Fear Itself

The next morning, I was stirred awake by the electronic beeping of an alarm clock. I tiny, muffled groan passed my lips as I shifted against Dean, but just moments later the beeping stopped. Dean’s hand ran over my hair as he whispered, “Sh, go back to sleep, Blondie.” He looped his arm around my shoulders, holding me close to him. It was still dark out; I didn’t know exactly how early it was, but I found it ungodly that Dean would be waking up this early every morning. Regardless of whether or not that was his routine, he didn’t move. He let me fall back asleep, and he just laid there with me.

There were just a couple noises before I recalled falling asleep: Winston whining a little from the floor, Dean shushing him, and the sound of the TV flickering on at low volume. Then, for a bit there was nothing, until there was something. There was a voice. A knocking on the door and a French accent, but I didn’t open my eyes. I didn’t want to, couldn’t even move I was still tired and weighed down by sleep.

“Dean,” Chandler huffed through the bedroom door. “Why didn’t you let me in? I was out there knocking for five minutes, and you made me have to open my wallet and find my own key and—“ The door creaked open, and suddenly, Chandler sounded a little smug. He laughed. “Oh.”

“Sh,” Dean hushed him. His arm squeezed me just a little, pulling me closer to his chest. “She’s sleeping,” he explained quietly. Well, I was trying to sleep. My mind wasn’t ready to do any chatting, especially not with someone as loud as Chandler, especially this early in the morning.

“I can see that,” Chandler laughed under his breath. I thought he got close. His voice sounded closer. “And look at how bloody cute she is, Dean. She’s so cute you didn’t even wanna move and wake her up!”

“That’s not—“ Dean started to explain but stopped, sighing a little. “I just felt like relaxing.”

“That word isn’t even in your vocabulary,” Chandler snapped back without missing a beat. “You are like running at eighty miles an hour all day, every day. I haven’t seen you sit down and watch television in years, Dean. Literal years.”

“I think you’re exaggerating, mate,” Dean scoffed a little.

“So what was it?” Chandler asked. “What sealed the deal? The blue eyes you’ve been lost in for weeks now? The blonde hair that smells like cinnamon you keep ranting about?” There was a long pause, and Chandler gasped a little. “Oh. You…” He lowered his voice. “You did it, didn’t you?”

“Mate, shut up—“

“You’re totally naked under that blanket, aren’t you?” Chandler exclaimed, giddy and gleeful. I heard the rustling of sheets, the sound of someone’s hand smacking an arm (probably Dean smacking Chandler). “You slept with the dead girl,” Chandler sang, giggling the whole time.

“Honestly?” Dean asked with monotone disbelief.

“Fine,” Chandler sighed. “I’ll leave you two.” He didn’t really though because I heard him walk into the attached bathroom and turn the shower on without ever closing the door. “By the way, Dean,” he shouted. “You could have gotten fired for bringing her to that party without identification.” Then, his voice disappeared behind the running water. I was done eavesdropping, and I seized the moment to stir and yawn, stretching a little. I heard Dean shift a little.

“Did we wake you up?” he asked, tilting his head to face me. I propped myself up on my elbow, eyes still squinted and adjusting. I rubbed a hand over my face. “Chandler’s here,” Dean told me, nodding toward the bathroom. “He can be a real ass sometimes.” I laughed quietly, mostly just grinned. Then, he asked, “How are you?”

“Oh, I’m fine,” I told him, brushing my hair out of my face. “I’m just a little fired—I mean, tired.” I dropped my head a little, laughing as Dean groaned.

“You heard all of that didn’t you?” he sighed.

“No, none of it,” I assured him, shaking his head. I leaned over and kissed his cheek. “So, how are you?”

“Don’t do that,” he chuckled, furrowing his eyebrows at me. “You heard everything.”

“Heard what?” I asked him coyly. “The only thing I remember hearing last was all the moaning I did last night,” I whispered with a grin before I pressed my face into his shoulder. I lifted my head again when Dean sputtered out a laugh with shock.

“You are bad,” Dean laughed, tangling his right hand in my hair and leaning over to kiss me. “Much worse than I expected.” I giggled a little and leaned in to kiss him again with my hands pressed against his chest. “So, can I get my shirt back, or have you commandeered that?” I closed my eyes and gave him a succinct nod. “I suppose I’ll have to take it back forcefully than, won’t I?” he teased with a smirk and popped the first two buttons out, then paused. He turned his face toward the bathroom, then dropped his head against my chest and groaned, “Ugh, Chandler.”

