Supernatural: Send Out the Morning Birds
Title: Send Out the Morning Birds
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters/Pairings: Sam/Dean, Lisa
Genre: OPOV
Rating: PG-13 for Language and Some Suggested Sexuality
Word Count: 2,519
Author’s Note: No one is going to read this, because fandom hates Lisa, but whatever. I really like OPOV, okay? I know this isn’t what’s going to happen, but it wanted to be written, so. This is for the Wine square on my schmoop_bingo card because I literally had no other excuse to write it. Title was taken from The Hush Sound’s song Hurricane. ETA 5/7/2013: Thanks to eos_rose, you can now read this in epub format here.
Summary: Lisa POV: A week ago, Dean Winchester knocked on her door, broken by something he wouldn’t share with her, and asked to stay. A visit in the night takes him from her just as suddenly. (A sort of coda to 5x22)
At first, Lisa is relieved to see Dean-alive, despite the fears his last visit had instilled in her. She learns quickly that she was wrong about this, over optimistic. Dean is not alive. He’s a rather animated corpse, but there’s not a spark of life left in him. It’s unsettling. Lisa never knew Dean well, but most of what had charmed her when she’d first met him was how full of energy he’d been. It doesn’t require a whole lot of familiarity or insight for the contrast between the man staying in her house and the man she’d met ten years ago-even the hardened version of that man Dean had been when he’d saved her son-to be excruciatingly clear.
He says ‘no thank you’ to the food she offers, pushes what’s on his plate around. He says the same when she offers to let him come to bed with her, choosing to sleep on the worn pull-out couch in the living room. The only thing he says yes to, always says yes to, is the wine. Lisa tries to convince herself she had a few glasses when she puts the empty bottles in the recycling at night.
It’s been a week and Dean is no closer to recovering from whatever happened to him. He doesn’t tell her who he lost, Lisa figures it isn’t her place to ask. Even so, she hates not doing anything, can’t stop her heart from breaking when she looks at Dean. Maybe it’s more of a maternal urge than a romantic one-Dean isn’t ready to love anyone or anything, or at least that’s what Lisa thought.
She’s already heading downstairs when she hears the knock. She was planning to insist on Dean coming to bed, even if it meant she would have to take the sofa for a night. It’s obvious he hasn’t slept for a minute since he got to her house, probably longer. She never gets as far as making the offer.
The rapping at the door is soft, unnaturally spaced, sounds almost like a code of some kind. Lisa wouldn’t have heard it if she hadn’t already been awake, and she knows Ben will sleep right through it. Dean is standing up in the middle of the room, staring at the door, when she reaches the entrance from the stairs. She’s not sure why, but she hesitates, waits to see what he does.
She can’t see his face, but there’s terror in the way he’s holding his body, a shake in his hands, and Lisa knows he was never this scared facing the monsters that were responsible for so many of her friends and former neighbor’s deaths. Whatever is on the other side of the door, Dean knows what it is, and Lisa doesn’t want to. So she’s surprised and even a little furious when Dean steps forward, unlocks the door, and turns the latch just long enough for it to swing open. Dean jumps back on instinct, poised for whatever it is to strike.
From the little Lisa can make out, the outline in the doorway is human. A man. A large one, big enough to intimidate most people, but not Dean. She never would have thought Dean would scare this easy.
“Hi,” it says.
Dean is silent. Lisa can’t see his face, but she can see his body shaking.
“You gonna invite me in?”
“That depends,” Dean says, voice frozen. “Not gonna have a problem getting over those salt lines, are you?”
The thing snickers, takes one long step forward into her living room. Lisa can see the light from the hallway, the one she leaves on so Ben can find the bathroom at night, play on half of the thing’s-no, she’s pretty sure it really is a man’s-face.
He looks tired, sure. Sad, in the way Lisa had only ever seen Dean look. He doesn’t look threatening or scary; in fact, he’s got a small, strained smile on his lips, a warm glow in his eyes. He’s not unattractive. She looks closer, and decides, strike that, he’s beautiful.
Dean isn’t as easily distracted by the enigmatic man’s appearance. “Christo.”
“I just got past the salt, and the Devil’s trap under the welcome mat. I’m not a demon.”
“Maybe not.” Dean steps closer. Lisa almost misses the second where his hands find his back, pulling something out, and suddenly there’s a bright silver light reflecting off a blade. The man isn’t caught off guard like she is, catches Dean’s arm and restrains him with some effort. Dean lets the fight go out of him, slumps a little in the stranger’s grasp.
