, aren’t you?” She’s sure of it, but feels stupid at the same time. She only knew Dean for three months in high school, after all. He was a friend for a short time only, and she’s mistaken a stranger for him before. “You sound like someone I used to know,” she adds, “I’m certain of it.”
He’s silent, for a while, and she hears him shifting from foot to foot, then he says,
“I’m…”
They’re interrupted by a voice approaching, calling, “Doug,” calling for his help, and he clears his throat, “coming…Tony,” he says, and she feels bad, suddenly doubts that this is Dean.
“I’m sorry, you have to go,” she murmurs. She turns back to the food so he knows he can leave, and soon she can’t sense him next to her anymore.
**
The evening’s nearing a close, and Petra knows she should be saying thank you and goodbye to people, but it’s tiring, and she wanders off into a side room. She counts her steps carefully, and her cane hits against what feels like a chair, so she finds the seat of it, and rests.
The din of the event is distant; it’s mercifully quiet in here. She focuses on all the small noises around her, so she can tell if anyone’s coming. After a false alarm where someone walks past the door, she hears quiet footsteps racing along the corridor, then the door bangs open, hits against the wall. It happens so quickly, it takes her by surprise.
“What the…”
There’s silence for a minute, heavy breathing, then another set of footsteps come running along, almost skid into the room after the first set.
“Is it here?”
There’s silence, and she guesses, a gesturing toward her in that silence.
“Who is it?” She calls, and footsteps tap across the room toward her.
“You have to go,” and it’s Doug, abrupt and short, ordering her out. That pisses her off.
“I don’t have to go anywhere,” Petra says.
One of them clears his throat, then Tony, she guesses, says, “It would be a good idea if you did, er, Petra, is it?” He sounds like he knows exactly who she is, and she wonders if he and Doug have been talking.
“Why? The only danger I seem to be in here is from you two loons.” She’s as sarcastic as possible, and at that point realizes where she’s heard their names before. “Doug Sampson, drummer for Iron Maiden, and Tony, Tony Parsons? Guitarist?”
There’s heat in that room, looks flying that she’s not a part of, she’s sure, and she knows then that this is Dean. He’s the reason she knows the name of the members of frickin’ Iron Maiden.
“Look Pet, I’m sorry, it really isn’t safe.” His voice switches to soft, gentle, and it’s the use of that tone and her nickname that seals it.
“Dean Winchester, I can’t believe it,” and the silence makes it definite, and she holds her breath. There were a million things she wanted to say if she ever saw him again, and suddenly she can’t think of anything. It’s too confusing that he’s here, asking random questions, saying it’s not safe, pretending to be someone else. It’s too overwhelming that he’s here.
“I know, me neither.” His voice relaxes a bit, but not totally, and he adds, immediately, “I’m sorry I lied about my name, but believe me, something weird’s going on here.” Petra doesn’t respond to that, has no idea what to say, and Dean adds, more urgently, “If you ever trusted me, you’ll go outside right now, and you’ll take as many people with you as you can.” His tone’s not to be messed with, not to be argued with, and Petra nearly gets up to go.
“I’ll go pull the fire alarm,” Tony says, and Petra pauses, wonders who Tony really is; she can’t place the voice.
“Please,” Dean says, and she hears his feet come closer to her, “you need me to help you outside?” He sounds more agitated, and she can tell he’s really worried underneath the take-charge voice.
“I’ll go outside if you’ll come find me later, explain what the hell this is about.” Petra tries to sound angry, but she knows her pleasure at him actually being there is probably coming over.
“I promise,” Dean says, and she strains to hear his light footsteps, hears them go toward the door, then suddenly they run back, race toward her. A hand clasps her shoulder, awkwardly, and a soft kiss is lightly bestowed on her forehead, so faint she thinks she might have imagined it. He repeats, “I promise,” before racing off again.
**
Soon after Petra leaves the room, the fire alarm goes off, and there are shouts in the distance, and people rushing about. She gets outside and asks around for Anne, but no one seems to know where she is. Then Frances comes over and says that Anne fell down the stairs, but that she’s fine. Looks like somebody broke her fall, apparently, and Petra wonders if this is the weirdness Dean was talking about.
There’s a fuss over who will ride in the ambulance, and they’re all told to go home, that they’ll be allowed to visit tomorrow, that Anne’ll be fine. It’s only after most people have headed off that Petra remembers that Anne was her ride.
The police are taking forever interviewing Frances, and they’ve left Petra till last, not that Petra can blame them, she’s hardly prime witness material. Petra clacks her cane impatiently on the floor.
“There were tons of people here we didn’t know,” Frances is saying, “but no one suspicious. Well, there were two guys asking a lot of questions about the venue, but…”
Petra’s ears prick up at that, knows she’s talking about Dean. The police pick up on it too, and start to quiz Frances, and before Petra knows what she’s doing, she leaps in.
“I know those two guys,” she says, interrupts them mid sentence. It’s probably crazy to protect him, she tells herself. She barely knows him anymore, after all, but she can’t help herself. “They’re friends of mine who’ve donated money, they’re just into history. That’s nothing to worry about.” She feels the eyes of the policeman and Frances on her, but the policeman drops it, and barely has any questions for her.
Frances makes her way over to Petra once the policeman’s gone.
“I guess you really did know that guy Doug,” she says, wryly, and Petra wonders what that’s supposed to mean.
“Of course, what on earth?” Petra isn’t sure what’s going on, but Frances takes her arm, and turns her around.
“Looks like he’s waiting over there for ya. Can I take it you’ve got a ride home?”
Petra nods, and hears Frances leave, and it’s a long time before she hears any footsteps coming toward her. They’re silent, like he always was, damn him, because suddenly she can hear him breathing loudly in front of her.
“Damn, Petra,” is all he says, and he claps her on the shoulder, and pulls her toward him. It’s a bit stumbling, but she leans toward him, and suddenly she’s pulled into a huge hug. He crushes her against his chest, and she feels his breath on the back of her neck. She feels the collar of a shirt brush against her face, and clutches the edges of a jacket in her hands. Petra focuses on his scent, and the feel of his back underneath her arms, the warmth of his chest pressed against her. She mumbles something into his collarbone, but is sure it probably doesn’t make any sense. “It’s so good to run into you,” Dean says, pulling away from her finally, but keeping a hand on each shoulder, like he’s afraid she’ll run away.
“You too,” she says, then adds, “you lying bastard,” but she does it with a twinkle in her eye, she hopes.
“Yeah, I will explain that,” Dean says, and he sounds uncomfortable, and like a man, and she loses focus for a minute and she tries to take in everything about him that she can. He smells the same, only more cologne. His voice is the same, only huskier, sexier. His body’s filled out, but still muscular, still strong, from what she can tell from the hug. “Coffee?” Dean says, and apparently that hasn’t changed either.
Dean lets her take his arm, and he’s careful as ever, leading her toward his car. “Doug Sampson is in Iron Maiden, right?” It’s stupid, that it’s one of the first things she asks him, but it seems important.
Dean laughs, “Yeah, shoulda known I’d get caught with that one.”
Petra nudges him, as best she can while clutching his arm tight. “With me around anyway.”
Dean laughs, but it sounds uncomfortable, like he’s unsure of how to act. She doesn't know what to say and it pains her that it’s difficult, that they’re not chatting like no time’s passed.
“Here’s the car, it’s still the Chevy,” Dean says, a note of pride in his voice.
“Ah. The 67 Impala, with her big block V-8 and,” she struggles to remember anything else, so takes a wild guess, “14 inch rims.” She says it like it’s dirty, and is awarded with a laugh again.
They get in, and before he starts the engine, Dean adds, “She’s also shiny and black.”
That makes her laugh, and somehow, the ice starts to melt. He starts the car, and drives them toward a diner. They chat about music, and sing along to Freebird, which Dean puts on in the car. She asks no serious questions, because it’s good just to have him there, just to be in the car again. He pulls up, making the wheels squeal like he always used to, to entertain Sam, and he guides her in.
“What can I do for you, good lookin’?” It’s the waitress greeting Dean, of course, and Petra hears no greeting directed at her.
“Thanks,” Dean says, but he doesn’t sound like he’s flirting back.
“Here you go,” the waitress says. Petra feels menus bang against her hands as Dean puts them both down. “I’ll read it to you,” he says, and covers her hand with his.
The waitress bustles off, and if it’s possible for shoes to sound annoyed as they clack against tile, then hers do.
Dean chuckles, reels off a list of food, but Petra doesn’t listen. She only hears how his voice sounds when he says, ‘pancakes,’ and ‘syrup.’ She realises that it’s sexy, and wonders how it’s possible for someone’s vowels to be that sexy.
They order coffee, and fries, and she hears the leather of the seats creak as Dean fidgets, hears him take off a coat, and lean back.
“So, how’ve you been?” Dean says.
“Fine, you?” She kicks herself, “how is Doug today?”
Dean shifts in his seat, “I’m sorry about that.” He sounds guilty, and caught red-handed. “We had to give out false names to get in.”
“You coulda rung me, I’d have gotten you in,” she teases.
“I didn’t know you worked there.”
“What’s Tony’s real name?” She asks.
“That’s Sammy,” Dean says, and he sounds surprised she had to ask.
“Really? Sam? Geez.” She wonders where he is. “I didn’t recognize his voice. He must have been, what, twelve, when I knew him? I can’t believe it. Where is he?”
