◖𓈈﹗ ﹙ chapter special﹚
❛ ▬▬ dean's special: how to be a man . . . ❜
Dean Winchester was eight years old when he saw Lilith for the first time. It had been a quick glance before his father started the engine and drove them to Minnesota for some ghosts that were bothering the patients in a psychiatric hospital. Regina, a woman who frequently took care of the Winchester brothers, had given birth to a baby girl as red as a tomato and with blond hair like fine golden strands. Dean thought that Dad wouldn't leave them in her care anymore. How could she take care of Sam and a baby? Dean didn't need taking care of, he could handle himself, and frankly, he thought he could take care of Sammy too. He did it 365 days a year. But the assumptions he made were wrong, and every time they passed through Massachusetts, they returned to Regina Arduenn's big, beautiful house, now also the home of her daughter, Lilith Venus Arduenn... what a name she had been given, and to top it off, she was born on Halloween.
He harbored a deep hatred for that house, mainly because it made them weak and made Sam accustomed to a life they would never have. At first, one or two years after their mom's death, Dean enjoyed staying at Regina's house or Bobby's salvage yard: he could watch TV all day, Regina cooked delicious meals, and he didn't have to worry about going hungry, there was a backyard where he played with a ball, and every weekend Regina gave him money to spend on long afternoons at the arcades. It was amazing until it wasn't anymore. One day his father found out what he was doing, and boy, did he receive a good scolding with punches that took weeks to heal. Dad was right, he was being a spoiled idiot wasting time on games. His duty was to take care of Sammy, and to do that, he needed to immerse himself in supernatural legends, learn about monsters and how to kill them, he needed to learn about weapons and self-defense, or the monsters would kill them due to his incompetence. How stupid he had been! Playing was for stupid kids, for ignorant and weak little girls. His father was a kind of superhero who hunted monsters at night, and as his sidekick, he had to follow his orders and prepare for when his time to fight came. It was Robin's training, he was Robin, and someday, he would be Batman.
But that house kept putting obstacles in his way. To begin with, Regina treated them like children, and Sam loved it. Home-cooked meals, a bedtime schedule (who the hell went to bed at eight o'clock?), trips to the park with Lilith, who always asked for caramel apples, and since Regina didn't refuse her requests, she bought them for her and also bought one for Sammy and another for him, which he accepted because they tasted good, and he couldn't waste a meal. And then there was school and math. He hated math, and he grew to hate it even more when the girl could solve equations that took him an eternity in seconds... damn it, even Sam was some kind of genius in all subjects.
What he hated the most about being in that house was being a spectator of how Regina took care of her daughter. It made his stomach churn! He thought that girl would end up being dinner for the monsters, and all she would do to defend herself would be cry for her mommy. She was always crying for her mother. "Mommy this, mommy that, mommy I love you!" Mommy, mommy, mommy. For God's sake, someone separate them once and for all. How could someone be so loving with their child? Regina was always attentive to her daughter. If she fell and scraped her knees, she encouraged her to get up with laughter and heart-shaped band-aids in her hand. She threw the most extravagant birthday parties for her with lots of food, sweets, and decorations full of glitter and girly things. If Lilith did something wrong, like throwing food on the floor or scribbling on the walls with a black marker, Regina didn't shout at her or hit her, and the punishment was very mild. She should have taken away her pacifier and her stuffed lion, although on second thought, he didn't want his eardrums to die from her crying.
"No! You can't draw on the walls, sweetheart... oh, what a mess... white walls, God..." she scolded her two-year-old daughter in a very soft tone, if she were his father, it would be a tone that would scare the girl to death. "You draw on paper, here," she lifted her up and took her to the area where there were a lot of scattered sheets of paper on the floor and a box with a bunch of pencils, crayons, and watercolors.
"Look, Lili," Sam was there drawing too, his hands stained blue. "I draw on these sheets, it's wrong to draw on the walls, it ruins them. I didn't realize she escaped."
"Don't worry, Sam, they're just walls," Regina stroked his head. That's what Dean was talking about! She made them weak, and no matter how much he forced Sam to reject that kind of treatment, he didn't listen.
