Chapter Text
Cassie:
Don’t go in. Don’t open the door.
My dream picked up just as it had all of those times before. I knew what was behind the door, but I could never stop myself.
Don’t turn on the light. The light switch. Blood on my fingers.
When I flipped the switch, I was no longer in my mom’s dressing room. I was back in the arena.
“You have to kill me” When I looked down, my bloodied hands were holding a knife into her chest. My mom. Lorelai. The Pythia. I was rewatching the life drain from her eyes. I was screaming, though it didn’t sound like it was coming from me.
It took my eyes a moment to adjust to the darkness of Sloane’s and my room. I was aware that my screaming was luckily only in my dream, but Sloane probably would have slept through it either way. I sat up in my bed, breathing hard and scrambling to clear my head.
It’s your fault. It’s your fault. You could’ve saved her. It’s your fault.
The voice in the back of my mind made my ears ring. Some days it was worse than others, and most nights it was worse than my worst days.
After I closed the door quietly behind me I looked out to the other naturals’ rooms. It was eerily quiet. I stopped just in front of Dean’s door. I couldn’t hear him using his weight set or pacing his room, and if he was asleep, I couldn’t bring myself to be the one to interrupt it. Instead, I headed down the stairs.
A reminder for Dean. I still didn’t quite understand how Dean felt about the serial killer portraits that lined the hallway. How would I feel if I saw my killer father’s portrait every day?
When I stepped into the kitchen, there was only the dim light above the sink turned on. Regardless, I knew immediately who was sitting at the kitchen counter. Dean’s dark hoodie was stretched across his broad shoulders and he had his head in his hands, elbows resting on the counter. “Dean” I half whispered. I saw his body ever so slightly tense up. “Dean… it’s Cassie” I knew he knew it was me, but I needed him to leave whatever dark space he was in before I reached for him.
I knew he would never hurt me, but he was scared of himself sometimes, so I never let him think that he could. I think I trust him more than he trusts himself.
Dean rubbed his eyes and took in a ragged breath. “Cassie…” his voice was rough and quiet. I took a final step toward him and pulled on his sleeve to swivel the stool toward me. When I let go, Dean’s arms came to rest around my waist and his hands pressed into the small of my back. I inched even closer and with the stool facing me, I was standing between his knees, my face inches from his. I ran my fingers lightly through his hair, pushing back the blonde pieces that had fallen onto his forehead, and honestly would be right back there when I moved my hand.
“How long have you been up?” I whispered as his brown eyes burned holes into mine. I glanced at the clock on the oven, 2:47. Dean didn’t bother to look at the time, I knew that my question was arbitrary, especially when he responded with “What was your nightmare about?”
It didn’t feel like a question so much as an acknowledgment of my presence at this hour. It didn’t take Dean any profiling to know that my being awake in the dead of night was not by choice.
But I was having a hard time focusing on responding when his cool hands had slipped beneath my tank top and his thumb was tracing circles on the small of my back. “It was nothing new” I told him in a whisper as I rested my hands around his neck and forced myself to meet his eyes. He flinched just barely and I knew he was remembering a different pair of hands around his neck years ago.
“Do you want to tell me about why you’re up?” I would never force Dean to talk about his trauma, just like he never did for me. I could see the pain in his dark eyes before he looked away. I was just about to change the conversation when Dean’s arms wrapped fully around my waist and pulled me abruptly. He squeezed my body into his so that my chest was pressed against him and my mind was fogged with the smell of his body wash and the way that his lips were pressed against my collarbone.
“I love you” he murmured, the word muffled with the way his head was tucked between my shoulder and neck. I moved one of my hands to run my fingers through his hair again. “I love you, Dean” He picked up his head slowly and studied my face. He moved his hands to my cheeks, cradling my jaw.
“No… Cassie” he paused, and I wished I was an emotion reader like Michael, because the expression on Dean’s face wasn’t like one I’d seen him wear before. “I can’t imagine going back to my life without you. I can’t lose you” Maybe I understood Dean’s expression more than I thought.
“You hate yourself for how close you let me.” My brain turned on to profiling mode without even trying. “You aren’t him, Dean”
“It wasn’t him who hurt you…” Dean’s words were broken when he spoke.
“I was—“ he looked down and I could barely hear his voice when he said “I was holding the knife. It was even worse than Sterling, and it was to you. I was the one who hurt you”
It took me a second to realize that Dean was describing his nightmare. As he spoke, he traced his finger tips over my bare arms. I thought about what I could say, what would take the weight off of his shoulders. Instead, I placed my hands on either side of his jaw and tilted his face up to see mine. I placed a featherlight kiss on his lips, causing his breath to stutter on his exhale.
“You. Aren’t. Him.” I repeated, as I pulled back and watched his eyes. Even in the dim light, I could see the dark circles under Dean’s eyes. “You should try to get some more sleep” I whispered to him. He shook his head ever so slightly with my hands still cradling his face. “I can’t go back to sleep” he whispered back, his voice rough and I had to know him to feel the slight fear. “I just… need a distraction” he admitted, looking up at me.
“Oh.. should I, should I get someone else up? Lia is good at distracting us from our cases and stuff or I could—“ I started, not meeting his eyes.
“Cassie, look at me” he spoke softly to me. “I’ll take you back to your room if you want, there’s no need for you to be up”
I didn’t want to leave Dean. I didn’t ever want to leave Dean. I knew he needed me and I needed him just as much.
In response, I closed the space between us again and pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth. I pulled back and whispered, “I’m staying” before he leaned forward desperately and pulled my lips back to his. His hand found the edge of my jaw and the other rested featherlight on my waist before squeezing tighter and making my skin feel on fire. He kissed me gently, like he was holding himself back.
I wasn’t though. I leaned into his touch and lightly bit onto his bottom lip, earning a low sound of approval from Dean. He moved to kissing my jaw and below my ear as he stood from the stool, never letting me out of his touch. I had to tilt my head up to reach him, now that he was standing at his full height. He ran his fingers into my hair as we stumbled step by step backwards.
“Dean” I mumbled into his lips.
“what— I’m sorry— I didn’t mean to-” Dean pulled back immediately, wide eyed and a confused look on his face.
“No, no” I moved my hands over his shoulders. “You didn’t do anything wrong” I told him, moving my hands to the front of his chest and holding onto his sweatshirt. I pulled him toward me as I backed toward the living room. I tugged him abruptly and smiled into his lips before my knees hit the edge of the couch. As I laid back, I pulled Dean down with me.
“Is this ok” he whispered, his breath hot on my neck as his teeth grazed over my skin “Am I too heavy?” Dean was always so cautious around me. His touch was always gentle. His lips seared the skin on my neck, and I was almost sure he was leaving a mark. I let out a breathy sound in response and tilted my chin up for him.
As his lips met mine again, it was with more fervor. I knew that if the light was on, my face would have been just as red as my hair. I ran my fingers into Dean’s hair again and tugged lightly. He pulled my bottom lip into his mouth and used his teeth to barely bite down on it. This boy.
Just then the light turned on in the living room. I couldn’t see who it was that flipped the switch, but Dean popped up over the back of the couch and groaned quietly. His blonde hair was messy and his lips were swollen and he looked unbelievably good, but he scrambled to climb off of me and stand next to the couch.
“Dean.”
I recognized the voice immediately.
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