[ There's a fit at the edge of his jaw, a scan of her features before he's averting gaze past them, catching at the rippling mirror of the lake that bordered a single edge of the carnival. He can't bring himself to be angry with her, mostly because what hits him is that damning highlight of knowing better, knowing that nights like this, women like her... they don't happen for men like him. A hunters life was a lonely life; her accompanying him wouldn't change that. The loneliness. The leaving.
Never quite knowing if he'd come back.
He doesn't want her to see the pain that reflects back, doesn't want her to see how terrified of it all he is: her words, but more, the meaning that lay within them. Dirges followed in his wake, he was nothing good, nothing she should want, but he finds himself craving her all the same. If only he could be that selfish. ] Thought you liked to dance.
[ He tries to humor her. How he wants it to be a threat, wants it to be stern, but it's not. It's weak, the motions of his broad figure holding her own nearly coming to a still. Suddenly the bite in the air is unwelcome, fingers curling into the fabric of her top. And when he looks back up to her, it's all too evident how he's splintering, how there's already that apology waiting on the tip of his tongue- the same one that gives presage to his leave. ] Dragged me out here, after all.
[Their relationship has been made of a lot of dancing, but there's so much more to it too. They talk while they sit in bed or watch the dingy motel tv at night. She knows what foods he likes best and which ones he won't touch. She's been there at night when he has nightmares, and he's listened to her talk excitedly about her life like it's actually fascinating.
They know one another inside and out at this point, all without ever doing more than dancing around the matter that they're already in a relationship.
She guesses they can't go back to dancing and avoiding the subject. Not now that she's impulsively said something. ]
You know there's no one else I'd rather dance with, over and over...
[She goes along with his attempt to humor her, but even she can't escape the chill that's in the air now. Blaming it on their proximity to the water, she pulls herself in a little closer to him as an excuse that she needs him close to stay warm. Even his presence doesn't stop the chill of fear that causes her to shiver up against him.}
But there's more to us than that. And we both know it. Why is it so wrong to put a name to what we have? Not when I -
[She stops herself there, and tips her head to look up at his face for a moment. It's so easy to see that he's on the edge of falling apart, each word either of them say pushing him past the point of comfort.]
Admitting I love you doesn't change anything, does it?
[Except it changes everything, and now there's no turning back. Her voice cracks at the end of her question, dark eyes brimming with tears. She's always been so careful to not ever get emotional around him. There's the start of self-loathing that hates the fact she can't keep it under control here and now.]
[ Already he can feel himself regressing, can hear the hum of the open road beneath baby's tires as he drives tirelessly on, countless blurs of street signs passing him left and right, off to nowhere in particular. Settling nowhere in particular. There was no such thing as home for a Winchester, a hunter, for him. He'd tried that, and it'd only put the woman and kid he'd loved in danger.
He was nothing but a loaded gun. She had to see that.
But she's pulling herself closer, closer yet and all of a sudden his throat's gone tight, mouth dry as he gives a thick swallow, brows ridden into a tuft as he sighs. There's a dizzying tinge to the tip of his skull— he can't do this, can't talk about this, doesn't want now to be the moment that he loses her... but she knows better than to bring this up.
Than to think he was ever one that could just 'talk about things'.
It's that word. That confession, thick in her throat that leaves green hues flickering up with a sliver of pain. ] You don't... [ It's nearly choked out, desperately torn between lifting his thumbs to graze away the tears welling at her lash line, and pulling from her embrace entirely. Getting the hell out of dodge before this got any worse. ] You don't know what you're saying. I'm not someone you wanna keep around, Clara.
[ A flutter at the edge of his jaw, heat swelling to his cheeks. He's angry. Angry that she's chosen to bring this up on such a light night between them. Angry that he can't provide what she needs. And so maybe she can feel him start to resist, his figure giving the slightest pull backward. ] Maybe I shouldn't of come back, I...
[They've never really fought before, which is a good thing. They're both intensely stubborn and both think they're the ones that are right. With her temper against his, any actual arguments have the potential to be explosive.
She isn't looking for a fight here.
Her hand does hold on tighter to his, not about to let him slip through her fingers so easily.]
I know exactly what I'm saying.
[And she knows that he's scared, but also knows enough to not call him on it. Not here, not when she can see that he's angry with her and that she has to attempt to diffuse the situation.
With her hand holding onto his, she leads him away from the bustle and off to the outskirts of the fairground. There's a large lake here, and it might be a peaceful or romantic setting if it weren't for the fact that whatever relationship they have might be about to crumble to the ground.]
