Another Crossroads - for latentfunction
Title: Another Crossroads
Author/Artist: raeschae
Recipient: latentfunction
Rating: R
Warnings: Set between seasons 5 and 6
Pairing: girl!Dean/Lisa
Word Count: 3300
Summary: Six months after moving in with Lisa and Ben, Dean has to decide between clinging to the familiarity of the past and moving into an entirely foreign future.
Notes: This project has been sitting on my jump drive, intimidating the hell out of me for a variety of reasons these last couple of months. Thanks to kiwiana for the encouragement and for the beta. MJ, I <3 U!
It’s not like this will be the first time she’s ever seen snow. They once spent an entire winter in Minnesota, she and Sam trudging through knee-deep drifts on the way to and from school, shoveling the walk and pelting each other with snowballs until their faces were red and their noses were running. She taught him how to make angels that winter.
The thought stops Dean, frozen at the kitchen window while she watches Lisa pull giant shovels and a couple of green plastic sleds out of the back of the garage. She could be out there helping, probably should be, but it’s another first time without Sam and her chest gives a painful squeeze that makes it difficult to move.
She tilts her beer bottle to her lips and watches the way Lisa casts an impatient eye over her shoulder. She's waiting for Dean to join her, to make herself a part of this, like she has been for the last five months. She won't push, she never does, but Dean can smell it hanging between them in the air, the pungent scent of expectation.
All morning, over breakfast and after, she and Ben were chattering about the prediction of the season’s first snow and how they're going to stand in the driveway and catch flakes on their tongues before they come back in for the standard hot cocoa by the fireplace. They didn't comment on the way Dean hung back, smile forced and thin on her lips. They never comment, but she knows they notice.
Sometimes, the hardest part of living here is seeing the parallels between Lisa and Ben and herself and Sam. Watching him ask if they can do ridiculous things, like sleep in the tent on the back porch tonight because he likes the way the snow sounds when it falls on the nylon, reminds her of the way Sam used to tilt his face and beg to forgo a motel for the night so they could just sleep on the hood of the car under the stars. Lisa says 'no' a lot easier than Dean ever could.
It's been almost six months since she showed up at their door, wrecked and broken; it's not easier and it probably never will be. She once heard Pastor Jim tell someone that wounds do heal with time and, even at nine, she thought it was crap. She knows from experience that, left untreated, wounds get infected with time, they don't heal. Tears welling in her eyes when she awakes to silence instead of the sound of Sam's pen tapping against a cheap, motel table isn't something that just goes away. Stopping at some drive-thru on her way home, ordering an extra veggie wrap for him without stopping to think until she's unloading the Styrofoam containers at the kitchen island, isn't something she can just slap a band aid on.
Dammit if she doesn't keep trying, though.
When the back door opens, she can't help grinning at Lisa's wind-pinkened face and the way her brown curls stick to her cheeks and neck under her sock hat. “Thanks for the help,” is all she says with a soft smile as she pulls her gloves from her hands and tosses them onto the counter.
Sometimes she reminds Dean of a campfire, all bright and glowing in the middle of all this crazy darkness that still threatens to drag her under without warning. Lisa is good for her, too good most days. Sam knew what he was doing when he sent her here.
“Hey, so we're gonna order pizza and wait for the snow. Cast your vote,” Lisa announces, resting her chin on Dean's shoulder while she dangles the menu in front of her face.
“What if I,” Dean stops herself by catching her bottom lip between her teeth. After barging into their lives unannounced and shattered, she tries to hang back and let them live their lives around her. Asking for anything, inserting herself into the family they already have, feels intrusive and wrong.
Lisa sighs, face mere inches away from hers, close enough that Dean can feel the turn of her lip against her cheek. “What if you actually tell me what you're thinking instead of making me guess?”
