likedillinger | sixwordstories : do you want the truth or something beautiful?

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Current Location: Tree Hill, NC

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sixwordstories : do you want the truth or something beautiful?

Who: Dean and Brooke Davis (

ihadmittenson )
What: Dean says his final good-bye. And takes his last opportunity to tell Brooke the truth.
When: Wednesday. Following 5x17, 99 Problems
Where: Tree Hill, NC; Brooke's place
Note: Banner made by

secretlytodream
Verse: Brave New World

The familiar stretches of highway actually looked different to him this time. It took him a couple states to figure out exactly why. It wasn't the space between one goodbye and the next.

It was actually seven goodbyes.

There were the ones he couldn't actually say: everyone back in New York, and Cas, and above all these, Sam. The only goodbye he could afford his brother was the sound of the car driving off. It was better that way. There'd have been a scene otherwise, and a fight, and that's not how he wanted Sam to remember their last moments together. He'd rather it just be normal one minute, and over the next. No chick flick scenes. No explanations that he might not be able to put into words. No guilt leveled on top of what was already there.

No having to look Sam in the eyes and admit what he was going to do.

There was the goodbye he'd said on Sunday, after spending a day tracking Lisa down. It was a farewell to a dream that he'd held on to in the secret chambers of his heart: the picket fence.

The family.

As he cruised down the same expressways and routes he'd been traveling for as long as he could remember, he'd realized that was the third goodbye.   This was his home, or as close as it got. The open road, and the highways and byways of the continental United States, that he knew like the back of his hand. Like they were a well-worn paper route. There was comfort in them: in the lines as they flashed by, in the rest stops that were all of one mold. As he passed along them this time, an equally worn smile touched the edge of his lips, though there was no joy underlying it.

The Impala purred along the roads towards his second to last destination, and his smile flickered out a bit thinking of that fourth goodbye. There'd be no Paradise for his baby, after all. He doubted Michael was going to decide he wanted a slick ride to take along. Who knew where she'd end up. His hand all but caressed the steering wheel as he tried to pretend that maybe she'd be waiting for him again in heaven.

The fifth goodbye was the easy one. It was saying goodbye to the job, and he was almost sickened by how easy it was for him to do. He might have given Sam a lot of shit for being able to talk about settling down and dropping the business after this was 'over' but in truth, he was more than ready to be done. To let someone else take up the mantle.   Honestly, he was just plain tired.

The sixth was where he was heading now. He concentrated on that one, seeing as how he wasn't sure he was ready to face the seventh yet.

The last goodbye would be to everything that made him him, after all.

The Impala pulled up in front of Brooke's and he set her in park and sat there for a moment, staring out the window and trying to decide whether this was really what he wanted to do. But he knew it was. He wasn't going to leave this world without giving her the truth.

He owed her that much.

And beyond that, even more important, really: he'd never have another chance to let her see the real him. And he wanted her to know. Know some of it, at least.

He still couldn't put into words why, but he'd had lots of time to think about it on the drive. To think about how Lisa and Ben had been a promise for something that might have been his, in an ideal world.  A link back to his past even.

Brooke, on the other hand, had been his anchor to reality for a couple months now - a link back to the real world, and even to a potential future in it.

He should have known better, really, to even let himself entertain that idea.

The door slammed behind him, and he stuck both hands in his pockets as he walked slowly up the pathway to the front door. After a moment, he rapped on it three times.

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When she got home from New York, Brooke didn’t make it too far into the unpacking process. She managed to drop her many bags at the foot of the bed and that was about it, because as soon as she saw the purple monkey sitting on her nightstand, the worry that she’d been trying so hard to ignore took hold. In New York, she’d been able to hold it together pretty well, aside from her break down with Claire. It was easier there, with the entire city as a distraction. But just a few minutes alone in her apartment and Brooke had already started freaking out.

She had never been a good person to have around during a crisis. The only time she’d actually not completely lost it was during the school shooting and, even then, she only held it together long enough to tell off that reporter. It had always been too hard for her to deal with the people she cared about being in danger, or in pain. Especially when she had no idea how to help them. Even worse was not knowing where they were, or having any way to contact them.

That was probably what had her most worried: the fact that Dean disappeared and didn’t even bother to tell anyone where he was going. If he had left because of his fight with Sam, Brooke could forgive him for that. She could understand the need to just run away from something like that. But she couldn’t understand why he wouldn’t call anyone else. Between the Claires and herself, he probably had upwards of fifty missed calls on his phone, if not more. The fact that he hadn’t bothered to call anyone had her stomach in knots, and had her mind traveling down dangerous, terrible paths.