Just because I've admitted something doesn't mean you have to reciprocate. Or do anything about it even if you feel the same way. I've kept you around this long. Nothing's gone wrong yet, has it?
[She takes the expectation that he'll say or feel something away from him, hoping it will put him at ease. He's angry and she's a little too heartfelt and emotional, but she's trying hard to guide them both toward a balance between the two.]
[ But she doesn't; she can't. She thinks she knows the type of man he is, that he's a stray, but she has no idea of the blood on his hands. The amount of lives he hadn't been able to save. She'd held him through nightmares that'd flickered their lifeless faces back before him within sleep that was so often unkind, but she hadn't seen him when he'd enjoyed it.
When he was a demon, when he held the mark, when he thrived for that bloodshed like a god damn drug. The least of all women to deserve that was her, but she's looking at this with how she feels, not what's right. Not what's realistic, and that's all that's been engraved in him.
Still, he allows her to lead him away from the bustling coos and chatter of the fairground, down toward the rippling reflection of the lake, streetlights few and far between. He wishes he were able to guide his anger elsewhere, that he could transcend whatever it was tangling within his chest into something else, something more productive, something they could work with; but he's a character of dead ends.
He doesn't want them to be one of them. ] No, Clara, nothings happened cause I haven't let it. You shouldn't... shouldn't be hung up on some guy that can't even stick around. That bails out every week without a phone call. [ And rightfully, she could counter in question as to why he couldn't give her that. He just doesn't know how. He doesn't know how to allow something good to linger only to watch it torn from his grasp. ] So, what? You're gonna keep me around even if its not reciprocated? Give your time to me when you could have someone that fuckin' treats you right?
No. I'm not gonna let that happen. I can't let you make that mistake.
[The sound that comes out of her is a dry, bitter laugh. It's choked out, because she can't believe that they know each other so well intimately. They know each others likes and dislikes, and they know the other's personality. But they don't know the intricate little details of the things they've been through. They both work so hard to keep the other away from that part of them.]
It's my mistake to make. The choice is mine, and the time we've spent together has been perfect.
[She flashes him a sad smile, fearing that things are about to end. She worries that she won't see him again after this. But she won't allow this to be a last conversation.]
But you must realize, don't you? That the time we spend together is only in motel rooms. We hide away from reality because we can't cope with what's going on. We can't deal with the things that we do, the events in our lives that frighten us. But fear makes companions out of us all, Dean. There's a reason I come and go as I please, and never question why you do the same. If I wanted a bloody phone call, I would've demanded one out of you!
[Her temper starts to flare, but she bites at her lip to keep it under control. Tears are forming in her eyes, and she loathes that. But she has to press forward. ]
I want to face reality with you. No matter what it brings. You have no idea the things I've done and seen, and what I'm capable of handling. You're so afraid of what it is you feel that you won't even allow me to tell you how I feel or explain what it is I want!
[In an act of desperation, she leans in and presses her lips against his. The kiss that happens is an attempt to get him to understand her feelings. She isn't asking for anything beyond an actual relationship. She doesn't think that it's too much to request after a year's time.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Never quite knowing if he'd come back.
He doesn't want her to see the pain that reflects back, doesn't want her to see how terrified of it all he is: her words, but more, the meaning that lay within them. Dirges followed in his wake, he was nothing good, nothing she should want, but he finds himself craving her all the same. If only he could be that selfish. ] Thought you liked to dance.
[ He tries to humor her. How he wants it to be a threat, wants it to be stern, but it's not. It's weak, the motions of his broad figure holding her own nearly coming to a still. Suddenly the bite in the air is unwelcome, fingers curling into the fabric of her top. And when he looks back up to her, it's all too evident how he's splintering, how there's already that apology waiting on the tip of his tongue- the same one that gives presage to his leave. ] Dragged me out here, after all.
no subject
They know one another inside and out at this point, all without ever doing more than dancing around the matter that they're already in a relationship.
She guesses they can't go back to dancing and avoiding the subject. Not now that she's impulsively said something. ]
You know there's no one else I'd rather dance with, over and over...
[She goes along with his attempt to humor her, but even she can't escape the chill that's in the air now. Blaming it on their proximity to the water, she pulls herself in a little closer to him as an excuse that she needs him close to stay warm. Even his presence doesn't stop the chill of fear that causes her to shiver up against him.}
But there's more to us than that. And we both know it. Why is it so wrong to put a name to what we have? Not when I -
[She stops herself there, and tips her head to look up at his face for a moment. It's so easy to see that he's on the edge of falling apart, each word either of them say pushing him past the point of comfort.]