Rolling her eyes, Dean leans her head back and blinks at the ceiling. “It's probably gonna sound dumb or whatever but we used to do this thing, when it was cold and we didn't have a lot of money.” She sighs, glad that her back is to Lisa's chest so she won't have to see that giddy look in her eye when Dean actually shares something. “It's not the healthiest, but we used to make mac and cheese - the kind out of a box - and hot dogs. Most people think of it as summer food but, I don't know, it was cheap and easy to fix and it just. It reminds me of winter.” Now that she's saying it out loud, it sounds ridiculous.
Wordlessly, Lisa moves around the kitchen, pulling a couple boxes of macaroni and a block of processed cheese out of the cabinet. She grabs a package of hot dogs from the freezer and slides everything onto the island in front of Dean. “You know how hungry Ben is when he gets home,” she says, rounding the counter to slide her arms around Dean's neck. “I suggest you get started.”
It's not the same - the ingredients are different in more ways than one - but it still feels like maybe this is a step in the right direction, whatever that direction may be.
*
Ben eats like they might run out of food at any second most days and today is no exception. With one eye on the window, he plows through two bowls of macaroni and three hot dogs while giving the standard good and fine and nothing responses to questions about his day, his feelings and anything interesting that he might like to add about school in general.
Like Sammy used to do. Dean chases the thought away by shoveling more macaroni into her mouth.
“You got somewhere else to be, man?” Lisa laughs as Ben bounces off of his bar stool at the island and dumps his dishes into the sink with a clatter.
He turns and leans against the counter. “Aaron invited me over to play video games,” he says, eyes widening in a pleading stare.
Lisa cuts a concerned look at Dean before she nods and smiles softly at Ben. “You stayin' the night or comin' back?”
He clearly didn't consider staying overnight with a friend an option. “He asked me to stay but I told him I probably couldn't. Can I?”
She never meant to throw Ben's social life into upheaval when she came back into their lives. He used to be a normal kid who played outside with his friends and didn't bother checking in every fifteen minutes just so his mom's girlfriend didn't freak out and think he got kidnapped by the boogie man or something.
This time, she decides to abstain with a nonchalant, “It's up to you,” and finishes her dinner.
“You couldn't throw a fit this one time?” Lisa asks when Ben slams the back door a few minutes later.
Forcing a smile, Dean tosses a piece of macaroni at her and feigns innocence. “I don't throw fits,” she defends herself.
Lisa laughs. “Oh, right. I'm sorry. I forgot that you just. What is it? Help me out here.” She slides off of her stool and walks to Dean's side, looping her arms around her neck. “Show the appropriate amount of concern for the things that go bump in the night?”
“Totally valid!” Dean argues, spinning in her seat to rest her hands on Lisa's waist. “Aaron lives two houses down. He'll be alright.” She doesn't know if she's trying to convince Lisa or herself but it sounds reasonably sincere.
Lisa's lips are soft when they press against Dean's cheek. “Oh, I know he'll be alright,” she whispers, macaroni and hot dog breath warm on her skin. “But how am I supposed to enjoy my traditions when my partner in crime is off shooting zombies at his friend's house?” She cringes. “Sorry. I'm sorry.”
“Alright, listen,” Dean stops her with a finger pressed against Lisa's lips. “Don't apologize. I'm not freaking out and if I was, it wouldn't be your fault, okay?”
About three months after she came to stay with them, she was obsessively trying to find a way to bring Sam back and drinking more than any human being had the right to drink. She stumbled into the living room to find Ben playing some demon-hunting video game and she freaked out. They've both been walking on eggshells about it ever since.
Lisa barely nods her concession. “I know,” she whispers somberly.
“Also, it's not even snowing yet. It might not. The weather guys are wrong all the damn time.” Pulling her closer, Dean smiles; for once today, it doesn't feel forced. “And if it does, I don't know. Maybe it's time you and me start makin' a few traditions of our own.”
The suggestion surprises Dean more than it does Lisa, but the smile that she gives in response is almost blinding. “What'd you have in mind?” she asks, leaning in until their foreheads meet and the air between them shifts and crackles.
