Three weeks later, I found myself back up on the cliff Dean and I had gone to the first night we met. This time, however, it was during the day. He had planned to see the sunset, but we just made a day out of it. He borrowed one of Elijah's cars, and we packed a picnic, spending the majority of the day on the cliff, just the two of us.
We had just finished most of the food we had packed, and were sitting on a blanket next to the car.
"What are you most afraid of?" I asked, changing the subject.
Dean snorted, offering me a half smirk. "I'm not afraid of anything."
"I call bullshit." I laughed, and he smiled.
"I'm not." I didn't answer, just shook my head, smiling. He moved closer to me on the blanket, poking me. "What about you?"
"Heights," I shrugged. He already knew about my fear of heights.
"Really?" he pretended to gasp, laughing when I glared at him. "Are you afraid of the dark?"
"No," I almost scoffed.
"You should be." his voice was that of a teenager telling a ghost story to a group of teens huddled around a campfire. He smiled.
"Why, because there's monsters?" I laughed, collecting my hair and tying it into a ponytail.
"Would you believe me if I said there were?"
"No." I had stopped laughing, but was still smiling. I stood up from the ground, stretching.
"And why not?"
"I don't believe in that stuff," I shrugged, walking back to the car. He stood up, following me. Instead of opening the door, I jumped over it, since the top of the car was down.
"Really?"
"Yep."
Dean nodded slowly. "Good to know." He opened the door, and I moved over, giving him space to sit.
"Do you?"
"Do I what?"
"Believe in that kind of stuff," I laughed, leaning into him. "Monsters and ghosts and demons."
He hesitated, which made me pull away from him to see his face. He smiled when his eyes met mine. "No, I don't."
--
"Not even death?" Three hours later, the sun was beginning to go down, and I was still trying to find something Dean was afraid of.
"No," he was absentmindedly playing with a lighter, flicking it open and closed, staring at the sun as it began to fall below the horizon. He was sitting in the backseat of the car, and I had my head in his lap, my feet dangling out of where the window would be if the top of the car was up. "Well, I guess it depends."
"On what?"
"Why I'm dying."
"Care to elaborate?"
"If I was dying for something I love, or care about a lot- Elijah, my dad, Sammy, you- Then I don't think I'd mind it. If I went out meaning something to someone, and I mean really, truly, meaning something, then I'd accept it. I want to be remembered."
"So you want to go out a hero?"
He nodded, closing the lighter. He stared at it for a moment, opened it, and looked back at the setting sun.
