#leatherandsoil
Can’t Hold Out Forever - Paul/Dean
“Do you have taste?”
Now that was an interesting question. One that Paul figured he should chalk up to the alcohol. Still…they hadn’t had THAT much. Not to where Dean should be rambling. And yet…he’d asked. Looking for reassurance, probably. Well, Paul could certainly do that.
“I do, actually.” he said, offering him a sweet, sincere smile. Now was not the time for a guffaw or a smirk. Dean had asked the question in all seriousness, and he deserved a serious answer. "I happen to have excellent taste. I’m friends with you, aren’t I?“ Yes, it was cheesy and corny, and would normally earn him an elbow in the ribs. But he meant every word. Dean was a GOOD man. Good to his customers, good to his employees, good to his friends. Hell, good to random people on the street. More than once, when faced with a situation, Paul asked himself what Dean would think of him if he did one thing or the other. The best memories he could recall to mind? Dean was always present. The man was the benchmark for so many good things in his life, the measuring stick against which he judged everything else. And so far, Dean was always on top. Which was an unfortunate bit of phrasing his traitorous brain chose to pounce on. That and…
"Bet you taste like that fancy coffee you drink all the time.” And really, he probably did. Likely as not, pumpkin spice something right now. Cinnamon, clove, cream, coff…Paul’s mind came to a screeching halt as Dean’s eyes widened just a tiny bit. Oh shit. Oh SHIT he’d said that OUT LOUD.
Dean’s feelings about the answer he wanted Paul to give him were mixed… or more like jumbled up in one enormous knot. A part of him wanted his friend to laugh the question off… to not notice (or pretend not to notice) how loaded it actually was. Another part of him desperately wanted an honest answer. Wanted to know exactly how Paul felt about him. He sensed himself tense up as his friend started to speak… and then quickly relaxed as the answer registered. ‘I’m friends with you…’ His heart was racing. ‘What about more than that? More than friends?’ he wanted to ask… but didn’t dare.
It was Lucy’s betrayal - losing her - that was making him act this way… Him and Paul… it wouldn’t work. Couldn’t work. If things went bad (like they always seemed to) Dean would lose one of the last good things he still had in his life. It would destroy him. Without a doubt.
He almost had himself convinced when Paul spoke again. This time, the words crept through his brain like a silent assassin, slicing through even the tiniest thought that tried to tell him that where they were headed was a terrible idea. Paul wanted to know what he tastedlike. It wasn’t a joke. Dean could tell that much by the sudden panic of realization on his friend’s face. He didn’t like that look being there. He wanted Paul to laugh… and smile. So Dean said the only thing he could say - the thing he hoped he wouldn’t regret one day. “You wanna get out of here and find out?”
Just Like Starting Over - Paul/Dean
“Not really all that hungry…” Dean mumbled, but Paul could see that he’d broken through. Hell, Dean was probably more hungry than he realized, but grief had a way of numbing those things. The taller man let Paul lead him inside the house. Out in the backyard, Paul’s hellhound Princess looked up briefly at the sound of their footsteps on the porch, but she recognized Dean and so went back to her dozing in the grass.
Paul steered Dean over to the kitchen table, pulled out a chair and nudged him into it. Strange, but he’d done it for others once or twice. Hated that he had to. He didn’t hate the doing, oh no. He would do anything for any of his friends. Anything in the world. He just hated the circumstances that made such a thing necessary. Something bad had happened and it broke everything. He knew that broken feeling, and it broke his heart that someone like Dean should have to go through it as well. Especially with quite literally no one to help him through it. Paul knew, without a doubt, he’d have never made it by himself when he’d lost Kelly those years ago. Plain and simple. Friends had helped him hold himself together, kept him from doing something stupid. He was going to do the same for Dean.
“So it’s been weird warm for as late in the season as it is.” he rambled as he grabbed a large coffee mug out of his cupboard. Stepping over to the eternally warming coffee pot, he poured Dean a brimful cup, black and strong and just south of scalding. Setting it down in front of his friend, he continued. “But forecast says it’s finally going to snow tomorrow, and it’s a big one. They’re not calling it a blizzard yet, but I’ll bet they’ll be issuing warnings by tonight.” He stepped back over to the counter, in front of the Crock Pot full of potato soup. Fished around in a drawer for a ladle. Grabbed two big bowls from the other cupboard. “And judging by the temps they’re calling for afterwards, it’ll stay around too. Winter might actually be here.” He filled both bowls with creamy, cheesy goodness and after dropping the ladle into the sink, grabbed a pair of spoons from a drawer.