Truth be told she doesn't actually have anything in mind; it was a spur of the moment suggestion. Dean's pretty sure they can come up with something, though, in the event that snow actually starts falling.
*
They watch some television but the night is otherwise uneventful. She can't help teasing Lisa every time her eyes dart out the window, nudging her side or kissing her temple when she pouts about nothing happening out there.
When Lisa finally gives up and announces that she's going to bed, Dean texts Ben to make sure he's alright and then goes through the checklist in her mind as she does one last sweep of the house. Salted doors and windows, concealed Devil's Traps, talismans in nondescript places. She promised, the day she decided that she was staying here for good, that none of her protective measures would interfere with their lives, that they would never have to know they were there, but she's got this house on supernatural lockdown. Nothing evil is coming in as long as she has any control over it at all.
Trudging up the stairs, she starts to unbutton her pants before she reaches the top. Slipping between crisp, clean sheets and sleeping for a full eight hours isn't something she ever thought about missing - it's hard to miss the things she never had - but she's getting used to it a little more all the time.
Lisa is on the bed, tucked away with a book when Dean rounds the corner. She smiles without looking up so she doesn't see it when it happens.
“Uh, don't look now,” Dean says, nodding toward the window.
Out of bed like a shot, Lisa runs to the window as the soft flakes begin to fall. There are just a few, carried on the wind and glittering in the glow of the streetlights but she's mesmerized nonetheless. Pressing her fingers to the cold glass, Lisa lets out a laugh and throws a look over her shoulder. “You can't see it from over there,” she points out.
The night they met, Lisa was smiling like that, like everything was right with the world and worry wasn't something that existed. She was so beautiful that Dean didn't even consider telling her that she'd never slept with another woman before, never gave it much thought at all. It didn't seem important.
Slipping in behind her, Dean rests her hands on Lisa's hips, thumbs rubbing the skin between her pajama pants and her tee shirt. “You wanna go catch flakes on your tongue?” She kisses the side of her neck and adds, “Ben's still awake.”
Lisa relaxes back against Dean's chest and lets out a sigh. “I'm good,” she says, voice quiet and her breath minty cool when she turns to press a kiss to the corner of her jaw. “Traditions of our own, right?”
She could stand here all night, thinking about how creating new traditions with Lisa means that she's accepting Sam is gone and this is the only family she has now. A month ago, maybe even a week ago, she would have done just that. Maybe there's something to the snow, like Lisa claims there is, because Dean just doesn't feel like stringing together the internal monologue at the moment.
Weaving her fingers through Lisa's, Dean pulls on her hand. “Grab some blankets and meet me downstairs?”
She pulls back, kisses Dean slow and lazy before pushing her back away with a playful smirk. “Should I lose my pants, too?”
If there is one thing that Dean has never been, it's shy. Something about Lisa, though, throws her off enough to make her blush. Shrugging it off, she smiles. “Whatever you want.”
Taking one more cleansing breath as she jogs down the stairs, Dean casts another glance at the door and then heads into the kitchen to grab beer and pop popcorn. It's basic, nothing fancy - but Lisa knows by now that she's not a fancy girl.
Even if she's not hunting, she's still the blue collar kid who grew up in shit motels and learned how to hustle pool in dive bars. She's the girl who ran credit card scams for extra cash and charmed Lisa into five crazy, sex-laden days in a biker bar twelve years ago. Lisa doesn't expect anything more than who Dean is and has always been; though he only saw them together once, Sam instinctively knew that, too.
“Alright, where do you want me?” Lisa asks when she comes down the stairs, peeking around the side of a stack of pillows and blankets.
Chuckling from her vantage point in the kitchen, Dean nods toward the living room. “Just drop 'em anywhere on the floor,” she instructs, tapping her foot while she waits for the microwave to finish up.
The makeshift bed is all laid out in front of the couch and Lisa is sitting in the middle of it in her panties and a tee shirt. She's cradling her legs to her chest and staring out the sliding glass door into the back yard where the snow is falling heavy and thick against the dark sky now.