“I ran him back to the motel,” Dean says, “he wanted to see you, but I said, maybe later, or tomorrow, if you wanted to…”
“Yeah, I wanna see Sam again,” Petra answers, and secretly she’s pleased that Dean wanted to see her alone for the first time.
“What were you doing there tonight? I covered for you to the cops,” she says. She doesn’t say it to get his thanks, more to make the point that she has his back.
“Thanks, I…thanks,” Dean says. “We kinda, investigate things, and we thought someone might try and push someone down the stairs, cause it’s happened before.”
“So you’re a PI?” In a way that makes sense. She never thought Dean would end up working for an authority figure like the government, or the cops, but it makes sense that he’d want to help people, and be his own boss.
“Sorta, it’s more of a road trip, Sam and I, and we stop off and do jobs along the way,” Dean says, and he’s shifting in his seat. There's something in his tone that tells her there's more to it than that, but then he adds, “So that’s why we’re here,” and his voice is clipped, and saying case closed. He sounds more shut off than ever, more unwilling to tell her details than ever, but maybe that’s time. They’re adults now. He could have three wives and ten kids, for all she knows.
“You married?” Not for the first time, Petra curses her inability to control herself.
“No, fuck, no,” Dean laughs out loud at that, “no wife, no kids. Well, not that I know of,” he adds absently. “You?” She recognises that tone, too cool and covering up what he’s thinking.
“No, no wife,” she says, and he chuckles.
Dean tells her about Sam leaving to study, and she can tell there was some tension about that, but he sounds like a proud father when he talks about how capable Sam is, about how he got into Stanford. She almost expects him to whip out Sam’s high school diploma there and then to read it to her.
Then Dean mentions Sam’s girlfriend dying, and Petra feels like she can’t breathe.
“Dean, no, in a fire?”
“Yeah. I had to pull Sam out,” Dean says, and there’s so much pain there, for Sam, and for himself maybe. Petra wonders how much hurt he’s had, in the time they’ve been apart. There was always hurt there to begin with that she could never get to the bottom of.
“How is he?”
“Okay, I think. It’s been a struggle, and, we’ve a ways to go, but…”
“You’re doing your best for him,” she says, and the like you always did is unspoken.
“I try,” Dean says, and then he leans away, she knows that ‘cause she hears the leather creak. He says, “So, you raise money for blind kids?” Changing the subject, like always.
Petra tells him about her job, about how important the right equipment is, and she didn’t realize she felt so strongly about it until she explained it to him. Then Iron Maiden is played on the radio, and it’s one of those random coincidences that makes them both break off, and laugh.
“Weird, huh, that’s my namesake,” Dean says, and she laughs. “I thought of you when the new Pearl Jam stuff came out,” Dean adds. “I take it you bought it.”
“Bought it, downloaded it, know every word,” she says, and they talk music, and nothing, the rest of the night, until the waitress snippily tells them it’s three a.m. and she has to close.
“So we’ll meet tomorrow?” Dean says, as he walks her out, sounding cocksure. He stops as they get to the car. “I know Sam wants to. He thought dinner, maybe?”
It’s the way he says Sam wants that makes her grin, and she nods. “If Sam wants to…”
**
Staying out chatting to Dean until the early hours seemed reasonable at the time, but it means she’s exhausted the next day. Of course, everyone’s a little hungover from the night before, and shell-shocked about Anne, so not much work gets done. Petra orders Anne flowers, and they’re told she’ll be home tomorrow. Then Annabel reads Petra all her work mail, and that’s the entire morning.
Frances comes in from her office for an afternoon coffee break, and announces loudly, in front of everyone, “So what happened when you went off with that Doug guy last night?” If she could see her, she knows Frances would probably be waggling her eyebrows.
“Coffee,” Petra says, not giving anything away.
“You know that guy?” Annabel asks. “He was damn hot.” Petra doesn’t have to see everybody to know that all eyes in the office are on her.
“He looked like trouble.” That’s her boss Andy speaking. “He ate all the free food single handed.”
Several people agree, and Frances bitches about people who take, “more than their fair share,” and Annabel says Doug ate like it was his last meal, and Petra just wants to laugh.
“He looked suspicious,” Andy says, “he practically called me a dick,” and then everybody asks to hear the story, and it turns out all Dean did was disparage Andy’s suit.
“Was this after you took the plate of food from him?” Petra asks, and Andy’s quiet at that. Petra knows it would be more Andy’s stuck up attitude that got Dean’s back up, and is secretly pleased that Dean reacted how she’s been dying to.
**
Dean’s exactly on time to pick her up, rings her bell at eight precisely, and she’s still hunting for her keys. Petra runs and flings open the door - “Hey, looking for keys,” she says - but she pauses long enough to hear his, “Hey,” and to receive the kiss that’s bestowed on her cheek.
Petra wanders back to the table where she keeps them, runs her hands over it looking for them. She’s grateful that Dean doesn’t pick them up like most people do; he waits patiently for her to find them. Her hand clutches over them, and she says, “Let’s go.”
Dean doesn’t move immediately. He says, “you look really great,” quietly, like he’s a bit embarrassed to say it, and it makes her blush.
“Thanks,” Petra says, and lets him lead her outside. She makes a mental note to thank Anne when she’s better, because she’s sure it was Anne that patiently labelled all of Petra’s clothes in a dizzying array of differently sized pins, and this was under, “casual/sexy,” so, that’s good.
They get outside, and she hears a door swing open, and Sam’s voice shouting, “Petra,” even as he’s half out of the car. He sounds so excited to see her, and his feet crunch quickly across the gravel. His excitement makes Dean laugh, and that makes her laugh, and she’s practically feeling giddy as Sam skids to a stop in front of her. “It’s so good, we’re so pleased you’re here,” Sam says, and suddenly she’s crushed into a massive hug. Crushed against a huge chest, with hands clutching her to him that are the size of dinner plates, practically covering her entire waist in their span. Since when did Sam get so big?
“Fucking hell, Sam; you’ve grown,” Petra says, as Sam pulls away from her, and she hates that she sounds like her mom.
Sam laughs, and it washes over all of them, and she feels herself relax even more, because it’s old friends, it’s the Winchesters, and it’s less nerve-wracking, somehow, to have Sam there.
“I was just a kid when you knew me,” Sam says, sounding all grown up and reasonable, and she can’t reconcile that with the young kid he is in her head. “I can’t believe it’s you,” he says, and hits her shoulder with his big hand again.
“It is, though,” Dean says, like he can’t believe it either. She wonders how many old friends they get to see, and it makes her feel special, as they walk either side of her, steering her toward the car, talking over each other.
Petra hears Dean nudge Sam toward the back seat, and she tries to protest, but Sam says, “no, no, like old times,” and Dean says, “yeah youngest gets the back, Samantha,” and everybody laughs again, and it’s like they’re all high.
**
In the car, Sam gets out a list of restaurants he printed off the internet, and Dean teases him about it, but totally listens to Sam’s facts about each one, and it’s him that picks which one they go to. When they get there, Sam sits opposite her and Dean slides in next to her. He slides in too far, and his leg bumps into hers, and she feels his muscle tense for a second, and Petra grins at him. He doesn’t move his leg away.
The waitress takes their order, and Dean teases Sam about wanting a side salad, and Sam teases Petra about her love of mac and cheese, because she’s moaning about it not being on the menu. They tell her about all the places they’ve visited, and bicker.
“It wasn't Miami, jerk, it was New Orleans,” Sam’s saying indignantly, and she can practially hear Dean's eyes rolling in his head.
“It was Miami, there was a girl on the beach in this teeny bikini, who mistook me for some Hollywood star, and asked me to sign her…” Dean trails off, then adds with what sounds like a smile, “well you can probably guess.”
“Sign where, Dean?” Petra asks, mock innocently, and he nudges her gently to shut her up.
“Did she think you were a star because you told her that, Dean?” Sam says severely, and he sounds so disapproving, like he used to when they were kids, and Dean wanted to put M and M’s in his ice cream.
“She might have…” Dean says, and it makes her and Sam laugh. It’s funny listening to them, because somehow, Sam’s not a kid anymore, and they talk like equals, arguing over whose idea it was to go where. Sometimes Dean insists he's right, wordlessly plays his, 'I'm the elder' card, and Sam huffs annoyance in return.
Dean goes to the restroom, and she and Sam are alone, and she isn’t sure whether to mention his girlfriend, but somehow, she just has to.
“Dean told me your girlfriend died, Sam, I’m so sorry.” Petra can practically feel Sam tense up from the other side of the table. She hears his foot start to jiggle uncomfortably on the floor, and his sharp intake of breath. “Sorry, I didn’t wanna bring it up, I just, had to say that.”
“That’s okay,” Sam says, “it’s fine, thanks.”
“You left college too, it must all have been very hard,” she says, wishing for this conversation to be over, and annoyed that she started it in the first place.
“Yeah.”
“You’ll go back, soon?”
“I hope so. Sometimes, I don’t know, but I want to. I can’t… travel, like this, forever,” Sam says, and he sounds so lost and confused, that she wants to hug him to her like he’s twelve again.
"’Course not, but for a while, sounds like it’s been good for you?” Sam laughs oddly at that.
“I guess so. It’s good… spending all this time with Dean,” Sam says, and she remembers Dean saying they didn’t talk much when Sam left for college, and wonders exactly what went on.