“That’s no way to welcome me back.”
“You’re gonna kill me? Kill me. The theatrics can go.”
“Dean, give me the knife.”
“Not that stupid, not gonna fall for it just because you talk like him.”
The man shoves at Dean and has the knife in his hands before Dean can recover his footing.
“Look, man. Watch.” He brings the blade to his arm and slices, Lisa looks away, but she hears the quick breath Dean sucks in. “Not burning. Not a shifter.”
“What are you, then?”
One side of the man’s mouth tugs up. “Thought we gave up on labeling it?”
“Don’t be cute.”
He frowns. “Don’t you know me?”
“I know you’re awfully convincing. I also know that the person you expect me to believe you are isn’t ever gonna knock on my door.” Dean’s voice almost falters, but he stubbornly regains control.
“How can I prove it to you?” The stranger asks, taking a step closer. He’d been keeping his distance, making sure not to get too close and spook Dean, but the look on his face makes Lisa think maybe the urge to draw in wasn’t in his hands anymore. “Please, tell me what to do.”
Dean doesn’t move, isn’t trembling anymore. His order is clear and steady, “Touch me.”
The man looks down, then reaches out. His long fingers brush Dean’s cheek, move around to his back, between his shoulders, and stop there. Only his fingers still move, like they're spelling something out, but Lisa can’t recognize the letters. It’s not the first place anyone would think to reach for, and the touch is so soft, Lisa is surprised Dean can feel it through all the alcohol he drank before calling it a night. Nonetheless, Dean actually melts into the touch.
“Sammy,” he says, fisting two hands in the plaid of the stranger’s shirt and kissing him with so much energy it’s violent.
The man, Sammy, wraps his arms around Dean and kisses back. Lisa suddenly realizes she remembers a Sammy-remembers Dean didn’t say much about anything the night they’d met, but at one point between all the non-answers, he’d mentioned a Sammy. Sammy was his brother. He told her that the last time he’d come around, too. And Lisa had actually bought it. She watches them now, still holding on to each other. Dean’s face is buried in Sammy’s shoulder; the taller man is soothing him, running fingers through hair and down over his back. Brothers, Lisa thinks eloquently, my ass.
“How, Sam?”
Sammy shakes his head, even though Dean won’t see it. “Don’t know yet, really. Pulled out. I’m guessing it was Cas, but I don’t know for sure and I don’t know why.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Dean says, lifting his head, brushing his fingers over Sammy’s lips. “You’re okay.”
Sammy’s lips quirk and he pulls Dean close again. Dean buries his face in the crook of the other man’s neck. “Yeah, we’re okay, Dean.”
Lisa considers stepping in then, saying something to let Sammy know that just because he’s okay doesn’t mean Dean is. Lisa would have bet her life that Dean would never be okay again, and that’s something Sammy needs to be made aware of if he’s taking over. But she doesn’t move, doesn’t try to insert herself into what she clearly has no part in. Deep down, she knows she’s kidding herself that she could ever understand Dean’s trouble better than this man does. He knows exactly how screwed up Dean is, or he will once he’s had a few minutes alone with him.
Dean pulls back. To both her own and, if his response is any indication, Sammy’s surprise, he punches the other man hard in the face.
“Jerk!” Sammy exclaims, bringing his hand up to rub at his jaw.
“Don’t you ever do that again.”
“What, the right thing?”
Dean chuckles, leans up and brushes a kiss to the skin he’d just attacked for no reason. “Anything that ends like that. Wrong or right, I don’t give a shit. Not ever.”
“Hopefully, that was the last time,” Sammy says, leaning his forehead on Dean’s. “He’s still trapped, and it’s over. Let’s count our blessings, alright?”
“I’ve only got one, asshole,” Dean snaps, but his hands keep moving delicately over Sammy, pushing aside layers of clothing-not trying to take them off, just making sure there’s something solid underneath them. “Don’t make me lose it.”
“Not gonna, Dean. I promise.”
This seems to satisfy Dean, who pulls back from his friend’s embrace and sits on the edge of the mattress. “What do you want to do?”
Sammy frowns, takes a seat next to Dean, looking away, unknowingly in Lisa’s direction. His back is to Dean, so only Lisa sees how much he doesn’t mean the words he says in an easy, unemotional voice. “Do you want to stay here? I could go. Or…I don’t know, come visit sometimes, maybe even live nearby. If you want this, you deserve it. I’ll understand.”