“Here,” Dean says, handing Lisa a beer bottle and lowering herself to the blanket at her side. She sets a giant bowl of popcorn in front of them and reaches for the remote.
When the movie starts, Lisa howls with laughter at his side. “What the hell is this?” she asks, expression incredulous as she shakes her head and reaches for the popcorn. “Dean, this movie sucks!”
She knows that Snow Day is a terrible movie, in theory, but it's the only thing they have with snow in the title and she vaguely remembers seeing it on cable a couple of times, years ago. “Hey, you want better movies, you should buy better movies, Ebert.” Pointing over Lisa's shoulder, she adds, “I thought you'd rather watch out there anyway. This is just background noise.”
Lisa grabs the remote and turns the television off. “How 'bout we make our own background noise.”
They're both laughing by the time she straddles Dean's lap and loops her arms around her neck. “Terrible,” Dean assures her.
Lisa just laughs. “Yeah well,” is her only defense before she leans in to press her lips to the corner of Dean's.
Calloused fingers digging into the smooth skin of her thigh, Dean captures her lips in a soft kiss that's more a slow sliding of their lips against each other. Their breathing grows labored as Lisa buries her fingers in Dean's short hair and guides her back against the blankets, grinding a little against her thigh as they shift into a more comfortable position.
When she sits again, pulls her tee shirt over her head and tosses it to the ground at their sides, Dean takes a minute to appreciate the long stretch of her neck and the way her hair shakes around her shoulders when she arches her back and runs her fingers under Dean's tee shirt and over her torso. Grinning, she rolls her thumbs over Dean's nipples, bottom lip catching between her teeth in a playful grin when Dean's eyes flutter shut and a soft moan escapes her throat.
It feels like an eternity that they rub against each other, making out like teenagers and feeling each other up like they have all the time in the world. Sex has become so utilitarian over time, just another means to an end, that it still takes Dean a little while to relax into taking real pleasure from it. The tiny whimpers against her ear and the way Lisa sucks at the hollow of her throat help.
Slipping a hand between their bodies, Dean lazily rubs her fingers over Lisa's wet panties, swallowing her moans in a deep kiss while she trails her other hand over Lisa's shoulder blades. There's nothing savage or aggressive about the way Lisa trails her tongue over Dean's sternum and sucks shallow bruises into the skin of her abdomen but it drives her crazy anyway. It took her months to be okay with slow and easy, to remember that harder and faster, brutal and bruising, aren't the only ways to do this.
Lisa is teaching her that it doesn't always have to hurt, any of it.
They don't speak, only writhe around on the blankets, rubbing against each other with soft moans and whimpers to communicate. When Lisa jerks against her and buries her face in Dean's shoulder, Dean wraps her arms tight around her shoulders and her legs around Lisa's thighs, shuddering under the weight of her own release.
Lisa's low-pitched whine fades into a disbelieving chuckle as she rolls onto her back and rests her forearm against her eyes. She opens her mouth to speak but seems to think better of it, instead exhaling and laughing again, once, sharp and short.
“What?” Dean asks, toes pointed as she reaches her arms over her head and stretches until her back cracks.
Rolling onto her side, Lisa rests her head against Dean's shoulder and presses her open lips to Dean's skin. “Nothin',” she whispers, another quick kiss before she settles an arm over Dean's stomach and rests a hand against her hip.
She's asleep almost before Dean finishes kissing the crown of her head, sighing contentedly as she snuggles closer. Dean wraps one arm around her shoulder and lets her gaze drift to the window, Lisa's hair tickling her nose when she turns. It smells like coconut, fresh and sweet.
Watching the snow fall, Dean lets her mind wander back through the day, through the weeks and the months that have passed and the ones that are still waiting for them. Her breath catches in her throat when she realizes that she's not thinking about this moment as a first without Sam but as a first with Lisa. It doesn't change much, but it feels like a start.