“Dean would always do anything for you,” Petra says.
“I know,” Sam says, cryptically, then he says, “he’s been a good brother, you know, he’s encouraged me to move on. I just wish,” he pauses, and she holds her breath, willing Sam to continue. When he does it comes out in a guilty rush, as if he isn’t sure he should say it, “I wish he wanted more for himself.”
Petra nods, though she isn’t sure exactly what Sam means by that. She wants to ask more but she hears Dean’s feet approaching, and she knows he’s deliberately making his footsteps louder, as she likes, and smiles her appreciation at him.
“We can probably hang around here tomorrow,” Sam says, as Dean slides back in, and he slides all the way in again, so their legs are touching. “I wanna see a couple of museums, but you know…” Sam’s voice trails off, and he hesitates.
“I can arrange my own social life, Sam,” Dean says, sounding disgusted, and Petra giggles.
“It’d be good to hang out tomorrow, Dean,” she says, and Dean squeezes her arm lightly.
When they drop her off, they both get out, and she gets a big hug from Sam first, and he whispers in her ear, “we won’t lose touch, not this time,” and she nudges secret agreement. Then Dean’s hugging her, and telling her, ‘two o’clock.’ She tells them she can make her own way in, but she doesn’t hear the car drive off behind her, and she knows they’re watching her.
It takes her ages to get her key in the lock because suddenly her hands are shaking really hard.
**
Dean walks her outside, and she guesses he’s steering her toward the car again, but she tugs him toward the street.
“Where are you going?” Dean asks, sounding amused.
“We’re going to the park, and Dean, we can walk, come on.” She tugs his arm a bit harder, and he doesn't pull away.
“If we don’t use the car I made Sam get public transportation for nothing,” Dean grumbles, but he’s ambling alongside her anyway.
“I’m sure we’ll find some use for it,” she answers.
They walk along and Dean describes odd scenes that are happening around them, and makes up stories about the people that they pass. He’s funny as ever, and sarcastic as ever, and she realises that she likes him just as much as she always did.
They sit in the park, and Dean goes to get them ice cream. She feels cold drip onto her, and Dean’s accompanying melting chuckle.
“Don’t just laugh at me,” she says, but she’s not annoyed.
“I’ll get it, hang on.” She feels Dean’s hand on her chest, and freezes as much as is possible. He scratches it slowly along, just underneath her breasts, and then he moves his hand, and nudges his finger to her lips. “Want it?” Dean asks, and she opens her mouth, and licks his finger slowly. He takes his hand away, and they’re both silent.
There’s a pause, like neither of them are sure what will happen next, and then a loud cry makes Petra jump. It sounds like a very young child.
“It’s a little girl, maybe four?” Dean says, and she looks toward the crying noise. “I can’t see a parent.” She hears Dean’s body shift, and he stands up, pulling her with him. “I should look for her,” he says firmly, and then he adds, ‘oh there she is,’ with real relief. Petra thinks how Dean always looks out for Sam first, family first, but how he looks out for others too. It's how they met after all. Sam's comment from the night before makes Petra wonder how far down on the list he puts himself.
**
They’re sitting on a bench, quietly chatting, when loud voices disturb their solitude.
“Maybe she’ll whack you with it,” a voice says, and Petra stiffens, knows that they’re talking about her cane, and she feels Dean tense next to her.
“Maybe. I thought they used dogs, these days?” The voice sounds young, they’re obviously kids, showing off, and Petra shrugs, means to ignore it, but Dean pulls away from her.
“You got a problem?” Dean has that menacing, don’t fuck with me scary tone, that Petra would never want to be on the wrong side of. She gets up, shuffles forward a couple of steps, and her cane bangs Dean’s foot. He shifts, as if making room for her.
“No,” the second kid says, sounding scared.
“You sure about that?” Dean says.
The kid says, “no,” again, and Petra reaches out, tugs on Dean’s arm.
“It’s fine, Dean,” she says, and she feels Dean’s body turn toward her. She hears the boys take advantage of the interruption to run off.
“Idiots,” Dean says, moving closer to her, toe bumping toe again.
“It’s fine, Dean. I get it all the time,” Petra says.
“You’d think people wouldn’t be such jerks,” Dean says, “but then I never did get people.”
“Me neither,” Petra says, and leans into him, without meaning to. She feels him lean against her, and feels his breath against her cheek. “Thanks though,” Petra adds, moves her face, meaning to kiss his cheek. Dean shifts his head, and suddenly his lips are brushing against hers, really gently. Petra allows a slight pressure back, and then Dean’s moving his hands to her face, and deepening the kiss. Petra opens her mouth in response, loses herself in the kiss, and there’s no mistaking that this isn’t friendly, that it’s all business. Petra can’t process what that means, because she’s too busy leaning against him, and trying not to fall down.
Dean breaks it off suddenly.
“Holy fuck,” Dean says, pulls back, and she hears him running his hand through his hair, leaving the other one on the back of her neck. “I…” he starts, but doesn’t finish it.
“What?” Petra says, praying it’s not that he didn’t want it to happen.
“I can’t stay,” Dean says, oddly, and his thumb is rubbing against the back of her neck, and it’s all she can do to focus on his words.
“You have to go now?” She’s incredulous, and Dean laughs, but not like he can really enjoy the joke.
“No, I mean, overall, in general, I can’t stay.”
“I didn’t ask you to move in, Dean,” she says, and that does earn a proper laugh.
“I know, I just. I don’t want to lie to you.” There’s a shell, covering over what he’s really trying to say, and Petra isn’t sure how to break it. She reaches up, touches his face with her hand, trying to say that it’s fine. Dean sighs, unsteadily. “There’s stuff I want to tell you, but I just can’t,” and now he sounds nervous and unsure. She wonders if he’s opened up, and been hurt before, and that’s what makes it so hard. Or if he just hasn’t had much practice. Then he takes a breath, and he’s cocky Dean again. “I just want to be honest, you know, before I take you home, and really show you how Dean Winchester kisses.”
He’s leaning close to her again, but she feels like she has to respond, so she puts her hand on his chest gently, and he stops moving immediately to hear her.
“It’s fine, Dean, you know that?” He doesn’t say anything, so she leans forward so her cheek's touching his, so she's speaking directly into his ear. “You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to, and I know you can’t stay.” She feels his face nodding against her cheek. “I know I can trust you, and if you’re not secretly a serial killing, drug dealing, pedophile, then we’re good.”
“I can promise that,” Dean says, and then he pulls her face to his again, and they’re kissing fervently, urgently. At some point she drops her cane, and when they break apart, he has to pick it up and hand it back to her.
“So,” Dean says, and she isn’t sure whether they’re going to kiss again, but she doesn’t want it to be in the park.
“Let’s go back to my place,” Petra says, and she’s not sure she’s ever been propelled anywhere so fast.
**
They get into her apartment, and she pulls him toward her bedroom. They lie down on her bed, and he kisses her slowly, too slowly. When she pulls him in for a deeper kiss, Dean laughs. “We’ve got all night,” he whispers, and he slowly removes her clothes, then his own. He runs his hands over her whole body, drinking in every inch of her with his fingers, like he’s the one who’s blind, and has to memorize her whole body. “You’re so beautiful,” he says, as his mouth follows his hands across her stomach, and she’s sure he’s said it many times as a line, but it doesn’t sound like one this time.
Petra pushes him off, gently, pushes him onto his back and takes her turn. She runs her hands up one arm, and over his chest, and over a very well defined six pack. As she goes her fingers cross scars, hundreds of scars. Some of them feel so small they’re probably not noticeable to look at him, but some feel like they must be pretty bad. They’re another string of hurts to add to the ones he’s had in his life, and she wonders about the secrets he’s too afraid to tell. She kisses every scar, tries to kiss the pain and suffering away, tries to learn what caused them all. He’s got hard, muscular edges, harder than ever he had, but there’s softness, in his lips, still, and in his soul, and she feels that under every scar too.
Dean lets her take her fill, and it feels like they’ve touched each other’s bodies for ages, learned every inch of each other. Eventually he pushes her back, and kisses her harder, more forcefully. He pulls away, “You okay?”
“Yeah. This isn’t my first time,” she jokes, and Dean laughs, and whispers into her ear, “it is with me.”
**
They lie in each other’s arms, and Dean touches her the whole time, like she might melt away if he lets go. She feels the same, and every minute is touching his leg, or his arm, or his back, or pulling him in for a kiss.
Petra’s no idea what time it is, but suddenly Dean says, “I’m starving,” and she realizes she is too. Dean pulls her out of bed, toward the kitchen, and she doesn’t hear him put any clothes on. She follows him, naked, into the kitchen.
“Let’s see what you’ve got in here,” Dean says, and he brushes off her protests to help.
“I’ll do it,” he says, and she has to endure twenty minutes of Dean complaining that she’s got no food, and it’s a wonder she doesn’t have scurvy. She calls him a pirate, which leads to Dean’s pirate impressions, which of course leads to more kissing.
Dean makes them coffee and grilled cheese, and she hears the bang of mug and plate on the table in front of her. He gently pushes the plate against her right hand, and she smiles at that. She reaches out to feel for the coffee herself, and then she’s set.
After they eat, Dean decides he wants to look through her CDs, so they troop back to the living room, and Dean starts to pull out CD after CD.