Blinking, I asked, “Is it a problem doing that if he’s here?” Dean paused and looked up at me incredulously for a moment, then started laughing incredibly hard. I was just confused. I squirmed out and away from him and sat up. “Wait,” I interjected, looking back down, whispering, “Is that socially unacceptable?”

“Generally,” Dean choked out, his laughter slowly fading from his voice. “Blondie, most people frown upon sexual acts performed in public.”

“Oh,” I murmured, and then the shower turned off. I heard Chandler shuffling around outside of it.

“Okay, I need to shower,” Dean told me softly before leaning in a kissing me quickly. “Feel free to make yourself at home, Blondie.” I nodded, and he just sped right on past me and right on past a towel-clad Chandler, wearing absolutely no clothing at all. Chandler, unfazed, continued walking, right up to the closet with a toothbrush dangling from his mouth.

“Bonjour, mademoiselle,” he greeted me, beginning to sift through Dean’s closet. “How are you?” This was the first time I saw him willingly not wear his sunglasses. I smiled, laughing under my breath.

“Très bien, merci,” I chirped, smiling widely when Chandler turned his head to me looking surprised.

“You speak French?” he asked with obviously delight. “I knew you were fabulous. From the second I saw you, I just knew,” he commented, shaking his head as he went back to the closet. I watched him a for a moment, and while he was standing there, wrapped up in his towel, he stopped and looked at me again. “I want to start off by saying that I absolutely adore you and endorse this relationship 100% because I’ve been pushing for it since day one, even if Dean will never ever say it,” Chandler began, rolling his eyes. “Anyway, honey, you may be cute, and doe-eyed, and smell like a Christmas cookie, but you don’t know how crazy he is about you right now. It’s like, straight-jacket levels of crazy, miss Goldilocks, and I haven’t seen him this dumb over a girl in… well, like, ever.” He paused, looked me dead in the face. “Listen to me when I say this: do not hurt him. Ever. Under any circumstances, do not hurt him. And you’ll sit there and laugh like everyone else does because he’s Dean Cassidy, and he’s tough as nails, blah, blah, blah, but the second you have an honest conversation with that man, you’ll know exactly what I mean. He doesn’t need someone telling him what to do, doesn’t need someone being a bitch and giving him the cold shoulder, doesn’t need a mom, etc., etc. What he needs is someone to let loose around, to be comfortable with, and that will just sit there and listen. Do you think you can do that?” I gave him a slow nod. “Good. Then, I think we’ll be just fine.”

The shower turned off. Chandler grabbed a single hangar from the closet with a simple black suit. “Well, mon amie, it was lovely seeing you. I’ll be around,” he bid me farewell, exiting the room, still only wearing a towel, as was Dean when he finally emerged from the shower.

“You’re still in bed?” he asked, as he approached his closet and did the same thing as Chandler.

“Mhm,” I hummed, watching him. “I just had a lovely chat with Chandler.” Dean nodded, simultaneously brushing his teeth and sifting through his clothes. I couldn’t take my eyes off of him, and he did notice once he glanced over.

“What’re you doing?” he mumbled around his tooth brush.

“Enjoying the view,” I told him with a lazy, content smile. “Isn’t that how you’d put it?”

He chuckled, and a genuine smile crossed over his face as he turned back to the task at hand. “Yeah,” he laughed. “That is exactly how I’d put it.”

I sighed quietly, smile spreading wider across my face. “Are you sure you have to go to work?” I asked him, looking up to him with sad, wide eyes. “Can’t you just stay?”

“Well, would I rather be here with you, or spending the next eight hours kissing Commander Kennedy’s right ass cheek?” he replied mockingly. “I think the answer’s pretty obvious.”

I giggled softly under my breath. “I don’t know. Legend has it that Commander Kennedy’s ass tastes like fine caviar,” I joked.

Dean snorted. “Did you just…” he laughed. “Never mind. Boy, you are really something else, Blondie.” I smiled and scooted over to the edge of the bed, pressing my toes into the carpet and watching him as he got dressed. “You know, I think it’d only be fair that I watch you get dressed next,” he quipped.