Author/Artist: raeschae
Recipient: latentfunction
Rating: R
Warnings: Set between seasons 5 and 6
Pairing: girl!Dean/Lisa
Word Count: 3300
Summary: Six months after moving in with Lisa and Ben, Dean has to decide between clinging to the familiarity of the past and moving into an entirely foreign future.
Notes: This project has been sitting on my jump drive, intimidating the hell out of me for a variety of reasons these last couple of months. Thanks to kiwiana for the encouragement and for the beta. MJ, I <3 U!
It’s not like this will be the first time she’s ever seen snow. They once spent an entire winter in Minnesota, she and Sam trudging through knee-deep drifts on the way to and from school, shoveling the walk and pelting each other with snowballs until their faces were red and their noses were running. She taught him how to make angels that winter.
The thought stops Dean, frozen at the kitchen window while she watches Lisa pull giant shovels and a couple of green plastic sleds out of the back of the garage. She could be out there helping, probably should be, but it’s another first time without Sam and her chest gives a painful squeeze that makes it difficult to move.
She tilts her beer bottle to her lips and watches the way Lisa casts an impatient eye over her shoulder. She's waiting for Dean to join her, to make herself a part of this, like she has been for the last five months. She won't push, she never does, but Dean can smell it hanging between them in the air, the pungent scent of expectation.
All morning, over breakfast and after, she and Ben were chattering about the prediction of the season’s first snow and how they're going to stand in the driveway and catch flakes on their tongues before they come back in for the standard hot cocoa by the fireplace. They didn't comment on the way Dean hung back, smile forced and thin on her lips. They never comment, but she knows they notice.
Sometimes, the hardest part of living here is seeing the parallels between Lisa and Ben and herself and Sam. Watching him ask if they can do ridiculous things, like sleep in the tent on the back porch tonight because he likes the way the snow sounds when it falls on the nylon, reminds her of the way Sam used to tilt his face and beg to forgo a motel for the night so they could just sleep on the hood of the car under the stars. Lisa says 'no' a lot easier than Dean ever could.
It's been almost six months since she showed up at their door, wrecked and broken; it's not easier and it probably never will be. She once heard Pastor Jim tell someone that wounds do heal with time and, even at nine, she thought it was crap. She knows from experience that, left untreated, wounds get infected with time, they don't heal. Tears welling in her eyes when she awakes to silence instead of the sound of Sam's pen tapping against a cheap, motel table isn't something that just goes away. Stopping at some drive-thru on her way home, ordering an extra veggie wrap for him without stopping to think until she's unloading the Styrofoam containers at the kitchen island, isn't something she can just slap a band aid on.
Dammit if she doesn't keep trying, though.
When the back door opens, she can't help grinning at Lisa's wind-pinkened face and the way her brown curls stick to her cheeks and neck under her sock hat. “Thanks for the help,” is all she says with a soft smile as she pulls her gloves from her hands and tosses them onto the counter.
Sometimes she reminds Dean of a campfire, all bright and glowing in the middle of all this crazy darkness that still threatens to drag her under without warning. Lisa is good for her, too good most days. Sam knew what he was doing when he sent her here.
“Hey, so we're gonna order pizza and wait for the snow. Cast your vote,” Lisa announces, resting her chin on Dean's shoulder while she dangles the menu in front of her face.
“What if I,” Dean stops herself by catching her bottom lip between her teeth. After barging into their lives unannounced and shattered, she tries to hang back and let them live their lives around her. Asking for anything, inserting herself into the family they already have, feels intrusive and wrong.
Lisa sighs, face mere inches away from hers, close enough that Dean can feel the turn of her lip against her cheek. “What if you actually tell me what you're thinking instead of making me guess?”