“Remember where you got it from,” Petra says automatically, ‘cause so many people put them back anywhere, and then she can’t find anything.
“Alphabetical. I think I cracked your code,” Dean teases. “You bought like, everything Metallica did?” He sounds surprised.
“Yeah, your tape got chewed up so I had to buy loads of stuff I wouldn’t otherwise have bothered with,” Petra tells him.
“Got chewed up?” Dean sounds surprised.
“Yeah, somewhere between the hundredth and two hundredth maudlin listen,” she says, and Dean laughs.
“I’m sorry we had to leave,” Dean says, and she isn’t sure why he’s apologizing, thinks maybe he’s apologizing for now, as well as then.
“Wasn’t your fault,” Petra says.
“Yeah, well,” Dean trails off. “Did you go to that dorky dance?” Dean asks, and sounds relieved when she answers, “No.”
Suddenly Dean scrambles to his feet, sounds like he’s heading to the wall. There’s a shelf filled with odds and ends there, she knows, and she wonders what’s caught his eye.
“What is it, Dean?” Petra asks, and she hears him pick something up.
“Is this?” He’s not saying it to her, and he answers himself, “it is.” He’s hears him turning something over and over in his hands, and after a minute she realizes what it must be.
“Sam’s bowl,” she says, just as Dean says, “Sam made this.”
“Yeah,” she adds.
“I can’t believe you kept it all this time,” Dean says, wonderingly, and he’s still running his hands over it.
“Well, I did lose the tape,” Petra says. “Bring it over.”
Dean comes over, sits really close to her, so his knees bump hers, and he puts the bowl where their knees touch.
“I always wondered if the markings mean anything,” Petra says, running her hand over one of the etchings Sam made on the side, all those years ago. “I used to run my hand over them again and again, trying to work it out.”
“Looks like they’re supposed to be runes, like for protection, but they’re not very clear,” Dean says.
“Oh, protection?” Petra thinks about how Sam was as a kid, and figures it makes sense. They both moved around so much, and had no Mom, it must have been unsettling. It’s a miracle they aren’t both more fucked up than they are.
“Yeah, I can’t believe you kept it,” Dean says, again, like it’s a miracle.
“Keep it,” Petra pushes it toward him.
“What? I can’t do that, Sam gave it to you.” Dean thunks it onto the ground next to them.
“You can - I don’t need it now, I have … I don’t need it now,” Petra says. It’s suddenly very important that Dean take it. They obviously don’t have many things from their childhood; she really wants them both to have it.
“I can’t,” Dean says, and she hears him go and put it back on the shelf. He's got that tone where it'll be useless to argue, so Petra shuts her mouth.
“Blue Oyster Cult?” she says, and Dean comes back over.
**
The next morning Dean’s phone rings, and Petra hears him lean out of bed with a grunt.
“Yeah? Sammy?” There’s silence for a minute, and she’d cold when the warmth of Dean’s body pulls completely away from her, then he puts a hand on her leg, rubs her thigh reassuringly the whole time he speaks. “Yeah I’m here, yeah, today? Yeah… I know. Okay, I won’t be long.”
Dean clicks his phone shut with a bang, and Petra knows what’s coming before he says it.
“I have to go,” Dean says, shortly, giving nothing away.
“Okay,” Petra says, and she doesn’t want to sound okay about it, but he did warn her, after all.
“Yeah." There's a pause, and Dean's still rubbing her thigh, as if there's a message there that he wants her to get. He takes a deep breath. "I wish I had more time, but we really shoulda gone yesterday, we gotta get somewhere before… before tomorrow.”
“I understand,” Petra nods, and then suddenly Dean’s pulling her up, pulling her into a hug. He crushes her to him, and she can feel his heart beating wildly in his chest. He doesn’t say anything for ages, then he says, in a voice that doesn’t sound certain, “I have to go.”
“Okay,” Petra says, again, but Dean doesn’t move.
“I’m sorry, if only I could stay, but I can’t.” Dean stops, hesitates, “My life… I can’t.”
“Dean, it’s fine,” Petra says. “You said you had to leave, and you do.”
Dean swallows heavily, and silently shifts away from her, and she hears him shrugging his clothes on, gathering together his stuff, and she just sits in bed, and looks to where she hears him walking. She moves to the edge of the bed finally, sits and waits.
“Give Sam a hug from me,” Petra says, quietly, and Dean sits down heavily next to her.
“C’mon, don’t make me get all emo with Sam,” Dean says, “he’ll never let me hear the end of it.”
Petra laughs, shakily, and tears aren’t far away, so she buries her face into Dean’s shoulder, hoping he won’t notice the one that escapes. He smoothes her hair down with his hand, slowly, and then she pulls back, and tells him, “I don’t want goodbye. I hate goodbyes.”
“Me too, always have,” Dean says fervently, and he kisses her slowly, and pulls away from her. She hears him move slowly toward the door. “I,” he starts, but she cuts him off.
“No goodbyes, no promises. Worked for us last time. Albeit slowly,” she smiles, and Dean clears this throat.
“Yeah,” he says, then adds, “Stay safe, okay?”
She knows he’s gone, because there’s silence but for the beating of her heart, and for her unshed tears.
**
About a month later, Petra gets a package in the mail. She doesn’t get much mail, so she takes it to work with her, hands it to her reader, and asks what it is. Annabel opens it, says, “It’s a cassette tape,” in a puzzled voice. “No note, nothing on the tape,” Annabel tells her, and Petra knows who it’s from.
Petra retreats to her desk, digs out the dictaphone she uses to type letters, and thanks whatever made her buy one that took normal size tapes. She slips it in, slips on her headphones, and hits play, hardly daring to breathe.
“Hey, it’s me, Dean,” and Petra thinks to herself that he really didn’t need to add the, “Dean” - she recognizes his voice. She smiles, feeling tearful already. “We’re near Lake Washington, and I put flowers in Viretta Park for Kurt Cobain for ya. Sam had a ball teasing me about it, but I figured you’d want that. We might get shore leave soon,” and Sam shouts, “definitely will,” followed by, “hi Petra,” in the background. Then Dean adds, “So we might come get that bowl. Sam wants it. Anyway, I remade you your tape, but I couldn’t remember everything that’s on it.” Then the tape cuts into the opening strains of ‘Enter Sandman’, and Petra listens to it all day, thinking that maybe her future isn’t so dark, after all.
**
If you read this, please comment and let me know what you thought, whatever you thought. I’m intrigued to know where it falls on the sequel scale between Terminator 2 (excellent) and Matrix 2 (I like to pretend it doesn’t exist).
***
Sight Unseen carries on their story here. Click the Petra tag for other bits and bobs too.
It was about how she views him, and people seemed to like it, even reading it when OFC normally puts them off (so sweet). They were even kind/crazy enough to ask for a sequel. So here it is.
Title: See clearly now
Rating: PG 13 with warnings
Warnings: Bad Language, implied sex (some kissing, touching, nothing explicit)
Pairing: Dean/OFC
Summary: Dean gets recognized while using a false name on a job…
Many, many thanks to dakotas-tale for beta'ing this, and holding my hand, and generally being a fab friend. Without her, it would be full of random antelope references (I’m not kidding).
It's set sorta current time, whilst avoiding any specific spoilers for end of series 1/start of series 2.
Those jerks forgot the decorations. She knows that ‘cause she overheard a couple of people mention how bare the room looks. Petra steels herself to go deal with them, until she hears Anne approaching.
“Anne, are there no decorations? I asked for decorations.”
Sometimes she wonders what her job has come to, when these are the things that concern her.
“I know, I’ve told ‘em. Never mind that, I’ve someone else for you to meet.”
Petra sighs, tries not to get annoyed about all the things people think they can get away with. She lets Anne drag her over to whoever it is that it’s desperately important she meet. These events are always a sufferance at best, a long line of, ‘thank you for coming,’ and, ‘your money means a lot to us.’ Sometimes, a long line of pitying questions, and of people speaking around her, not at her.
Petra puts on her best smile as Anne comes to a stop, and says, “This is Doug Sampson. Doug, this is Petra; Petra will be able to answer your questions about the venue we’re standing in.”
There’s something about that name that’s familiar, but she brushes it off. She’s heard it among the list of sponsors, or donators, or something. A venue history freak, then. Petra puts her hand out. “Pleased to meet you, Doug.”
There’s a silence, a beat too long, and Petra wonders if he’s freaking out at her cane. Really, why come to a benefit raising money for blind people, if that freaks you out? Maybe he just hasn’t heard her. Then he clears his throat and says, “Yeah, pleased to meet you, Petra,” and grips her hand firmly, really firmly. He shakes it for a long time, and she feels him looking at her, and wonders if maybe she’s got food on her face. “Very pleased to meet you,” he adds, and there’s something about how gravelly it is, some undertone to his words, that makes her blush. There’s also something familiar about his voice, as if she knows him.
“Have we spoken before, Doug?”
“Maybe, I’m not sure,” Doug answers, and he sounds uncomfortable.
“I’ll leave you two to it, then,” Anne sounds delighted to have pawned them off on each other, and Petra hears her feet race off through the crowd.
“You had questions about the venue, Doug? I’m sorry, are you one of our donors?”