So she did the only thing she could think of; she took the monkey to the dining room table with her and started working on her sketches. Her cell phone sat quietly near her elbow and there were moments where she would just stare at it and try to will Dean into calling her. It never worked. All it did was frustrate her more and, before she could start crying, she would force herself to look away.

Over the past few days, that was all Brooke did. She stopped to eat occasionally, when her stomach was growling too loudly for her to focus, or when she got too tired to keep her eyes open. When she crawled into bed at strange hours of the day, her cell phone would be right next to her head, the ring tone set to the loudest setting it had just in case someone called with news. At one point, she had tried to go down to the café, but all it did was get her out of the house for a little while. Waiting tables wasn’t as distracting as working on her sketches, so she went home shortly after arriving.

It was stupid, really, how worried she was. Dean knew how to take care of himself, and yet she couldn’t stop thinking about the worst possible scenarios. It took everything in her power to not drain her cell phone’s battery life by constantly calling Sam and Claire to see if they’d heard anything, too.

She wasn’t exactly sure when she’d started caring about him this much, but it scared her almost as much as him being gone.

She had been so lost in her sketches that, when someone knocked on the door, Brooke jumped. Pressing a hand to her chest to calm her racing heart, she stood up and walked over. When she opened the door and saw Dean standing there, all she could do was stare at him and wonder if she was dreaming. Maybe she had fallen asleep on the table and this wasn’t real at all, just some way for her subconscious to torture her.

Eventually the shock wore off and, without even bothering to greet him, Brooke threw her arms around his neck and hugged him tightly.

The way she stared at him like he was a ghost answered the question he'd been entertaining as to whether or not she'd heard he was missing. But he wasn't expecting her to look this affected by his showing up, and so the hug took him by surprise.

His hands loosely found her waist and clung to her there, leaning his cheek against hers as she hugged him. He didn't want to start out by saying something too dramatic, and scaring the shit out of her, since she knew he'd left.

"Hey," he whispered gently, finally drawing back. "Can we talk?"

That was simple and straightforward enough.

Staring down at her, he couldn't believe how glad he was that he'd allowed himself this one last chance to see her. At the same time, there was a tightness in his gut, and he knew where it came from. He was terrified of how she was going to react to this. But he was going to soldier on, one way or another. She had to know, if she was going to be safe in the days to come.

That caught her off guard. Every time she had tried to get Dean to talk to her, he usually just closed up or changed the subject, claimed he didn't need anyone to help him. Didn't want anyone to help him. He said that he had Sam, and Cas, but she didn't think he even really talked to them about everything that was going on with him. The past few days had just been proof of that. And yet, as she looked up at him, she didn't feel any kind of excitement about him finally wanting to open up to her. Call it whatever you want, but Brooke knew those words never started a good conversation. They always led to fights or breakups, and her thoughts instantly went to Dean's phone call weeks ago, telling her he'd found someone else.

Pulling completely out of his arms, she tried to swallow around the fear in her throat. She didn't want this; he wasn't supposed to show up on her doorstep after disappearing just to tell her they were done.

Turning away from him, Brooke walked over to the table and started collecting her sketches into a pile. It was always easier for her to do something with her hands when conversations like this came about; it was a way for her to focus on something other than Dean's face. She would've preferred to still be in his arms, to be touching him, but that would've been too much to deal with. Unless she was overreacting, but that idea never entered her head. She was too busy trying to ignore the way her insecurities were clawing at her stomach to think that maybe he just wanted to talk, to explain why he'd ran off.

"That depends," she finally said, not bothering to lift her head to look at him. "Are you here to tell me you kissed my best friend, or that you found someone else?" It was supposed to be a joke; a terrible one, but a joke nonetheless. All it came out as was bitter and a little bit scared, which was definitely not how she wanted to be, but the last time she heard those words, she ended up with a broken heart.

Her instant withdrawal bothered him, foreshadowing exactly where he feared this conversation leading anyways, but he let her go, and paced around the outside edge of the room.

Her joke startled him slightly, because he wondered whether she was talking about what had happened with Claire. Were Claire and Brooke best friends now? It was just another thing he hadn't been thinking about when he kissed her. Another thing he might have accidentally ruined.