Rolling her eyes, Dean leans her head back and blinks at the ceiling. “It's probably gonna sound dumb or whatever but we used to do this thing, when it was cold and we didn't have a lot of money.” She sighs, glad that her back is to Lisa's chest so she won't have to see that giddy look in her eye when Dean actually shares something. “It's not the healthiest, but we used to make mac and cheese - the kind out of a box - and hot dogs. Most people think of it as summer food but, I don't know, it was cheap and easy to fix and it just. It reminds me of winter.” Now that she's saying it out loud, it sounds ridiculous.
Wordlessly, Lisa moves around the kitchen, pulling a couple boxes of macaroni and a block of processed cheese out of the cabinet. She grabs a package of hot dogs from the freezer and slides everything onto the island in front of Dean. “You know how hungry Ben is when he gets home,” she says, rounding the counter to slide her arms around Dean's neck. “I suggest you get started.”
It's not the same - the ingredients are different in more ways than one - but it still feels like maybe this is a step in the right direction, whatever that direction may be.
*
Ben eats like they might run out of food at any second most days and today is no exception. With one eye on the window, he plows through two bowls of macaroni and three hot dogs while giving the standard good and fine and nothing responses to questions about his day, his feelings and anything interesting that he might like to add about school in general.
Like Sammy used to do. Dean chases the thought away by shoveling more macaroni into her mouth.
“You got somewhere else to be, man?” Lisa laughs as Ben bounces off of his bar stool at the island and dumps his dishes into the sink with a clatter.
He turns and leans against the counter. “Aaron invited me over to play video games,” he says, eyes widening in a pleading stare.
Lisa cuts a concerned look at Dean before she nods and smiles softly at Ben. “You stayin' the night or comin' back?”
He clearly didn't consider staying overnight with a friend an option. “He asked me to stay but I told him I probably couldn't. Can I?”
She never meant to throw Ben's social life into upheaval when she came back into their lives. He used to be a normal kid who played outside with his friends and didn't bother checking in every fifteen minutes just so his mom's girlfriend didn't freak out and think he got kidnapped by the boogie man or something.
This time, she decides to abstain with a nonchalant, “It's up to you,” and finishes her dinner.
“You couldn't throw a fit this one time?” Lisa asks when Ben slams the back door a few minutes later.
Forcing a smile, Dean tosses a piece of macaroni at her and feigns innocence. “I don't throw fits,” she defends herself.
Lisa laughs. “Oh, right. I'm sorry. I forgot that you just. What is it? Help me out here.” She slides off of her stool and walks to Dean's side, looping her arms around her neck. “Show the appropriate amount of concern for the things that go bump in the night?”
“Totally valid!” Dean argues, spinning in her seat to rest her hands on Lisa's waist. “Aaron lives two houses down. He'll be alright.” She doesn't know if she's trying to convince Lisa or herself but it sounds reasonably sincere.
Lisa's lips are soft when they press against Dean's cheek. “Oh, I know he'll be alright,” she whispers, macaroni and hot dog breath warm on her skin. “But how am I supposed to enjoy my traditions when my partner in crime is off shooting zombies at his friend's house?” She cringes. “Sorry. I'm sorry.”
“Alright, listen,” Dean stops her with a finger pressed against Lisa's lips. “Don't apologize. I'm not freaking out and if I was, it wouldn't be your fault, okay?”
About three months after she came to stay with them, she was obsessively trying to find a way to bring Sam back and drinking more than any human being had the right to drink. She stumbled into the living room to find Ben playing some demon-hunting video game and she freaked out. They've both been walking on eggshells about it ever since.
Lisa barely nods her concession. “I know,” she whispers somberly.
“Also, it's not even snowing yet. It might not. The weather guys are wrong all the damn time.” Pulling her closer, Dean smiles; for once today, it doesn't feel forced. “And if it does, I don't know. Maybe it's time you and me start makin' a few traditions of our own.”
The suggestion surprises Dean more than it does Lisa, but the smile that she gives in response is almost blinding. “What'd you have in mind?” she asks, leaning in until their foreheads meet and the air between them shifts and crackles.