“Secret recipe.” he said, setting the bowl and spoon in front of Dean. “And there’s plenty more, so eat up.” If he was lucky, Dean’s instincts would take over and he would eat, and then eat some more because hunger would kick in. Not to mention Paul didmake a damn good potato soup.
Time seemed to blur as Paul sat him down and poured him coffee. It probably wasn’t anything special, but the strong aroma seemed to gradually pull the hunter from his haze. Or maybe it was more the fact that Paul was talking to him… normal talk. No questions or suppositions… though he had to have guessed by now. Just… weather. He frowned at the thought of snow. If that happened, he wouldn’t be able to leave. His impala was a lot of things, but definitely not a vehicle meant for heavy snowfall.
Without really thinking about his actions - body maybe even acting on its own - he reached out and cupped the mug, bringing the steaming liquid gingerly to his lips before taking several slow sips. It burned his mouth, but the pain felt almost unreal… like it wasn’t really his. The flavor was as rich as the scent and bitter in all the right ways. Dean shuddered, feeling muscles unclench that he hadn’t even realized were tense.
Then there was food in front of him - it smelled like cheesy heaven - and his stomach gurgled almost painfully. Hell… He didn’t want this. Didn’t deserve it! He’d let his brother die! He’d failed. The one thing their dad had always told him to do above all else - look out for Sammy… and he’d fucked it up. Dean’s gaze darted up to Paul, and then back down to the bowl of soup. If he wanted to get out of here later he needed to eat now. Let his friend think he’d won. So, with a hand that almost didn’t shake, Dean picked up the spoon and began to eat.
He’d always known Paul could cook. There’d been a handful of times when he and Sam had stopped to have a weapon repaired and spent a couple of nights in the house while the man worked his magic. But this was better than anything he’d ever tasted. Okay - better than any non-burger. Something deep within him began to relax like his muscles had. ‘You could stay here,’ it whispered. ‘It would be safe… it would give you time… it would…’ No! Dean shoved those thoughts back down from wherever the hell they’d come. What Paul was offering was something he didn’t deserve, and he was only accepting it right now to placate the man until he could leave without being stopped. That was all. (And yet those thoughts didn’t stop him from taking a second bowl when it was offered… or a third.)
He knew he should be talking more… trying to seem more ‘normal,’ but all the hunter seemed to be able to manage were occasional sounds of ‘listening’ as Paul continued to talk as if nothing was wrong. A part of him said he should be angry with the other man for pretending like that… but Dean couldn’t summon the willpower. Besides, most of him liked it. The random conversation reminded him of how life had been when Sam was alive… and Dean couldn’t deny he yearned for those feelings of ‘normalcy’ again. Even while still utterly convinced he didn’t deserve them.
Playing With Fire - Paul/Dean
Even though it was a joke, even though it was a joke that he had started, Paul’s heart shifted just a bit when Dean pulled away from him. He couldn’t bear the thought, even in jest.
“Hey now!” he said, chasing the taller man’s embrace. “I didn’t say I didn’t want help with any of that.” he threw his arms around Dean’s waist, pulled him back in close. “You know I love it when we share a bath. I always end up so clean, but so very dirty at the same time.” No lie there. It helped to have a partner to scrub down places he couldn’t reach (and with the way his joints refused to bend all the way, there were many of those places). And if that partner was Dean, things almost always took a…fun…turn. Hands roaming, stroking and squeezing and kneading. Skin shiny and slick from soap suds. More often than not, they ended up pleasuring one another until the water turned cold and their skin began to wrinkle.
“And it isn’t as though we can’t share a meal either.” he continued. The two of them stretched out on the bed, naked and perhaps still damp from their bath, dining on morsels of steak and tender vegetables. Fluffy bread rolls and creamy honey butter. And definitely some of the inn’s Dark Horse Ale. It really was very good stuff.