“Yeah, I’ve…donated,” Doug says, and she hears him shifting his weight from foot to foot, and she swears he’s still looking at her; but really, she has no idea, it’s just a gut feeling. There’s a moment’s silence again, then he takes a deep breath. “The venue - I’m interested in anything you know about its history. Anne said you booked it?”
“Yeah, I did a lot of research too.” Petra launches into a speech about when the house was built, and how old it is, and the family that lived there, and Doug has the decency to sound interested, and to ask questions. Petra likes him, he’s easy to talk to, and funny, and charming, but she can’t concentrate on any of those things because all the time they’re speaking it’s niggling at her, where she’s heard his voice before. It’s like the words to a song where she can’t remember the title.
“You organize a lot of these events?” Doug sounds interested in her now, and she smiles.
“Yeah, there’s a team that plans them, but I get involved as much as possible.”
“They forgot the decorations? Jerks,” Doug says, and she smiles. He then makes a joke about how they’re wheeling out some hastily made paper chains, and she grins. He moves closer to her, his foot bumps her foot, and she can smell his cologne, and a faint smell of coffee underneath it. There’s nothing special about that, but it awakens something in her senses.
“I read somewhere that people died here,” Doug adds, and it’s pointed, as if asking why she didn’t mention it earlier.
“Yeah, there are stories. Jealous husband kills his wife’s lover by pushing him down the stairs, and ever since there have been stories of similar deaths. Really, I think it’s a case of a couple of nasty accidents. Coincidence.”
“I don’t believe in coincidence,” Doug says, in a funny way. “Well, most of the time,” he adds, and he brushes her arm with his, the way she likes to, to check people are still there. Only he can see that she hasn’t gone anywhere.
“I must have spoken to you on the phone, Doug; your voice is too familiar.” Petra frowns, trying to think. “Can you remember what about?”
There’s a cry in the distance, some kind of shout, and they both look toward it.
“I gotta go,” Doug says, “I’ll find you later.”
With a squeeze of her arm, he’s gone. Petra shrugs, tries not to think anything more of it.
**
Petra’s hanging out by the food, trying to be inconspicuous. Counting the minutes until she can leave, of course; she doesn’t hear Doug’s footsteps approach among the din of the room, but she smells him next to her, and hears him noisily eating.
It’s the way he eats, the way he clears his throat before he opens his mouth to speak, the way he brushes her shoulder as he says, ‘hey…’
“Dean Winchester.”
The words are out of her mouth before she knows she’s said them, and he recoils back from her, the hand slipping off her shoulder.
“W… what?” He sounds caught out, and she’s convinced of it. That’s Dean’s voice, huskier with the patina of age, but Dean nonetheless. That’s how Dean would smell, how Dean would act, and it might be ten - God, twelve - years ago, but her senses don’t forget. Her senses remember, unconsciously, where her mind forgets.
“It’s Dean. You’re Dean, aren’t you?” She’s sure of it, but feels stupid at the same time. She only knew Dean for three months in high school, after all. He was a friend for a short time only, and she’s mistaken a stranger for him before. “You sound like someone I used to know,” she adds, “I’m certain of it.”
He’s silent, for a while, and she hears him shifting from foot to foot, then he says,
“I’m…”
They’re interrupted by a voice approaching, calling, “Doug,” calling for his help, and he clears his throat, “coming…Tony,” he says, and she feels bad, suddenly doubts that this is Dean.
“I’m sorry, you have to go,” she murmurs. She turns back to the food so he knows he can leave, and soon she can’t sense him next to her anymore.
**
The evening’s nearing a close, and Petra knows she should be saying thank you and goodbye to people, but it’s tiring, and she wanders off into a side room. She counts her steps carefully, and her cane hits against what feels like a chair, so she finds the seat of it, and rests.
The din of the event is distant; it’s mercifully quiet in here. She focuses on all the small noises around her, so she can tell if anyone’s coming. After a false alarm where someone walks past the door, she hears quiet footsteps racing along the corridor, then the door bangs open, hits against the wall. It happens so quickly, it takes her by surprise.
“What the…”
There’s silence for a minute, heavy breathing, then another set of footsteps come running along, almost skid into the room after the first set.
“Is it here?”
There’s silence, and she guesses, a gesturing toward her in that silence.
“Who is it?” She calls, and footsteps tap across the room toward her.
“You have to go,” and it’s Doug, abrupt and short, ordering her out. That pisses her off.
“I don’t have to go anywhere,” Petra says.
One of them clears his throat, then Tony, she guesses, says, “It would be a good idea if you did, er, Petra, is it?” He sounds like he knows exactly who she is, and she wonders if he and Doug have been talking.
“Why? The only danger I seem to be in here is from you two loons.” She’s as sarcastic as possible, and at that point realizes where she’s heard their names before. “Doug Sampson, drummer for Iron Maiden, and Tony, Tony Parsons? Guitarist?”
There’s heat in that room, looks flying that she’s not a part of, she’s sure, and she knows then that this is Dean. He’s the reason she knows the name of the members of frickin’ Iron Maiden.
“Look Pet, I’m sorry, it really isn’t safe.” His voice switches to soft, gentle, and it’s the use of that tone and her nickname that seals it.
“Dean Winchester, I can’t believe it,” and the silence makes it definite, and she holds her breath. There were a million things she wanted to say if she ever saw him again, and suddenly she can’t think of anything. It’s too confusing that he’s here, asking random questions, saying it’s not safe, pretending to be someone else. It’s too overwhelming that he’s here.
“I know, me neither.” His voice relaxes a bit, but not totally, and he adds, immediately, “I’m sorry I lied about my name, but believe me, something weird’s going on here.” Petra doesn’t respond to that, has no idea what to say, and Dean adds, more urgently, “If you ever trusted me, you’ll go outside right now, and you’ll take as many people with you as you can.” His tone’s not to be messed with, not to be argued with, and Petra nearly gets up to go.
“I’ll go pull the fire alarm,” Tony says, and Petra pauses, wonders who Tony really is; she can’t place the voice.
“Please,” Dean says, and she hears his feet come closer to her, “you need me to help you outside?” He sounds more agitated, and she can tell he’s really worried underneath the take-charge voice.
“I’ll go outside if you’ll come find me later, explain what the hell this is about.” Petra tries to sound angry, but she knows her pleasure at him actually being there is probably coming over.
“I promise,” Dean says, and she strains to hear his light footsteps, hears them go toward the door, then suddenly they run back, race toward her. A hand clasps her shoulder, awkwardly, and a soft kiss is lightly bestowed on her forehead, so faint she thinks she might have imagined it. He repeats, “I promise,” before racing off again.
**
Soon after Petra leaves the room, the fire alarm goes off, and there are shouts in the distance, and people rushing about. She gets outside and asks around for Anne, but no one seems to know where she is. Then Frances comes over and says that Anne fell down the stairs, but that she’s fine. Looks like somebody broke her fall, apparently, and Petra wonders if this is the weirdness Dean was talking about.
There’s a fuss over who will ride in the ambulance, and they’re all told to go home, that they’ll be allowed to visit tomorrow, that Anne’ll be fine. It’s only after most people have headed off that Petra remembers that Anne was her ride.
The police are taking forever interviewing Frances, and they’ve left Petra till last, not that Petra can blame them, she’s hardly prime witness material. Petra clacks her cane impatiently on the floor.
“There were tons of people here we didn’t know,” Frances is saying, “but no one suspicious. Well, there were two guys asking a lot of questions about the venue, but…”
Petra’s ears prick up at that, knows she’s talking about Dean. The police pick up on it too, and start to quiz Frances, and before Petra knows what she’s doing, she leaps in.
“I know those two guys,” she says, interrupts them mid sentence. It’s probably crazy to protect him, she tells herself. She barely knows him anymore, after all, but she can’t help herself. “They’re friends of mine who’ve donated money, they’re just into history. That’s nothing to worry about.” She feels the eyes of the policeman and Frances on her, but the policeman drops it, and barely has any questions for her.
Frances makes her way over to Petra once the policeman’s gone.
“I guess you really did know that guy Doug,” she says, wryly, and Petra wonders what that’s supposed to mean.
“Of course, what on earth?” Petra isn’t sure what’s going on, but Frances takes her arm, and turns her around.
“Looks like he’s waiting over there for ya. Can I take it you’ve got a ride home?”
Petra nods, and hears Frances leave, and it’s a long time before she hears any footsteps coming toward her. They’re silent, like he always was, damn him, because suddenly she can hear him breathing loudly in front of her.
“Damn, Petra,” is all he says, and he claps her on the shoulder, and pulls her toward him. It’s a bit stumbling, but she leans toward him, and suddenly she’s pulled into a huge hug. He crushes her against his chest, and she feels his breath on the back of her neck. She feels the collar of a shirt brush against her face, and clutches the edges of a jacket in her hands. Petra focuses on his scent, and the feel of his back underneath her arms, the warmth of his chest pressed against her. She mumbles something into his collarbone, but is sure it probably doesn’t make any sense. “It’s so good to run into you,” Dean says, pulling away from her finally, but keeping a hand on each shoulder, like he’s afraid she’ll run away.
“You too,” she says, then adds, “you lying bastard,” but she does it with a twinkle in her eye, she hopes.
“Yeah, I will explain that,” Dean says, and he sounds uncomfortable, and like a man, and she loses focus for a minute and she tries to take in everything about him that she can. He smells the same, only more cologne. His voice is the same, only huskier, sexier. His body’s filled out, but still muscular, still strong, from what she can tell from the hug. “Coffee?” Dean says, and apparently that hasn’t changed either.