Lisa has to cover her mouth to keep down the bitter bark of laughter. Dean was going to choose him when he thought Sammy would never come back, she can’t imagine why he thinks Dean would choose her now.
Dean lets out a slightly annoyed huff of his own. “Yeah, that’d be great. You could stop by for holidays, bring the KFC and booze.”
Sammy nods slowly, but he doesn’t look surprised, just disappointed. Dean creeps up behind him, putting an arm over his shoulders, pulling him until he crashes back. Lisa isn’t sure if it’s a hug pretending to be wrestling or the other way around or maybe a little of both. She hardly hears what Dean whispers, lips pressed close to Sammy’s ear.
“All that I want is to get into my car tomorrow and know you’ll be sitting next to me.”
Sammy turns his body then, kisses Dean and pushes him in another fighting embrace until Dean is lying on his back on the mattress and Sam is hovering over him, holding him down-more with his lips than any of the other strong limbs restricting Dean.
Dean breaks away after a while, Lisa can see their bodies beginning to shift, and she’s pretty sure she can guess what’s causing the friction. “Not here, Sam. The kid could see us.”
Sammy smiles, nuzzles Dean’s neck with the point of his nose. “Not gonna try anything. Just want…need to touch you. And kiss you.” His lips crash back down and this time, Dean accepts it happily, reaching up and tangling his fingers in Sammy’s hair.
When Sammy pulls back, Dean tries to lean back up, but the other man won’t meet his lips. He looks down at Dean and says, in a voice it’s almost painful to hear, “I love you so much.”
Lisa hates them both a little in the moment, because no one’s ever talked to her like that, and no one ever will. Even in her wildest fantasies (the ones she’s been having since Dean showed up: he gets over whatever’s been bothering him and really grows to care about her), he never talked to her like that. Lisa doesn’t think she’s ever heard anyone talk like that. And instead of acknowledging the moment, Dean takes it for granted. Laughs in the other man’s face.
“Yeah, I know, you woman.”
Sammy growls and buries his face against Dean. Lisa thinks he should be waiting for Dean to say it back, should be pretty furious at the lack of appropriate response. Lisa doesn’t see why Dean doesn’t just say it, she damn well knows he feels it. But Sammy doesn’t expect him to say it and Dean never gets around to it. He holds Sammy closer, his lips trembling as he shapes the other man’s name over and over and over.
Somehow, Dean manages to make the word “Sammy” sound exactly like “I love you,” no less passionate than when Sammy had spoken the words out loud. Lisa keeps watching as their kissing winds down, the desperate touches wane into occasional caresses, and finally all movement stops. Lisa realizes that the two men have fallen asleep and she can’t resist walking into the room, standing at the end of the bed to see them.
They’re both smiling warmly, Dean’s arm is thrown over Sam’s middle. They look, despite all logic, like children. Not in the playful way Dean has that lets him play tag with Ben for hours without getting tired, and not in the more common, broken way that makes Dean stare off into space like he’s lost and terrified when he thinks no one’s watching him. They just look content, naively comfortable and unaware of all the horrors Dean had been drowning in an hour ago.
Lisa has a feeling they’ve done this before, have been doing this their entire lives, and wonders what Sammy really is to Dean. A friend, maybe someone Dean saved when he was a kid and couldn’t leave behind. Lisa certainly saw enough children left orphaned from the one attack in her city, she can imagine Dean’s saved hundreds of kids with nowhere to go, even when the monster’s been stopped. It would be like him to pick one up, teach him to take care of himself, maybe get a little too attached. Lisa has to wonder how long they’ve been doing this, if she’d just been one of many stops on a denial tour that Dean eventually gave up on.
Good for him if that’s the case, she decides, because leaving what she’d just witnessed unaddressed would have probably been worse on them than any monsters could be. Good for her, too. At least she got Ben out of it. Sammy can have Dean, can certainly take better care of him than she’ll ever be able to.
She leaves the room then. She’s had all the spying she can take and she’s going to be pretty miserable when she has to get up to take Ben to school and get ready for work in a few hours.
She’s not the least bit surprised when she wakes to an empty living room, bed pulled back into a couch, no muscle car sitting in the driveway. A few days later, the recycling takes the last of the empty bottles away, and there’s nothing left to prove that Dean Winchester was ever there to begin with.