Lilith let out a giggling trying to escape between their legs and go back to the wall, but when Regina prevented her, she started crying so loudly that Dean had to cover his ears. That girl was unbearable. Why didn't his father let him accompany him? Last summer, he had killed a werewolf, he was already a young man.
"I know you want to paint on the wall and it makes you angry that you can't do it, right, baby?" Regina lifted her up and lowered her voice even more, sounding sweet. Dean found it utterly ridiculous. Lilith was misbehaving and annoying everyone with her crying. "Are you angry? Tell Mommy how you feel."
"I want to paint the wall!" she shouted amid her tears. "I'm angry! I want to paint the wall."
"Why? We paint on paper."
"Because they're ugly, and they're pretty with my drawings!"
Regina covered her daughter's face because she was about to burst out laughing, and if she laughed, Lilith would think she was doing something right. When she recovered, she regained her composure and tried to stop her crying. Sam had laughed, but thank God, he wasn't heard, or Lilith would have thrown the marker she had in her hand at him. Sometimes she turned into a wild child.
"Let's do something else. Do you want to make cookies with me? Valentine's Day ones in the shape of hearts? Or do you want to dress up as Sleeping Beauty? Which of these two options would you like to do?"
"I want to dress up as Simba." And just as the crying appeared, it vanished.
"Very well, let's dress you up as Simba."
Dean couldn't understand Regina's obsession with motherhood, and not only with her daughter, he saw her putting a great effort into taking care of his brother as if she were trying to replace their mother. Dean still remembered his mother, and he remembered the flames engulfing their house, and above all, he remembered the heat and the screams. The days following her death, he couldn't sleep, and since then, he had a hard time falling asleep. Nightmares haunted him, leaving him awake and exhausted, defeated. There were nights when he didn't know if he was sleeping, entering a trance in which part of his brain was awake so that the monsters wouldn't catch Sam, and the other part slept, or tried to, he really had no idea if his body was resting enough. All he knew was that it worked to keep him safe. Regina had been around him those months, trying to get him to talk. Dean had shut himself in his own world and only spoke in monosyllables. Who could blame him? His mother had been brutally killed by a demon. He needed to process it before becoming what his father wanted, a soldier. Of course, young Dean distorted his reality so much that he convinced himself of superheroes and villains, and Regina was on the thin line of an anti-hero, planting ideas in Sam's head about the perfect life he had with her daughter.
"When is Dad coming?" Sammy had returned from brushing his teeth. It was eight o'clock in the evening, and Regina had sent him to bed without a complaint.
"Are you going to sleep already?" Dean asked, hoping he would snap out of it and finally listen to him. "Regina isn't our mom, she can't send us to bed."
"But we're in her house," Sammy climbed into the bed, which was really comfortable, and snuggled under the blankets. He was happy, immersed in a fantasy. He was going to end up like Lilith, and if he didn't protect himself, he would be meat for the monsters.
"So what?" Dean asked.
"Don't you like it here? It's better than motels. We have food every day, all the meals: breakfast, lunch, and dinner. These beds are comfortable and warm. We don't get cold at night, and there's a TV and a bunch of games. Lilith asked for a trampoline for her birthday, and Regina is going to install it outside. She said I can use it whenever I want. That's awesome. And tomorrow she's taking us to the zoo. Don't you like any of this? Dean, the least we can do is follow her rules and be grateful. I'm grateful. Don't you like any of this? I wish she were my mom..."
Dean felt the heat rise to his face.
"Don't you ever say that again," he threatened, altering his voice to match his father's tone, and for the first time, Sammy showed signs of obedience. "Our mom was better, and Regina will never replace her. Make that clear, Sammy."
"I never said she would," Sammy tried to defend himself, showing restraint. "Forget what I said."
But Dean had been a child whose childhood was stolen from him, along with the happiness of a stable family and the innocence that should have accompanied his short and inexperienced years. As he grew up, his perspective changed, adopting a more mature view of what having Regina's house as a constant in his life really meant, a nice roof where they were welcome to rest after a long hunt. Those memories he usually forgot had an impact on Dean's mind as he headed to the Arduenns' house, especially concerning Lilith. The last time they saw each other, he had made an untimely comment about Dorian, and she had gotten angry. Since then, they hadn't exchanged any messages—which was strange because they sent each other many messages—or calls. She didn't even greet him when he was on the phone with Sam talking about some geek stuff. Lilith always said hello to him, so he came to the conclusion that she was still mad about what he said about Dorian. What's the big deal? He was dying; his ass was halfway to roasting in hell. Would she cause problems over that pretentious jerk, Dorian?
