bursting at the seams

for the past few weeks, holly has been nothing short of miserable. she made no effort to hide it when she came home, and took out her anger on anything or anyone around her. she almost broke the television remote on sunday. holland had asked her on multiple occasions if something was wrong, but holly would always reply with the same thing, just worded slightly different each time: "you wouldn't get it." something holland was rather sick of hearing, because it didn't stop with his daughter. healy, clients. all around cali, healy was the smart one and holland didn't know shit.

he leaned back in his chair and sighed. he'd taken her for drives by the beach, made her favorite breakfasts, given her all the space in the world to heal from whatever it was on her own. sometimes she did just need the time to herself. but it hadn't gotten either of them anywhere. and he didn't like asking for help, especially when it came to his daughter. protective was an understatement.

but he couldn't leave her like this. with her brains but lack of real-life experience, she'd end up jumping to the wrong conclusion very soon, if she hadn't done so already. which is how he ended up at your door, the neighboring house. holly adored you! maybe you could unlock something he couldn't. besides, he got the bonus of getting to visit.

you opened the door and smiled; the sight of it already eased his worries. he liked to tell himself that you had a little bubble around you, with the rainbow shine and everything, and anyone who entered it got put under this spell of pure delight and charm. it certainly felt that way for him. he took off his sunglasses and hung them on his shirt as a sign of respect. this let you spotted the anticipation on his face easily. "what's up, march?"

the panic eased back into his chest. "it's holly," he breathed out. "she's become so incredibly moody out of nowhere. she's stomping all over the house and she won't talk to me anymore. and before you ask—!" he frantically raised his hands. "i haven't worked overnight or traveled out of town for the past two cases, i haven't blacked out since last month, and her report card's been the exact same. she still cruises through her homework after dinner. so we rule out me, my work, and her academic perfectionism."

those two things were usually the issue, so it got the gears turning pretty quickly. holland gave you the dopiest pout and laced his hands together in a plea. "i'm begging you, i feel like i've tried everything. she won't talk to me. but she loves you!"

you turned into a staple in the march house almost immediately after you met him. bringing home cooked meals and VHS tapes of classic movies every time you visited, your presence balanced out the family dynamic by becoming a middleman. you had the rationale holland lacked (not for a lack of trying) but the patience both of them needed. since then, holly had someone new (and less dangerous than healy) to confide in, and holland spent his nights dreaming of your smile. you were fun, responsible, and so compassionate. there had been more than enough times he'd giggle to himself in front of holly and then have to pass it off as a coughing fit.

hearing this news, you crossed your arms, hesitating. holly told you about her books, her friend group drama, even the times holland's pissed her off. but you didn't want to push it. after all, you were technically still just the next-door neighbor. nothing concrete tied you to her; more specifically, this family. "i just... don't get me wrong, i would love to help."

"then come over!" he gestured wildly to his yard.

"my issue is!..." and you finally asked it. "is it my place to?"

holland's comical pout faded slightly, and a more genuine curiosity remained. he lowered his hands. "what do you mean?"

"well, what if it's something more private than either of us expected?" you offered. "and i shouldn't be the one to hear it? or what if she does want to tell you and me coming in just complicates things?" your hands traveled to hold yourself in a casual self-embrace. "maybe i'm thinking too much about it, but it's your daughter." and the unspoken sentiment hung in the air: you cared about her too.

holland nodded twice, first to you and second more to himself. "i guess." he liked to think of you as holly's new, unconfirmed mother, who just hadn't been granted the legal title, but hearing you say your concern out loud reaffirmed the truth, the real truth. it made him feel ridiculous for the assumed role you possessed in his mind. he rubbed the back of his neck. "i just don't know what else to do. if she's struggling with something, i want her to feel better as soon as she can. she's such a strong girl."