"Actually," he said, deciding to sidestep that altogether, because it wasn't an argument he wanted to have, "there's some things I ... wanted to tell you. Not those kinds of things," he tacked on quickly. "But about me." It almost stuck in his throat, and he was surprised how dry and thick his tongue felt against the roof of his mouth. It wasn't as if he hadn't told Elle months ago, but Elle... had been through crazier shit than most people he knew. She was used to strangeness. Hell, her whole life was strange.

Brooke, though...

Not so much.

Edited 2010-04-13 17:11 (UTC)

Her hands stilled when he started talking, but she didn't look up at him until the last part. It brought back the memory of the one time when Dean said there was stuff he wasn't telling her, stuff he had been leaving out. At the time, she hadn't thought much of it. After all, there was plenty of stuff she hadn't told him.

Now Brooke was running through all the possible things he could be hiding; a wife, multiple wives, children. None of them really sat well with her and, in an attempt to not let him see the worry on her face, she walked into the kitchen. Grabbing a couple beers out of the fridge, she briefly thought of the night he had come over to teach her poker.

How had her feelings change that quickly?

She walked over to him and offered him one of the bottles, trying to ignore the worry in her chest. Instead, Brooke tried to just be glad that he was finally opening up, that she might actually get a glimpse at Dean's history.

"What about you?"

This was all happening way too fast. Which had been his plan, really, so he wouldn't get comfy and cozy. After all, he knew what they'd done when Cas went missing - turned to Molly and asked for her help. They'd put their heads together, be searchin' for him. The best way to keep ahead of them was to keep moving, so he hadn't slowed down, as much as he could.

But now, he was here, and all those miles of preparation weren't preparation at all.

It wasn't like him to find himself at a loss for words, but as he ran a hand nervously through his hair, that's exactly what it was. There was an awkward pause as he searched for what to say, and then finally he decided to just... ease into it.

Sort of.

"I'm not a Fed."

That pause, and the way Dean's hand moved through his hair, made Brooke think that he had changed his mind. For a brief moment, she was worried that he was just going to turn around and leave, without telling her whatever he came to tell her. She bit her lip as she watched him, trying to figure out what she would do if it came to that. Chasing him into the parking lot would probably seem desperate, but she probably would've done it; for all she knew, this could be the only time Dean would open up.

When he spoke, she actually let out a brief laugh. It only lasted a moment before she fell quiet and looked at her feet, tucking some hair behind her ear. She hadn't meant to laugh, but she had been expecting something more serious than that, something a little more life changing.

Had he really come all this way just to tell her he wasn't part of the FBI?

She guessed that there was more to it than that, more that he wasn't saying yet, but if that was as bad as it got, she wouldn't really care. Sure, he lied about his job, but she hadn't exactly been up front about her life when he asked what she did. There wasn't any specific lying - she did design clothes and she was studying calculus - but she didn't give him the more important details.

"Okay," Brooke said as she looked back up at him. "So you're just... a freelance terrorist bounty hunter or something?"

Laughter was an unexpected response, but he at least was glad it broke the tension. A little bit.

He accepted the beer from her, but simply turned it around in his hands, picking at the label after a moment, absently.

"Actually," he said, trying for a slight edge of humor as he trailed off, but not finding it particularly funny. "Well, to be honest, if the Feds didn't already believe I was dead, they'd still be after me." He immediately realized how this sounded, and his eyes shot to her face, worried that there'd be fear writ there abruptly, upon realizing he was a wanted criminal. "But you need to know," he added rapidly, holding up a hand defensively, "I'm not a bad guy, Brooke. I'm not a criminal."

There was a beat.

"Ok, well if you want to be technical, I am a criminal, but not for any reasons you need to be scared of."

If her laughter hadn't already died, it would've been cut short by what Dean just said. The entire sentence made her feel like her stomach had fallen to her feet. Without even realizing it, she took a step backwards as she stared at him, fear definitely lining her features.

As much as he had intended it to be, his addition definitely didn't comfort her. Brooke was quiet for a long moment, trying to figure out exactly what she wanted to do. Part of her wanted to kick him out and lock the door behind him and the other part wanted to pick up the phone and call the police.

Suddenly, she realized that this must be why Claire had freaked out about calling the police when Dean's car had been stolen. It hadn't been the underage drinking, it was that he was a wanted criminal.

But the part that won out was the stupid part of her, the one that wanted an explanation before she did anything else. The part that wanted to believe that he was a good guy. Not that that erased the fear that was still there.

