[She supposes she ought to feel a little guilty for getting him to come here tonight. He's surprisingly gone along with everything she's suggested, ranging from ditching their plans to stay in and order pizza so she could come to the carnival and enjoy some terrible fried food. Some corn dogs and beer turn into sharing a funnel cake, which turns into Clara suggesting they go on some of the rides "since they were already there". He even wins her a stuffed bear, which she makes a big deal of and names after him. It's probably easy to tell how much she values the bear, just by the way she holds it and doesn't want to put it down.
She's a reckless daredevil and loves everything they go on, even the roller coaster that he swears isn't bolted in the right way and the ferris wheel that he swears is going to kill him once they reach the top and sit there for a while. She thinks she gets him to relax well enough with some kissing.
But nothing's likely going to be able to get him to relax as she guides him out onto a grassy area that's set up for dancing. The stars are out overhead and a live Journey cover band is playing Faithfully. It's more than a little cliche, but she wants to have this moment with him. So she stubbornly drags him to the dead center of the area and gets him to start dancing with her. It's at about the moment where the song registers with him and she glances up at his face that she knows he realizes that she's just tricked him into spending an entire night out with her.
It's a date.
They've been careful to avoid them, always keeping things physical with conversation and little things like carry out and old movies on TV being their main activities. She's never asked him for more than that, but after a year of always popping up to be with him wherever he goes (and the frequency of her visits starting to come on closer together and for longer stretches of time) she knows for sure now that she wants more. The fact that she feels so much for him and hasn't let herself say any of it yet needs to be addressed too. They've been doing this for long enough that she doesn't shy away from the fact that she thinks she might love him. She just has no idea how to approach that matter with him, especially not in a way that won't have him vanishing for a few months.]
Come on, don't look at me like that.
[She quietly pleads with him. The look on her face strongly resembles a kicked puppy, and it only becomes more dejected when she fears he might pull and run away. ]
You're enjoying yourself, aren't you? It's only a dance.
[But it isn't, not to her. And she's positive that they both know that.]
[ When's the last time he's had a night off? And hell, at that, the last time he's cracked a grin and possibly even bellowed out laughterโ memories are plagued with nothing but opaque images of those he's lost, a carousel much similar to the one that swirls in the distance behind them, boasting it's fluorescent lights and fading, childish giggles. It's easy to lose himself to it; really, it's easy to lose himself in her: how her mouth carries the taste of cotton candy throughout the night, how he uses it as an excuse to dip in for more; the teddy bear he'd nearly just paid the guy for given the entire system was rigged.
It dawns on him, once she'd gotten him to the top of that ferris wheel that with her, with Clara, he had such little power. She was the fracture in his facade, the ache to own softer hands, rather than those filled with callouses if only to hold her a little gentler- treat her as well as she deserved. It never takes long for him to spiral down that warred mental path, even with the dazing festival colors flaring within those wide hues of hers, staring up at him now as realization hardens across his features.
It was easier, this thing they did, without the titles. Because with titles came expectations, and all the more room for him to disappoint her, and such hope glimmered right there in the way she looked at him, like a plea she's too fearful to voice. He isn't naive enough not to know why. He's a runner. Always has been, and so maybe she's become sick of it. Their ghosting around feelings, meeting up as if it were just for a satiable fuck, nothing else.
It had always been something else. Everything else. Doesn't mean he can let himself have it.
Palms remain at her sides, though the music around them has fallen to a hush at the tumult of panic that envelopes him. There's a furrow of his brow, and it's like a knife lodged right into his chest, the way her tone slips to something melancholy. Longing. ] Clara...
[ It's almost a warning, but he bites his tongue. He doesn't want everything to turn hard, doesn't want to ruin a night that's been too good to him. It couldn't last though, could it? Nothing could. ] If it was just a dance, y'wouldn't have to say so.