"i know."

he hummed quietly. "but she's still just a kid." his head then turned to look off, past the cul-de-sac. "god, she breaks my heart. everyday, in a bunch of little ways."

that got to you. holland worked hard, taking the path of most resistance each time to help everyone around him, his daughter exclusive to that. but he was dumb. just a little. and it broke your heart to see him flop around helplessly. and here he was, turning to you, asking for help when you knew damn well it took a lot out of him to muster up the courage. before you knew it, the words were coming out of your mouth. "alright, let me grab some things first."

he brought you back, as happy as he could be in this situation. you had a bag stuffed full of random items in preparation of whatever lied before you: tampons and pads, ice cream, a small journal for her to write in (and some matches to then burn it if she so chose to). he guided you in and led you to her bedroom door. both of you tensed.

he glanced at you, sporting a mix of emotions. "i don't think it'll happen, but if she does yell at you too, please don't take it personally. who knows what's going on with her?"

you nodded, having already considered that outcome. again, what lay behind that door was a total mystery. teenagedom. what a harrowing time of life. "you really think this is the right move?"

holland took a moment to stare at you. aside from him, you were the only person holly had opened up to, and with how independent she was, that was saying something. she even hugged you for safety when she watched the exorcist for the first time. frankly, he couldn't think of anyone better to comfort his daughter. but he couldn't say that, the biggest expression of his love he'd made so far was a bouquet of flowers—after he broke a vase in your house. he nodded. "i do."

so you knocked on the door. "holly? your dad called me over, i wanted to see how you were doing." there was no response. you glanced at holland, who shrugged helplessly. "i'm going to step inside now, okay? say the word and i'll go." met with silence again. left with no other option, you creaked open the door (you've learned that, ever since the fire, holly refuses to lock her door no matter how upset she is).

blankets and pillows piled up on her bed, no holly in sight. at first, you thought maybe she was inside her bathroom, until the duvet began to shudder. you then spotted the strands of blonde peeking out from under the cotton.

leaving holland by the door, you tip-toed into the room. by the foot of the bed were wads of crumpled tissues. "sweetie?" you called out. "everything okay?"

finally, she showed face. holly pulled away the blankets, revealing puffy eyes and the flush at the tip of her nose, a shine of tear stains down her cheeks and chin. her eyes were stuck on the floorboards and her lip, even after what you knew to be an hour since she got home, still trembled like she had more tears left to give.

you sat beside her, the mattress dipping slightly and raising holly's head more. "do you wanna talk?"

she shuffled a little under her safe haven of plush. "it's stupid." her voice cracked just at those words, your heart cracked alongside it.

"whatever it is, i promise it's not."

she didn't answer for a while after that. no matter. you were happy to sit and wait, give her the time to figure out what she wanted to say, if she even wanted to talk about it. after a minute or two, she spoke up again. "it's my nails." her voice was even smaller this time to avoid another crack.

you paused. from where you sat, you had the slightest view of her hand, clutched to her chest. her nails were painted a warm burgundy, half picked off.

"all the girls at my school get their nails done really well. they get these square nails, and it looks just like cher, and i asked today them where they got their manicures, but they just glanced at each other and snickered at me." she curled into herself more, tucking away. "and they always do this, they just, like, smile and whisper to their friends. and i can't tell anyone because they're not even, like, doing anything bad—!" she cut herself off with a hiccup, and she wiped newly forming tears away. "and i tried to paint my nails and i thought it looked nice, but they just laughed at me and i felt so stupid for even trying—!"

by this point, you've moved off the bed and onto the floor to stand beside her huddled form. "hey, hey, it's okay. deep breaths, alright?" you demonstrated breathing in and out, dramatically slow, and she followed suit. "first of all, those girls are jerks. all that style and makeup? they're just trying to improve the outside because they know what's on the inside can't be helped. and youth doesn't last forever. in 30 years, they'll be more miserable than anyone and clinging to their high school days. trust me, it shows so much more when you don't have your baby face to hide behind."

holly took this in, already a bit relieved to hear you shamelessly bad-mouth her classmates. but she wasn't satisfied yet. "they really are good at makeup, though. and their nails really do look good. i've asked dad so many times for new clothes, but he always says looks don't matter. and, like, i know it's wrong to obsess over your appearance but..."

you waited until her words died, seeing that she didn't know how to expand on that. you tried for her. "i understand where your dad is coming from. he's right, to an extent. you can buy looks, but you can't buy intelligence or the patience to learn." you then tilted your head to level with holly. "but it's not bad to want to look pretty. to want to dress up and feel fun and fancy."

you spared a look towards the doorway, where holland lingered still. his face was unbelievably soft, unable to hear his daughter but putting the pieces together when he heard your words. you turned back to holly.