"Why do they believe you're dead?" Probably not the most important part for her to pick up on, but she wasn't exactly wanting to jump head first into the possible I'm a murderer conversation.

Dean felt his heart sink to his stomach when she really did start staring at him with fear-filled eyes. It was everything he'd hoped to avoid, and he hadn't even gotten to the crazy part yet. This was a mistake, he knew it already, but he couldn't back out now. He just had to steel himself for the fact that it was going to feel like a straight up steel toed boot to the gut when she said what he knew she would eventually say.

"It's... complicated," he said, flinching slightly at defaulting to that. What an unsatisfying punk-out answer. But what could he say? He couldn't plunge right into "Well, first there was this shapeshifter who..."

No, he'd have to do this the hard way. "I've gotta start at the beginning. Ish. I just..." He took a deep breath, and leveled a solemn gaze at her. "I need you to hear me out. Please. That's all. And then I'll go. But I promise you, every word I'm sayin'? Is the truth."

It's complicated.

Briefly, Brooke wondered how many times she was going to hear that from everyone in her life. It was always complicated, or easier not to explain. She frowned at that, but didn't look away from him; she wasn't exactly comfortable letting her eyes stray from his face anymore.

"The beginning is usually a good place to start."

The idea of Dean leaving shouldn't have bothered her as much as it did, considering what he just told her and the way he was talking now. But the idea of him walking away again broke her heart.

Setting her beer down, she crossed her arms over her chest and leaned against the counter. "Fine, but it better be good."

"I don't know if good is the word I'd use," he admitted, and there was a defeated hint of humor actually present there, because at least on this topic, he was used to playing things off.

"Sam's not a Fed either. He and I are uh..." After she'd brought up bounty hunting, Dean wasn't sure 'hunter' was the word he wanted to jump to. She might pull the entirely wrong impression off that. He ran a hand over his brow. "Look, uh, you know how all that stuff just came out after Claire jumped off the ferris wheel? About... people like her, and Sylar and Peter and all that? How those kind of people have always existed, but most people just... never knew about 'em?"

"Well ... There are more things out there like that. Things that aren't just people with special powers."

There wasn't any kind of humor in Brooke's voice anymore. Aside from the still lingering hint of fear, there really wasn't any kind of emotion to it. "Then what word would you use?"

That didn't surprise her. If Dean lied about his job, she figured his brother would, too. "You're what?" She watched him and, for a moment, thought he was just going to lie about his job again. Pushing that aside, because she really didn't want to be doubting him this much already, she tried to focus on what he was saying. She just nodded to his question, not really understanding how they tied into this.

Though if Sam was lying for him, she wouldn't be surprised if everyone else was, too.

"So, what? There are animals with powers? Little dogs and cats flying and healing?" There was definitely a slightly sarcastic edge to her voice. "Do you guys go around the country collecting them, like the Company does for people?"

He didn't answer her first question, and the pointed way he ignored it spoke volumes about how bad his answer would really be. He tried to read her expression, but she'd put up her guard, and was being as careful as possible not to show her hand.

"I wish it was as innocent as Scruffy sproutin' wings. But no. We don't collect anything, Brooke. We hunt things." Hunt was at least a softer word than kill, he had to admit. "Things most people don't wanna ever think about. Or know about. Monsters, for lack of a better word. Stuff most people think of as legends or myth or... " His jaw shifted to the right a few millimeters as he tried to work out how to phrase this. "Or just religious metaphor. But believe me, when you've actually got a demon on your ass, you learn real quick that's its a very, very literal, very, very dangerous threat." Like a Band-aid. All out there in one go. He waited for her reaction, readying himself for the inevitable sting.

The was he ignored it definitely didn't help loosen the knots in her stomach, but she didn't say anything. She just shifted a little, crossing one foot over the other as she watched him.

Hunt. She remembered Jo asking if she was a hunter, too, and then explaining that they were all just really into Duck Hunt. Was there anyone that wasn't lying for Dean?

He may have said that every word he said was going to be the truth, but that doesn't mean Brooke bought any of what he just said. The only reaction she had at first was her left eyebrow raising slightly in disbelief. Then her arms dropped away from her chest.

"I think you need to have your head examined again, Dean," she said. "There's no such thing as monsters. They're just made up creatures in bad horror movies. The closest thing the real world has are serial killers and crazy stalker-rapists."