“Or we could forgo all of that and fuck one another senseless as soon as we close the door behind us.” Paul’s voice dropped lower as he spoke. “Although that presents a conundrum of choice too. Do I want to swallow you whole or be speared on your cock?” he smiled up at his lover. “They both have their benefits. If I’m on my knees with you all the way down my throat you make the loveliest sounds…sounds I don’t get to hear very often. And your hands are in my hair and you taste so good. Better than the Dark Horse even. But….if you’re fucking me then I get to see you. I get to see your face as your control slips and you pound me harder. And I get to kiss you too. Something I never get tired of.” He smiled up at his lover. “Truthfully I’m having a hard time deciding what I want to do…”
Dean got precisely the reaction he’d been expecting (and hoping for) Paul’s voice, low and rough in his ear, telling the hunter all the things he loved about their time together… and making him ache for want of it. He chuckled, leaning in to inhale the sharp scents of iron and wood smoke that were so distinctly Paul. “I’m going to miss these smells,” he murmured. “But I think I like the idea of a bath first…”
Not that the idea of fucking each other senseless as soon as the door was closed didn’t sound amazing! But Dean enjoyed doing other things with Paul, too. And the truth was, he wanted to cram as many of those things into each visit as he possibly could. The time they spent together was never enough. But the hunter couldn’t stay… and he couldn’t ask Paul to give up his livelihood for a dangerous life on the road. So they took what they could get - and that had to be enough.
“So… unless you’ve got anything else that needs doing…?” He didn’t say more, just gently tugged the other man closer and closer to the door. “I think we should try and see exactly how many of those ideas of yours we can fit into a single night…”
Can’t Hold Out Forever - Paul and Dean
Paul’s plan seemed to be working rather well. Gellert and Kelly kept the wings and beer coming, and Paul kept the conversation moving. Dean smiled and nodded and laughed, which was good. But there was still a little sadness creeping around the edges. Once or twice Paul caught the other man staring, but he simply chalked it to getting lost in thought. Hell, Dean had just come off a years long committed relationship. A little disconnect from reality was definitely allowable. Paul was there to make sure he didn’t stay that way though. Bring him out of that funk with ideas for Fallout mods and asking him about in game easter eggs. He was just going to bring up a Youtube vid for most ridiculous Deathclaw kills when Dean asked if there was something wrong with him.
Paul felt his heart crack. Of course Dean would wonder if he’d done something wrong. That was how he was. He always wanted to think he could fix something, try harder, do better. And when things did go bad, it never occurred to him that it might be the other party’s fault. He was, in fact, too good for this world.
“Hey man.” Paul said, setting down his phone and leaning across the table to look Dean in the eyes. Gorgeous, bottle green eyes that he could drown in. No…NO dammit. “There is absolutely nothing wrong with you. You are the kindest, smartest, bestperson on this damn planet. Anyone would consider themselves lucky to have you. Some people are just blind and don’t have any taste.”
Paul stared back at him and for a moment Dean forgot to breathe. For a flash of an instant his friend’s answer didn’t matter… not so long as those dark, soulful eyes stayed locked on his. And then the other man was speaking and Dean found himself leaning in, hanging on every word. Smartest. Kindest. Lucky to have you. ‘I’m the one who’s lucky,’ he thought. All because of Paul. The man had made his life infinitely better. And if Dean had ever thought he could be everything his friend deserved… well, he’d…
The words slipped out, escaping from his lips before he could even consider their ramifications. “But what about you?” he heard himself asking - as if the voice were disembodied and not a part of his own self. “Do you have taste?” He let the question settle between them, surprised by how little he was regretting it. Instead, Dean found his heart beating rapidly, watching for Paul’s reaction as he tried to gauge how the man was about to respond. And still, sitting there with his heart in his throat, he didn’t regret it. There was nothing but anticipation of the answer… and the desire to lean in closer.
Playing With Fire - Paul/Dean
“Well, I think the first order of business would be a bath. For me at least.” Paul said with a laugh. "I’ve been at the forge all day and I’m sweaty and dirty and…stiff.“ The last word was chosen deliberately, in keeping with the joke. He looked up at Dean and batted his eyelashes in a supremely ridiculous fashion. "Did you say you’ve gotten settled? At the inn, I presume?” Of course the inn, where else would they stay? Not waiting for an answer, Paul rattled on gleefully.