Dean lets her take his arm, and he’s careful as ever, leading her toward his car. “Doug Sampson is in Iron Maiden, right?” It’s stupid, that it’s one of the first things she asks him, but it seems important.
Dean laughs, “Yeah, shoulda known I’d get caught with that one.”
Petra nudges him, as best she can while clutching his arm tight. “With me around anyway.”
Dean laughs, but it sounds uncomfortable, like he’s unsure of how to act. She doesn't know what to say and it pains her that it’s difficult, that they’re not chatting like no time’s passed.
“Here’s the car, it’s still the Chevy,” Dean says, a note of pride in his voice.
“Ah. The 67 Impala, with her big block V-8 and,” she struggles to remember anything else, so takes a wild guess, “14 inch rims.” She says it like it’s dirty, and is awarded with a laugh again.
They get in, and before he starts the engine, Dean adds, “She’s also shiny and black.”
That makes her laugh, and somehow, the ice starts to melt. He starts the car, and drives them toward a diner. They chat about music, and sing along to Freebird, which Dean puts on in the car. She asks no serious questions, because it’s good just to have him there, just to be in the car again. He pulls up, making the wheels squeal like he always used to, to entertain Sam, and he guides her in.
“What can I do for you, good lookin’?” It’s the waitress greeting Dean, of course, and Petra hears no greeting directed at her.
“Thanks,” Dean says, but he doesn’t sound like he’s flirting back.
“Here you go,” the waitress says. Petra feels menus bang against her hands as Dean puts them both down. “I’ll read it to you,” he says, and covers her hand with his.
The waitress bustles off, and if it’s possible for shoes to sound annoyed as they clack against tile, then hers do.
Dean chuckles, reels off a list of food, but Petra doesn’t listen. She only hears how his voice sounds when he says, ‘pancakes,’ and ‘syrup.’ She realises that it’s sexy, and wonders how it’s possible for someone’s vowels to be that sexy.
They order coffee, and fries, and she hears the leather of the seats creak as Dean fidgets, hears him take off a coat, and lean back.
“So, how’ve you been?” Dean says.
“Fine, you?” She kicks herself, “how is Doug today?”
Dean shifts in his seat, “I’m sorry about that.” He sounds guilty, and caught red-handed. “We had to give out false names to get in.”
“You coulda rung me, I’d have gotten you in,” she teases.
“I didn’t know you worked there.”
“What’s Tony’s real name?” She asks.
“That’s Sammy,” Dean says, and he sounds surprised she had to ask.
“Really? Sam? Geez.” She wonders where he is. “I didn’t recognize his voice. He must have been, what, twelve, when I knew him? I can’t believe it. Where is he?”
“I ran him back to the motel,” Dean says, “he wanted to see you, but I said, maybe later, or tomorrow, if you wanted to…”
“Yeah, I wanna see Sam again,” Petra answers, and secretly she’s pleased that Dean wanted to see her alone for the first time.
“What were you doing there tonight? I covered for you to the cops,” she says. She doesn’t say it to get his thanks, more to make the point that she has his back.
“Thanks, I…thanks,” Dean says. “We kinda, investigate things, and we thought someone might try and push someone down the stairs, cause it’s happened before.”
“So you’re a PI?” In a way that makes sense. She never thought Dean would end up working for an authority figure like the government, or the cops, but it makes sense that he’d want to help people, and be his own boss.
“Sorta, it’s more of a road trip, Sam and I, and we stop off and do jobs along the way,” Dean says, and he’s shifting in his seat. There's something in his tone that tells her there's more to it than that, but then he adds, “So that’s why we’re here,” and his voice is clipped, and saying case closed. He sounds more shut off than ever, more unwilling to tell her details than ever, but maybe that’s time. They’re adults now. He could have three wives and ten kids, for all she knows.
“You married?” Not for the first time, Petra curses her inability to control herself.
“No, fuck, no,” Dean laughs out loud at that, “no wife, no kids. Well, not that I know of,” he adds absently. “You?” She recognises that tone, too cool and covering up what he’s thinking.
“No, no wife,” she says, and he chuckles.
Dean tells her about Sam leaving to study, and she can tell there was some tension about that, but he sounds like a proud father when he talks about how capable Sam is, about how he got into Stanford. She almost expects him to whip out Sam’s high school diploma there and then to read it to her.
Then Dean mentions Sam’s girlfriend dying, and Petra feels like she can’t breathe.
“Dean, no, in a fire?”
“Yeah. I had to pull Sam out,” Dean says, and there’s so much pain there, for Sam, and for himself maybe. Petra wonders how much hurt he’s had, in the time they’ve been apart. There was always hurt there to begin with that she could never get to the bottom of.
“How is he?”
“Okay, I think. It’s been a struggle, and, we’ve a ways to go, but…”
“You’re doing your best for him,” she says, and the like you always did is unspoken.
“I try,” Dean says, and then he leans away, she knows that ‘cause she hears the leather creak. He says, “So, you raise money for blind kids?” Changing the subject, like always.
Petra tells him about her job, about how important the right equipment is, and she didn’t realize she felt so strongly about it until she explained it to him. Then Iron Maiden is played on the radio, and it’s one of those random coincidences that makes them both break off, and laugh.
“Weird, huh, that’s my namesake,” Dean says, and she laughs. “I thought of you when the new Pearl Jam stuff came out,” Dean adds. “I take it you bought it.”
“Bought it, downloaded it, know every word,” she says, and they talk music, and nothing, the rest of the night, until the waitress snippily tells them it’s three a.m. and she has to close.
“So we’ll meet tomorrow?” Dean says, as he walks her out, sounding cocksure. He stops as they get to the car. “I know Sam wants to. He thought dinner, maybe?”
It’s the way he says Sam wants that makes her grin, and she nods. “If Sam wants to…”
**
Staying out chatting to Dean until the early hours seemed reasonable at the time, but it means she’s exhausted the next day. Of course, everyone’s a little hungover from the night before, and shell-shocked about Anne, so not much work gets done. Petra orders Anne flowers, and they’re told she’ll be home tomorrow. Then Annabel reads Petra all her work mail, and that’s the entire morning.
Frances comes in from her office for an afternoon coffee break, and announces loudly, in front of everyone, “So what happened when you went off with that Doug guy last night?” If she could see her, she knows Frances would probably be waggling her eyebrows.
“Coffee,” Petra says, not giving anything away.
“You know that guy?” Annabel asks. “He was damn hot.” Petra doesn’t have to see everybody to know that all eyes in the office are on her.
“He looked like trouble.” That’s her boss Andy speaking. “He ate all the free food single handed.”
Several people agree, and Frances bitches about people who take, “more than their fair share,” and Annabel says Doug ate like it was his last meal, and Petra just wants to laugh.
“He looked suspicious,” Andy says, “he practically called me a dick,” and then everybody asks to hear the story, and it turns out all Dean did was disparage Andy’s suit.
“Was this after you took the plate of food from him?” Petra asks, and Andy’s quiet at that. Petra knows it would be more Andy’s stuck up attitude that got Dean’s back up, and is secretly pleased that Dean reacted how she’s been dying to.
**
Dean’s exactly on time to pick her up, rings her bell at eight precisely, and she’s still hunting for her keys. Petra runs and flings open the door - “Hey, looking for keys,” she says - but she pauses long enough to hear his, “Hey,” and to receive the kiss that’s bestowed on her cheek.
Petra wanders back to the table where she keeps them, runs her hands over it looking for them. She’s grateful that Dean doesn’t pick them up like most people do; he waits patiently for her to find them. Her hand clutches over them, and she says, “Let’s go.”
Dean doesn’t move immediately. He says, “you look really great,” quietly, like he’s a bit embarrassed to say it, and it makes her blush.
“Thanks,” Petra says, and lets him lead her outside. She makes a mental note to thank Anne when she’s better, because she’s sure it was Anne that patiently labelled all of Petra’s clothes in a dizzying array of differently sized pins, and this was under, “casual/sexy,” so, that’s good.
They get outside, and she hears a door swing open, and Sam’s voice shouting, “Petra,” even as he’s half out of the car. He sounds so excited to see her, and his feet crunch quickly across the gravel. His excitement makes Dean laugh, and that makes her laugh, and she’s practically feeling giddy as Sam skids to a stop in front of her. “It’s so good, we’re so pleased you’re here,” Sam says, and suddenly she’s crushed into a massive hug. Crushed against a huge chest, with hands clutching her to him that are the size of dinner plates, practically covering her entire waist in their span. Since when did Sam get so big?
“Fucking hell, Sam; you’ve grown,” Petra says, as Sam pulls away from her, and she hates that she sounds like her mom.
Sam laughs, and it washes over all of them, and she feels herself relax even more, because it’s old friends, it’s the Winchesters, and it’s less nerve-wracking, somehow, to have Sam there.
“I was just a kid when you knew me,” Sam says, sounding all grown up and reasonable, and she can’t reconcile that with the young kid he is in her head. “I can’t believe it’s you,” he says, and hits her shoulder with his big hand again.
“It is, though,” Dean says, like he can’t believe it either. She wonders how many old friends they get to see, and it makes her feel special, as they walk either side of her, steering her toward the car, talking over each other.