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters/Pairings: Sam/Dean, Lisa
Genre: OPOV
Rating: PG-13 for Language and Some Suggested Sexuality
Word Count: 2,519
Author’s Note: No one is going to read this, because fandom hates Lisa, but whatever. I really like OPOV, okay? I know this isn’t what’s going to happen, but it wanted to be written, so. This is for the Wine square on my schmoop_bingo card because I literally had no other excuse to write it. Title was taken from The Hush Sound’s song Hurricane. ETA 5/7/2013: Thanks to eos_rose, you can now read this in epub format here.
Summary: Lisa POV: A week ago, Dean Winchester knocked on her door, broken by something he wouldn’t share with her, and asked to stay. A visit in the night takes him from her just as suddenly. (A sort of coda to 5x22)
At first, Lisa is relieved to see Dean-alive, despite the fears his last visit had instilled in her. She learns quickly that she was wrong about this, over optimistic. Dean is not alive. He’s a rather animated corpse, but there’s not a spark of life left in him. It’s unsettling. Lisa never knew Dean well, but most of what had charmed her when she’d first met him was how full of energy he’d been. It doesn’t require a whole lot of familiarity or insight for the contrast between the man staying in her house and the man she’d met ten years ago-even the hardened version of that man Dean had been when he’d saved her son-to be excruciatingly clear.
He says ‘no thank you’ to the food she offers, pushes what’s on his plate around. He says the same when she offers to let him come to bed with her, choosing to sleep on the worn pull-out couch in the living room. The only thing he says yes to, always says yes to, is the wine. Lisa tries to convince herself she had a few glasses when she puts the empty bottles in the recycling at night.
It’s been a week and Dean is no closer to recovering from whatever happened to him. He doesn’t tell her who he lost, Lisa figures it isn’t her place to ask. Even so, she hates not doing anything, can’t stop her heart from breaking when she looks at Dean. Maybe it’s more of a maternal urge than a romantic one-Dean isn’t ready to love anyone or anything, or at least that’s what Lisa thought.
She’s already heading downstairs when she hears the knock. She was planning to insist on Dean coming to bed, even if it meant she would have to take the sofa for a night. It’s obvious he hasn’t slept for a minute since he got to her house, probably longer. She never gets as far as making the offer.
The rapping at the door is soft, unnaturally spaced, sounds almost like a code of some kind. Lisa wouldn’t have heard it if she hadn’t already been awake, and she knows Ben will sleep right through it. Dean is standing up in the middle of the room, staring at the door, when she reaches the entrance from the stairs. She’s not sure why, but she hesitates, waits to see what he does.
She can’t see his face, but there’s terror in the way he’s holding his body, a shake in his hands, and Lisa knows he was never this scared facing the monsters that were responsible for so many of her friends and former neighbor’s deaths. Whatever is on the other side of the door, Dean knows what it is, and Lisa doesn’t want to. So she’s surprised and even a little furious when Dean steps forward, unlocks the door, and turns the latch just long enough for it to swing open. Dean jumps back on instinct, poised for whatever it is to strike.
From the little Lisa can make out, the outline in the doorway is human. A man. A large one, big enough to intimidate most people, but not Dean. She never would have thought Dean would scare this easy.
“Hi,” it says.
Dean is silent. Lisa can’t see his face, but she can see his body shaking.
“You gonna invite me in?”
“That depends,” Dean says, voice frozen. “Not gonna have a problem getting over those salt lines, are you?”
The thing snickers, takes one long step forward into her living room. Lisa can see the light from the hallway, the one she leaves on so Ben can find the bathroom at night, play on half of the thing’s-no, she’s pretty sure it really is a man’s-face.
He looks tired, sure. Sad, in the way Lisa had only ever seen Dean look. He doesn’t look threatening or scary; in fact, he’s got a small, strained smile on his lips, a warm glow in his eyes. He’s not unattractive. She looks closer, and decides, strike that, he’s beautiful.
Dean isn’t as easily distracted by the enigmatic man’s appearance. “Christo.”
“I just got past the salt, and the Devil’s trap under the welcome mat. I’m not a demon.”
“Maybe not.” Dean steps closer. Lisa almost misses the second where his hands find his back, pulling something out, and suddenly there’s a bright silver light reflecting off a blade. The man isn’t caught off guard like she is, catches Dean’s arm and restrains him with some effort. Dean lets the fight go out of him, slumps a little in the stranger’s grasp.
