True to his word, Dean and Sam went out first thing in the morning. I knew because I woke to the muffled sounds of the makeshift front door– a stretch of plyboard with a side table shoved behind it – dragging across floorboards downstairs. I didn't move from beneath my comforter, trying to pick out the sounds of their footsteps before the plyboard was dragged back into place.
They'd stayed the night. It took some convincing, but after Jeff was taken care of, there were only an hour or two left until sunrise. I'd pointed out the spare bedrooms, more telling than offering them to stay. My brain had been on autopilot, reasoning that if Sunnie was going to, they should too.
After all, more people around meant more things to focus on come morning besides the night's terrors.
Surprisingly, that'd been enough. They all slept over and I'd managed a couple hours of sleep. Most of it was dreamless, but there'd been some nightmares. Some with the new monsters, and some with old ones too.
A knock came at my door. Sunnie let herself in, looking about as sleep deprived as I felt.
"They went out," she offered in greeting, yawning.
"I heard." I shifted, bracing my arms beneath my pillows. I'd slept on my stomach, trying to keep from making my back even worse. But the pain had amplified over the night. Now, if I moved an inch and it felt like needles were jabbing between my vertebrae.
She noticed me freeze. "You okay?"
"Not really," I admitted. "You wouldn't happen to have morphine in your bag, would you?"
"Nope."
I exhaled into my pillow. "Fantastic."
There came the sound of footsteps, then the corner of my mattress dipped from her weight. "'m so sorry about this," she murmured.
"Sunnie, don't–"
"I am apologizing, you nearly broke your back," she interrupted, sounding annoyed. But I knew it was for this situation. From me getting hurt.
"This wasn't your fault. How can you apologize for a– shapeshifter?" I fumbled over the word. Not even seeing the damn thing could keep me from being stupefied. "God, I can't believe I just said that."
"My stalker was a shapeshifter. A shapeshifter tried to kill us," she repeated.
Impossibly, the corner of my mouth tugged up. "Try and explain that to a cop."
A giggle tumbled out of her mouth. It was the kind that came from grasping at her last bits of sanity. "If I said that to my parents, they'd drive me to a mental institution."
My lips threatened to split into a grin. "Don't make me laugh. Laughing hurts."
"Sorry," but her breathing was getting huffy, like she was holding back laughter. "This is so fucked up. Monsters are real. What are we supposed to do with that?" She whispered.
"Keep garlic in the kitchen and silver stakes in our draws."
She doubled over, instantly wheezing. I had to smush my face into my pillow to keep from ending up the same. It took a long time to regain control again. By the end of it, tears streamed down her face and my spine ached even worse, but we were smiling.
"I can't believe that happened," she breathed.
I turned my face, trying to eye her over my shoulder and failing miserably. "I know."
"What are you gonna do?"
"A shit ton of therapy for starters."
"You know what I mean." The humour eased from her voice, leaving behind something quiet and uncertain. It was a loaded question, one we both knew I didn't have an answer to.
Not-Paul, or Jeff , had taken a massive shit on our sense of reality, then flipped it on its head. Monsters and mythical creatures didn't sit behind the line of fiction and reason and safety like they were supposed to, but to actually accept that, to live with that... well, it meant to be like Dean. To just never see the line again. To always be aware of the possibility. Even if they could guarantee I'd never see a monster again, it was a terrifying prospect.
"Iris?" Sunnie spoke, pulling me out of my thoughts.
I heaved a breath. "Still here. Help me up?"
She rounded the bed. "Of course."
It took a while to get upright and downstairs. Unsurprisingly, the place still looked like shit. Splintered pieces of the bookshelf littered the floor along with glass from the bad half of the coffee table. A Dean-sized crater curved into a stretch of the wall, and the bottom end of the staircase railing was gone. It was like a tornado had blown over.
We gingerly toed our way to the kitchen, getting the coffee maker going. Then, it was time to start clearing the evidence of our would-be murderer. The effort quickly turned into Sunnie cleaning and me going at a snail's pace to help. I was probably setting my recovery time back weeks by refusing to sit, but I couldn't look at the mess without my brain going into overdrive with play-by-plays about how it happened. The painkillers worked well enough to let me think I wasn't so hurt to try, so I kept going, even if Sunnie gave me a stink eye every time I froze.