Admitting I love you doesn't change anything, does it?
[Except it changes everything, and now there's no turning back. Her voice cracks at the end of her question, dark eyes brimming with tears. She's always been so careful to not ever get emotional around him. There's the start of self-loathing that hates the fact she can't keep it under control here and now.]
no subject
He was nothing but a loaded gun. She had to see that.
But she's pulling herself closer, closer yet and all of a sudden his throat's gone tight, mouth dry as he gives a thick swallow, brows ridden into a tuft as he sighs. There's a dizzying tinge to the tip of his skull— he can't do this, can't talk about this, doesn't want now to be the moment that he loses her... but she knows better than to bring this up.
Than to think he was ever one that could just 'talk about things'.
It's that word. That confession, thick in her throat that leaves green hues flickering up with a sliver of pain. ] You don't... [ It's nearly choked out, desperately torn between lifting his thumbs to graze away the tears welling at her lash line, and pulling from her embrace entirely. Getting the hell out of dodge before this got any worse. ] You don't know what you're saying. I'm not someone you wanna keep around, Clara.
[ A flutter at the edge of his jaw, heat swelling to his cheeks. He's angry. Angry that she's chosen to bring this up on such a light night between them. Angry that he can't provide what she needs. And so maybe she can feel him start to resist, his figure giving the slightest pull backward. ] Maybe I shouldn't of come back, I...
no subject
She isn't looking for a fight here.
Her hand does hold on tighter to his, not about to let him slip through her fingers so easily.]
I know exactly what I'm saying.
[And she knows that he's scared, but also knows enough to not call him on it. Not here, not when she can see that he's angry with her and that she has to attempt to diffuse the situation.
With her hand holding onto his, she leads him away from the bustle and off to the outskirts of the fairground. There's a large lake here, and it might be a peaceful or romantic setting if it weren't for the fact that whatever relationship they have might be about to crumble to the ground.]
Just because I've admitted something doesn't mean you have to reciprocate. Or do anything about it even if you feel the same way. I've kept you around this long. Nothing's gone wrong yet, has it?
[She takes the expectation that he'll say or feel something away from him, hoping it will put him at ease. He's angry and she's a little too heartfelt and emotional, but she's trying hard to guide them both toward a balance between the two.]
no subject
When he was a demon, when he held the mark, when he thrived for that bloodshed like a god damn drug. The least of all women to deserve that was her, but she's looking at this with how she feels, not what's right. Not what's realistic, and that's all that's been engraved in him.
Still, he allows her to lead him away from the bustling coos and chatter of the fairground, down toward the rippling reflection of the lake, streetlights few and far between. He wishes he were able to guide his anger elsewhere, that he could transcend whatever it was tangling within his chest into something else, something more productive, something they could work with; but he's a character of dead ends.
He doesn't want them to be one of them. ] No, Clara, nothings happened cause I haven't let it. You shouldn't... shouldn't be hung up on some guy that can't even stick around. That bails out every week without a phone call. [ And rightfully, she could counter in question as to why he couldn't give her that. He just doesn't know how. He doesn't know how to allow something good to linger only to watch it torn from his grasp. ] So, what? You're gonna keep me around even if its not reciprocated? Give your time to me when you could have someone that fuckin' treats you right?
No. I'm not gonna let that happen. I can't let you make that mistake.
no subject
It's my mistake to make. The choice is mine, and the time we've spent together has been perfect.
[She flashes him a sad smile, fearing that things are about to end. She worries that she won't see him again after this. But she won't allow this to be a last conversation.]
But you must realize, don't you? That the time we spend together is only in motel rooms. We hide away from reality because we can't cope with what's going on. We can't deal with the things that we do, the events in our lives that frighten us. But fear makes companions out of us all, Dean. There's a reason I come and go as I please, and never question why you do the same. If I wanted a bloody phone call, I would've demanded one out of you!
[Her temper starts to flare, but she bites at her lip to keep it under control. Tears are forming in her eyes, and she loathes that. But she has to press forward. ]
I want to face reality with you. No matter what it brings. You have no idea the things I've done and seen, and what I'm capable of handling. You're so afraid of what it is you feel that you won't even allow me to tell you how I feel or explain what it is I want!
[In an act of desperation, she leans in and presses her lips against his. The kiss that happens is an attempt to get him to understand her feelings. She isn't asking for anything beyond an actual relationship. She doesn't think that it's too much to request after a year's time.]