Truth be told she doesn't actually have anything in mind; it was a spur of the moment suggestion. Dean's pretty sure they can come up with something, though, in the event that snow actually starts falling.
*
They watch some television but the night is otherwise uneventful. She can't help teasing Lisa every time her eyes dart out the window, nudging her side or kissing her temple when she pouts about nothing happening out there.
When Lisa finally gives up and announces that she's going to bed, Dean texts Ben to make sure he's alright and then goes through the checklist in her mind as she does one last sweep of the house. Salted doors and windows, concealed Devil's Traps, talismans in nondescript places. She promised, the day she decided that she was staying here for good, that none of her protective measures would interfere with their lives, that they would never have to know they were there, but she's got this house on supernatural lockdown. Nothing evil is coming in as long as she has any control over it at all.
Trudging up the stairs, she starts to unbutton her pants before she reaches the top. Slipping between crisp, clean sheets and sleeping for a full eight hours isn't something she ever thought about missing - it's hard to miss the things she never had - but she's getting used to it a little more all the time.
Lisa is on the bed, tucked away with a book when Dean rounds the corner. She smiles without looking up so she doesn't see it when it happens.
“Uh, don't look now,” Dean says, nodding toward the window.
Out of bed like a shot, Lisa runs to the window as the soft flakes begin to fall. There are just a few, carried on the wind and glittering in the glow of the streetlights but she's mesmerized nonetheless. Pressing her fingers to the cold glass, Lisa lets out a laugh and throws a look over her shoulder. “You can't see it from over there,” she points out.
The night they met, Lisa was smiling like that, like everything was right with the world and worry wasn't something that existed. She was so beautiful that Dean didn't even consider telling her that she'd never slept with another woman before, never gave it much thought at all. It didn't seem important.
Slipping in behind her, Dean rests her hands on Lisa's hips, thumbs rubbing the skin between her pajama pants and her tee shirt. “You wanna go catch flakes on your tongue?” She kisses the side of her neck and adds, “Ben's still awake.”
Lisa relaxes back against Dean's chest and lets out a sigh. “I'm good,” she says, voice quiet and her breath minty cool when she turns to press a kiss to the corner of her jaw. “Traditions of our own, right?”
She could stand here all night, thinking about how creating new traditions with Lisa means that she's accepting Sam is gone and this is the only family she has now. A month ago, maybe even a week ago, she would have done just that. Maybe there's something to the snow, like Lisa claims there is, because Dean just doesn't feel like stringing together the internal monologue at the moment.
Weaving her fingers through Lisa's, Dean pulls on her hand. “Grab some blankets and meet me downstairs?”
She pulls back, kisses Dean slow and lazy before pushing her back away with a playful smirk. “Should I lose my pants, too?”
If there is one thing that Dean has never been, it's shy. Something about Lisa, though, throws her off enough to make her blush. Shrugging it off, she smiles. “Whatever you want.”
Taking one more cleansing breath as she jogs down the stairs, Dean casts another glance at the door and then heads into the kitchen to grab beer and pop popcorn. It's basic, nothing fancy - but Lisa knows by now that she's not a fancy girl.
Even if she's not hunting, she's still the blue collar kid who grew up in shit motels and learned how to hustle pool in dive bars. She's the girl who ran credit card scams for extra cash and charmed Lisa into five crazy, sex-laden days in a biker bar twelve years ago. Lisa doesn't expect anything more than who Dean is and has always been; though he only saw them together once, Sam instinctively knew that, too.
“Alright, where do you want me?” Lisa asks when she comes down the stairs, peeking around the side of a stack of pillows and blankets.
Chuckling from her vantage point in the kitchen, Dean nods toward the living room. “Just drop 'em anywhere on the floor,” she instructs, tapping her foot while she waits for the microwave to finish up.
The makeshift bed is all laid out in front of the couch and Lisa is sitting in the middle of it in her panties and a tee shirt. She's cradling her legs to her chest and staring out the sliding glass door into the back yard where the snow is falling heavy and thick against the dark sky now.