You need to have your head examined, Dean. It was a logical reaction, but it still smarted. He'd been hoping that she'd at least just be able to tell that he wasn't lying, or have enough faith in him by now to not immediately jump to the conclusion that he was insane.

He knew what direction this was heading, and it was all he could do to keep the memories of Cassie from flashing through his head - distant rumbles of images from the other side of his time in Hell. Some things you didn't forget, no matter how long had passed. Some memories were only sharpened by time.

"I know this sounds crazy. Believe me, I know," he said, a completely humorless half-choked laugh accompanying his words, even as something else seemed to bubble up and get lodged in his throat. "I wish I could tell you otherwise. You have no idea how much I wish I could say I dealt with plain old every day serial killers, or whatever. But it doesn't change the fact that it's real - very real. As real as what Claire can do, and Sylar. There are things out there, in every corner of the world, and Sam and I ... we stop 'em. We save people." His speech seemed to have gained a momentum of its own that he couldn't stop, and when that flooded out, he clammed up immediately, because it sounded particularly desperate to him. Even if it was true. If she didn't believe him, it made him sound like a grown man, playing pretend.

"We've been doin' it our whole lives, Brooke. A--" The lump in his throat grew but he swallowed around it and kept going. "A demon killed our mom. When I was four. And from then on, Dad hunted it, and he took us with him. Taught us everything there was to know about how to stop these things."

"This has been... my whole life." He couldn't help that there was something in his eyes pleading with her to understand. Surely, it wasn't that much to ask.

"No, I really don't think you know how crazy this sounds." She was quiet for the rest of his speech and, when he brought up Claire and Sylar, there was a brief moment where she almost did believe him. But it faded as quickly as it appeared, and she snorted at the last part, though it was as filled with amusement as Dean's chuckle had been. "Am I supposed to call you my hero now and fall into your arms or something? Is that what you're going for?"

The mention of his mom surprised her, and there was the briefest flash of sympathy in her eyes. Not because she believed the demon portion, but because she believed his mom had died. Not to mention the fact that it apparently messed up his dad so much that he took his children and went after the guy.

"You're delusional," she said, though it had a little less bite to it than what she had said before. The way he was looking at her made it really hard to not just go along with it, to entertain him like she would a kid, because that was exactly how he sounded.

"Demons are just something that religious nutjobs make up so they feel better about doing terrible things. They aren't real. Whoever... did that to your mom was probably just some sicko like Ted Bundy."

"No, Brooke," he protested, though the pit in his stomach seemed to be yawing wider by the second. "That's not what I--"

And then she just called him delusional and his face faltered a bit, because he realized there was absolutely no way to win this. He could have brought proof, but not without putting her in danger, or involving someone else. So she just wasn't going to believe him. There was no other way to end this.

He felt a tinge of panic inside when he realized that might mean she would distance herself from the others, when she might need their help most.

"Look, I--" Dean went to move towards her, but then stopped himself, realizing that now that she thought he was legitimately crazy, any advances on her physically were probably going to scare the shit out of her. There wasn't going to be any good-bye kiss here. That embrace she'd given him out of relief when he opened the door?

That was gonna be it.

"It doesn't matter if you believe me or not, because what's important is that in a couple of days or so... things are gonna get real ugly. Things you aren't going to be able to deny. I don't know... exactly what, but it's gonna be weird and scary as hell, and I need you to not be afraid, alright? I ... if anything happens, call Sylar. Or Claire." It hurt him to say this, but he knew that Sammy was gonna be at the center of things. "Not Sam."

"But nothing is gonna happen to you. I'm gonna make sure you'll be safe, alright?" he added quickly.

She noticed when he went to move and visibly stiffened. Even though he stopped himself, the fear still returned to her eyes. It was hard to believe that she had hugged him earlier without even giving it a second thought.

"What are you talking about?"

She didn't even bother to respond to the part about Sylar and Claire. It hadn't taken her long at all to decide that she never wanted to speak to them again, despite how much they meant. After she called Sam to tell him she had seen Dean, like she said she would, she'd be done with them.

The last part that he added on was enough to break through her walls. Tears filled her eyes as watched him. She didn't even bother trying to blink them away.

Wasn't that exactly what she'd been wanting? To know that Dean cared about her, to know that she actually meant something? Those words should have filled her with happiness or excitement. Instead, she just felt like her chest had been ripped apart.

"How, exactly, are you going to do that? Because it sounds like you're planning on disappearing again, leaving behind everyone that cares about you." Tears were now falling down her cheeks, and her voice cracked as she spoke. "Leaving me behind."