“That’s no way to welcome me back.”
“You’re gonna kill me? Kill me. The theatrics can go.”
“Dean, give me the knife.”
“Not that stupid, not gonna fall for it just because you talk like him.”
The man shoves at Dean and has the knife in his hands before Dean can recover his footing.
“Look, man. Watch.” He brings the blade to his arm and slices, Lisa looks away, but she hears the quick breath Dean sucks in. “Not burning. Not a shifter.”
“What are you, then?”
One side of the man’s mouth tugs up. “Thought we gave up on labeling it?”
“Don’t be cute.”
He frowns. “Don’t you know me?”
“I know you’re awfully convincing. I also know that the person you expect me to believe you are isn’t ever gonna knock on my door.” Dean’s voice almost falters, but he stubbornly regains control.
“How can I prove it to you?” The stranger asks, taking a step closer. He’d been keeping his distance, making sure not to get too close and spook Dean, but the look on his face makes Lisa think maybe the urge to draw in wasn’t in his hands anymore. “Please, tell me what to do.”
Dean doesn’t move, isn’t trembling anymore. His order is clear and steady, “Touch me.”
The man looks down, then reaches out. His long fingers brush Dean’s cheek, move around to his back, between his shoulders, and stop there. Only his fingers still move, like they're spelling something out, but Lisa can’t recognize the letters. It’s not the first place anyone would think to reach for, and the touch is so soft, Lisa is surprised Dean can feel it through all the alcohol he drank before calling it a night. Nonetheless, Dean actually melts into the touch.
“Sammy,” he says, fisting two hands in the plaid of the stranger’s shirt and kissing him with so much energy it’s violent.
The man, Sammy, wraps his arms around Dean and kisses back. Lisa suddenly realizes she remembers a Sammy-remembers Dean didn’t say much about anything the night they’d met, but at one point between all the non-answers, he’d mentioned a Sammy. Sammy was his brother. He told her that the last time he’d come around, too. And Lisa had actually bought it. She watches them now, still holding on to each other. Dean’s face is buried in Sammy’s shoulder; the taller man is soothing him, running fingers through hair and down over his back. Brothers, Lisa thinks eloquently, my ass.
“How, Sam?”
Sammy shakes his head, even though Dean won’t see it. “Don’t know yet, really. Pulled out. I’m guessing it was Cas, but I don’t know for sure and I don’t know why.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Dean says, lifting his head, brushing his fingers over Sammy’s lips. “You’re okay.”
Sammy’s lips quirk and he pulls Dean close again. Dean buries his face in the crook of the other man’s neck. “Yeah, we’re okay, Dean.”
Lisa considers stepping in then, saying something to let Sammy know that just because he’s okay doesn’t mean Dean is. Lisa would have bet her life that Dean would never be okay again, and that’s something Sammy needs to be made aware of if he’s taking over. But she doesn’t move, doesn’t try to insert herself into what she clearly has no part in. Deep down, she knows she’s kidding herself that she could ever understand Dean’s trouble better than this man does. He knows exactly how screwed up Dean is, or he will once he’s had a few minutes alone with him.
Dean pulls back. To both her own and, if his response is any indication, Sammy’s surprise, he punches the other man hard in the face.
“Jerk!” Sammy exclaims, bringing his hand up to rub at his jaw.
“Don’t you ever do that again.”
“What, the right thing?”
Dean chuckles, leans up and brushes a kiss to the skin he’d just attacked for no reason. “Anything that ends like that. Wrong or right, I don’t give a shit. Not ever.”
“Hopefully, that was the last time,” Sammy says, leaning his forehead on Dean’s. “He’s still trapped, and it’s over. Let’s count our blessings, alright?”
“I’ve only got one, asshole,” Dean snaps, but his hands keep moving delicately over Sammy, pushing aside layers of clothing-not trying to take them off, just making sure there’s something solid underneath them. “Don’t make me lose it.”
“Not gonna, Dean. I promise.”
This seems to satisfy Dean, who pulls back from his friend’s embrace and sits on the edge of the mattress. “What do you want to do?”
Sammy frowns, takes a seat next to Dean, looking away, unknowingly in Lisa’s direction. His back is to Dean, so only Lisa sees how much he doesn’t mean the words he says in an easy, unemotional voice. “Do you want to stay here? I could go. Or…I don’t know, come visit sometimes, maybe even live nearby. If you want this, you deserve it. I’ll understand.”