"wanting to feel pretty doesn't make you vain. it's when you only care about what you look like and ignore everything else. and you'll already so beautiful, holly, but you're strong and smart and caring too. you deserve to enjoy yourself in every way."

tears ran down her face, her brows crinkled and tense. she wiped furiously at her eyes, but with every tear she brushed aside, two more came to replace it. "but i don't know how to do anything like that."

"i'll teach you. and we'll go on a shopping spree and get your nails done and you can claw those bitches' eyes out." you then heard yourself and slapped a hand over your mouth. "i didn't curse. you didn't hear that."

for the first time in this conversation, she managed a weak smile, both at your threats to her classmates and your slip-up. "dad curses all the time, it's okay. plus, it's not like i don't know those words."

"yeah, but i'm classy. that's what sets me apart from your dad." this earned you another laugh, and you took the gap from the dreary atmosphere to lean in and wrap your arms around her. "come here. you're such a lovely girl, holly. those girls don't even have the brains to be jealous of you. but they will be soon."

the two of you held this embrace for a while. holly was the first to pull back, but when she did, her eyes just drooped from exhaustion, not sadness. you added, "i have some ice cream? brought your favorite." you went into your bag and pulled out the pint, only slightly melted, with a spoon. "how about you eat this for a bit, join me and your dad in the living room when you're ready, and if you're free this weekend, i'll make an appointment to get our nails done together?"

at this, you got no verbal reply, but she nodded her head and took the ice cream and spoon from you. seems the weight from both of your shoulders eased off just a little bit, and just for a little while. she snuggled back up into her blankets but sat up straight this time to eat. you stood up and brushed some hair from her face.

when you walked out, you closed the door behind you and were met with holland's look of regret. he spoke slowly, "i had no idea. she's so smart and i just... when she asked for new clothes, i didn't know that... i thought..." he trailed off and instead ran his hands down his face, groaning. "i'm the biggest idiot in the world."

you dared to step a little closer. "it's not your fault. it's those girls. at her age, they're all at each other's throats. not to mention, you got all the double standards for women: they can't try too hard, but they need to look good, and they have to be smart but not loud about it."

the two of you sighed. for a moment, the only thing you could hear was a car, far away, driving to who-knows-where.

"no wonder she thought i wouldn't understand," holland muttered. "am i glad to have called you." he raised his head, puppy-dog eyes comically sparkling with gratitude; it lightened the mood to see how thankful he was, how emotional he got. something about how intensely he was about everything, it delighted you. "you got no idea how lucky i am to have you."

your eyes widened. you blinked. both of you sat in the silence of the new reality where he had just said that, and only then did he snap out of it and gasp, stumbling backwards and hitting the wall behind him. "not like i—! oh god, i didn't mean anything by that—or, i mean, of course, i meant that, i'm so, so grateful, but i didn't mean that—! you're not... or i'm not...!"

the blood rushing to your cheeks made it hard for you to reply, meanwhile he rattled on and on in hopes that, if he spoke long enough, just maybe he'd be able to create a full sentence. it was only when you waved your hands that he quieted down.

"sorry, i'm so sorry."

"it's okay, you're... you're okay."

the two of you stared at each other, identically searching for something to spark conversation back to normal. you laughed nervously. and when you laughed, well, holland's heart fluttered and he laughed as well. the exchange led to more awkward laughter, which turned sincere and unburdened. having nothing else to say, you shrugged. "well, you may not be the biggest idiot in the world, but i think you're in the running for it."

and that, holland couldn't have been more delighted to hear.

fab 5 freddy. he met the guy after the show. you knew that. he got 3 other offers for singing opportunities once this aired. you also knew that. and you knew the 2 he took and the 1 he declined, and why. soldier boy walked backwards through the memories as best he could. the alcohol dulled the details, but sharpened the emotions. he fingered through the days. somewhere in his mind, he believed, there had to be one more memory to uncover and laugh about.

but he kept turning up with the same events. and how much time had he spent looking back on the same century? century, when you say it, it sounds like a long time. like you’d never run out of things to take about, things to relive.

he didn’t know how many times you repeated yourself, but with perseverance, you found a window in his daze. “ben?”

“what is it, sweetheart?”

ben was an experienced drinker. but he opened his mouth and heard not only the roughness, but how quickly the words mushed together. he shot a glance to his tumbler. you did too. he didn’t remember refilling the cup.