Dorian Monsieti had rubbed him the wrong way ever since he saw him sitting on Bobby's couch. At first, he thought the guy was there for some legal nonsense since it was common to see suited men trying to inspect the salvage yard—it was full of corpses. But Bobby was in his office, engrossed in a book and sipping his coffee, paying little attention to the guy.
"Has Lilith woken up?" Bobby asked as soon as he saw Dean heading to the kitchen.
"Yes," Dean replied simply.
"She won't be long before she comes down, kid," Bobby informed the guy, who nodded without taking his eyes off his intertwined hands.
Dean looked at him again, this time with more curiosity and attention. He was a young man, in his mid-twenties. He wasn't particularly handsome, but he claimed to be as tall as Sam or even taller. He was a big guy. Dean noticed that his shoes were polished enough to see his reflection in them, and the expensive-looking briefcase elicited a mocking snort from him. He dressed like those Wall Street types. He had a rather expensive watch on his wrist. What was he doing looking for Lilith?
"Sorry, who are you?" Dean asked.
"I'm Dorian," he replied, his voice deeper and more grave than Dean's. Damn, he sounded like a little girl in comparison. Dean hesitated for a second, thinking he might be in his forties, given the way he sounded.
"Are you waiting for Lilith?" Dean grabbed a cup and poured himself some black coffee that Bobby had prepared. "How exactly do you know her?"
At that moment, Sam appeared, his hair disheveled.
"Hello," he greeted the guy. God! How did he manage to be so polite?
"Good morning," the guy responded.
"You didn't answer me," Dean warned, demanding answers.
"Our mothers are friends. We met when I visited my mom in..."
"You're a son of a witch," Dean interrupted, not only alerting his hunter instincts, but also causing Bobby to set aside his book and discreetly slide his gun into his hands. "Are you a witch?"
"No, I'm human," he said defensively. "Very human."
"Well, Lilith said that witch's sons are born human," Sam stepped forward, calming the situation by mentioning that the older hunters were thinking of tearing the guy's head off. Dean was about to do it himself, and he didn't care if the guy was human. He didn't believe him at all. "Is that your car?" Sam looked out the window, and Dean followed. There was a luxurious, huge car, a Lamborghini Murciélago. How grotesque. "Sorry, I'm Sam," he went to shake the guy's hand. Dean rolled his eyes.
"Dorian," he accepted the handshake happily. "And yes, it's mine."
"Nice car," Sam remarked once he returned to the kitchen, standing next to Dean, and nudged him in the chest, giving him his best 'are you kidding me' look. "Is it true?" he muttered.
Dean distorted the types of love that entered his life, unable to differentiate between friendship and familial love. If differential boundaries were difficult for him to identify among his feelings, romantic and sexual love were territories he didn't know how to navigate. The man had no slightest clue about all these problems. He advanced in the most glorious ode to carpe diem, accustomed to enduring his life full of untreated childhood traumas, which had shaped a personality where expressing, understanding, and accepting his feelings were difficult. Dean used a very simplistic spectrum, redirecting feelings—like the incessant desire to spend time with Lilith—to friendship or detached excitement. It was unthinkable for a hunter of his caliber to think of friendships or romantic partners. Dean was so mechanized in that aspect that he would run away before giving the opportunity for attachments to flourish. He would leave before being rejected and, presumably, abandoned as soon as they knew the truth about what he did.
Dean would never drag a civilian into his world; he learned that the hard way and wouldn't make the same mistake as with Cassie again. Dean set boundaries.
But with Lilith, his boundaries were blurred.
"Hi, guys!" She smiled as she opened the door at one in the morning. "How was the trip?"