"Seriously?" she rounded the staircase, hands on her hips. I stopped mid sweep, a tall stack of debris and shards at the end of my broom.
"What?"
"You look like you're constipated."
"I was trying to pick up the pan," I glowered disdainfully at the red plastic just a foot away, already piled to the brim. My ability to help was severely restricted to tasks that did not involve bending farther than a 45° angle. She sighed, coming over to grab the pan.
"You could just let me do it."
"Shut up. And be careful, there's a lot of tiny shards," I warned.
"Yeah yeah, I got protection." She wiggled her thick gloved fingers for emphasis, then dumped the pan's contents in a trash bag next to the door.
Just then, a dull roar rose from outside. A car engine. Sunnie went toward the front windows, glancing through the blinds. What she saw made her lips curve. "Maybe they'll have better luck talking sense into you."
She didn't bother to say his name, but my heart fumbled on its beat. "Once again. Shut. Up."
She winked as she went to move the plyboard. Dean and Sam were walking up a couple minutes later, a literal door balanced between their hands. They set it down just outside before stepping in.
"Wow, you guys actually found a place that opens this early," Sunnie commented.
"We had to try a couple spots first," Sam explained, a grin on his face. "Then Dean took his time picking one out."
"I wanted to be sure it matched," Dean defended, stepping in behind his brother. He'd changed his shirt and swapped his flannel for a navy overcoat. The stitches and bandages were hidden beneath the new layers. It was nearly enough to trick my mind into thinking they weren't there.
Those hazel eyes trailed up to mine, softening a touch. "You're up."
My chest tightened, that muddled mix of feelings rising in a wave. "I am."
He pointed a finger back to the door. "We couldn't find one with the same colour, but we got it as close as we could."
I nodded. "It looks great."
"We can get it set up," Sam offered.
"Ah, coffee first," Sunnie interjected. Sam followed her lead into the kitchen, but Dean hung back. He took slow steps across the entryway, scanning the floor, which was noticeably glass-free. I looked at him looking at the floor, all the words suddenly flying from my head. I didn't know what to say. I hadn't said much of anything yesterday. But seeing him now, walking around without a hitch in his step or blood on his shirt was... good. Normal. It made the tightness inside ease a bit.
"It's looking better around here already," he murmured.
"I can't take credit. It's more Sunnie's work than mine," I admitted, resting my hands on the top of my broom. He eyed my stance, like he could see past the smile and humor to what I was hiding inside.
"You okay?"
My lips tipped into a noncommittal smile. "Not really. Didn't sleep much."
We both knew his question had nothing to do with how I slept, but he didn't fight the redirection. "That part will get better. You just have to give it time."
"It doesn't feel like it," I confessed. An hour ago I could laugh about my supernatural revelation. Now the achy, wimpy part of me wanted to cry. Or punch a new hole in the wall. The only solution I had was to compartmentalize. "So, how much do I owe you for the door?"
"Nothing," he answered.
"I'm being serious."
"So am I, sweetheart. I break it, I buy it."
"The shapeshifter broke it."
"Well he's not around to pay up I guess I'm next in line."
I opened my mouth to argue, but he plucked the broom from my hands, setting against the wall. I crossed my arms, leveling him a glare. He offered a grin, but his gaze was assessing. It was a calculated move to see if I could stand on my own. I was mostly sure he wouldn't let me fall flat on my face if I couldn't, just like I was sure if he actually had to catch me, I would be instantly swept back upstairs and kept in my room like a child.
"Not to suddenly change the subject, but shouldn't you be laying down and doing nothing?" He prodded.
"Thank you!" Sunnie hollered from the kitchen.
I ignored the interjection. "If I should be, then so should you. You nearly got shredded."
He took a step in, his eyes sparked with a gleam that made my chin set."But I'm not the one walking around like there's a metre stick taped to my back."
"I'll bet your bandages are soaked through under that shirt."
"Is that a request for me to take it off so you can check?"
"You wish it was," I huffed, "stop trying to change the subject."