“i was just wondering if you were still interested in going downtown this weekend.” your words came out slow and hesitant, your eyes tracking the small movements of his face. he hated feeling analyzed, but he learned to accept you would, and you out of everyone had the biggest right to.

he turned back to the television. the TNT twins’ episode came and went, and it was back to soldier boy in the 60s on another late night show, johnny carson's. he tried to focus on what they were talking about, but his eyes wandered to the host’s smile splitting as he cracked up at some joke he told him, the live audience following along.

you thought to ask if anything happened that turned him to drink, but you knew it'd be pointless. sometimes people drink to forget, and sometimes they drink to drink. “you know i'd ask you in the morning if i could, but my friends want to know my availability for sunday."

he scratched his beard. carson was a character, alright, but he made you feel right at home. soldier boy realized he didn’t even know how long carson continued to host after they boxed him up in russia. the man was born in ‘25. he could still be alive, technically speaking. would it be weird to look for him? one of the few people of his past that he could face without cringe or anger. what did he tell him at that one afterparty? "you're dynamite, soldier boy."

you moved to stand beside the television; your bottom lip caught under your teeth as you waited. he continued to stare beyond the screen, somewhere much farther away. "ben." you're dynamite, soldier boy.

you huffed. fine, you'd just postpone answering your friends again. a part of you ached with sympathy for him, but if he wasn't going to try and talk to you, then fine. you'd just go to bed and whatever came tomorrow, you'd deal with. you just didn't know how long you could put up with the abysmally slow pace soldier boy worked to change, if he even did—

"i was dynamite."

having already turned to leave, you had to stop yourself from making the beeline to your room. you had enough on your plate, more than enough. working overtime for the boys, butcher's endless calls to talk about soldier boy behind his back, how he was faring and if he'd be up for this or that mission. of course he had to drink tonight. you turned around because you knew you had to.

he slumped into the couch cushions. "an always-running engine. even when i was in the hamptons with monroe and miller, i was turned up to a hundred," he rumbled. and he raised his hand to the mini version of himself, preserved in his own way as well. "who wouldn't love that guy?"

on screen, soldier boy was dressed to the nines in a pressed suit, all smiles and pop culture. ben, on the other hand, was drowsy-eyed and flushed, moments away from sleep.

"these 'streaming services.' an endless catalogue of me. everything everyone will ever need about me is right in—" and he closed up his hand until it was just a shaky point at the television— "there."

your heart swelled, then crumpled in on itself. walking over didn't bother him, and when you sat down next to him, he didn't speak on it either. he just kept his head straight. what you didn't know was how much energy he was putting into being still. because if he stood up, if he tried to move around, and if he so much as turned his head to you, he'd expose his lack of balance and the embarrassing inability he currently had to be anything, anything at all.

one could only hope you wouldn't take it personally. he couldn't tell if you did. you only continued to sit beside him. it killed soldier boy that you wouldn't touch him, but deep down, he understood why you wouldn't.

"carson could still be alive," he muttered. "he was a decade or so younger than me. technically..."

you knew you could search it up. with frenchie's help, you could track him down. but that was only if he was still alive. you didn't want to open schrodinger's box. you replied, speaking as quietly as he was.

"he could be."

he couldn't spend all his time in your cafe, sitting alone with a pastry as you worked. he didn't want to bother you during open hours. so, he'd wander around main street, find shops and places to ask you about when he visited at closing time. otherwise, he'd sit at the nearby park, the one you said you favored, and watch the ducks busy themselves in the water. he understood why you liked it so much. sometimes, he'd forget where he was. what he was doing there, in this town. that was until sam called and asked him to return. which he always did, but not without lingering for a second longer.

dean sighed and tucked the card back into his wallet. in just a few minutes, your shop would close for the day. he liked to wait an extra five minutes on top of that to give you time to yourself, let you loosen up and clean anything important. but sam had caught onto this schedule.

unbeknownst to dean, sam had been watching him from the motel room desk. his computer was open and abandoned. he'd been staring at his brother for the past two minutes, but dean had yet to notice, not like sam minded. he knew what he wanted to say. it was just a question of when to bring it up. he had to at some point. sooner was better than later. it was tricky. dean usually wasn't the kind of person who got deterred from the hunting life, not since lisa.

the brothers were never lucky enough to afford a door between the two of them. sam was polite enough to knock on the wall to get dean's attention.

he perked up and looked over, tucking his wallet away. "what's up?"

