LICK IT UP. LICK IT UP. OOOOO~~
Blair jolted awake. She hadn't had a wake-up call before 8 o'clock since high school and never to... what is this anyway? Her vibrating phone clattered to the floor and she flung her upper body off her mattress to retrieve it. What the hell happened to her ringtone?
"'Ello?" Her hair brushed the floor as she laid on her back across her bed, her head hanging off the side. It was too early to lift herself back up.
"Rise and shine, sweetheart."
"No. It's God. And by the power vested in me I demand that you tell me what you're wearing." She was really just not ready for this right now. It's not even light out. "Come on, I'm outside your building. Are we gonna burn some bones or what?"
She looked at the time on her LCD screen and groaned. "Dean, it's four. You can't be serious so you must be drunk. Give me a call in a few hours and try not to get arrested for public indecency." She hung up and curled herself back up into her sheets and pillows. Her phone resting on her nightstand with her alarm set to nine o'-
LICK IT UP. LICK IT UP
"What the hell?!" She yelled like he was standing in front of her, like he could see the way her lips turned down in displeasure.
"We're digging up a grave, not something we can really do during the day. Now get your cute nightie-clad ass down here and-"
* * *
She slammed his car door within 5 minutes in her oldest pair of pants and a cotton tank. "Don't you ever touch my phone or my ringtones again."
He put the car in gear without even looking her way. That's different. "Morning to you too, sugar."
He thrusted a box of donuts in her face and, reluctantly, she took a bite out of a plain one. "So how'd you figure out where we're going?"
"Seriously?" He nodded. "Well for the record, I want to be cremated."
"Sure, I'll let them know by posing as your lawyer who's a psychologist on the side."
"Web of lies!" She chuckled and realized that she couldn't remember the last time she did right, she was with him...
"And that's different from your everyday life, how?" At the cold-bucket-of-water truth, her laughter died and they drove into the cemetary to the tunes of Bon Jovi.
It was most definitely too early in the morning for this.
* * *
"You know, if this were a date, this would definitely be on my record of worst first dates ever." She stayed low with her flashlight, scanning the names of strangers' gravestones, never quite far enough from him to really worry about being alone. Blair didn't know what she would do if she saw that thing again, that thing in the mirror that took..., but she knew that Dean would know what to do. And she trusted him, somehow, with her life.
"Who said this was a date? And if it were, we already did the whole lunch and nerdy library thing. I would be expecting to get some." He chuckled at her groan. It was apparently a sport for him to torture her. Then, his footsteps stopped and her entire body tensed. "Oh God."
"What? What is it? Did you find her?" She whispered as though it could hear her and shuffled over to him, the sound of swishing dried leaves at her feet.
He had his flashlight shining directly on the graves stone and she peeked from behind her tight grip on his arm. "Who would actually name their kid Ben Dover? Ow!"
"You deserved it." She wandered off again, back to where she had left off, now a little put out by his little joke. Perhaps she was really thinking too much into this. I mean, what could possibly-
"What now?" The question was mixed with an exasperated sigh. Really, how many more antics could this guy pull in a cemetary without getting struck by lightning?
"Stop throwing pebbles at me! They hurt when you actually aim for my head!"
"I'm not throwing pebbles at you! I'm in front of you, dumb ass, now cut it out!" She heard something bounce off the ground. "Damn it, Dean, stop faking it! Get serious!"
"Stop throwing shit at me!"
"I'm not!" There was a giggle and the hairs on the back of her neck stood at attention. Oh shit. "Um, Dean? Why do you sound like a ditzy girl?"
Slowly, they turned and there she was. Snake tail slithering soundlessly through the leaves, her hair stringy and her lips impossibly chapped, she smiled at them. Well, she smiled at him, but when Blair caught her attention, the apparition cocked her head to the side and stared at her curiously, as if trying to remember...
And then it did. The scowl on its face transformed it entirely - the eyes became red, her forehead impossibly wrinkled. Was this what happened when people die? It let out a growl before launching itself at her, her clawed hands ready to plunge through her body again.
The shot of salt burst loud in the air and with it, it seemed, the sun peeked out from behind the trees at the edge of the field. The thing was gone and there they stood, panting and fixed to their spot. Finally, he turned to her. "You had to call the pissed off spirit ditzy, didn't you"
* * *
It took them the rest of the morning to finally find the damned grave and while Blair kept watch (as if she would ever risk her manicure with manual labor), Dean did his business. The salting, the burning, the covering up - he was truly way too good at this for her comfort. He could just as easily, she supposed, kill her, dig up a grave and burn her too without anyone ever noticing.
She would never expect it from a guy who wore t-shirts with bands that were older than herself.
"Lunch? I'm running a bit low on blood-sugar, I think." It was getting difficult to concentrate. The little sleep she got and then the Ghost-busters moment they had with little miss Kristie Mansfield.
