#080923

“Don’t do it.” His chest heaves with the effort of speaking as if he’s run a marathon.

The gravelly rasp sends your pulse skittering, “Winchester,” but you keep your tone deadpan, suspiciously eyeing his reflection in the mirror in front of you. “You weren’t invited. What are you doing here?”

His almost imperceptible glance to your left tells you all you need to know, and you sigh in exasperation. An amalgam of emotions swirls in the ardent depths of the viridian eyes that again find yours in the mirror’s reflection. Afraid to analyze why your lungs seize as if the entire room has become an airless void, your relief is palpable when he doesn’t give you a chance to. 

“He won’t make you happy.”

You inhale sharply, taking a moment to try and calm the fury that overtakes your turmoil as you turn to face him. “I haven’t seen you in over a year. You have no idea who or what makes me happy.”

“That’s not true.” His tone is sure, but no smug smirk backs it up, only a look of dejection.

Tension thickens in the air like the barometric pressure of an oncoming hurricane, and Donna decides to make her escape. Placing a kiss on your cheek, she rubs a hand down your arm, whispering, “Give him a chance to say what he needs to, yeah?”

“You and I will talk later,” you huff, but return the soft smile she gives you before walking toward Dean. She pats him on the chest, and he nods, giving her a brief smile as he steps further into the room to let her pass. 

His eyes rake over you, top to bottom and back up. “You’re stunning.”

He says it with such appreciative awe that your casing cracks a tiny bit as you snap, “Why are you here?”

“Missed ya.” 

Ah, there’s that cocky grin that has a way of either firing you up or infuriating you—contingent on the circumstances, of course. Scowling at him, you wave a hand down your body. “Kind of busy right now.”

“Yeah, ‘bout that,” he scoffs, “you’re making a mistake. He doesn’t know you like I do. He-”

Unable to stop yourself, you sneer, “As I said, you know nothing.” 

If you give him an inch, he will take that mile and then some. You refuse to let him see that you’ve been having doubts, that you’d been caught up in a rip current barely keeping your head above water, and mere minutes before he came bursting in, you’d been talking to Donna about calling the entire thing off.

Ignoring your interruption, he smirks, “I know that under that silky little number,” pointing a finger, “you’re wearing your favorite Chippewas, the black ones. I know there’s a garter on your left thigh, but on your right is your PPK-L in that sexy little holster I bought you.” 

Damn him!

He takes a step closer. “Does he know what you used to do? Have you told him what really goes bump in the night?” He nods at the press of your lips, accurately surmising that you haven’t. “So you’re starting this new life with a lie.”

“It’s not a l-”

“An omission of facts?” he supplies, brow arched in arrogance.

“I left for a reason. It hasn’t changed.” He paces like a jungle cat eyeing its prey. Apparently, he has something to get off his chest and isn’t going anywhere until he does. “Say what you came to say, then leave.”

“It has.”

“What?”

“Your reason—for leaving—oh, it’s changed.” Placing a hand over his heart, he states, “Everything fell apart after you left. I tried. I tried to let you go. I knew you’d be better off, happier without me, so I tried to forget about you and move on. Throwing myself into hunt after hunt, drowning in bottle after bottle of cheap booze …nothing worked. You’re everywhere.” The longing in his eyes belies the fierceness of his tone. “Your voice is a constant whisper in my ear. The taste of you lingers on my tongue like good whiskey. My dreams …you- you’re always there. It’s like we’re rigged up to an IV of dream root. Even when I’m awake, you haunt me. You're a ghost that I can’t dispel,” throwing his hands up, he grunts, “and I’m done trying to.”

Swallowing thickly, you stare at him, jaw slack, lips shaped around a heavy exhale. You know he loves you. Understand why he never voiced his deepest emotions or let you get too close. But maybe, now …

“You say I don’t know you, but I do. I always have. And I’m sorry for not giving you what you needed. I’m sorry for hurting you. I came here,” doubt creeps into his features for the first time since muscling into the room, “to beg you for a second chance.”

Your pulse beats like a hummingbird's wings as you mutter in disbelief, “It’ll never stop.”

“What?” The word weighs heavy with defeat in the space between you.

“I’ll never stop falling in love with you.”

Smile radiant, his voice a siren’s song, he extends a hand. “Run away with me.”

Love Me Some Pie tag list: