Disclaimer: The characters of Supernatural do not belong to me and no infringement is intended.
Summary: Takes place about a month after Dean shows up on Lisa's doorstep at the end of season 5. Dean's struggling to cope and Lisa doesn't know how to help him.
Note: I keep finding conflicting information regarding the show's timeline - it seems that depending on which timeline you follow, Ben's 8th birthday was either in May or July 2007... which means Dean met Lisa in either August or October of 1998. For this fic, I decided on August because when they met, Sam was on a hunt with John in Florida (and presumably not in school) and so it would make sense for it to have been during the summer vacation.
She lay beside him with her head on the pillow, her cheek resting on her hands as she studied his face. It was peaceful in sleep, at least for now anyway. He was lying on his back, one hand resting on his stomach and the other hanging down off the edge of the bed. His face however, was turned towards her. His eyes were closed and she marvelled at the long lashes brushing against his skin. His lips were relaxed, his mouth losing that tightness it held during the daytime when he was awake, and her lips quirked up in a small sad smile as she considered kissing them softly. But kissing wasn't something they did, at least not anymore. They hadn't kissed since that time he'd shown up and saved Ben from the changelings a couple of years ago and she'd just acted on impulse.
Instead she settled for lifting her head and gently brushing her lips against his temple, letting her eyes roam over his exhausted-looking features for a moment. Settling back down against the pillows again, she lifted one hand and reached out to lightly caress his cheek, feeling the growing stubble beneath her fingers. He hadn't shaved for a few days—shaving hadn't exactly been on his list of priorities lately—and the evidence was definitely showing.
For a moment, she wondered if the facial hair was deliberate; he'd barely been eating lately and the weight loss was evident. His thin face and increasingly protruding cheekbones hadn't gone unnoticed by her the last few weeks. It wasn't something she'd felt comfortable asking him about though, in fact he'd barely spoken about what had happened before he'd shown up here, and seeing how fragile he seemed right now, she couldn't bring herself to ask.
He'd been here, with her and Ben, for almost a month now and he was still as closed-off and brooding as he had been the day he'd shown up on her doorstep. Sure, he tried to put on a brave face when she and Ben were around, asking Ben how his day was, trying to help him with his homework, teaching him about cars and teasing him about girls, but she could see that his heart wasn't in it. She could see that his smiles were fake and didn't reach his eyes, that his composed and stoic demeanour was just a front, that his unwillingness to discuss anything but casual small talk was just his way of coping, of not having to think about the past. But the problem was, it was obvious that he needed to deal with it; he needed to come to terms with whatever had happened to him just a few weeks ago, and his refusal to do so was surely going to break him eventually.
More than once recently she had come home in the middle of the day to find him sitting in the living room; just sitting, scruffy and unshaven, staring into space, his eyes bloodshot and tired. The curtains were always drawn, a glass of whisky always in his hand, with the rest of the bottle resting on the coffee table in front of him. She hated seeing him like that, hated the empty expression on his face as he drank himself into oblivion. Her heart broke for him as she watched him from the doorway, unnoticed at first. The pain in his eyes was tangible and she could see how he was struggling to keep it together, to keep a neutral expression even though it was obvious to her that he was just one step away from breaking down completely. As soon as he saw her though, he would straighten up, put down the glass and paste a semi-normal expression on his face as he greeted her pleasantly.
Just once, she wished he would stop trying to pretend everything was okay in front of her and just let himself grieve properly. It wasn't healthy, all this drinking and bottling up his emotions, keeping everything to himself. She still wasn't entirely sure what it was he was grieving for, although she had a pretty good idea. Several times in the last couple of weeks, she'd heard him having nightmares… and in each one he would sob and cry out for his brother, his hoarse voice filled with pain and anguish.
Her heart had skipped a beat when she'd opened the banging door to his weary, sad face a month ago. At first she'd been so relieved to find out that he was all right—after all, his unexpected visit a few weeks earlier had freaked her out just a little—that she hadn't noticed how truly awful he looked, but then she saw his tired stance, his haunted eyes, his trembling chin, and her heart had broken for him. She'd pulled him into her arms without a moment's hesitation and just held him. She'd stroked his hair and tried to soothe him as much as she could when she felt his body begin to tremble and heavy sobs begin to wrack his exhausted body.
All she had wanted to do since then was comfort him, tell him that she was there for him and that everything was going to be okay, but she couldn't. Everything about him the last few weeks, his body language, his demeanour, his gruff words to her when she caught him in a bad moment, screamed that her touch wasn't welcome right now and that he didn't want or need her comfort.
So far, there had just been one occasion on which he'd started to let her in, to accept her offer of help, to allow himself to be comforted. The first night he'd come here, he'd slept on the couch, refusing to let her make up a proper bed for him, almost as if he was just passing through and wouldn't be here long enough to warrant the use of an actual bed. The second night, she'd insisted he sleep in the spare room, assuring him when he looked dubious that he was welcome to stay as long as he wanted. He stayed in the spare room, next door to her bedroom, for the next two weeks, but one night she'd been awoken by unfamiliar shouts and loud sobbing and she'd raced into his room to find him in the throes of a particularly bad nightmare. Tears were streaming down his face and he was thrashing in the covers, the sheets tangled around him in such an awkward manner that she wondered how he could even move at all.
"No, Sammy…no!" he was crying out, his shouts those of a desperate man in pain.
She had to blink away her own tears, her heart clenched painfully at the sight of him as she quickly moved to his side, perching on the edge of the bed beside him. She touched his T-shirt-clad shoulder hesitantly as she said his name, trying to wake him from the awful dream, but not wanting to startle him. When she got no response other than him twisting away from her grip and crying out again, she tried gently shaking him, saying his name again more firmly. This time though, she did get a response. Unfortunately, it wasn't exactly what she'd been expecting. He suddenly shot up in bed, his eyes wide and wild as he gasped for breath.
"Sammy?" he questioned urgently, his gaze unfocused.
"Dean?" she'd asked in concern, tentatively reaching out again to touch his shoulder.
His head whipped to face her and she startled, moving back slightly at the sudden movement.
"Dean, hey, it's me," she murmured softly. "It's okay."
He squinted at her, "Lisa?"
His voice was throaty, thick with tears, and he was breathing heavily.
"Yeah," she smiled gently.
"Lise…" he managed, as he lifted a hand to his face, running it over his eyes and down over his cheeks. "What's going on?"
"You were having a nightmare."
He closed his eyes, brow furrowing with barely concealed emotional pain and Lisa's chest tightened at the sight. She wanted to help him so badly, take away his pain, but she didn't know how.
"I'm sorry," he said eventually, shaking his head. "I—I didn't mean to wake you."
"You didn't," she told him, even though it was a lie. "Are you okay? Can I do anything?"
"No," he shook his head. "I'm fine."
Even as he said it though, Lisa could see it wasn't the truth. His breathing was still uneven and his eyes still had that haunted look in them. He wasn't fine, not by a long shot.
"No, you're not, Dean," she said softly, watching him carefully as he turned his head to hers again, his eyes weary and sad… and almost accusatory. "And that's okay. You're grieving; you're allowed to not be fine right now."
"No," he denied firmly. "I'm fine. I have to be."
"You don't have to do this alone," she said, gently moving her hand up and down his arm in a soothing manner. "Let me help you."
"Well, I might not be a therapist or anything," she acknowledged, "but I can be here for you, you know? If you'll let me."
"Lise…" he shook his head again.
Ignoring his reluctant protests, she shifted on the bed and reached for him, sliding her arms around his shoulders and pulling him into a tight hug. He resisted at first, his body rigid, muscles coiled tightly as if he were ready to jump to attention at the first sign of trouble, but she just held on, her arms tight around him, her upper body pressed against him, not letting go. Eventually she felt him relax a little and his hands came up to rest on her back, returning the embrace. She let her hands run through his hair, caressing the back of his neck soothingly as she whispered words of encouragement in his ear. She closed her eyes, fighting against the tears that were starting to well up in them as she felt him bury his face in her neck, his shoulders shaking and his grip on her tightening as he began to sob.
"Hey, hey, it's okay," she murmured gently, running her hands over his neck and shoulders encouragingly as he collapsed against her. "You'll be okay."
She held him like that for several long minutes, until his sobs began to subside and he managed to get himself under control again. Eventually, he released his grip on her and pulled back. She let her arms slip from his body and gave him a small, reassuring smile, but he just kept his head down and avoided her gaze as if he was too embarrassed to look at her.
"Dean," she tried, reaching for his wrist before he could turn away from her.
"Lise, don't…" he protested, still not looking at her, but instead hastily wiping the tears from his face.
"Please don't shut me out," she said softly.
"I can't do this…" he muttered, his gaze roaming the room now, looking anywhere but her. "I have to stay strong. Do it alone."
"No, you don't, Dean," she countered. "You are allowed to lean on someone else once in a while, you know. Share the burden. I'm here and I want to help you."
He shook his head again determinedly, but she just looked at him sadly for a moment, before standing up and holding out her hand to him.
"Come on," she invited. "I know I could use some company tonight, and I think you could too."
His gaze shot to hers in confusion, "Lise, no… I'm not gonna… I can't—"
"No," she just smiled, shaking her head as she took his hand. "I didn't mean… that. I just meant to sleep."
She pulled him up and out of bed, leading him out of the room and into her bedroom. Once inside, she shut the door behind them. Despite his obvious resistance to the idea, he allowed her to usher him to her bed. She gave him a gentle smile as he eased himself beneath the covers and then watched her as she moved round to the other side of the bed and climbed in beside him. They lay there stiffly for a few moments, Dean on his back, staring up at the ceiling and Lisa curled on her side facing him, watching him carefully. However, when his head turned to her and he muttered a defensive "What?", she shook her head and turned onto her other side. She lay like that for a while, all too conscious of the fact that although he was just a few inches away from her, he was still as stiff and closed-off as ever, but she relaxed when she felt the mattress move behind her and suddenly he was there, his arm slipping around her waist as he tucked himself in behind her.
"Thanks, Lise," he murmured against her hair.
A sad smile appeared on her face as she nodded, "Anytime, Dean."
They fell asleep curled up together, taking comfort in the fact that the other was there, but when she awoke in the morning, she was alone, Dean having retreated back to the spare room while she was still sleeping. However, that night was a turning point for him and from then on, he'd been sleeping in her room. They hadn't really spoken about it, he'd just followed her into the bedroom the next night and then the next, and Lisa wasn't going to spoil it by questioning his actions. She had a feeling that he just needed someone there with him at night, so that he wasn't alone.
It had been two weeks now and although they'd been sharing a bedroom all that time, that was as far as it had gone—there had barely been any physical contact between them since that first night. Dean had meticulously stuck to his side of the bed, leaving a good foot of space between himself and Lisa each night, and although she was disappointed that he wasn't opening up to her, she tried not to push, hoping that he would be able to when he was ready.
He shifted in his sleep, his dangling arm coming up to his chest as he turned over onto his side, his whole body facing her now, as if he was turning towards her touch, her presence. Lisa's fingers stilled against his cheek, her eyes searching his face for any sign of consciousness, for a reason for her to have to stop touching him, but he just settled down into his new position and continued to sleep.
Lisa sighed softly, lightly tracing the faint laughter lines around his eyes, remembering a time when she would see them appear almost constantly. She barely even saw them now though; it seemed Dean didn't have much to smile or laugh about anymore. She shook her head sadly; this man before her was so different from the cocky, arrogant teenager with the killer smile she'd met in that dive of a bar all those years ago, so different from the older twenty-something who had crashed Ben's birthday party a couple of years ago and saved her son's life, that she was actually finding herself questioning whether he really was the same guy anymore.
Closing her eyes, she let memories of a better time flood her mind; a time when she shared the most amazing weekend of her life with the most incredible guy she'd ever met…
Lisa had been almost twenty when she'd first met Dean Winchester. She was sitting at the bar in some dive of a biker place (having snuck in with a fake ID), scoping out the possible talent—her latest 'thing' was bad boys in leather jackets who rode motorcycles—when her attention was drawn to a cocky son-of-a-bitch who was attempting to take on three large, menacing-looking biker dudes at a game of pool. She raised an eyebrow in amusement when she saw him miss his second easy shot in a row; man, this guy was gonna get his ass handed to him on a plate.
She watched out of the corner of her eye as he lost the game and reluctantly handed over a few bills to the bikers, before heading over to the bar, stopping right beside her and leaning against the counter. As he tried to get the bartender's attention, Lisa took the opportunity to study his profile. He was definitely good-looking, with green eyes framed by long lashes, a straight nose sprinkled with light freckles and those full lips, but from his cocky grin and confidence stance, she supposed he already knew that. He was young, but she couldn't place his age exactly. If she had to guess, she'd say he was maybe twenty-one or twenty-two. While his features were pretty youthful, he seemed to carry himself with a certain maturity that made her question how young he actually was.
She started a little when he suddenly turned and looked at her, flashing her a knowing grin as he caught her watching him.
"Hey, there," he nodded, placing an elbow on the counter and turning to face her, his pretty eyes sizing her up.
"Hi," she smiled, feeling almost shy under the attention of his piercing gaze.
"I'm Dean," he introduced himself, holding out his hand in an oddly formal gesture, especially for someone who was hanging out in a dive like this. She was just surprised he hadn't tried to grab her ass yet.
"Lisa," she returned, reaching out to shake his hand.
His grip was firm, his fingers warm as they curled around her hand and she felt her cheeks heating up in response to his touch and the fact that his eyes were intently trained on her face.
"So, I... uh," she started, cursing herself for her apparent inability to speak right now. "I saw you bomb over there at the pool tables…"
"You were watching me, huh?" he grinned rakishly, one eyebrow raised.
"I was watching you crash and burn," she corrected smugly, before nodding towards the three bikers he'd been playing against. "You know, those guys are bad news; I'd try not to piss them off if I were you."
"Really?" he wondered, following her gaze for a moment before turning back to her and flashing a grin. "Don't worry, I can handle them."
"Oh, yeah? You're doing a stellar job so far," she countered, before leaning towards him and lowering her voice, "Look, I can hold my own at pool. How about I help you out a bit… we can take 'em on together?"
He just looked at her for a moment, a slightly sceptical expression marring his features before he relaxed and gave a small nod and a smirk.
"If you think you're up to it."
"I could say the same about you," she retorted.
She lifted her beer bottle to her lips and took a final swig before placing it down on the bar counter and hopping off the stool she was sitting on.
She headed for the pool tables, not checking to see if he was following her. Just before she reached them, she stopped and looked back towards the bar. Dean was still leaning casually against the counter, his eyes fixed on her. She felt herself blushing, the heat in his gaze undisguised as he grabbed his beer, stood up straight and began heading towards her. He smirked as he brushed past her and reached for his pool cue again as he challenged the bikers to another game, this time upping the stakes even more.
Lisa rolled her eyes at his arrogance; he'd just lost $200 and two games in a row, but now he wanted to play for more? Okay, she was good at pool, but she wasn't sure if she was that good. Maybe this wasn't such a brilliant idea after all; it had the potential to end really badly. He let her go first and she broke easily, sending the balls flying across the table, even pocketing one of them right away. She just turned and grinned at him when he whistled appreciatively, but then cursed a moment later when he suddenly appeared right beside her, his warm body just inches from hers, distracting her just enough for her to miss the next shot. She glared at him in annoyance, but he just raised an eyebrow and with a cheeky grin took a long sip of his beer.
As one of the bikers took their turn and pocketed two balls quickly and expertly, she wondered how on Earth this Dean guy thought he was going to win, but she found herself eating her words a few minutes later when the other guy missed and he stepped up to take his turn. Turned out Dean had simply been bluffing in the earlier games… turned out he was actually a master at pool—much better than her—and had pulled one over on the other guys, hustling them out of $400 in just two more games. While he looked immensely proud of himself as he counted the money, Lisa could see the angry bikers were getting ready to strike and she quickly grabbed Dean's arm and pulled him away from the table.
"Look, we need to get out of here; those guys are not happy with us at all."
"Huh?" he looked up with a smirk, still counting the money, but his expression quickly turned serious when he saw what she was talking about. "Right, sure. Let's go."
They hightailed it out of the bar as quickly as they could, but the three guys were quickly on their tail, Dean grabbed Lisa's hand and pulled her towards a large black car—a '67 Chevy Impala if she recalled her dad's obsession with classic cars correctly.
"Come on, get in," he urged.
Lisa hesitated for a moment, before taking a look behind her to see the doors of the bar being yanked open angrily and then hastily pulling open the car door and climbing inside. Dean was already in the driver's seat with the engine running and he peeled out of the parking lot as fast as possible.
"Wow," breathed Lisa as the bar… and the angry bikers… disappeared from sight. "That was, uh, close." She looked over at Dean, who was grinning as he drove. "You do stuff like this a lot?"
"Gotta entertain myself somehow," he winked.
She shook her head, giving a small chuckle, "You're crazy, you know that?"
"Oh, I know," he nodded, his grin widening. "Totally insane."
She rolled her eyes, shaking her head again.
"So, uh, where to?" he asked then.
"Where am I heading?" he clarified. "Where do you live?"
"Oh," she murmured in understanding. "Um, Spring Street. It's only a couple blocks from here."