"Then humour me, Iris."
"Absolutely not. I'm paying for that door."
"How about I just take that coffee and we'll call it even?"
"No."
His brow perked. "So my brother can get coffee and I can't?"
"Yes. I mean no, you can but–"
He sidestepped me before I could finish. I was forced to follow him into the kitchen, boring holes into the back of his head I knew he could feel.
Sunnie and Sam were already settled around the table, silent like they were eavesdropping. Sam's mouth bracketed in an apologetic grin but Sunnie's brow was arched, her expression entirely unapologetic and even a little amused. She'd left two empty cups next to the coffee maker. Dean went for them, lifting the pot from the machine. "You keep tools around the house?" He asked.
"There's a box in the basement," I answered, watching him fill each to the brim with the dark brew, but only giving one a spoon of sugar.
He held the latter cup out, his expression dropping some of its earlier scrutiny. His gaze was still tight around the corners, the concern in them as clear as day. "We'll fish it out and get started on the door."
The reflex to turn him down leapt to my throat, if only to appease the fiery pit in my stomach that was so against being treated like a cripple by everyone in the house. But the rational part of my brain was still working and very aware about the fact neither me nor Sunnie had much of a chance of getting the thing up on our own. "Alright."
I took the mug, carefully leaning against the pantry door. Dean didn't sit either, choosing to relax against the counter. Maybe just to stay close. Maybe just to silently prove he could tell I couldn't do that kind of maneuver by myself.
"Actually, it'd probably be better to finish cleaning first," Sam spoke. "I cleared out the laundry room last night so there's just the living room left."
Relief slumped my shoulders a little. I hadn't been looking forward to getting to that part of the house. "Thanks for that."
"Would it be a bad idea to ask where you dumped the... Jeff," Sunnie probed.
"Uh, probably," he answered, his smile more of a grimace. "Best to let it lie, literally."
~~~
Things progressed much faster with the extra pair of hands. In a matter of hours the dust and debris was swept away, the broken furniture dismantled, and an organized garbage pile set up outside. The inside of my house was clean, if a little more bare than before. The coffee table had to go. Same with the bookshelf, leaving all the knick knacks and books that weren't destroyed shoved away in a box. I could almost imagine the open space was the result of some spring cleaning (that is, if I ignored the crater in my wall).
Dean and Sam got started on the door, while Sunnie and I holed up in the kitchen. There hadn't been much in the way of breakfast, and I was determined to have something prepped for lunch. Sunnie stuck around to make sure what came out of that determination was actual food instead of a new medical emergency.
"You sure you don't want me to do that?" She asked, tipping a steaming pot of boiling pasta into a collider propped in the sink. Even then, half her attention was fixed on me at the dining table. I was trying to prep some garlic bread.
I gave her a tight smile from my perch on a chair. "I can handle grating cheese."
The truth was that those pin needles kept stabbing whenever I moved wrong and there was a spot on my shoulder I desperately wanted to itch. I couldn't help squirming when Sunnie had her back turned. It was impossible to get comfortable, or even just sit in a way that was marginally less painful.
There came the sounds of footfalls from the hall. Dean rounded the corner, his jacket discarded and long sleeves rolled up just beneath his elbows. A lit quirk sat on his lips as he surveyed the room. "How's it going in here?"
"We're good," I answered.
"She's running on painkillers," Sunnie clarified.
"And while doing so, I am fine."
The protest did no good. Dean's attention swivelled to me, filled with disbelief. "Well the door's done so if you need help," he trailed suggestively.
I shook my head. "Since you won't take money, I'm repaying the favor with food."
He came up to the table, his palms resting across the surface. "You don't need to do that either."
"I don't like leaving debts unpaid."
"It's not a debt. Call it an act of service."
Sunnie snorted. Dean looked back at me, flashing a grin. And it was enough to make my will waver, just for a second.
"My conscience begs to differ."
He chuckled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "You just can't take favors from people, can you?"
"Most people won't call that a 'favor'."
"That doesn't answer my question."
I shrugged. "I don't have a problem with them."
"No," he drawled, shifting his weight on his hands, his frame curving over the table, "but you got a fierce self-reliant thing going on."