“A bath, yes. A tub big enough I can stretch out in and scalding hot water. And soap! Lots of soap. And those lovely fluffy towels.” The thought of Dean’s hands on him, roaming over wet skin, tangling in lathered hair was inspiring, truthfully. But Paul was having fun with this. "After a bath, a meal. I don’t know about you but I’m famished.“ he grinned. “I would love a big slab of beef for dinner. With some potatos. And ale! Their Dark Horse Ale is so very good. Strong and dark and spiced just a little bit.” he frowned in mock concern. "I hope they have some left. I know they were working on their last barrel and the next shipment won’t be in for a few days.“
It was clear almost from the beginning of Paul’s little speech that he was toying with Dean. But he didn’t see any harm in playing along, allowing a dismayed frown to settle under eyes that couldn’t quite hide his amusement. This was just one of the many reasons he’d fallen for the blacksmith all those years ago. The man had a sense of humor that never failed to amuse him.
But two could play Paul’s game, and Dean played it just as well as his lover. “If all you need for your… stiffness is a bath and some good ale, then maybe I should let you have the room at the inn and just sleep in my vardo? There’s no reason to stay where I’m not… needed, is there?” Even after so many months since his last visit, the Hunter can still hear Paul’s voice, breathless and impatient, telling Dean how much he needed him. The memory drew a hint of a smile.
“So, if you don’t have any other plans for your evening, I guess I’ll just be going…” With melodramatic reluctance, he pulled away from Paul and made as if to head for the door.
Can’t Hold Out Forever - Paul and Dean
Paul was relieved that he’d thought to call ahead and make a reservation. that sounded more like something one would do for a fancy five star place, not a local bar. But seeing Dean’s face go from sad panda to relieved joy was proof that Paul’s instincts were right. And the tone of the other man’s voice when he called Paul one of a kind made his heart ache just a little. Their favorite table was just a little thing, but it made Dean smile and tonight that was the important thing. Making Dean happy. Making him feel good. Paul would certainly do the ‘feel good’ thing in other ways if only Dean were open to them. But…he’d never expressed any interest. Not even a blip. So Paul would make him happy in other ways. Bro stuff. Currently alcohol and killer chicken wings.
"Extra barbecue, extra ranch.“ That would be Gellert, one of the owners of the place. Bartender and Kelly’s husband. The blonde set the heaping platters down on their table with a smile and gave them a nod. "Be right back with your drinks.” he said.
Dean didn’t say much, he just dug into his chicken. He liked his stuff to taste strong, which was the reason for the extra sauce and dip. The only problem was that it made a hell of a mess. Well…not normally a problem, but Paul hated to be ogling his best friend when he was freshly broken up. Not even hours broken up. 'But available now.’ his traitorous brain reminded him. Paul mentally gave his brain the finger and reminded himself to watch his drinking lest he say something he might possibly regret in the morning.
As if summoned by his thoughts, Gellert appeared again, Guinness beers in hand. "Anything else you just let us know.“ he said with another smile before heading back to the bar.
With a lopsided grin, Paul pulled a bottle from the bucket, twisted off the cap, and slid it over to Dean. The other man looked up from his wings, mouth positively covered in sauce, and grinned back before taking in a swig. Paul’s heart cracked just a little. Dean was game. And that was good.
Focus on the food and the booze… and Paul. That’s all he needed. He’d power through this like he did everything else. Water off a duck’s back. So what if Lucy had been his longest committed relationship? So what if he’d been struggling for over a year to find ways to keep them that way… to make it work. Deep down, maybe he’d known? He just hadn’t wanted to do anything about it - hadn’t wanted to admit to himself that he’d failed. Again. Maybe he just wasn’t cut out for the whole ‘committed’ thing. Maybe all he was really good for was a good fuck now and then.
Those thoughts and more skittered around inside his head as the hours ticked by. But they weren’t front and center. Paul made sure of that. His friend kept him present with good food, good beer, and welcome conversation. Dean had to shake himself a little when he realized he’d been focusing on Paul’s mouth. No. No he couldn’t go there. Could he? But he couldn’t just… come out. And surely someone as open about his sexuality as Paul was wouldn’t be okay with keeping secrets…? Fuck. It was stupid to even think the man would be interested. Yes - he was currently single. And yes, they worked well together. Hell - the best of friends from day one. But what if it didn’t work? What if he fucked it up like he did everything else? Then he’d not only lose his lover, but his best friend, too. Was he willing to even risk that?