There was silence in the car for a few moments and Lisa found herself all too aware of the fact that she was sitting in a car with a man that she was most definitely attracted to. She shifted almost uncomfortably in response to her sudden awareness of him; the fact that he was currently driving her back to her place in the middle of the night making her breath hitch in her throat.
What would happen when they got there?
Should she invite him in for coffee, or would that seem too obvious?
Dean's voice interrupted her thoughts, causing her to look over at him in surprise.
"We're on Spring Street," he said, flashing her a smile. "Which number are you?"
"Oh, um, 65. Top floor apartment."
Dean pulled into the small parking lot behind her building and cut the engine.
"So, um… thanks for the ride, I guess."
"My pleasure." The grin he flashed her was both friendly and suggestive at the same time. "Thanks for helping me out with the pool game."
"Like you needed it," she scoffed, she rolling her eyes, as she swatted him lightly on the arm. "Mr. Hustler."
"'S the only way to do it." His eyes danced as he spoke.
"So…you wanna come in for some coffee?" she asked then, trying not to make it sound like a euphemism for something else.
"God, yeah," he breathed, his gaze roaming up and down her body suggestively.
Okay, so obviously she'd been unsuccessful in making the coffee thing sound innocent...
"Okay, then," she smiled, reaching for the door handle and climbing out of the car.
Dean did the same, locking the vehicle behind him before following her up to her loft apartment.
"So, uh," started Lisa they entered the apartment and she shut the door behind them. "Do you actually want any coffee or…?"
"…Or do I just wanna get right to it?" he finished, shrugging out of his worn leather jacket as he flashed her a cheeky grin that made her knees go weak.
"Well… yeah," she returned the grin as she sauntered towards him.
"Coffee's overrated," he murmured, licking his lips as he watched her with a lustful expression. "I say we skip it."
She nodded in agreement as she placed her hands on his chest, letting her fingers trace the outline of the defined muscles she could feel beneath his black T-shirt. She bit her lip and looked up into his eyes only to find that he was staring at her intently and she felt herself flush beneath his gaze. She inhaled sharply as his hand came up to cup her cheek and he shook his head slightly.
"You're gorgeous, you know that?"
She smiled, feeling her cheeks heat up at the compliment.
"You're pretty handsome yourself."
She'd barely gotten the words out when his lips swooped down to cover hers, capturing her mouth in a searing kiss. His tongue traced her lips, darting in and out of her mouth, a promise of what was to come. She felt her knees buckle as he pulled her body flush against his and she grabbed onto his shoulders to steady herself. Before she had time to realise what was happening, she found herself pressed up against the wall as he kissed her deeply, one hand cupping her neck as the other slid up her thigh, urging it up over his hip. She reached for his shirt, easing it over his shoulders and down his arms. He released her briefly to shrug it off and then broke the kiss to let her pull the T-shirt over his head as well. She sucked in a breath as she took in the expanse of bare chest now exposed to her gaze.
God, this man was practically perfect.
He grinned down at her, one eyebrow raised as he observed her checking him out, and then reached for her top, pulling it over her head and exposing her lacy bra to his gaze. His hand crept up to cup her breast as he kissed her again, more urgently this time and Lisa felt her stomach tighten in anticipation. She tried not to gasp when his hand drifted down over her stomach and came to rest between her legs.
"Wait," she managed, tearing her mouth from his when he cupped her heat.
"What?" he murmured in confusion.
"Not here," she said. "Bedroom."
She gestured towards the door across the room and he nodded, picking her up. She wrapped her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck as he carried her towards her bedroom.
"Wow," breathed Lisa as she relaxed back against the pillows a couple of hours later. "That was…"
"Yeah," agreed Dean from his position beside her. "Where the fuck did you learn how to do that?"
"I'm a yoga instructor." Lisa turned her head and grinned at him. "I'm very bendy."
"Well, that explains it," he nodded appreciatively, before looking over at her, one eyebrow raised. "Wanna go again?"
"Really?" she asked, turning on her side and propping her head up on her elbow. "You're up for it?"
He glanced down at his lower body suggestively, before winking at her, "Oh, yeah."
Ugh, men. She rolled her eyes playfully.
Before she had a chance to say anything else though, he'd rolled over and had trapped her beneath him, capturing her lips in yet another breathtaking kiss as he settled himself between her thighs, ready for round two.
By the time they finally left the bedroom the next afternoon, she'd lost count of the number of times he'd pleasured her. All she knew was that Dean Winchester had just shown her the best night of her life and it wasn't something she was gonna forget in a hurry.
Lisa opened her eyes again, smiling softly as she remembered those incredible few days they'd shared together over ten years ago now.
Dean had been so full of life back then; confident, arrogant and a complete charmer. Not only that though, he'd been fun. He'd spent much of those few days—when they weren't in bed, that was—joking with her, teasing her mercilessly over her obsession with E.R.'s George Clooney and her borderline unhealthy preoccupation with a particular scar on his abdomen, challenging her to games of poker that she had no chance in hell of winning and then pouting when she called him on it.
Fun-loving, nineteen-year-old Dean Winchester was definitely someone she could have fallen in love with back then if she'd had the chance to, and it was with sorrow that she realised that the thirty-one-year-old Dean Winchester of today would probably never have the opportunity or ability to be that carefree again. While she didn't know all the details of his life or of the losses he'd experienced over the years, she knew he'd seen too much, been through too much heartache now to ever really be that happy and free again.
If she was honest though, when she pictured the one person she could see herself spending the rest of her life with, that guy was Dean Winchester. He might not be the same guy now that he had been back in 1998, but he was still Dean and occasionally she would still see glimpses of that young man in his expressions and demeanour, like when he laughed at something Ben had said or showed the boy how to fix something on the car; but all too often he would catch himself quickly and sober up, as if he was ashamed of himself for letting his guard down and having fun.
He was so good with Ben though; despite the personal issues he was dealing—or not dealing—with, he always seemed to have time for her son. Even when he was having a bad day, if Ben asked him for help with his homework or wanted him to play a game with him, Dean would drop whatever he was doing, force a smile onto his face and tend to her son's needs. Contrary to what he might think, Dean was actually great with kids; he would make a great father someday.
And speaking of being a father… her thoughts turned back to the day she found out that she was pregnant with Ben. It had been about a month after she'd been with Dean and her first thought when she held that little positive stick in her hand had been of him. At first she'd assumed the baby was his—the timing was right, after all—but there had been another guy a couple of weeks before she'd met him and as much as she wanted to (the other guy had been something of a jerk in comparison), she couldn't rule out that possibility either. While she had no contact details for Dean, unfortunately 'The Jerk', as she'd nicknamed him, had been a local. As soon as it was possible to do a blood test, she'd called him up and gotten it done. Unfortunately, the results had come back positive and it was confirmed that 'The Jerk' was her baby's father, not Dean. Looking back now though, she kind of wished Ben had been Dean's; after all having a real, biological son might have given him something to live for again.
Dean shifted once more in the bed and Lisa quickly withdrew her hand from his face as he stirred and slowly opened his eyes, blinking at her sleepily.
"Hey," she whispered with a small smile.
"Hey." His voice came out in a rough sort of growl, his throat heavy with sleep.
"What time is it?" he asked gruffly, easing himself onto his back as he ran a hand over his face.
"Don't know," she said, giving a half-shrug.
Truthfully, she'd been too caught up in her thoughts to pay attention to the time.
She turned to look at the clock on her bedside table, "It's just gone five a.m."
When she turned back around, she found Dean watching her with weary, bloodshot eyes.
"You okay?" he asked softly.
"Yeah," she nodded, "But shouldn't I be the one asking you that?"
She let out a soft sigh.
"You know, you don't have to pretend with me, Dean," she told him gently. "You can talk to me about it."
He closed his eyes, his expression pained.
"No, Lise," he muttered. "I really can't."
"Yes. You can," she told him firmly, placing her hand on his arm. "I can handle it."
He sighed heavily, "It's not about that, Lisa. I just… I can't."
"Dean…" she tried again.
"Just drop it!" he burst out angrily, roughly pushing the covers aside and sitting up in bed, his feet on the floor and his back to her. "Okay, Lisa? Drop it."
Her heart ached for him as she watched him stand up and leave the bedroom without another glance in her direction. She heard the bathroom door close and then the shower running and she let out a frustrated groan, falling back against the pillows.
She knew he was hurting, knew this was hard for him to deal with, but her heart broke for him every time she saw him like this.
She just hoped that with time he would begin to heal, begin to live again, because she didn't think she could bear to see him like this for much longer. And if something didn't change soon, she was going to lose him for good.
Hope you enjoyed - feedback/reviews are always appreciated :).