This is for all the Dean girls that wished they could have been there for him after Johnās death. For all the yearners and lovers of angst.
The leaden weight of her tongue peeled itself from the roof of her mouth like a waking creature in search of water. Elowyn rose lazily from the sheets, itching to quench the undeniable thirst that had crept into her throat throughout the night.
Eyesight bleary from the haze of unconsciousness, her digital clock was a smear of red light when she padded past the length of her room. Time felt like a foggy memory; she didn't remember what time she had fallen asleep, nor did she care as she left her room and wandered the quiet hall, heading towards the stairs.
The wooden floorboards creaked gently beneath her, step after step, down the old staircase. Her limbs weighed her body, throwing her balance off kilter. They buzzed beneath her flesh while they awakened, not quite as conscious as her mind was at that moment, though just enough to appease the request her throat asked for.
The light from the kitchen seeped into the dark living room, stinging her still-adjusting eyes when she landed on the first floor. Strange, she thought everyone was asleep; so used to making this journey in complete darkness, she had forgotten the possibility of the house's newest inhabitants accidentally leaving it on. When she stumbled into the kitchen, her answer came in the form of Dean hunched over a glass of amber liquid, face cast in shadow from the overhead light.
It had been three days since Sam and Dean had shown up at her doorstep, and about a week prior to that since their father had died. Sam had told her everything: Meg, the yellow-eyed demon, the colt, the accident that led to the Impala and Dean landing in the ICU. It had felt like a blessing when they came, like everything was righting itself in the world. However, that was before they dropped the news about John, and the lingering rightness of fate crashed right in front of her eyes.
She knew it was hard for them and, although much time had passed between her and the Winchesters, she never stopped caring for the two brothers. Sam openly took the shoulder she offered, yet Dean would always disappear as if he could read the questions in her eyes and run away from the possibility of opening up. It seemed to her that he found it easier to avoid her presence than to indulge in it, much like he used to. Not once had he spoken about what had happened, content to sequester himself beneath Baby's hood.
She had given him space these past few days, even if the worry gnawed on her like the persistent mosquitoes in the summer heat. Seeing him now wiped any lingering traces of sleep. Stepping on eggshells would have been easier than navigating whatever this tension was in his presence. She practically forgot all about her thirst, frozen in the kitchen's entryway. Dean didn't moveādidn't bother to look up. Bowed over his glass, his arms anchored to the wooden breakfast table, supporting his weight. His hair stuck up at odd ends, soft strands catching the light as if he had spent the last hour running his fingers through them.
She didnāt say anything as she ambled over to the cupboard by the fridge and took out a glass. The door creaked on its hinges when she pulled it open. A crisp air breezed over her frame, cooling the zipper of her oversized jacket against her bare flesh. A whisper of a shiver raced down her back at the sudden change in temperature. The glass carafe stood lonely amongst the near-empty fridge, cool to the touch and full of water. She filled her glass, placing it on the counter with a faint thump. Reflexively, her arm reached for a second glass, where she filled that one up too.
"I was wondering where that went.ā
Dean's voice broke the gentle silence of the late hour. Surprise stilled Elowyn's arm, slowing the steady stream of water flowing into the second glass to a few trickling drops. His words were mumbled, yet the house was so silent that he sounded loud to her ears. She didn't think he would speak, thought he would just continue to ignore her like he had beenā¦even if it hurt just a little.
The carafe weighed in her hand as she blinked in the returning quiet. āHm?ā She hummed, tilting her head to glance over her shoulder. His stare was on her jacket. His jacket. One he had left years ago when he was seventeen. It probably didn't fit him anymore.
She hadn't noticed it was what she had grabbed and thrown on when she had gotten out of the shower and promptly passed out on her bed. It had become a natural part of her closet the moment it had landed in her laundry, and something that always managed to end up in her bag when she went on hunts.
āYou want it back?ā She asked sincerely. She resumed pouring the water into the glass before turning to face him.
He shook his head softly, already looking away. "No, keep it. It's been yours longer than it's been mine."
She bit the inside of her cheek, hesitating to take a step, to speak.
What could she say? Thank you? You're not wrong?
Why can't you look at me for longer than two seconds?
Why didn't you ever come back?
Before she could second-guess herself any longer, her feet were already moving in his direction. When she approached, he glanced up. His gaze flickered over the glasses in her hands, a diminutive frown pulling at his lips.
"Iām fine." He bit out, almost annoyed. Any lingering tenderness evaporated from his voice and was replaced with a harsh bite slurred by alcohol.
Elowyn schooled her features into a mask of indifference but couldn't quite hide the slight dejection in her voice. "Youāll need it for the morning."
He huffed under his breath, lazily rolling his eyes. His movements were slowed by the alcohol when he swiped for the glass in her hand, spilling thick drops onto the table and floor. He took a long and deep swig, staring at her from the corner of his eye as if to prove a point. When the glass thumped on the wooden table, he looked up at her fully.
A drop dribbled past the corner of his mouth, parted in a mocking smile that looked more like a scowl. "Happy?"
"Overjoyed." She deadpanned.
Her breath left her chest in a short exhale as she turned around to put the carafe back in the fridge. His mocking features fell away, and she heard him sigh behind her.