Lilith was a beautiful young girl, with that strange and provocative beauty. For years—and because she was a minor and he didn't consider himself a mental pervert—he hadn't found her attractive. Not until he dove headfirst into the supernatural world, and living with a Lilith who was about to turn twenty awakened the gaze that fell upon most women who crossed his path. As he had said, Lilith's beauty was different from what he usually liked: women who were at their ideal weight, neither skeletal nor overweight. He adored large breasts and running his hands over curves, and a good backside. He didn't care for extremely flat stomachs; he was more attracted to women's bodies of his age. And then there was Lilith. She was slim, slender, with the kind of body seen on a runway. Medium-sized breasts and an incredible backside. A body that seemed fragile, with a tiny waist and a natural curve thanks to good genetics, giving the illusion of an hourglass figure. She had a flat and toned abdomen. She was like Sam, a person active in exercise. Her face was the darkest part and the one that had bewitched him. Her cold, soulless blue eyes played with the most powerful layers of the witch's personality, and her smile could be as angelic as it was demonic. Dean tended to put his loved ones on a pedestal and refused to bring them down, but he couldn't do that with Lilith, not since she became a witch.
"Light," he replied, lowering a simple bag. Sam took a moment to shake off his weariness and groggy expression.
"Do you want some beers?" Lilith offered.
"I'm going to bed already, but thanks, Lilith," Sammy declined without delay, climbing the stairs and resting his heavy feet on the steps. Lilith shush at him to be quiet, or he would wake up Regina. If he woke her up (as it had happened before), Lilith would get angry and no longer act hospitable.
"I'll have one," Dean said.
Lilith made her way from the kitchen to the living room in seconds, throwing a beer bottle at him as she sat down next to him and turned on the television, adjusting the volume. Lilith's house was large, with rooms that were twice the size of motel rooms.
"Don't you feel sleepy?" Dean knew Lilith's schedule was a bit mixed up, not like his own, but she stayed up late and woke up early, then took naps.
"Not really, and it's Saturday. I don't have to get up early and go to Mom's office," she replied, tying her hair up in a messy bun. It was a hot night, and she only wore a loose tank top that revealed her hardened nipples. Lilith walked around without a bra when she put on her pajamas, and he had even seen her go out to run errands like that.
"You haven't sent me any messages since the last time we saw each other," Dean had been confused. He expected Lilith to ignore him until she decided to confront the situation, but here she was sharing a beer with him (or rather, a glass of wine) and her mood seemed the same as always.
"I was busy with things," she quickly replied. "Do you want to watch something specific?"
"So you're not mad at me anymore?"
"Not anymore," he knew it! She had gotten mad because of Dorian's stupidity. He wasn't going to apologize for being right. That guy had no good intentions towards her. Dean had seen him look at her with desire, as if she were the most perfect thing in the world, and he emphasized thing. It went beyond sexual attraction or love, no, no, no, Dorian wanted her by his side because it elevated his status. That guy was all about status and money. "Is a telenovela good for you "
"Whatever you want."
The hunter displayed, without the slightest idea, tendencies to express love and receive it through quality time with the people he cared about and needed in his life. He had demonstrated his dependency on his brother by sacrificing his life for him. When Sam had left for college, abandoning the family, Dean had experienced the same intensity of abandonment as his mother's death. The hunts were fine; it was him and his father fighting together. But it wasn't the three of them, it wasn't his whole family. Dean couldn't stand it when his father sent him on hunts alone, separating to cover more cases. Orders were about efficiency, and he complied, suppressing his preference to put in double the effort, to not sleep, and to drive all night if they could work the cases together. Dean felt loved in their company, enjoying any activity—endless investigations, cleaning weapons, fixing the Impala with someone handing him tools, drinking and eating, watching trash TV, having fun with board games, or listening to music on the record player Lilith had given him—as long as he was with his brother, his father, and now Lilith, who had become an important part of his heart.