Petra hears Dean nudge Sam toward the back seat, and she tries to protest, but Sam says, “no, no, like old times,” and Dean says, “yeah youngest gets the back, Samantha,” and everybody laughs again, and it’s like they’re all high.
**
In the car, Sam gets out a list of restaurants he printed off the internet, and Dean teases him about it, but totally listens to Sam’s facts about each one, and it’s him that picks which one they go to. When they get there, Sam sits opposite her and Dean slides in next to her. He slides in too far, and his leg bumps into hers, and she feels his muscle tense for a second, and Petra grins at him. He doesn’t move his leg away.
The waitress takes their order, and Dean teases Sam about wanting a side salad, and Sam teases Petra about her love of mac and cheese, because she’s moaning about it not being on the menu. They tell her about all the places they’ve visited, and bicker.
“It wasn't Miami, jerk, it was New Orleans,” Sam’s saying indignantly, and she can practially hear Dean's eyes rolling in his head.
“It was Miami, there was a girl on the beach in this teeny bikini, who mistook me for some Hollywood star, and asked me to sign her…” Dean trails off, then adds with what sounds like a smile, “well you can probably guess.”
“Sign where, Dean?” Petra asks, mock innocently, and he nudges her gently to shut her up.
“Did she think you were a star because you told her that, Dean?” Sam says severely, and he sounds so disapproving, like he used to when they were kids, and Dean wanted to put M and M’s in his ice cream.
“She might have…” Dean says, and it makes her and Sam laugh. It’s funny listening to them, because somehow, Sam’s not a kid anymore, and they talk like equals, arguing over whose idea it was to go where. Sometimes Dean insists he's right, wordlessly plays his, 'I'm the elder' card, and Sam huffs annoyance in return.
Dean goes to the restroom, and she and Sam are alone, and she isn’t sure whether to mention his girlfriend, but somehow, she just has to.
“Dean told me your girlfriend died, Sam, I’m so sorry.” Petra can practically feel Sam tense up from the other side of the table. She hears his foot start to jiggle uncomfortably on the floor, and his sharp intake of breath. “Sorry, I didn’t wanna bring it up, I just, had to say that.”
“That’s okay,” Sam says, “it’s fine, thanks.”
“You left college too, it must all have been very hard,” she says, wishing for this conversation to be over, and annoyed that she started it in the first place.
“Yeah.”
“You’ll go back, soon?”
“I hope so. Sometimes, I don’t know, but I want to. I can’t… travel, like this, forever,” Sam says, and he sounds so lost and confused, that she wants to hug him to her like he’s twelve again.
"’Course not, but for a while, sounds like it’s been good for you?” Sam laughs oddly at that.
“I guess so. It’s good… spending all this time with Dean,” Sam says, and she remembers Dean saying they didn’t talk much when Sam left for college, and wonders exactly what went on.
“Dean would always do anything for you,” Petra says.
“I know,” Sam says, cryptically, then he says, “he’s been a good brother, you know, he’s encouraged me to move on. I just wish,” he pauses, and she holds her breath, willing Sam to continue. When he does it comes out in a guilty rush, as if he isn’t sure he should say it, “I wish he wanted more for himself.”
Petra nods, though she isn’t sure exactly what Sam means by that. She wants to ask more but she hears Dean’s feet approaching, and she knows he’s deliberately making his footsteps louder, as she likes, and smiles her appreciation at him.
“We can probably hang around here tomorrow,” Sam says, as Dean slides back in, and he slides all the way in again, so their legs are touching. “I wanna see a couple of museums, but you know…” Sam’s voice trails off, and he hesitates.
“I can arrange my own social life, Sam,” Dean says, sounding disgusted, and Petra giggles.
“It’d be good to hang out tomorrow, Dean,” she says, and Dean squeezes her arm lightly.
When they drop her off, they both get out, and she gets a big hug from Sam first, and he whispers in her ear, “we won’t lose touch, not this time,” and she nudges secret agreement. Then Dean’s hugging her, and telling her, ‘two o’clock.’ She tells them she can make her own way in, but she doesn’t hear the car drive off behind her, and she knows they’re watching her.
It takes her ages to get her key in the lock because suddenly her hands are shaking really hard.
**
Dean walks her outside, and she guesses he’s steering her toward the car again, but she tugs him toward the street.
“Where are you going?” Dean asks, sounding amused.
“We’re going to the park, and Dean, we can walk, come on.” She tugs his arm a bit harder, and he doesn't pull away.
“If we don’t use the car I made Sam get public transportation for nothing,” Dean grumbles, but he’s ambling alongside her anyway.
“I’m sure we’ll find some use for it,” she answers.
They walk along and Dean describes odd scenes that are happening around them, and makes up stories about the people that they pass. He’s funny as ever, and sarcastic as ever, and she realises that she likes him just as much as she always did.
They sit in the park, and Dean goes to get them ice cream. She feels cold drip onto her, and Dean’s accompanying melting chuckle.
“Don’t just laugh at me,” she says, but she’s not annoyed.
“I’ll get it, hang on.” She feels Dean’s hand on her chest, and freezes as much as is possible. He scratches it slowly along, just underneath her breasts, and then he moves his hand, and nudges his finger to her lips. “Want it?” Dean asks, and she opens her mouth, and licks his finger slowly. He takes his hand away, and they’re both silent.
There’s a pause, like neither of them are sure what will happen next, and then a loud cry makes Petra jump. It sounds like a very young child.
“It’s a little girl, maybe four?” Dean says, and she looks toward the crying noise. “I can’t see a parent.” She hears Dean’s body shift, and he stands up, pulling her with him. “I should look for her,” he says firmly, and then he adds, ‘oh there she is,’ with real relief. Petra thinks how Dean always looks out for Sam first, family first, but how he looks out for others too. It's how they met after all. Sam's comment from the night before makes Petra wonder how far down on the list he puts himself.
**
They’re sitting on a bench, quietly chatting, when loud voices disturb their solitude.
“Maybe she’ll whack you with it,” a voice says, and Petra stiffens, knows that they’re talking about her cane, and she feels Dean tense next to her.
“Maybe. I thought they used dogs, these days?” The voice sounds young, they’re obviously kids, showing off, and Petra shrugs, means to ignore it, but Dean pulls away from her.
“You got a problem?” Dean has that menacing, don’t fuck with me scary tone, that Petra would never want to be on the wrong side of. She gets up, shuffles forward a couple of steps, and her cane bangs Dean’s foot. He shifts, as if making room for her.
“No,” the second kid says, sounding scared.
“You sure about that?” Dean says.
The kid says, “no,” again, and Petra reaches out, tugs on Dean’s arm.
“It’s fine, Dean,” she says, and she feels Dean’s body turn toward her. She hears the boys take advantage of the interruption to run off.
“Idiots,” Dean says, moving closer to her, toe bumping toe again.
“It’s fine, Dean. I get it all the time,” Petra says.
“You’d think people wouldn’t be such jerks,” Dean says, “but then I never did get people.”
“Me neither,” Petra says, and leans into him, without meaning to. She feels him lean against her, and feels his breath against her cheek. “Thanks though,” Petra adds, moves her face, meaning to kiss his cheek. Dean shifts his head, and suddenly his lips are brushing against hers, really gently. Petra allows a slight pressure back, and then Dean’s moving his hands to her face, and deepening the kiss. Petra opens her mouth in response, loses herself in the kiss, and there’s no mistaking that this isn’t friendly, that it’s all business. Petra can’t process what that means, because she’s too busy leaning against him, and trying not to fall down.
Dean breaks it off suddenly.
“Holy fuck,” Dean says, pulls back, and she hears him running his hand through his hair, leaving the other one on the back of her neck. “I…” he starts, but doesn’t finish it.
“What?” Petra says, praying it’s not that he didn’t want it to happen.
“I can’t stay,” Dean says, oddly, and his thumb is rubbing against the back of her neck, and it’s all she can do to focus on his words.
“You have to go now?” She’s incredulous, and Dean laughs, but not like he can really enjoy the joke.
“No, I mean, overall, in general, I can’t stay.”
“I didn’t ask you to move in, Dean,” she says, and that does earn a proper laugh.
“I know, I just. I don’t want to lie to you.” There’s a shell, covering over what he’s really trying to say, and Petra isn’t sure how to break it. She reaches up, touches his face with her hand, trying to say that it’s fine. Dean sighs, unsteadily. “There’s stuff I want to tell you, but I just can’t,” and now he sounds nervous and unsure. She wonders if he’s opened up, and been hurt before, and that’s what makes it so hard. Or if he just hasn’t had much practice. Then he takes a breath, and he’s cocky Dean again. “I just want to be honest, you know, before I take you home, and really show you how Dean Winchester kisses.”
He’s leaning close to her again, but she feels like she has to respond, so she puts her hand on his chest gently, and he stops moving immediately to hear her.
“It’s fine, Dean, you know that?” He doesn’t say anything, so she leans forward so her cheek's touching his, so she's speaking directly into his ear. “You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to, and I know you can’t stay.” She feels his face nodding against her cheek. “I know I can trust you, and if you’re not secretly a serial killing, drug dealing, pedophile, then we’re good.”
“I can promise that,” Dean says, and then he pulls her face to his again, and they’re kissing fervently, urgently. At some point she drops her cane, and when they break apart, he has to pick it up and hand it back to her.