Even though she thought he was absolutely nuts, she still cared. That wasn't something that was just going to disappear, and that scared her just as much as the conversation.

And now she was crying, or at least about to be, and he really doubted it was because she'd figured out it was the end of the world. He tried not to let it affect him as he continued.

"Because I'm going to see some... really powerful people, ok? People who can make sure nothing bad happens to you when all this goes down." He spoke in earnest, determined to push past her incredulity, and make sure all these words were locked in her memory, so that when the time came when she couldn't deny there was some truth in what he'd said, she'd remember this.

"I... can't stay, Brooke. There's somethin' I gotta do, whether anyone else understands it or not. I know Sam doesn't, but it's... the only way." There was a little extra thickness in his voice when he mentioned Sam. That still wasn't easy for him to think about, and it added some queasiness to the hole in his stomach. "You've gotta know, I wouldn't leave if there was really some other way but ... we're outta options."

He hesitated for a moment, before finally just manning up and spitting it out, because, really, what did he have to lose at this point?

"I wouldn't leave you, if I didn't have to."

"There has to be another way," she said with a shake of her head. "There's always another way."

She had no idea how she had gotten to this point. Every instinct she had was screaming at her to get rid of him, to push him out her front door and forget about him. And yet, when he talked about not being able to stay, she found it a little hard to breathe.

Then he had to go and actually admit, in so many words, that he cared. That he didn't want to leave her. It wasn't him trying to make her feel better - at least, she didn't think it was because it certainly didn't - and it wasn't some vague hint at his feelings. It was Dean, telling her what she'd longed to hear since that stupid phone call that nearly ruined everything.

Brooke watched him for a moment before she finally broke down, her hands moving to cover her face. It was too much; it would've been easier for him to come here, explain his crazy take on life and leave her thinking he hated her.

Leave her thinking he didn't want her.

"Don't go," she choked out, her voice muffled by her hands. "Please. Just... don't."

The yearning that filled his heart at her refusal to believe this was the only option was almost staggering, because in her openly vulnerable state, shedding tears over the injustice of all this, he could see exactly what he felt reflected on her face, and what he couldn't express so easily. It was just overwhelmingly not fair that there was no other way. And up until this past week, he would have said the same thing she was saying.

That there had to be another way.

But that was the hard truth that he'd had to go through so much to learn: sometimes there were things you couldn't fight.

But her sudden pleas, the way her expression just crumbled, made him sure as hell want to. A tiny voice in the back of his mind kept yelling at him that there were plenty of things still worth fighting for, but it was drowned out by too many other internal arguments now.

If nothing else, him being able to kill the Whore of Babylon proved one thing: there was really no turning back now. He'd made his choice, and he knew it.

"It's too late. I've got to, Brooke." He hesitated another moment, but finally couldn't take it any longer and crossed the space between them in a few long strides, raising a hand to her cheek so she'd look up at him. Was she crying like this because she thought he was really insane, because she knew that he was hurting Sam, or because...

she seriously was that upset about losing him?

It was a pretty damn sobering possibility.

His hand ghosted against her skin, against her hair, her shoulder, afraid to land anywhere for too long, because she might shake him off, run towards the door, order him out.

He'd been there before, after all.

But before she could do that, he was determined to say something to make her understand that he wasn't doing this to abandon any of them. He was doing it because it was the only thing he had left to give to help them.

"Brooke, I have to," he said, more than a little desperation coloring his tone. "I have to, ok? ... But, you've gotta know somethin'. You... I..." There was obvious strain on his face as he tried to formulate how to say this and say it right. His voice dropped, and he spoke deliberately when he finally found what he was searching for.

"Look, if... If I could have loved anybody? If I was even capable of that still?" His eyes held hers, determined to not let her slip away from him yet, not just send him packing on the entirely wrong note. There were no do overs this time.

"It would've been you."

"No," she said, almost pleaded, when he said it was too late.

The hand against her cheek caused her to stiffen briefly and, after a moment, she swallowed hard and dropped her hands. She looked up at Dean's face, but she couldn't handle looking at him. As she looked away, tears streamed silently down her face.

There was still fear clawing up her spine, telling her to step away from him, out of his grasp. But he was leaving and the idea of never seeing him again caused her to stay still. She didn't lean into his touches, but she didn't pull away either.

When he said her name again, she looked at his face, her own crumpling more when he continued speaking. Though a part of her wanted to grab the front of his shirt and hold on for dear life, like it could make him stay, she just wrapped her arms around herself.

