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Entry tags:
SPN: Third Time Unlucky
Fandom: Supernatural
Main characters: Cassie, Dean
Referenced characters: Sam
Pairings: Dean/Cassie
Contains: Angst
Rating: PG
Summary: She's beginning to think it won't be the last time.
Notes: Set shortly after Good God Y'all, in my head, but non-specific. No spoilers. Could be read as S3/S4-ish.
Dean Winchester is asleep in her bed.
It's not the first time, and Cassie is beginning to be sure it's not the last time. He blows in and out of her life like -- like the weather, only more inconstant. The first time, he was everything she'd dreamed about and everything that frustrated her, all wrapped up in machismo and an easy grin. And then, with his brother there, and the truck... everything had been hard then, anyway, and she'd been hard, and he'd got in anyway. She'd like to think third time lucky, but like she said to him before, she's a realist.
She knows he's not staying.
"I'm probably not welcome," he said, stood on her doorstep. But he'd been tired and all the boyishness seemed burned away. She'd always seen need in him, but it had been naked in that moment.
"You're absolutely the last person I wanted to see," she told him, not entirely truthful, because she had been waiting, hoping. For a while, anyway. "It's been a long time."
"Longer than you think," he said, but he didn't explain that, of course.
They'd made love, without even talking any more about it. She thinks he might have talked, if she'd pushed, but a push so clearly wasn't what he needed, and she -- she thought she could give something to him, maybe give something back to him. Something that was missing in the way he looked at her. He'd been so tender. He always had been, actually, with her, as if slowed by the weight of a feeling that wouldn't let him let go -- but then again, he'd been so open when they made love, as if she could look inside and find his deepest secrets. The tenderness, the openness -- it had always made her feel absurdly on the edge of tears.
This time, she hid that harder than ever.
He stirs, sits up. "Cassie," he says, rough with sleep and soft with what might still be love. "Cassie, I have some things I should tell you."
"Don't," she says, going back to him. "Don't talk now." She covers his mouth with her hand. "In the morning, maybe. Don't think about it now. Pretend nothing matters."
She thinks he says, "I'm not sure anything does," but she's kissing him already, careful and sweet, giving him what she can.
She thinks maybe this is the last time, but she doesn't let herself take that thought too far.
Main characters: Cassie, Dean
Referenced characters: Sam
Pairings: Dean/Cassie
Contains: Angst
Rating: PG
Summary: She's beginning to think it won't be the last time.
Notes: Set shortly after Good God Y'all, in my head, but non-specific. No spoilers. Could be read as S3/S4-ish.
Dean Winchester is asleep in her bed.
It's not the first time, and Cassie is beginning to be sure it's not the last time. He blows in and out of her life like -- like the weather, only more inconstant. The first time, he was everything she'd dreamed about and everything that frustrated her, all wrapped up in machismo and an easy grin. And then, with his brother there, and the truck... everything had been hard then, anyway, and she'd been hard, and he'd got in anyway. She'd like to think third time lucky, but like she said to him before, she's a realist.
She knows he's not staying.
"I'm probably not welcome," he said, stood on her doorstep. But he'd been tired and all the boyishness seemed burned away. She'd always seen need in him, but it had been naked in that moment.
"You're absolutely the last person I wanted to see," she told him, not entirely truthful, because she had been waiting, hoping. For a while, anyway. "It's been a long time."
"Longer than you think," he said, but he didn't explain that, of course.
They'd made love, without even talking any more about it. She thinks he might have talked, if she'd pushed, but a push so clearly wasn't what he needed, and she -- she thought she could give something to him, maybe give something back to him. Something that was missing in the way he looked at her. He'd been so tender. He always had been, actually, with her, as if slowed by the weight of a feeling that wouldn't let him let go -- but then again, he'd been so open when they made love, as if she could look inside and find his deepest secrets. The tenderness, the openness -- it had always made her feel absurdly on the edge of tears.
This time, she hid that harder than ever.
He stirs, sits up. "Cassie," he says, rough with sleep and soft with what might still be love. "Cassie, I have some things I should tell you."
"Don't," she says, going back to him. "Don't talk now." She covers his mouth with her hand. "In the morning, maybe. Don't think about it now. Pretend nothing matters."
She thinks he says, "I'm not sure anything does," but she's kissing him already, careful and sweet, giving him what she can.
She thinks maybe this is the last time, but she doesn't let herself take that thought too far.
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