“Here,” Dean says, handing Lisa a beer bottle and lowering herself to the blanket at her side. She sets a giant bowl of popcorn in front of them and reaches for the remote.
When the movie starts, Lisa howls with laughter at his side. “What the hell is this?” she asks, expression incredulous as she shakes her head and reaches for the popcorn. “Dean, this movie sucks!”
She knows that Snow Day is a terrible movie, in theory, but it's the only thing they have with snow in the title and she vaguely remembers seeing it on cable a couple of times, years ago. “Hey, you want better movies, you should buy better movies, Ebert.” Pointing over Lisa's shoulder, she adds, “I thought you'd rather watch out there anyway. This is just background noise.”
Lisa grabs the remote and turns the television off. “How 'bout we make our own background noise.”
They're both laughing by the time she straddles Dean's lap and loops her arms around her neck. “Terrible,” Dean assures her.
Lisa just laughs. “Yeah well,” is her only defense before she leans in to press her lips to the corner of Dean's.
Calloused fingers digging into the smooth skin of her thigh, Dean captures her lips in a soft kiss that's more a slow sliding of their lips against each other. Their breathing grows labored as Lisa buries her fingers in Dean's short hair and guides her back against the blankets, grinding a little against her thigh as they shift into a more comfortable position.
When she sits again, pulls her tee shirt over her head and tosses it to the ground at their sides, Dean takes a minute to appreciate the long stretch of her neck and the way her hair shakes around her shoulders when she arches her back and runs her fingers under Dean's tee shirt and over her torso. Grinning, she rolls her thumbs over Dean's nipples, bottom lip catching between her teeth in a playful grin when Dean's eyes flutter shut and a soft moan escapes her throat.
It feels like an eternity that they rub against each other, making out like teenagers and feeling each other up like they have all the time in the world. Sex has become so utilitarian over time, just another means to an end, that it still takes Dean a little while to relax into taking real pleasure from it. The tiny whimpers against her ear and the way Lisa sucks at the hollow of her throat help.
Slipping a hand between their bodies, Dean lazily rubs her fingers over Lisa's wet panties, swallowing her moans in a deep kiss while she trails her other hand over Lisa's shoulder blades. There's nothing savage or aggressive about the way Lisa trails her tongue over Dean's sternum and sucks shallow bruises into the skin of her abdomen but it drives her crazy anyway. It took her months to be okay with slow and easy, to remember that harder and faster, brutal and bruising, aren't the only ways to do this.
Lisa is teaching her that it doesn't always have to hurt, any of it.
They don't speak, only writhe around on the blankets, rubbing against each other with soft moans and whimpers to communicate. When Lisa jerks against her and buries her face in Dean's shoulder, Dean wraps her arms tight around her shoulders and her legs around Lisa's thighs, shuddering under the weight of her own release.
Lisa's low-pitched whine fades into a disbelieving chuckle as she rolls onto her back and rests her forearm against her eyes. She opens her mouth to speak but seems to think better of it, instead exhaling and laughing again, once, sharp and short.
“What?” Dean asks, toes pointed as she reaches her arms over her head and stretches until her back cracks.
Rolling onto her side, Lisa rests her head against Dean's shoulder and presses her open lips to Dean's skin. “Nothin',” she whispers, another quick kiss before she settles an arm over Dean's stomach and rests a hand against her hip.
She's asleep almost before Dean finishes kissing the crown of her head, sighing contentedly as she snuggles closer. Dean wraps one arm around her shoulder and lets her gaze drift to the window, Lisa's hair tickling her nose when she turns. It smells like coconut, fresh and sweet.
Watching the snow fall, Dean lets her mind wander back through the day, through the weeks and the months that have passed and the ones that are still waiting for them. Her breath catches in her throat when she realizes that she's not thinking about this moment as a first without Sam but as a first with Lisa. It doesn't change much, but it feels like a start.