"i'm going back to the family tonight. i was thinking around 7 o'clock. i'll need you to come with me."

dean looked off to the side. so, exactly when your shop closed. not to mention, you had hinted at the possibility of pie the next time he saw you. blissfully ignorant, he marveled at sam's timing. "isn't 7 o'clock dinner time? they'd be busy," dean argued.

"the wife requested it. you're forgetting that the family's splitting apart now. this is the only time she was able to get the grandparents out of the house so we didn't upset them further."

details of the ignored case came back to dean: the wife of the missing husband and the easily irritable grandparents they lived with, were all close to cutting their losses and making an appointment with a funeral home. the grandparents couldn't stand sam and dean. when they first got interviewed, the grandpa almost took the shotgun off the wall, all because sam asked if there was any history of mental illness in the family. it only reinstated in dean how lucky average citizens were. they had no idea what they were being protected from.

dean put his hands behind his head as if he was comfortable staying at the motel until they left for the house. he couldn't have been more bothered by the idea, but something about how fussy sam's been made him hesitant to show irritation. "i can drop you off, but i'll have to reconvene with you later into the meeting."

sam's jaw shifted. "you're joking."

"what?"

"i've done half this case without you, dean. you probably know more about the year this town was founded than the victim's relationships."

"you saying this like i've been nothing but dead weight to you." he held out his fingers and began to count. "i was at the interrogations. i stopped the grandpa from blasting your head off when he thought we were calling him crazy. we worked together to narrow down the case to an issue of possession from a vengeful spirit. i was there to track down the wife when she ran off to work until 9 PM; i drove her home." he threw his hands up in the air. "it's not that different."

sam closed his laptop and stood up, eyes focused but vague in motive. dean shot to his feet on instinct.

"look, i'm sorry you got stuck with the nitty gritty this time," he quickly added. "but the case is almost over. we'll wrap this up and head out of town. there's nothing to worry about."

"are you coming to the victim's house with me?"

dean sucked on the top row of his teeth. but he ended up sticking to it: "i told you we'd reconvene."

sam rolled his eyes, extremely so; his head followed the curve of the expression, turning to look away from dean. "yeah, so you can go flirt with the baker again."

dean pulled back. "i'm not flirting."

this caused sam to squint and shake his head. usually, dean had no issue claiming his flirtatious attempts with people. "sure you're not," was all sam could reply with. his brother's response had thrown him off completely. and when he opened his eyes, he saw dean just as uncertain. "so tell me then, why can't you just stay the entire time at the victim's house?"

he briefly looked to the parking lot, but outwardly returned his attention to the conversation. "i'm revisiting some places the victim might be connected to."

"so the bakery."

dean grimaced. "not just the bakery. i'm checking the corner store, the park with the lake on the edge of town, and the movie theater."

"we ruled out the bar and the lake as important places already. and the theater? what are you talking about—?"

more often than dean would've liked to admit, he lied to his brother. since they were young, he made up excuses as to why he couldn't come onto hunts. when they started working together again, he lied about the people he knew, the places he's been. looking at all these lies, they weren't always to protect sam. but that was another conversation. the thing was dean had gotten very good at lying to him when he deeply, truly wanted to get away with it.

"we said the spirit can't reside at the lake, but the latin translation of the myth might say 'inside the lake' instead of 'at the lake' if you interpret the suffix differently." this was completely false, but dean knew that sam only had a few latin tenses down off the top of his head. otherwise, he needed a book to double check. dean spoke, brisk and fast. confident.