Touch was also one of the ways he showed affection, lacking the courage to express it in words and release them with his head held high. Dean enjoyed physical contact, and his movements were casual, easy to overlook. He touched people's shoulders when he spoke to them, touched their faces, and hugged them. However, he hated it when it was reciprocated, as it heightened his senses, making him overly aware that someone was paying attention to him—like when Bobby put him in his place after finding out he had sold his soul. He was a man with quirks. Lilith had become the ultimate embodiment of this characteristic. Any psychologist could write a whole essay just by observing the hunter's behavior around the girl. Dean tried to position his hands close enough for them to brush against each other. He sat next to her and searched for disheveled strands of hair he could fix or some smudged makeup he could gently caress her face to fix. He retreated a lot in a room with other people, but when they were alone, it became evident. And when they had sex, Dean explored every inch of her skin, discovering unknown places that drove her crazy. He used his lips to place wet kisses wherever he wanted. He licked and bit her, and with intense lust, he trapped her against his body, feeling her pressed against him. And when he penetrated her, he reached the climax of his need for contact. There was no touch more intimate than penetration. However, the dynamics of sex changed once their bodies recovered and they were lying in bed. The formalities arising from the friends label went to hell, and more direct positions took over, like resting his head on the witch's back, hugging her waist, and sleeping. Other times, it was the girl who rested on his bare chest, and her fingertips playfully caressed his skin, his tattoo, intertwining her hand with his, and performed magic that sent tingles down to his feet. In that position, he could caress her head and kiss her forehead, something Dean loved to do.
When the roles reversed, with Lilith taking the lead in touch, Dean would freeze and tense up. The problems didn't arise during sex; they came afterward. He was comfortable giving caresses but tensed up when receiving them. Lilith would also embrace him and run her fingers along his chest, enjoying playing with his tattoo. On cold days, she would snuggle against him for warmth, entwining their legs, and those positions inevitably led to a long night of silent sex. They would get so aroused that they would do it again and again. It took him a couple of months to get used to Lilith's touch, and by then, he had become addicted to it.
"What about tying the weapons to your wrists? You know what I mean? That way, they won't slip away in the middle of a fight, huh?"
They had gotten bored of watching TV and decided to have sex. They went up to the witch's bedroom silently and spent an hour kissing and touching each other. When they finally fell exhausted, they started talking because they weren't sleepy yet.
"That would be humiliating. I'd rather be killed than have my weapons tied up," Dean said, embracing Lilith, who rested her head on his bare chest. The blankets barely covered them. The witch gave him a look that said, "Don't be an idiot," but Dean was serious and didn't see a problem with holding on to his honorable principles. He ran his hand over her waist and pulled her closer, needing to feel her. Being with her distracted him from thinking about hell. Dean needed to give his all to satisfy her; he loved pleasing others, and Lilith had high expectations in bed. He was the type of person who served and cared for others; his job was to take care of his brother. He was a caregiver.
"You're a fool," she said, running her fingers along his torso, and Dean melted when she did that. It made his body vibrate. "Do you think I could be a good hunter?"
"Are you talking about Lilith before she had powers or Lilith after?"
"Both."
"Lilith before her powers, definitely not. Look at your small body. Who do you think you could defeat?" With a swift motion, he lifted her up and placed her on top of him. He put both hands on her waist and pressed her against his eager pelvis. Then, with his thumbs, he traced her entire back in a slow and arousing motion, following the protruding bones and the constellation of hickeys he had just made a few minutes ago. Lilith moaned, and his penis grew harder. His hands moved down to her ass, and he began to knead them. "Even if I trained you, you would need a lot more muscle mass. I love your body, but it's not suited for combat."
"I can hit hard," she defended herself, "wanna bet I can punch you?"
" I can lift you with one arm," Lilith looked into his eyes and, after a moment, nodded convincingly. Dean was right, there were monsters that knocked him down and left him beaten, if he felt one step away from death, Lilith, who was a third of his muscle mass, would be killed— "With your powers, you're more suited to be a hunter. You could go out and kill some monsters, but I don't see you enduring motels, long trips, and basically the everyday life of a hunter. Have you ever worked in your life? You're privileged, living off your mommy's money."
"Hey!" she pinched him lightly, making Dean jump. "I was a model once, and they paid me well..."
"What? I mean, I believe you. You worked as a model? When?" He was genuinely interested in the story behind it. "Do you have the photos?"