She surprised herself when she briefly wished that Dean had just stayed away. This was too hard; how was she supposed to keep herself together when he dangled this in front of her, just to tear it away? How was she supposed to deal with this?

It didn't even enter her mind to ask where he was going. All that mattered was that he was leaving and not coming back. That this was final, and the heaviness of that was too much for her shoulders.

Her eyes didn't drop when he spoke, but she couldn't stop crying. If anything, what he said just made it worse. She started shaking slightly, but was otherwise silent.

Until he said it could've been her. He could've loved her. At that, Brooke let out a choked sob and finally dropped his gaze. Her hands moved away from her body to beat against his chest weakly, like it could change anything.

"You can't do this," she sobbed, unable to look at his face again. "This isn't fair, Dean."

Eventually her hands stilled, curled into fists against his chest. She leaned into him, her forehead resting on her hands as she repeated that same thing over and over again.

The word hadn't fallen very easily off Dean's lips, even if he'd only been speaking about a potentiality, and he had to admit: this was not how he'd envisioned finally saying it, even peripherally. He could feel her shaking against him, and sense how afraid she was, and he hated himself even more for doing this to her.

Why couldn't he have left well enough alone?

Because she had to be safe, he reminded himself. He had to know, going into this, that the people he cared about... those who could be safe through this, would be. And a lot of those people now were more than capable of at least defending themselves, but Brooke had no exposure to that kind of life. It'd been one of the things he always was grateful for.

He just stood there, stoically, taking whatever beating she laid on him with her weak fists, a deep line carved into his forehead as he watched her. Finally, just once, he lifted his hand up to the back of her hair, carefully, and his lips dropped to the top of her head, where he murmured: "I know. But what's 'fair' doesn't enter into it. Promise me you'll stay safe."

"I can't -" Lose you got lost somewhere amidst another sob. She shook her head slightly, her fists opening only for her fingers to take hold of his shirt. Now she clung to it - to him - as she lifted her head to look at him. Dean's face was blurry through her tears, but she didn't look away. Not this time.

"Dean, please," her voice was rough from her tears, "Just... Just tell me you're coming back. Please."

Brooke's hands tightened around his shirt as she spoke. She felt nauseous and pathetic, but she didn't care; even if he was completely crazy, she couldn't handle the thought of losing him. Not like this. The idea of watching him walk out her door for the final time terrified her more than everything else they'd talked about.

"Promise me this won't be the last time I see you."

"I'm sorry," he said quietly. "But that's the one thing I can't promise."

His hands moved down to extricate hers from his shirt, tangling his fingers through hers, even as he gently pulled her away.

"I just needed you to know, ok? You deserved the truth, after everything I kept from you. I only did it because--"

He paused, just staring down at their hands, brow knitted in consternation. "To keep you safe, for one. And two, because I... needed it. Needed somethin' normal. In my fucked up life. Don't be mad at the others, alright? I made them keep this from you."

"Blame me."

It took a few moments for all of that to sink in but when it did, the tears practically stopped. She stared at him silently for a very long moment before she slapped him as hard as she could across the cheek. Her hand stung as it fell away, but it didn't hurt nearly as much as the ache in her chest.

"Don't you dare say you did it to keep me safe," she said. In that moment, she could hear Peyton telling her the same thing; that she and Lucas hadn't told her about the affair so that Brooke wouldn't get hurt. "If all of this is true, don't you think it would've been safer for me to know?"

She blamed Dean, there was definitely no doubt about that, but she was still upset with the others. So many of them were lying to her face and apparently didn't even feel guilty about it.

"Why did you even bother telling me this now? You had so many chances to come clean; what makes today any different? I trusted you, Dean. I believed every little thing you told me."

Realization sunk in and suddenly she was crying again, but she wasn't just going to fall apart anymore. Now she was pissed. "Did you even mean any of what you just said?"

The slap came so suddenly that he didn't have to move - not that he would have anyway. He deserved it. And much more. His head jerked back against the impact, and he swallowed a few times, his cheek twitching.

"I'm tellin' you now, because there's not gonna be any hidin' anything anymore, Brooke," he said, his teeth slightly gritted. "Things are gonna be happenin', and there's not gonna be anywhere to be safe from it."

She was angry, and his automatic response was to sound angry back, because it was just where he defaulted to. It was what had gotten him into trouble when he'd argued with Cassie too. He couldn't stop himself.