"i grabbed us beers at the corner store on monday; turns out the victim had a six-pack the day he argued with his wife. one of the last times he was seen. i wanted to check if the owner knows anything else." he didn't hear this from the owner, he heard it from you: the victim exchanged the bakery for a different vice before disappearing. you gave up the information because you thought it was pointless. it might've been.

finally, dean walked towards his jacket draped over the top of a chair. "and on the way back to the motel yesterday, i saw a side door of the theater open after hours. i didn't look inside, but turns out the past owner? old friend of the victim when they were high school." you also told him this, and it wouldn't have helped dean if he didn't add a fake fact: "he drowned in a freak fishing accident at the lake."

dean knew sam's head would start to spin, desperately looking to fit the new facts into the case. but sam liked notes, organizing his thoughts. he wouldn't be able to refute anything until he was certain it was wrong.

which left one more issue that sam brought up as he crossed his arms. "so what? you've been trying to solve the case without telling me? what does that do for either of us?"

dean sighed. "i wasn't trying to solve the case. and yeah, i've been fucking around for a while, bought a few dozen donuts for the road. but with the case almost finished... there were too many loose ends. i don't trust that everything will solve itself once we get this so-called prized possession from the wife."

sam took a deep breath and looked his brother up and down. it wasn't a clear-cut answer in the slightest. it didn't make up for the hours he put into the case without him. but dean met him with his own stern gaze, unwavering, and sam felt himself falling under the pressure fast. dean had that way with people, especially with him. he sighed and tucked the laptop away. "alright. fine. i'll see you in an hour?"

he got a nod in return. "i'll tell you what i find."

so, as planned, dean left with the ETA of five past seven. the dull ache of the lie sat in the passenger seat of the impala, but it wasn't like that was anything new. with the promise of the setting sun, he found solace in the chance to soon hide away from everything and tuck into the night when he could do whatever he wanted. he knew the way to your bakery by heart now. then again, with you working on main street, the town practically threw him en route. sometimes, he wished you were waiting for him at the entrance, waving him inside. but that was just being greedy. you already made him treats every visit. he parked his car swiftly.

dean hustled to the front door and got a peek through the display window. he saw you momentarily before you stepped behind the walls, unaware for now. he opened the door and stuck his head through.

you stood in front of the glass cases, covered in flour as per usual and tossing away dirtied wax paper. you were in the zone. he imagined you focused just like so during open hours, dividing your attention clearly to satisfy everyone in this quaint little town. he liked how safe you felt at work. this was what you loved doing. it was your home away from home.

he tip-toed over, the speakers still playing music overhead, and suddenly grabbed your shoulders and made some dumb loud noise of ambush. you yelped and turned, stumbling back and almost hitting the glass—he caught you before you could hurt yourself. "woah, you alright there?"

you closed your eyes and caught your breath, freezing up in his grasp to do so. "dean, you scared me!" you exclaimed. your hands moved to hold his arms for support; he shivered. you didn't notice. "how long have you been here?"

"don't worry, i just showed up." regretfully, he pulled away, but the look on your face kept the smile on his. "come on, you're still on edge? i thought work was supposed to be over."

you pushed the hair out of your face and walked alongside him to your designated table. "well, it is. but, you know..."

and just like that, half of the lighthearted atmosphere got sucked up into the void. dean straightened, trying to gauge your emotions. the two of you sat down.

"you're wrapping up your case. so i hear." you hid your hands under the table, but dean could make out the way you were wringing your knuckles. "i see your car going back and forth all the time now. sooner or later, you know."

"you think i'd leave without saying goodbye?"

your face dropped, and he raised his hands.

"not like i'm saying goodbye today! i'm not leaving today. or the town, i mean. but you... that was implied. i have a day or so, i think."

you nodded in turn. the thought of him leaving, even sam didn't bring it up when him and dean were arguing. he didn't want to think about that right now. he propped up his head and looked to the window. "it is getting rough, though. god..."

"are you okay?" you didn't even hesitate to ask.

dean ran his fingers through his hair. "yeah. it's just... everything." he looked back to you, but you gave no signs of understanding. wasn't your fault; he found it in himself to pull out a little more. "my brother and i spend a lot of time together... in the force. he's completely invested in it. and i'm knee deep in it too, of course i am." but the words stopped there. he looked for them, but nothing was left behind his teeth. he huffed. "this is so stupid."

"woah, hey." you touched the surface of the table. you could've touched him, put your hand over his. the space spoke volumes. he could measure the gap. the exact distance you chose to put between you and him. maybe he blocked off half the distance without even knowing it. however, you were compassionate, enough for him to feel caressed anyways. "whatever you're thinking about, it's not stupid."

he pressed his lips together. "lemme ask you something. when's the last time you've been on a road trip that was longer than eight hours?"

you exhaled in thought. "gosh. well, i don't know. i probably went on vacation half a year ago or so, drove around a while for that." your face crumpled a bit, embarrassed. "sorry, i don't know off the top of my head."

dean chuckled. "no, it's alright. it can work as a rhetorical question. i'm just—" he shrugged— "making a point. sam and i, we drive around every week to a different side of the country. i spend more time breathing in leather and filtered air than the world outside. s'why i take so much care of baby. she's where i eat, work, sometimes sleep."

you shifted in your seat. "i'm sorry."