"I was seventeen!" she commented before he could say something inappropriate. "My mom caught me smoking outside of school with a bad boy I had a crush on, and she punished me by not letting me go to Christina Aguilera's concert. She didn't want to buy the tickets or the trip to England because there were no dates in the United States. She had to cancel due to health issues, and I was dying to go on her tour, and my mom said, 'If you want to go, pay for it yourself.' So I sold my face and body to a local clothing brand. I did a whole campaign that came out in a magazine, I think I have it somewhere, and I also walked the runway, and with what they paid me, I could buy two plane tickets, two last-minute resale tickets that cost me triple, accommodation, and merchandise."
"Damn," he sighed. "You made good money just because you're pretty. Give me that contact, I need money."
Dean grabbed her by the nape of her neck and planted a passionate kiss on her lips.
"Shit!" Lilith suddenly pulled away from him and got out of his arms. She sat on her side of the bed and picked up the forgotten phone from her nightstand. "It's already five-thirty! When did it get so late?"
"That's what happens when you're having a good time," Dean lunged lazily toward her neck, trying to kiss her and get her to lie back on top of him. Dean had learned that Lilith had a bit of an issue with being the dominant one, and when two forces clashed, one had to give in, and Dean was more than happy to be the passive one. "What are you doing?"
"Canceling breakfast with Dorian. He was supposed to come at nine today, and I don't think he's awake." Hearing that guy's name chilled his body like a bucket of cold water. The expression on his face showed a grimace of disgust and tensed cheekbones filled with hatred. "I saw that. What's the problem with Dorian?"
"None," he smiled wryly, hiding what he felt behind sarcasm and jokes.
But the witch wasn't buying it.
"Come on," she insisted. "Why don't you like him?"
"I don't care about the guy. I don't like him because I don't like him. He gives off a bad vibe, and honestly, I'd rather talk about anything else than this."
"Fine," Lilith said, stretching out on the bed and curling up under the blankets. The tone she used foretold annoyance. "Then let's talk about how you feel. Your ass is one step away from hell."
That woman was diabolical when she wanted to be. The hunter turned away, refusing to talk about it. He had no interest in baring his emotions, especially after the torment he endured because of an idiot who invaded his dreams and almost killed Bobby. The witch pushed him, seeking an answer from him or, in essence, the answer to his denial. A second later, he felt Lilith's hands embrace him and begin a sequence of kisses all over his back, causing every muscle in his body to tense. Dean wanted to make some sarcastic comment about this chick-flick scene, but he immediately remembered that Lilith had once said that his funny remarks expressed what he truly felt, and she noticed, just like Sam did. So he kept his mouth shut.
"I don't want to pressure you, and I'm not demanding anything from you, but you should talk to someone about it, release the pressure from your chest. Share it. You don't have to keep it all inside, and there's nothing wrong with sharing your emotions. Or are you afraid your fragile masculinity will shatter?"
He confronted her by turning around in one smooth motion, and the witch wasted no time in taking hold of his waist and kissing him.
Sometimes he wondered if there was poison on her lips or if she had cast a spell on him without him realizing, because her magic tricks worked on him. His heart squeezed, and he professed loyalty to her words, to everything she said. In his head, he built a fantasy around the witch, something that was not new to him. He was also in love with what Lisa represented, a woman who had a son and a white picket fence.
"I don't know what you want me to say, Lilith. That I don't want to roast myself?"
"For starters, yes, that's exactly what I want you to say: that you're scared, that you don't want to die and that you deserve to be saved. You're human, isn't that what you do? Save people?" She raised her blonde eyebrows. "I'm asking because I think you forget that you're human too. Did you realize that?"
"Not really, someone like me isn't from this planet."
Damn, he did it. He diverted the conversation with a joke, and she noticed. Dean clearly showed his discomfort, signaling for the topic to be dropped once and for all, and that's what Lilith did. She didn't bring it up again.
"Good night," she said after giving him a brief kiss. She turned around in her usual sleeping position and covered herself better with the blankets.
Dean held onto her, feeling the warmth emanating from her body, but he didn't fall asleep until the sunbeam came through. He spent hours pondering what she had said about his humanity, a topic that had been unleashed after a strange confrontation with his fears in a vivid dream.