“Oh, but you only have…” I glanced back at the clock. “A whole twenty minutes before you’re due to leave, and I haven’t even showered yet,” I teased, shrugging my shoulders.

“Ugh,” he groaned as he tied his tie. “You’re killin’ me, Blondie!” I chewed my bottom lip through my grin and leaned back on the bed. He fixed his collar, shrugged his suit jacket on and leaned in for another kiss. “I’ve gotta go now,” Dean relented, sighing a little. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

“Bye,” I called to him just as he gathered his things and nearly bolted out the door. I was sad to see him go. But now came more pressing matters: how to occupy myself. It had almost been so long since I was left with hours of alone time, I was at a loss for what to do. First was first: shower. Then, after that, I straightened up the mess we had left of his bedroom: picked up the clothes, made the bed, tried to straighten things up. I had pulled my soaking wet hair into a messy bun for the time being, as I didn’t want it to drip onto my black t-shirt dress or the candy-colored cardigan I had layered over it. The Fairisle print leggings I had paired them with weren’t much of a concern. Once I did that, I decided I was hungry, so I ate some cereal. Then, I played with Ralph. Then, I played with Winston, a lot. It was around five that I had settled in front of the television, watching another dog show with Winston. He kept howling at the telly, which I found very amusing.

It was about a half hour later the front door opened, and Dean crossed the room, looking less than lively. “How was work?” I asked him, smiling, and he could only muster a faint smile when he looked over his shoulder to me.

“Tiring,” he sighed. “And I’ve got more paperwork than I know what to do with.” While all I wanted to do was run over and hug him, I decided that maybe it was best I left him to his work. He seemed stressed out, tired, and irritated, so I figured that letting him finish his work was the better option. As he disappeared down the hall, I turned my attention back to the TV, or at least tried. Now that Dean was back, I found it hard to focus on anything else. After another show began and ended, I wondered if Dean was finished, or at least anywhere close. I slide of the couch and silently walked down the hall, listening for signs of life, since I didn’t know which door he’d gone into.

A small bit of light poured in from a creaked door, spilling across the hall. I heard shuffling papers and the scratches of a pen. Must’ve been the room, I reasoned. Carefully, I stepped in the door way and opened the door, leaning against the frame. “Muscles,” I drawled in sing-song. He lifted his head and raised his eyebrows. “Wanna come hang out?” I asked with a playful smile dancing across my face.

He gave me a quiet laugh of dismissal. “Blondie, I really have to finish this, but later—“

“No,” I interjected, whining a little, getting his attention back. I pouted, sticking my bottom lip out and giving him my best sad eyes. “Muscles, now. Pretty please.”

Dean sighed, but he was smiling. I could tell he wasn’t bothered, not really, anyway. “Okay,” he chuckled, a grin spreading across his face. I squealed.

“I’ll race ya,” I offered quickly, giving him a grin before taking off for the bedroom with an absolutely unfair head start. I could hear him following after me, nearly throwing himself out of the chair, but by the time he even made it to the doorway, I was standing on his bed, bouncing lightly on the springs of the mattress.

He stood for a moment, looking at me, laughing, smirking. “What’re you doing?” he asked.

“Bouncin’,” I told him with a smile.

“Yeah?”

“Yep.”

The smirk on his face grew into a bit of a devilish smile. “Not for long, Blondie,” he jested wickedly before he tackled me clear onto the bed. We landed softly on the comforter, the mattress reverberating from the force as Dean nuzzled his face in my neck, growling playfully while I just laughed and giggled underneath of him.

Perhaps it was too soon to say I loved him, but I knew that I was attached. I knew that I didn’t want to not be around him. I knew that when we were together, Dean made me forget about everything else: about the state of the world, about the Brotherhood, about running away from home. He didn’t care that I was Nathaniel Giroux’s daughter. He didn’t care that I had run away from home. He didn’t care about any of that, and it was blissful. For so long, I had been trying to forget about where I came from, and the more I thought about, so was Dean.

Nothing in his house pointed to the past: no family photos, no old sentimental objects, nothing. He never spoke of family, never even spoke of Sam, and maybe he liked it that way. That was fine.

We didn’t have to talk most of the time, anyway.