"Do you think I drove all the way out here first just to come and lie to you one more time?" he demanded. "I came because I wanted to give you a chance to know, from me. And because I probably deserve you kickin' my ass for it, I don't know, but at least you can do it to my face, and know that I'm not lyin' this time."

"I don't know, Dean," she spat back. "I honestly don't know. Maybe you just wanted to come here and say all of this so you could get rid of me. For all I know, you don't care what happens to me, you were just telling me what I wanted to hear."

She hated that she was doubting everything now. The idea that he cared about her was something she wanted to hold on to, something she wanted to believe in so strongly. And yet here she was, doubting everything he'd ever said to her. Hell, she even found herself doubting his name.

"How am I supposed to know that you're telling the truth this time? Why should I even bothering trying to believe you?"

So you could get rid of me.

It felt like recoil of one of his top ten least favorite moments in his life. He threw both hands up, slapping them back down in frustration as he spoke.

"I don't know, Brooke. I don't know why you would trust me now. I don't know what I even expected really." He turned away from her, unable to face her accusing stare right now, knowing that this was gonna be his end note on earth. It was almost funny, how fitting that actually was.

One last big chance to show the world how he was just a disappointment.

"I should go."

"Maybe you should have figured that out before you showed up on my doorstep."

When he turned around, Brooke felt another wave of nausea pass through her stomach. She didn't want this; she didn't want him leaving with her angry at him. She didn't want him leaving, period. But it was too hard to let go of that anger, now that she had a hold of it.

Something about it helped convince her that she could get through this, that if she just stayed angry enough eventually she wouldn't care anymore. She wouldn't have to deal with crying over him again, or worrying about him. Anger was easier than heartbreak.

When she spoke again, though, her voice was calmer. It sounded as if she wanted him to stay, like she was on the verge of forgiving him and all she needed was a little push.

"Dean, wait."

"Maybe," he admitted, with biting humor. "But since when have I planned anythin' ahead?"

He was determined not to let anything she said keep him from walking out right in that moment, since he knew this was only gonna get worse, not better, and he already had enough fresh scars to take with him on that long final road.

But something in her voice seemed to literally freeze him in place, and so he halted again, his head turning back over his shoulder ever so slightly.

"What?" he said, at length.

She had hoped that he would've actually turned around, but at least he stopped. As she walked towards him, she grabbed the purple monkey off the table. It took everything in her power, when she was standing in front of him, to not ask him to stay.

Briefly, Brooke looked over his face before she shoved the stuffed animal at his chest. There was pain in her eyes that probably gave her away completely, but when she spoke, her voice was hard. Sharp.

"You forgot this." She didn't even glance down at it, she just kept her eyes on Dean's face.

If he was allowed to walk out on her after all of this, after everything he said, she was allowed to do whatever she thought would help her move on. And she knew that keeping Mr. Monkey II would only cause her more pain. There was always the option of throwing it out after he left, but she didn't think she would have the strength. Hell, she still had some stuff from her time with Lucas hidden in the back of her closet.

"I don't want it anymore."

As soon as he saw the flash of purple, all the hopes he hadn't let himself realize he'd held on to vanished immediately. When she shoved it at him, it was like she was knocking the wind right out of him. He stared down at it, probably looking angry, but only because he was so bewildered by the moment.

She really, honestly, just wanted him out of her life completely now.

He turned it in his hand slightly, forehead furrowed, before stepping around her slowly. He didn't make eye contact again. He really didn't want to see the look in her eyes, accusing him of all the things he'd actually done, plus being crazy on top of it.

His hand hit the door, and he pushed it open without hesitating this time. He could hear the blood rushing in his ears, as he hurried down the steps, his hand falling to his side as he reached the bottom of them, dropping the little stuffed animal where it fell, at the foot of them.

He hated the word goodbye anyway, and she obviously didn't even want to hear it. It wasn't as if he couldn't hear it clearly in his mind anyways: a memory that grew more crystal clear with every step he took towards the car.

"Just get the hell out of here, and if you know what's good for you, Dean Winchester? You'll never show your face around here again."

"Cassie, you don't--"

"No, I do. I don't wanna hear another damn excuse. Out."

With a grimace, he wrenched open the door of the car, and slid into the driver's seat. He wasn't going to look back. He couldn't.

Edited 2010-04-20 08:18 (UTC)

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sixwordstories : do you want the truth or something beautiful?

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