Dean watched Paul through that lovely mind haze which almost always indicated, ‘you should stop drinking now.’ And suddenly, he so badly wanted to know what the other man was thinking. Not just thinking in general… but what Paul thought of HIM specifically. Without really thinking the question through, the words slipped easily past his lips, “Hey… can I get an honest opinion from a friend?” He plowed forward with the words, wanting to finish before Paul answered. “What’m I doing wrong? Can’t keep a girl in my life if the world depended on it. There somethin’ wrong with me?”
Can’t Hold Out Forever - Paul and Dean
Even when he was a wreck, Dean was wonderful to hug. Didn’t lock up, didn’t squirm. He relaxed into Paul’s embrace, hugged him back.
“So…we getting outta here or what?” Dean asked, stepping back. Paul nodded and offered him a bright smile.
“I’ll drive.” he said. If things went right, Dean would be in no kind of driving shape by the end of the night. Truthfully, Paul might be a little iffy himself, but he could handle it. He didn’t want his friend to have to fret about anything . And if it came down to it, Kelly or Gellert would probably give either of them a ride. They were good people like that.
The drive to Kelly’s Irish Pub was short and uneventful. The parking lot was just starting to get crowded, but Paul snuck into a close spot as someone drove off with take out. He was glad he had called ahead, because with the ball game on it was shaping up to be a busy night. The patio lights were all ready on and customers were spilling out into the cool fall air to drink and chatter amongst the pumpkin festooned tables. That meant harvest ales and Oktoberfest brews inside, which suited Paul just fine. Thankfully, no pumpkin spice wings though. Just the standard barbecue and buffalo.
Paul led the way inside, barely pausing to catch Tim Kelly’s eye and nod at him. The acknowledgement was returned and Paul headed around to the booth he’d called about earlier. Dean had beat him there, and was looking deflated at the “reserved” sign perched in the middle of the table.
“Don’t worry, its reserved for us.” Paul said, sliding in on one side. “I made arrangements.”
Dean had had some pretty decent friends over the years… but none of them came close to Paul. This was a guy he trusted maybe more than he trusted his own brother - and that was saying something. There was only one secret Dean had ever kept from Sam… and it was the same one he’d kept from Paul - the fact that he was bisexual. Beyond that singular fact, Paul knew everything about him that there was to know. One day, Dean hoped he’d work up the nerve to tell his friend the truth. Hell, if he ever told anyone, it would be Paul. The idea of telling his family still scared the living daylights out of him. Sam… might accept it. Maybe. But their dad? Yeah… Dean didn’t think that was likely to happen - not in a million years.
The mechanic dwelled in his thoughts, staying pretty quiet on the drive to the bar. It was busy when they arrived, but Dean didn’t mind. He hoped the noise would help distract him. Without question, he followed Paul through the crowd, though he knew where they were headed (or thought he did.) There was a booth they both liked. It was out of the way enough that they could talk to each other, but had a good line of sight to one of the big screen TVs and was also close enough to the bar that they got drinks and food quickly.
He headed for it without really thinking, but then stopped short at the ‘reserved’ sign that sat on the freshly cleaned surface. Shit. His heart deflated a little more… right up until he watched Paul take a seat. As his friend spoke, Dean fought the urge not to tear up again. Best damn friend in the world! That’s what Paul was. With a relieved grin, Dean slid into the other side. “You’re one-of-a-kind, man. You know that, right?” Easing back in the familiar seat, Dean let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. This was… it was okay. It was all going to be okay.
Playing With Fire
Paul happily snuggled closer into Dean’s arms. Leather armor, harness oil, forest…all things Paul smelled on a daily basis, but somehow when hung on this man, those scents made him extraordinarily happy. He could only keep Dean for a short while-there were beasts to be captured and monsters to be subdued and all manner of bad things to be fought. Paul’s life and livelihood was here in Oak, and much as he missed Dean when he was gone, at least here he could provide the man with a place to return too. Not to mention all the affection he could handle, as with the soft kiss he leaned into. But also, sometimes in the form of good natured teasing.