“So,” Dean says, and she isn’t sure whether they’re going to kiss again, but she doesn’t want it to be in the park.
“Let’s go back to my place,” Petra says, and she’s not sure she’s ever been propelled anywhere so fast.
**
They get into her apartment, and she pulls him toward her bedroom. They lie down on her bed, and he kisses her slowly, too slowly. When she pulls him in for a deeper kiss, Dean laughs. “We’ve got all night,” he whispers, and he slowly removes her clothes, then his own. He runs his hands over her whole body, drinking in every inch of her with his fingers, like he’s the one who’s blind, and has to memorize her whole body. “You’re so beautiful,” he says, as his mouth follows his hands across her stomach, and she’s sure he’s said it many times as a line, but it doesn’t sound like one this time.
Petra pushes him off, gently, pushes him onto his back and takes her turn. She runs her hands up one arm, and over his chest, and over a very well defined six pack. As she goes her fingers cross scars, hundreds of scars. Some of them feel so small they’re probably not noticeable to look at him, but some feel like they must be pretty bad. They’re another string of hurts to add to the ones he’s had in his life, and she wonders about the secrets he’s too afraid to tell. She kisses every scar, tries to kiss the pain and suffering away, tries to learn what caused them all. He’s got hard, muscular edges, harder than ever he had, but there’s softness, in his lips, still, and in his soul, and she feels that under every scar too.
Dean lets her take her fill, and it feels like they’ve touched each other’s bodies for ages, learned every inch of each other. Eventually he pushes her back, and kisses her harder, more forcefully. He pulls away, “You okay?”
“Yeah. This isn’t my first time,” she jokes, and Dean laughs, and whispers into her ear, “it is with me.”
**
They lie in each other’s arms, and Dean touches her the whole time, like she might melt away if he lets go. She feels the same, and every minute is touching his leg, or his arm, or his back, or pulling him in for a kiss.
Petra’s no idea what time it is, but suddenly Dean says, “I’m starving,” and she realizes she is too. Dean pulls her out of bed, toward the kitchen, and she doesn’t hear him put any clothes on. She follows him, naked, into the kitchen.
“Let’s see what you’ve got in here,” Dean says, and he brushes off her protests to help.
“I’ll do it,” he says, and she has to endure twenty minutes of Dean complaining that she’s got no food, and it’s a wonder she doesn’t have scurvy. She calls him a pirate, which leads to Dean’s pirate impressions, which of course leads to more kissing.
Dean makes them coffee and grilled cheese, and she hears the bang of mug and plate on the table in front of her. He gently pushes the plate against her right hand, and she smiles at that. She reaches out to feel for the coffee herself, and then she’s set.
After they eat, Dean decides he wants to look through her CDs, so they troop back to the living room, and Dean starts to pull out CD after CD.
“Remember where you got it from,” Petra says automatically, ‘cause so many people put them back anywhere, and then she can’t find anything.
“Alphabetical. I think I cracked your code,” Dean teases. “You bought like, everything Metallica did?” He sounds surprised.
“Yeah, your tape got chewed up so I had to buy loads of stuff I wouldn’t otherwise have bothered with,” Petra tells him.
“Got chewed up?” Dean sounds surprised.
“Yeah, somewhere between the hundredth and two hundredth maudlin listen,” she says, and Dean laughs.
“I’m sorry we had to leave,” Dean says, and she isn’t sure why he’s apologizing, thinks maybe he’s apologizing for now, as well as then.
“Wasn’t your fault,” Petra says.
“Yeah, well,” Dean trails off. “Did you go to that dorky dance?” Dean asks, and sounds relieved when she answers, “No.”
Suddenly Dean scrambles to his feet, sounds like he’s heading to the wall. There’s a shelf filled with odds and ends there, she knows, and she wonders what’s caught his eye.
“What is it, Dean?” Petra asks, and she hears him pick something up.
“Is this?” He’s not saying it to her, and he answers himself, “it is.” He’s hears him turning something over and over in his hands, and after a minute she realizes what it must be.
“Sam’s bowl,” she says, just as Dean says, “Sam made this.”
“Yeah,” she adds.
“I can’t believe you kept it all this time,” Dean says, wonderingly, and he’s still running his hands over it.
“Well, I did lose the tape,” Petra says. “Bring it over.”
Dean comes over, sits really close to her, so his knees bump hers, and he puts the bowl where their knees touch.
“I always wondered if the markings mean anything,” Petra says, running her hand over one of the etchings Sam made on the side, all those years ago. “I used to run my hand over them again and again, trying to work it out.”
“Looks like they’re supposed to be runes, like for protection, but they’re not very clear,” Dean says.
“Oh, protection?” Petra thinks about how Sam was as a kid, and figures it makes sense. They both moved around so much, and had no Mom, it must have been unsettling. It’s a miracle they aren’t both more fucked up than they are.
“Yeah, I can’t believe you kept it,” Dean says, again, like it’s a miracle.
“Keep it,” Petra pushes it toward him.
“What? I can’t do that, Sam gave it to you.” Dean thunks it onto the ground next to them.
“You can - I don’t need it now, I have … I don’t need it now,” Petra says. It’s suddenly very important that Dean take it. They obviously don’t have many things from their childhood; she really wants them both to have it.
“I can’t,” Dean says, and she hears him go and put it back on the shelf. He's got that tone where it'll be useless to argue, so Petra shuts her mouth.
“Blue Oyster Cult?” she says, and Dean comes back over.
**
The next morning Dean’s phone rings, and Petra hears him lean out of bed with a grunt.
“Yeah? Sammy?” There’s silence for a minute, and she’d cold when the warmth of Dean’s body pulls completely away from her, then he puts a hand on her leg, rubs her thigh reassuringly the whole time he speaks. “Yeah I’m here, yeah, today? Yeah… I know. Okay, I won’t be long.”
Dean clicks his phone shut with a bang, and Petra knows what’s coming before he says it.
“I have to go,” Dean says, shortly, giving nothing away.
“Okay,” Petra says, and she doesn’t want to sound okay about it, but he did warn her, after all.
“Yeah." There's a pause, and Dean's still rubbing her thigh, as if there's a message there that he wants her to get. He takes a deep breath. "I wish I had more time, but we really shoulda gone yesterday, we gotta get somewhere before… before tomorrow.”
“I understand,” Petra nods, and then suddenly Dean’s pulling her up, pulling her into a hug. He crushes her to him, and she can feel his heart beating wildly in his chest. He doesn’t say anything for ages, then he says, in a voice that doesn’t sound certain, “I have to go.”
“Okay,” Petra says, again, but Dean doesn’t move.
“I’m sorry, if only I could stay, but I can’t.” Dean stops, hesitates, “My life… I can’t.”
“Dean, it’s fine,” Petra says. “You said you had to leave, and you do.”
Dean swallows heavily, and silently shifts away from her, and she hears him shrugging his clothes on, gathering together his stuff, and she just sits in bed, and looks to where she hears him walking. She moves to the edge of the bed finally, sits and waits.
“Give Sam a hug from me,” Petra says, quietly, and Dean sits down heavily next to her.
“C’mon, don’t make me get all emo with Sam,” Dean says, “he’ll never let me hear the end of it.”
Petra laughs, shakily, and tears aren’t far away, so she buries her face into Dean’s shoulder, hoping he won’t notice the one that escapes. He smoothes her hair down with his hand, slowly, and then she pulls back, and tells him, “I don’t want goodbye. I hate goodbyes.”
“Me too, always have,” Dean says fervently, and he kisses her slowly, and pulls away from her. She hears him move slowly toward the door. “I,” he starts, but she cuts him off.
“No goodbyes, no promises. Worked for us last time. Albeit slowly,” she smiles, and Dean clears this throat.
“Yeah,” he says, then adds, “Stay safe, okay?”
She knows he’s gone, because there’s silence but for the beating of her heart, and for her unshed tears.
**
About a month later, Petra gets a package in the mail. She doesn’t get much mail, so she takes it to work with her, hands it to her reader, and asks what it is. Annabel opens it, says, “It’s a cassette tape,” in a puzzled voice. “No note, nothing on the tape,” Annabel tells her, and Petra knows who it’s from.
Petra retreats to her desk, digs out the dictaphone she uses to type letters, and thanks whatever made her buy one that took normal size tapes. She slips it in, slips on her headphones, and hits play, hardly daring to breathe.
“Hey, it’s me, Dean,” and Petra thinks to herself that he really didn’t need to add the, “Dean” - she recognizes his voice. She smiles, feeling tearful already. “We’re near Lake Washington, and I put flowers in Viretta Park for Kurt Cobain for ya. Sam had a ball teasing me about it, but I figured you’d want that. We might get shore leave soon,” and Sam shouts, “definitely will,” followed by, “hi Petra,” in the background. Then Dean adds, “So we might come get that bowl. Sam wants it. Anyway, I remade you your tape, but I couldn’t remember everything that’s on it.” Then the tape cuts into the opening strains of ‘Enter Sandman’, and Petra listens to it all day, thinking that maybe her future isn’t so dark, after all.
**
If you read this, please comment and let me know what you thought, whatever you thought. I’m intrigued to know where it falls on the sequel scale between Terminator 2 (excellent) and Matrix 2 (I like to pretend it doesn’t exist).
***
Sight Unseen carries on their story here. Click the Petra tag for other bits and bobs too.