[Her mouth always has had a habit of running away from her. It seems that this time, she may have started a conversation that she's not ready to take part in. A lump forms in her throat and she swallows it roughly, trying not to look too disappointed. She's gone into this determined not to push him for anything. She's known since the start that he's a broken man, and she's tried to build him up without ever asking for anything from him. His life doesn't let him give hope easily.
But she still wants to give him some anyway.
The fear that he might pull away and leave is incredibly real, and she holds onto him just a little tighter.]
I think it's time we did more than just dance.
[She cautiously tells him, trying to ignore the way her voice trembles. This is unknown territory, dangerous territory. He may not forgive her for diving right in and dragging him along with her. But when you love someone, shouldn't you fight to have them? Shouldn't you want to let them know how you feel? ]
[ 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 skullโ 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.]
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no subject
She's a reckless daredevil and loves everything they go on, even the roller coaster that he swears isn't bolted in the right way and the ferris wheel that he swears is going to kill him once they reach the top and sit there for a while. She thinks she gets him to relax well enough with some kissing.
But nothing's likely going to be able to get him to relax as she guides him out onto a grassy area that's set up for dancing. The stars are out overhead and a live Journey cover band is playing Faithfully. It's more than a little cliche, but she wants to have this moment with him. So she stubbornly drags him to the dead center of the area and gets him to start dancing with her. It's at about the moment where the song registers with him and she glances up at his face that she knows he realizes that she's just tricked him into spending an entire night out with her.
It's a date.
They've been careful to avoid them, always keeping things physical with conversation and little things like carry out and old movies on TV being their main activities. She's never asked him for more than that, but after a year of always popping up to be with him wherever he goes (and the frequency of her visits starting to come on closer together and for longer stretches of time) she knows for sure now that she wants more. The fact that she feels so much for him and hasn't let herself say any of it yet needs to be addressed too. They've been doing this for long enough that she doesn't shy away from the fact that she thinks she might love him. She just has no idea how to approach that matter with him, especially not in a way that won't have him vanishing for a few months.]
Come on, don't look at me like that.
[She quietly pleads with him. The look on her face strongly resembles a kicked puppy, and it only becomes more dejected when she fears he might pull and run away. ]
You're enjoying yourself, aren't you? It's only a dance.
[But it isn't, not to her. And she's positive that they both know that.]
no subject
It dawns on him, once she'd gotten him to the top of that ferris wheel that with her, with Clara, he had such little power. She was the fracture in his facade, the ache to own softer hands, rather than those filled with callouses if only to hold her a little gentler- treat her as well as she deserved. It never takes long for him to spiral down that warred mental path, even with the dazing festival colors flaring within those wide hues of hers, staring up at him now as realization hardens across his features.
It was easier, this thing they did, without the titles. Because with titles came expectations, and all the more room for him to disappoint her, and such hope glimmered right there in the way she looked at him, like a plea she's too fearful to voice. He isn't naive enough not to know why. He's a runner. Always has been, and so maybe she's become sick of it. Their ghosting around feelings, meeting up as if it were just for a satiable fuck, nothing else.
It had always been something else. Everything else. Doesn't mean he can let himself have it.
Palms remain at her sides, though the music around them has fallen to a hush at the tumult of panic that envelopes him. There's a furrow of his brow, and it's like a knife lodged right into his chest, the way her tone slips to something melancholy. Longing. ] Clara...
[ It's almost a warning, but he bites his tongue. He doesn't want everything to turn hard, doesn't want to ruin a night that's been too good to him. It couldn't last though, could it? Nothing could. ] If it was just a dance, y'wouldn't have to say so.
no subject
But she still wants to give him some anyway.
The fear that he might pull away and leave is incredibly real, and she holds onto him just a little tighter.]
I think it's time we did more than just dance.
[She cautiously tells him, trying to ignore the way her voice trembles. This is unknown territory, dangerous territory. He may not forgive her for diving right in and dragging him along with her. But when you love someone, shouldn't you fight to have them? Shouldn't you want to let them know how you feel? ]
We've been dancing for a year now.
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 skullโ 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.]