“Punishment?” he scoffed, breaking free of the other man’s lips to smirk up at him. "I rather doubt you’d consider anything I do to you as punishment. In fact, I seem to remember you enjoyed being bound to the bed last time around.“ That had been a wonderful, memorable couple of days. The two of them barely left their shared room (thank goodness for good natured innkeepers) and had thoroughly worn one another out. Paul had come away with an ache that lasted for two days and a new appreciation for Dean’s stamina. Dean had left with a thoroughly satisfied smile on his face and faint marks on his wrists and ankles.
Having his arms full of Paul reminded Dean of the good days - before his mom… The blacksmith smelled of hearth and home and all things Dean wanted most in his life. The crisp scent of smoked wood and the sharp tang of hot metal all rolled into a man who was equal parts strong and soft. He inhaled deeply, trying to memorize that scent… take it into his being.
Dean protested a little when Paul pulled away… but it was mostly for show. He liked looking into the other man’s eyes, taking in the lines of his face and the expression of love he always saw there. “Oh, I bet there are a few things you could do that would have me begging for you to stop,” the Hunter teased. “Begging and pleading and squirming…” He trailed off with a breathless laugh and a quick wink. “But you’re not wrong. Last time was… amazing.” Paul had done things to him he STILL had dreams about. Such very good dreams…
“So… how would you like tonight to go, then?” Or today. Hell, right now he’d be happy to throw the other man over a bench… (or get himself thrown.) But that might get Paul into trouble if someone walked in. Besides… using the inn was fun. They both got to pamper each other for a few days - do something nice together. Not that Dean needed the inn. Paul was all he needed… HEmade the trip worth it. Who’s bed they wound up in didn’t matter one lick.
Can’t Hold Out Forever - Paul and Dean
Paul busied himself with tidying while Dean got himself cleaned up. Wipe down the desk-that wasn’t difficult, he’d cleaned up worse messes in the shop all the time. Pick up the things that the hag had knocked over during her temper tantrum. Try not to be angry about things. That was the hard part. Dean was such a nice guy, such a good man, and he deserved better than life kicking him in the balls like this. Well, Paul had a plan to make sure Dean didn’t see the bottom of his beer glass all night. With that in mind, he dug out his cellphone and dialed Kelly’s bar.
“Hey its Paul.” he said when the Irishman picked up. “Ehhhh…not great? yeah no….but can you do me a favor? Can you have that booth back around the corner set up? No, nothing like that. Double order of barbecue wings. Extra sauce. and Guinness. Probably a double of that too. And keep it coming. On me. Yeah, it was kinda bad. All right. Good, see you in a bit.”
He hung up, stowed the phone, and continued tidying. He was just shutting down the computer when he heard Dean coming down the stairs.
“Uh…ready when you are…” the other man said. Paul nodded, straightening up. Ah Hell, he couldn’t go like this though. He had liberal smears of paint on his shirt and likely smelled of solvents. Dean looked decent and Paul looked like a paint monkey.
“Yeah, just a sec. Lemme swap out this shirt.” he said. He kept a couple clean ones in the closet just in case he got really filthy, and he grabbed one now. Tugging the dirty one over his head, he hung it on the doorknob momentarily while he pulled on the fresh one. Ugh, now he remembered why he never wore this one. Just a hair too small and the fabric was a lil bit thin. But it would do for keeping his hairy damn self covered. Grabbing the dirty one off the knob, he turned back towards Dean. Aw, fuck. His friend was smiling gamely…or at least trying to. Nothing for it. Man needed a hug. And now that he wasn’t covered in paint, Paul could deliver.
Closing the distance between them in a few strides, Paul threw his free arm around Dean’s shoulders and pulled him close. “Its all right.” he said softly. “It sucks but its gonna be okay. I promise.”
Dean couldn’t help but watch… staring hard as Paul pulled off his paint-smeared shirt and switched into a clean one. Fuck. And the new one…! It clung to him practically like a second skin. His eyes jerked guiltily away as Paul turned back around, and then refocused on his friend’s face as the man moved towards him.
And then, just like that, he was wrapped in a hug that Dean didn’t want to end. It amazed the mechanic a little how relaxed the touch made him feel. “Shoulda paid more attention to the signs,” he mumbled in reply, trying not to inhale Paul’s scent too deeply. Worried he’d held on a little too long, Dean pulled back with a shuddering sigh. “They were all there, I just thought…” He shook his head. It didn’t matter what he’d thought. He’d been wrong, and now it was over. Even if Lucy did try to come back after this, there was no way in hell he’d let it happen.