"stop apologizing." he sat in the silence. you fidgeted with your hands, dean watched you fidget. "i'm doing the right thing. i'm doing the right thing everyday." he was able to say that much. the music in the background was soft and idle, coating the demand that breathing had become for him. the air weighed heavy in his chest. he couldn't hear your breathing in the slightest. not a bit of you was interrupting this small confession. "but it doesn't help knowing that sometimes." he reached out to play with the tablecloth. he felt the cotton between his fingers. "each case i get, i throw myself into the danger zone. fifty percent of the time, i'm not sure if i'll make it out."

"are you in danger right now?"

you were so worried about him. every wrinkle around your eyes only came from warmth and concern. he didn't know why you entertained all his visits, he was just a lonely guy with a sweet tooth that you had to make a extra batch of cookies for after work. he smiled. you were adorable. "i'm not in danger."

you blushed and pulled back. but he found himself leaning forward and made up for the space. "s'alright. thank you." scratching his brow, he added, "it's a game of endurance. seeing how much you can keep taking, how long you can hold your breath. but it's like you said. i'm still in one piece, i'm well practiced. and technically, i can quiet anytime." he crossed his arms on the table. "so who's fault is it really?"

you didn't reply. not at first. dean didn't want to hear you say it wasn't his fault. he kept his head down. he didn't see how focused you were now, your hands still.

"i think when anyone get the chance to do good, it's difficult to consider what would happen if you took a break. people rely on you. when you step away for a bit, you don't know who'll be there in your place. it's easier to just be that person indefinitely." dean didn't look up, but you didn't take offense. somehow you knew he wasn't tuning you out. "now, it's easy to leave it at that when it comes to doing overtime at a 9-5 in the city or hanging with a friend."

out of the corner of his eye, he saw the rise your chest; you collected your thoughts in a deep breath. "i just don't want you to ever stop looking out for yourself. and not in the way you already have to." when he finally looked up, he saw you had scrunched your eyes in frustration, trying to find your words. "i don't know. you're so sweet. and you seem so nice. and i have so much fun whenever you stop by." it was only when he heard your voice tremble that he realized how deep you were dropping to meet him where he was. "sometimes i just feel like life isn't fair to people who deserve all the fairness they can get."

you weren't crying. he'd never forgive himself if he made you cry, so thank god for that. but your arms wrapped around your torso in a faux hug, and your eyebrows knitted together. the flittering melody of a piano passed above.

he uttered your name. even if someone were just behind the counter, they wouldn't have been able to hear it. you looked up.

"you're such an angel."

once he let the words escape, he breathed in the town that was just a little bit different now that it held that that new admission. he didn't mind the change.

you laughed dryly. "i don't know about that."

embolded, he reached out his hand and grasped yours firmly, entangling them in a swift motion. your eyes widened. "don't say that, please." blinking, you broke his gaze into tiny fragments, but his expression never changed. "i hope you never have to leave this town. i hope you never have to quit your job. i hope you just get to wear that cute little apron every day and bake your sweet little heart out."

you were speechless, staring blankly at him. not a drop of regret appeared on his face. but then a familiar voice shouted from outside.

"dean!"

sam stood behind the display window, eyes lit up with anger. hands on his hips, he didn’t bother to look to you. instead, he honed his attention completely on his brother. dean’s jaw set and stood up, the chair scraping across the wood.

"is everything okay?" you asked.

"it's just fine, sweetheart. don't worry about it."

you scrambled to your feet. "wait, dean, before you go, i have something for you—!"

but dean was already opening the door. the bell rang violently with the swing and the minute you blinked, he switched. dean, having just pulled back all the layers of steel and wire before you, put it all back up as fast as he could to storm out of the bakery and onto the street. neither of the brothers said anything. you looked to the counter, where a brown box with ribbon sat, patient and unnoticed. you missed your chance.