I leveled him a look. "And that's bad?"
"Not if you still take help when you need it."
The words held no bite, but the look in his eyes spoke volumes. Like he could see beneath the excuses and stubbornness into what was hiding underneath. I didn't waver under that stare, meeting him with one of my own.
"I'm a big girl Dean. I know my limits."
"But it does feel like you're testing them a little bit."
"It's the masochistic in me." I jutted my chin towards the front of his shirt, relaxedly fit over his broad chest. "Seems like you have some of that in you too."
He grinned. "I'm more concerned about yours than mine."
"Isn't that considerate, and totally convenient for you."
"What can I say? I'm selfless when it comes to certain people."
Certain . It wasn't important or special , but my thudding heart was telling me that was what it was.
My gaze narrowed. "Is that so?"
There came a clatter. Sam grimaced, grabbing the dropped cup from the ground. "Uh, sorry. Just getting some water." He'd managed to walk in without us noticing. Sunnie had completely stopped watching the pasta, staring at us like we were the latest episode of Dr. Sexy MD.
I cleared my throat, feeling a fan of heat settle over my skin. Dean looked entirely unbothered, maybe even a little smug as he stepped up to my chair. "So, how about a break?"
I shot him a glare. "I'm not done."
His eyes swept to the glassware pan next to me, filled with baguette slices covered in garlic butter and cheese. "Looks done to me."
"It still has to bake."
"We can figure out how to work your oven," Sunnie interjected. I gave her a look, trying to communicate with my eyes. Stop siding with him . All I got back was an eye roll.
"I will steal the grater if I have to," Dean warned. He looked like he was only half joking.
It was like arguing with a stonewall. With anyone else, I'd be internally fuming a string of curses. And I was still annoyed, but it was half-hearted. There was a different emotion mixed into it. Something less abrasive, almost malleable to his eyes and voice and irritatingly accurate observations. So I pried my fingers off the utensil, letting it drop against the table. Dean grinned.
I shot him a glare, bracing my palms on the table to stand. "Don't look smug. I like my grater." The warning seized in my throat when a sharp strike of pain ran down my back. I froze, shutting my eyes.
"Hey." The humour vanished from Dean's voice. Suddenly he sounded much closer. I could feel his hands at my sides, holding gently. "You okay?"
"Yeah," I said. Even I could hear how strained it came out. "Just a little stiff."
"This is why I told you to lie down," Sunnie chastised, but she sounded worried.
I tried for a grin, but it felt more like a grimace. "Pretty sure if I did that, I wouldn't be able to get up again."
"That's why we stuck around," Dean spoke. "Come on."
If I protested now, they'd probably tag team to hull me out. Sucking in a breath, I let him walk me out of the room. He steered us toward the couch, grabbing a surviving throw pillow from the chair and stuffing it against the end seat. "Sit here."
My spine gave a phantom pulse from the idea of bending. It took just the right combination of bending and pulling muscle that would make my back scream. "How about I just stand casually?"
He scoffed. "There's nothing casual about how you look right now."
I shot him a look. "Well why not stop watching then?"
"Because sweetheart ," his lips drawled around the word with a husky rumble, "I'd rather see you conscious with mild pain than on the floor from devastating pain."
My lips twisted in a mocking smile. "And here I thought I was hiding it so well."
Those knowing eyes locked with mine. He wisely chose not to share his thoughts on that. "Did you not take any meds this morning?"
I scoffed out a laugh, slowly shuffling so my back was to the couch. "Unfortunately I stuck to the prescribed amount." Which was oh so woefully little.
He moved to stand in front of me. Suddenly our feet were flush, his hands curled beneath my elbows. His head dipped, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he looked me over. "I figured that was just for your job, not bodily injury."
My heart fumbled again, but my voice stayed steady. "That's true, but if I wanted to get rid of pain I'd need a triple dose, which is a colossal no-no in medical practice."
The longer I stood there, the more ridiculous I felt. Like a child trying to hold off taking medicine or a flu shot. Dean hadn't let out a peep about any pain. Hell, he managed to fix a door without breaking a sweat. And now he was helping me, without a hint of judgment or impatience in his voice.