Lisa has to cover her mouth to keep down the bitter bark of laughter. Dean was going to choose him when he thought Sammy would never come back, she can’t imagine why he thinks Dean would choose her now.
Dean lets out a slightly annoyed huff of his own. “Yeah, that’d be great. You could stop by for holidays, bring the KFC and booze.”
Sammy nods slowly, but he doesn’t look surprised, just disappointed. Dean creeps up behind him, putting an arm over his shoulders, pulling him until he crashes back. Lisa isn’t sure if it’s a hug pretending to be wrestling or the other way around or maybe a little of both. She hardly hears what Dean whispers, lips pressed close to Sammy’s ear.
“All that I want is to get into my car tomorrow and know you’ll be sitting next to me.”
Sammy turns his body then, kisses Dean and pushes him in another fighting embrace until Dean is lying on his back on the mattress and Sam is hovering over him, holding him down-more with his lips than any of the other strong limbs restricting Dean.
Dean breaks away after a while, Lisa can see their bodies beginning to shift, and she’s pretty sure she can guess what’s causing the friction. “Not here, Sam. The kid could see us.”
Sammy smiles, nuzzles Dean’s neck with the point of his nose. “Not gonna try anything. Just want…need to touch you. And kiss you.” His lips crash back down and this time, Dean accepts it happily, reaching up and tangling his fingers in Sammy’s hair.
When Sammy pulls back, Dean tries to lean back up, but the other man won’t meet his lips. He looks down at Dean and says, in a voice it’s almost painful to hear, “I love you so much.”
Lisa hates them both a little in the moment, because no one’s ever talked to her like that, and no one ever will. Even in her wildest fantasies (the ones she’s been having since Dean showed up: he gets over whatever’s been bothering him and really grows to care about her), he never talked to her like that. Lisa doesn’t think she’s ever heard anyone talk like that. And instead of acknowledging the moment, Dean takes it for granted. Laughs in the other man’s face.
“Yeah, I know, you woman.”
Sammy growls and buries his face against Dean. Lisa thinks he should be waiting for Dean to say it back, should be pretty furious at the lack of appropriate response. Lisa doesn’t see why Dean doesn’t just say it, she damn well knows he feels it. But Sammy doesn’t expect him to say it and Dean never gets around to it. He holds Sammy closer, his lips trembling as he shapes the other man’s name over and over and over.
Somehow, Dean manages to make the word “Sammy” sound exactly like “I love you,” no less passionate than when Sammy had spoken the words out loud. Lisa keeps watching as their kissing winds down, the desperate touches wane into occasional caresses, and finally all movement stops. Lisa realizes that the two men have fallen asleep and she can’t resist walking into the room, standing at the end of the bed to see them.
They’re both smiling warmly, Dean’s arm is thrown over Sam’s middle. They look, despite all logic, like children. Not in the playful way Dean has that lets him play tag with Ben for hours without getting tired, and not in the more common, broken way that makes Dean stare off into space like he’s lost and terrified when he thinks no one’s watching him. They just look content, naively comfortable and unaware of all the horrors Dean had been drowning in an hour ago.
Lisa has a feeling they’ve done this before, have been doing this their entire lives, and wonders what Sammy really is to Dean. A friend, maybe someone Dean saved when he was a kid and couldn’t leave behind. Lisa certainly saw enough children left orphaned from the one attack in her city, she can imagine Dean’s saved hundreds of kids with nowhere to go, even when the monster’s been stopped. It would be like him to pick one up, teach him to take care of himself, maybe get a little too attached. Lisa has to wonder how long they’ve been doing this, if she’d just been one of many stops on a denial tour that Dean eventually gave up on.
Good for him if that’s the case, she decides, because leaving what she’d just witnessed unaddressed would have probably been worse on them than any monsters could be. Good for her, too. At least she got Ben out of it. Sammy can have Dean, can certainly take better care of him than she’ll ever be able to.
She leaves the room then. She’s had all the spying she can take and she’s going to be pretty miserable when she has to get up to take Ben to school and get ready for work in a few hours.
She’s not the least bit surprised when she wakes to an empty living room, bed pulled back into a couch, no muscle car sitting in the driveway. A few days later, the recycling takes the last of the empty bottles away, and there’s nothing left to prove that Dean Winchester was ever there to begin with.