"Elowyn," soft as a whisper, her name slipped past his lips, broken on the vowels from years of disuse. She stilled at the sound, causing a flutter in her chest that tingled down the length of her body. She turned to find his eyes already on her, glassy above rosy cheeks that made the green in them stand out. "Iām sorry."
She pursed her lips. An ache filled her chest. "You have nothing to apologize for, Dean."
His fingers tightened on the glass, jaw clenching as if there was more he wanted to sayāmore that begged to spill off his tongue and lighten his chest.
He sighed as he let go of the glass of water and braced his hands on the wooden surface of the table. He aimed to push himself up, but his head spun, and his body failed to receive the messages his brain was trying to convey to his limbs. It was only a drinkā¦and half the bottle of whiskey Bobby kept "hidden" in a cabinet behind his desk.
Elowyn watched until his struggle became apparent. She intervened, leaving her glass on the table next to his. Aside from a slight grumble, he didn't protest much when her arms snaked over his form and helped him stand. She adjusted her grip across his back and beneath his arms, letting him lean his weight against her.
"You're gonna have to help me." She grunted, already struggling with his weight. She gave him a small squeeze on his side to get him moving. Dean let out a quiet huff in response, his lips pulling downwards. She forgot he was ticklish there. Nonetheless, his feet dragged beneath him when she started leading them.
They clambered out of the kitchen and towards the stairs. Pausing at the base, the stairs extended forth into the darkness clouding the second floor. Never had the stairs looked so daunting or endless.
"Please don't fall," Elowyn whispered more to herself just before they made the first step.
"I have you to catch me," Dean slurred next to her ear, a little smile tugging on his lips.
She paused for a moment. Her own lips twitched in response, though she bit it back and started ascending. The old stairs groaned beneath their combined weight, the narrow passage feeling smaller with Dean pressed against her side. It was quite the struggle on her end; whereas he seemed more oblivious of his own body, almost toppling her with his weight. His shoulder bumped into the wall, throwing off her stability. His arm was heavy against her neck, where he seemed to be throwing most of his weight. The railing groaned forebodingly when she lost her footing, causing her to press her weight into it to avoid slipping. It creaked and protested in their ascent, revealing where it was loose in certain spots. She would have to remind Bobby.
Dean was slow to follow her lead on a step, nearly tripping on his way to catch up. She felt his body lag and sway, drawing her body with him. She quickly stiffened to hold him still, digging her fingers into his bicep and ribs. A muffled huff puffed past his lips, which turned into an annoyed groan.
"Watch it." He muttered weakly, clamping a hand against her shoulder to keep himself upright.
"I'm not trying to." She retorted.
"Could have fooled me," He remarked dryly.
She rolled her eyes in the darkness, debating on leaving his ass stranded on the stairs. With a sigh, she slowed her pace and adjusted her grip. Patience was better than Dean potentially being face-first and broken at the bottom of the stairs by morning.
"If you wanted to cop a feel, you could have just asked, princess." His voice drawled next to her ear, carrying the sure smirk that was pasted across his face. A tiny, undignified noise left Elowyn's throat when his words processed in her mind. She scoffed, squeezing him purposefully on the side, earning her a lilting chuckle.
Nearing the top of the stairs felt like such a relief, but like most things, it was short-lived. Elowyn's equilibrium swayed, pitching her body backwards into the open stairway below. She flung out her arms in search of anything that might save her from a few broken bones and a concussion, and her answer came with a strong arm wrapped around her waist, tugging her forward into a solid wall of warm muscle and flesh.
Her cheek squished against Dean's chest as he held her close. He shuffled them away from the stairs until her back was pressed against the wall. She leaned back, catching her breath. She wanted to laugh, maybe even cry. Still, Dean didn't let go.
She could hardly make out his silhouette. Her mind was able to find his familiar features, though edged in the hall's darknessālike a mirage, they kept disappearing. She could definitely feel him, though. Jean-clad thighs brushed over hers. Booted feet framed her bare toes. His forearm felt like a solid anchor next to her head, and his other arm kept a firm grip around her waist. She was convinced that if he somehow fell, she would go down with him.
His breath tickled her face as it fanned over her features. She could smell the whisky on his breath and the slight metallic tang that comes from working under a car all day. They were close until then, given the circumstances, but not like thisāalmost pressing against the boundary of intimacy.
Pressed to her side was almost just like old times when he'd hold her on walks or greet her with a hug. Lumbering his ass up the stairs almost held that same level of nostalgia when they were just friends and the only family she had ever truly known. However, this close blurred his image in her mind of what they were supposed to be, what they had always convinced themselves they were to each other.
"Dean?" She whispered, afraid that being too loud would somehow break whatever was weaving between them.
"Hm," he hummed. Somehow, the space between them felt more confining with the rumble of his voice.
His thumb absentmindedly stroked over her clothed ribs. His fingers toyed with the loose tendrils by his hand. His clothes rusted softly when he leaned closer. Her breath left her chest along with almost all her sense when she felt the gentle graze of his nose against her own.
Her heart thundered in her chest to a beat more wild than when she just about tumbled down the stairs. Familiar yet so foreign.
"Let's get you to bed." She rushed out, haphazardly disentangling herself from him and letting him trail on his own behind her.