“So… we getting outta here or what?” Dean asked, trying to put on a ‘brave’ face again.
Just Like Starting Over
Paul had figured it would be this way. Dean was supremely stubborn when he wanted to be, and apparently right now he wanted to be. That was all right. Paul’s late husband Kelly had been the KING of Stubborn, and Paul had learned his lessons well. One of them had been “Be nice, but don’t be a doormat.” So when Dean said something about not the best company, Paul just nodded.
“I wasn’t asking.” he said, letting the smallest tic of steel slide into his voice. Just so Dean could see he meant business. But he softened it with a smile. “I’m not going to make you talk. But…I am going to make you stay.” And he could. He would hate it if things came to blows, but there was no way he was letting Dean drive away. He cared about him too much to let him keep going on the road he was taking. Paul could help him, he would help him, but he had to get him to stay put first.
Walking over, he put a strong hand on Dean’s shoulder. If he tried to leave, he had a hold on him now. “yeah, I’ll take it all.” he said, not even sparing a glance for the contents of the trunk. He’d made most of it anyway. “But, it’ll keep. C’mon, let’s go eat.”
Paul wasn’t going to back down, dammit! Dean should’ve expected that. Hell, maybe deep down, he had. Maybe that was why some part of him had decided to come here. He didn’t even know what he wanted anymore. Right now though - right this very second - he didn’t want to fight about it. Maybe if he gave in for a bit… did what Paul asked… he could slip out later. After dinner… once Paul was asleep. Easier for both of them that way. Paul definitely didn’t need Dean’s mess in his life.
And that was when he felt the other man’s hand on his shoulder, the last of his resolve crumbling under that warm, strong grip. With a sigh, Dean closed the trunk back up. “Not really all that hungry…” he heard himself saying as he allowed Paul to lead him inside. It wasn’t a lie, and he didn’t say it to sound stubborn. The Hunter really couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt hunger. Hell, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten anything more than the stale, pre-packaged junk food the Impala had been stocked with before all of this happened.
Paul knew something was wrong the second Dean got out of the car. Just Dean, no Sam. That was…a little unusual, but not entirely unheard of. The boys went their own ways from time to time, but they always found their way back to one another. But Sam’s absence wasn’t the only thing that was ‘off’. There was Dean himself. Scruffy, disheveled, and…Paul couldn’t put a finger on it, but he knew that look in his eyes. He had a friend that had that look once. Army Spec Ops, just come back from the Middle Ease. Part furious, part hopeless, part dead. Blasted, thousand yard eyes. Just like Dean’s. Paul hadn’t let him out of his sight for six weeks, and with Dean looking the way he was, he wasn’t about to let him go anyplace either.
“All right.” Paul agreed, but the situation was far from all right. No Sam, and now getting rid of a lot of specialized gear. That was even more of a giveaway than his appearance. He’d have to convince the other man to stay, or barring that physically restrain him. “Tell you what though. There’s a pot of potato soup in the house been simmering all afternoon, and you look like you could use a meal.” And a cup of coffee. And a shower.
Dean’s refusal stuck in his throat. He wanted to say no, to say he had to be back on the road… but for some reason the words wouldn’t come. He swallowed, staring at Paul. Why couldn’t he say it? Why now, of all the times he needed the lies to flow, was he having such a hard time?! And now he’d been quiet for too long. The guy had to know something was up… had to suspect… Dean swallowed again and looked down at the keys in his hand. Get a grip, man. You can do this!
The grin felt a little off as it slid onto his face, but he kept it there as his head moved up to look at the weaponsmith again. “Thanks, but… I don’t think I’d make the best company right now…” And that was true enough. Not any kind of lie. So why did his body refuse to move? He looked away from Paul… and that made it easier. Ah - there was the catch. Paul was what was making this so hard. Damn… he hadn’t expected that. Hell - if anyone would get it, Paul would. But Dean didn’t want to talk. He didn’t want to ‘feel better.’ He didn’t deserveto.
Eyes still on the ground, the Hunter moved to the Impala’s trunk, slid the key in and popped it open. Then he found the secret latch and opened the large compartment hidden beneath. “You want any of this stuff or what?” His voice almost cracked on that one, but he pulled it together at the last second.