The terrifying diatribe against his own fears, characterized as himself possessing his physical image, reached the point of ignition for him to change perspectives on those months of silence portrayed in his imminent future in hell. He had been able to find his identity uprooted from the bonds of his father—becoming a plastic reflection of what his hero once was: same music, same old and stinky jacket, same tendencies towards alcoholism—and a person armed to take care of Sammy, as if he had nothing else to do with his life, and in a certain way, that was true for Dean. But as he felt attacked by himself, a defense arose from the depths of his being, proclaiming the right to be saved for any other person (especially those he saved) if they found themselves in a position to be saved. He existed as an independent, free, and authentic being who was not his father's son, obedient to his commands, or protector of his brother. Dean was Dean, and he was defending himself, and as such—in a complicated crisis of realities—he was a person who needed to be saved. And he asked for help from the person he loved the most, he asked his brother for help, and from that point on, there was no turning back.
How would he save himself? He had no clue, but now he was determined to defend his right to life and find a solution. He wouldn't die without putting up a fight; he should have remembered that earlier. However, his revelation and attempt to prioritize himself—something he hated, being the center of attention—still needed refining because he continued to prioritize his brother. Sam was changing, and Dean didn't like it. A progression from "Dean, you can't kill a human" to "We have to kill Gordon." Those were statements that belonged to him, and he had to be the human and emotional part, the one who stopped him, not the one who encouraged him. Not the one who thought like him. Who would be the critic? That wasn't Sam; he wasn't his brother, and Dean was afraid of what he was causing him, after all, Dean brought him back. What had he brought back?
A movement from Lilith abruptly snapped him out of his thoughts.
"Dean, you're squeezing me," she whispered so softly that he thought she was talking in her sleep. Lilith had the misfortune of sleep-talking, long and nonsensical conversations that would wake him up and make him laugh, and others that would hurt him. That wasn't the case now; Lilith stirred in his arms. "I don't mind the position, but ease up on the strength, buddy."
He hadn't realized he was holding her too tightly.
"Yeah, sorry," he loosened his grip a bit, reluctant to let go of her embrace.
"It's okay," she said in a tender little sigh, settling into the pillows, and he once again felt her calm breathing.
What was he doing in that room? And worst of all, what was he doing with Lilith? Dean wasn't one to worry about women; he had been raised and learned the hard way to maintain a casual and sexual relationship with them. No involvement in sentimentality, meeting parents, and certainly not confessing his true job. That was foolish, and he didn't consider himself a fool. But Lilith had poisoned him and gotten him into a mess. Of course, Dean waved the flag of "no feelings, just sex with his friend," and he actually believed it, having the growing notion that perhaps, just perhaps, some feelings were slipping through. Normal, right? After all, it was impossible not to confuse friendship, sex, and feelings after months of encounters, conversations, and time spent together.
His hands touched her belly, drawing her closer to his torso. She felt so small and fragile, and... oh, he knew she was a witch who could kill him in the blink of an eye. How could she be both? Dean cared for her as a friend, one of the few friends he had. In fact, she was the only friend who fit perfectly into what was known as friendship. Dean didn't have friends, never had friends; there were only his father and his brother, then Bobby joined, and those were his dearest beings. Ellen, Jo, and other hunters remained in their separate and affectionate circle, but the differences were enormous. In the past few months—since Lilith got involved in the supernatural—things had changed, and he no longer saw her as before; he saw her as a woman.
Dean enjoyed having sex with Lilith; he enjoyed talking to her and spending time together. Correction: he enjoyed having sex with Lilith as his sexual partner, and he enjoyed talking and spending time together as friends. Yeah, that sounded better to Dean; that way, he could sleep better. And indeed, he fell asleep after a few minutes of determining whether hugs, kisses, and caresses fell into the category of friendship or sexual partnership, and if it fell into the sexual partnership, it shouldn't mean anything, right? Dean thought it didn't mean anything, and his basis for that was the witch's actions: she was flirting with Dorian and also doing this with him. She made a clear distinction between boyfriend material and just a fling, and Dean proclaimed himself as just a fling. And it was the best explanation. Why would Lilith see him as boyfriend material? He had nothing to offer her, and Dorian had a lot to offer her. Dean himself would choose Dorian over him, falling back into the pattern of not putting himself first, reverting to his father's soldier, his brother's protector, and Lilith's friend with benefits.
⛧.