"Another date? You must really want to get me in bed, Waldorf." He started the car and drove towards the Manhattan skyline.
"Yup, your company is so depressing that I would rather get an STD and drop dead."
"Oh stop it, you want me."
In her most deadpan, sarcastic, Dan-Humphrey channeling voice, she responded. "Oh yes, baby. I want you so much. Take me now." She turned her emotion-less face towards him. "Honey."
"You're one of those girls who just lie there in bed, aren't you?"
She snorted and turned her face forward. "My husband, well, ex-husband always said I'm, and I
quote, mindblowing." That reminded her - there were still... arrangements that needed to be made when she got back. Talks that she was dreading.
"Are you sure it was only his mind that you were blowing at the time?"
"Yeah, like a dead fish." A bass. He was charming like a freakin' Bass.
"Oh! Necrophilia and beastiality! I underestimated you, Waldorf! Now all the kinky secrets are coming out. Come on, we've already established: sharing is caring. Tell Dr. Lancaster your daddy issues."
"I have 3 dads."
He was silent for a beat, three John WInchesters barking orders in his ears. "Yeah, that would do it." And he flicked on the radio to clear his head.
* * *
In his effort to degrade her further, he took them to pizza... on the street. What was it with his aversion against sitting down at a restaurant and eating a normal meal? He kept claiming this was amazing, amazing pizza and as she stared between him and the heavy, nearly soupy cream sauce on her pizza, "the Artichoke" she wondered if he had any standards at all.
He leaned against the railing and devoured his and, in an effort to avoid anymore looks and tricks, she tentatively took a bite of hers, the white sauce smearing around her lips wiped off as soon as her teeth severed a piece. It was... an interesting taste. Perhaps with preface of a few martini's, she would really enjoy it. "Not bad, huh?" The comment only deserved a dead-on stare in return. "Yeah, yeah. So this whole business should be finished. You can return to your regularly scheduled life."
She chewed over those words. Dean and this ghost nonsense had offered a nice distraction to her current predicament, but what did she have to return to now? A broken marriage, moving back in with her parents and going back to work after a failed maternity leave.
Honestly, who fails at maternity leave? Her life was beginning to sound more pathetic than his.
"So where are you off to now?"
He shrugged. "The next great adventure. Rescue some damsels, kick some ghosts' asses, get a little somethin' somethin' if you know what I mean." She nodded. It was disturbing how used to all this faux-macho talk she was now. She was pretty sure there was a time when this sort of talk was restricted to discussions about James Bond movies. Or maybe an old Western. Then again, she supposed there was something Old Hollywood about the way he spoke.
"Blair!" This was the problem with hanging out on the street like a common hooker. She ran into people she was trying desperately to avoid. First Jenny, now...
"Nate, what are you doing here?" She watched her ex-boyfriend jog up to her, his cheeks red and thin.
"I hang out around Union Square sometimes. Better question is what are you doing here? And how are you doing anyway? You know, we're all so worried about-" He seemed to finally notice Dean hanging by the side like an audience who was getting ready to change the channel. "Doctor, right? Is everything all right, Blair?" She shifted her weight around and bit her lip. How was she going to talk her way out of this one? It's Saturday and Dean's dressed like a grave digger because, well, that was how they'd spent their morning.
"Yea, everything's fine. I just, um, well-"
"We were just trying to ease her back in slowly, you know? It's part of my um, my method."
For once in his life, Nate seemed to have caught on to something that wasn't quite right. "Blair, can I- can I talk to you for a sec?" He led her gently by the elbow to one side and she watched helplessly as Dean stayed behind, munching on his pizza. "Blair, what's going on with you?"
"Nothing's going on with me, Nate. I'm just-"
"This guy doesn't really seem... legit. I can look into it if you want."
"No!" This was the last thing Blair wanted. How was she going to explain to everyone what she had been up to while she was supposedly in therapy? "I- I mean, I trust this guy. And I just need someone to talk to and I'd feel really uncomfortable with you poking around behind my back."
"Blair, we're just all really worried about you. I mean, we'd all feel a lot better if you were really taking this seriously and checking yourself into a place like Ostroff or-"
"Well, I'm sorry if I don't feel up to compromising myself for whatever would make you guys feel better. This is about me, Nate, all right? And for once, let's keep it that way! I don't want Ostroff or you or Serena or Chuck or any of you because I can't even trust you! I just want Dean!" Blair felt like she was in high school all over again as she walked away from Nate. Everything always seemed to go back to her having expectations and being disappointed. She threw her slice in the garbage and realized that perhaps this was why she was so comfortable with Dean - because she truly had no expectations of him. Or at least any sort of stereotype or impression she had, he blew them right out of the water every time.
It all seemed so natural as she passed by Dean and he turned to put his arm around her shoulder and the two of them walked in sync. She tilted her head towards his shoulder and wondered - when he left, would she ever really feel this free again?