"It's alright. Just take your time. I have you."
I sucked in a silent breath, trying not to feel dramatic for it. He helped me slowly settle into a sitting position. But even the careful, gradual move earned a hefty swell. The moment my butt hit the cushion my spine arched, trying vainly to keep the pain from rising. "Shit."
"Just breathe through it," he spoke, his hands taking long strokes up and down my arms, as if batting the pain away. I let out a hiss, shutting my eyes as a watery sting grew. It took a couple moments for the pain to subside.
But when I could open my eyes again, I realized he was on his knees. His arms rested lightly over my lap, my fingers having clawed them in place in a death grip. He didn't seem to mind, and I didn't have the space of mind to let go.
"Better?"
"Marginally," I sucked in a breath through my teeth, blinking rapidly. "On the plus side, I haven't felt a thing from my neck all day."
"The bruises are still dark," he murmured. That much I already knew. I was avoiding mirrors for that exact reason. He stood. "Think you can stay upright on your own?"
I eased back a fraction, trying to seem remotely comfortable. "Yeah. I'm good."
"I'll be back." He headed back into the kitchen, where the sounds of cooking and conversation had resumed. I just sat there, trying to adjust to my living room without a coffee table. When he returned, his hands balanced a water bottle, pain meds, and a new ice pack. "Alright. Pick your doc-approved poison."
My lips twitched. "How about all three?"
He settled beside me, flashing a grin. "Right answer."
Swallowing down the meds with the water was the easy part. Dean had to help adjust the pillows behind me, carefully sliding the cold pack between them and my back. "Good?"
"Once I go numb, yes."
"It'll take a lot less time than you think."
I eyed him, a sudden strike of morbid curiosity taking over. "Have you ever gotten choked out by a shapeshifter?"
"A couple times."
"What about other creatures?"
His brow arched. "You really want a recap of every thing that's ever beaten me up?"
I considered it. "Well, it might make me feel like less of a wimp right now."
He chuckled. "I think I want to avoid the embarrassing stories until I've done something to even their effect out."
"What, like something impressive?"
His head tilted, his expression turning considering. "Or something brave, charming, charismatic."
Apparently saving my life didn't fall under any of those categories. "Why?"
"Because it might make up for the fact that I haven't been much of a soulmate." He said it so matter-of-factly, and there was something so abruptly self-deprecating about it. My chest tightened unconsciously.
"That isn't true."
"I got you in trouble at your job, didn't I? Then I stood you up–"
"To handle Jeff's group," I interrupted.
But it did nothing to change his expression. "I lied to you, but then you caught on so fast. I told Sam we weren't going to be able to keep things up for long." He chuckled to himself.
"If I'd known what was happening then, well," I hesitated. I couldn't say that I would have understood, not without first hand proof. And he knew it, his smile resigned. "If I'd known how important it was, I wouldn't have acted the way I did. I wouldn't have kept you at arms length."
He shook his head. "You were right to do that, Iris."
"No, I wasn't," I said softly. He took my words silently. His gaze was on my face, but it didn't feel really focused. Like he was somewhere in thoughts I couldn't reach. And it bothered me. I wanted him to understand that I didn't think of him the same anymore. That things had changed for me. That maybe they could change more.
So I reached for his hand. His palm was big and calloused. The action seemed to surprise him, the furrow easing from his brows.
"Dean."
"Yeah?"
"I'm so–"
"Guys," Sunnie called. We both turned to see her pop her head through the entry. Her smile instantly grew sheepish, "so the food's ready, whenever you wanted to uh, eat."
"Thanks," I said. She immediately shuffled back into the kitchen. Dean turned to me, his easy grin returning. Ready to brush off the moment, like the traces of vulnerability hadn't appeared. "I'll grab you a plate."
He was up and moving before I could answer. I watched him stride back into the kitchen. And all the words I wanted to say were forced to draw back into my throat, settling over the muddled tightness in my chest.
_____________________________________________________________
Yes there was originally seven chapters. Yes I added an extra one because I ended up making this longer than I had meant to. Nope I have no regrets :)