Cassie is still a fresh wound when Dean meets Susan, and to his great shame, he ends up talking to her about Sam instead of trying to sleep with her. He's so shitty at rebounds, he swears to fucking god. He's not very good at distractions. Dean has been raised from day one to pay attention to absence and pain.
They start arguing around the third drink.
"People grow up," she shrugs. "What else would you have them do? Cling to childhood fantasies? Close themselves off from the world?"
"It's not fantasy," Dean spits out. He really wishes she'd stop using that word. "It's family. It's duty."
"Duty to what?"
"To family, man. And the family business."
Susan stirs her whiskey sour. "What business are you in again?"
"I'm in the goddamn mafia, what does it matter what business I'm in?"
She raises her eyebrows. "Touchy. Tell me, Dean, you've never had duty betray you?"
"What are you talking about?" he mutters.
"Someone gives you a blessing. They say to you, this is for you, you are for this. You give it your all, and sometimes you can't tell if it's because you want to or because it's just how it's meant to be."
"I don't believe in destiny, Sue," Dean smirks.
She frowns. "Don't call me Sue."
"Just don't call you late for dinner, huh?"
"What?" But Susan shrugs him off, continues, "So you give it your all. You're told, give to it and it will give to you."
"Lady, I have no idea what you're talking about."
"Don't call me lady."
"Well, jesus, what should I call you, then? 'Your highness'?"
And she smiles. "That's a start."
+
"What I'm saying," Susan says, and Dean looks down at her hand when she covers his, "is let go."
The reply slips out of him before he can stop himself, crackly and hoarse and ashamed. "I can't."
+
In front of the bar, they prepare to part ways, maybe.
"You sure you'll be okay?" Dean asks, 'cause he may be drunk right now, but he can be a gentleman if he wants to. "Don't want to leave you alone. Uh. I mean, this isn't a bar where the good tourists go."
Susan laughs. "I'll be fine. I'm waiting for a friend. What about you? Will you be all right?"
"My motel's just up the road, I can walk."
"That's good." She reaches up and straightens his hair with a card of her fingers, and the gesture surprises him.
"Not very nice of your friend," Dean says, "keeping you waiting like this."
"What can I say? She's a busy girl."
"She?"
"And I had you company." Susan smiles, and Dean wonders if he should kiss her. And then her face lights up, and she says, "There she is!"
Dean turns around as Susan says goodbye to him, and he spots a silhouette standing just outside the circle of streetlight. He can't make out much in the gloom, only the vague gleam of red hair, fluttering in the breeze.
"You take care of yourself, Dean," Susan says, and when he turns to look back at her, she leans in and brushes her lips against his. "Know when to let go," she whispers, and then she smiles, and Dean blinks.
"See ya," Dean says, feeling stupid, watching her jog to her friend.
Dean looks back at the bar door. It's not that late yet, he can squeeze in a couple more drinks. Maybe he can play some pool, make some money, salvage the night. Images of Cassie ghost through his mind, and Dean thinks yeah, another drink. Hey, maybe instead of pool, Susan and her friend can join him for even more booze, and he turns around to call out to her, but to his surprise, the street is empty.
no subject
Cassie is still a fresh wound when Dean meets Susan, and to his great shame, he ends up talking to her about Sam instead of trying to sleep with her. He's so shitty at rebounds, he swears to fucking god. He's not very good at distractions. Dean has been raised from day one to pay attention to absence and pain.
They start arguing around the third drink.
"People grow up," she shrugs. "What else would you have them do? Cling to childhood fantasies? Close themselves off from the world?"
"It's not fantasy," Dean spits out. He really wishes she'd stop using that word. "It's family. It's duty."
"Duty to what?"
"To family, man. And the family business."
Susan stirs her whiskey sour. "What business are you in again?"
"I'm in the goddamn mafia, what does it matter what business I'm in?"
She raises her eyebrows. "Touchy. Tell me, Dean, you've never had duty betray you?"
"What are you talking about?" he mutters.
"Someone gives you a blessing. They say to you, this is for you, you are for this. You give it your all, and sometimes you can't tell if it's because you want to or because it's just how it's meant to be."
"I don't believe in destiny, Sue," Dean smirks.
She frowns. "Don't call me Sue."
"Just don't call you late for dinner, huh?"
"What?" But Susan shrugs him off, continues, "So you give it your all. You're told, give to it and it will give to you."
"Lady, I have no idea what you're talking about."
"Don't call me lady."
"Well, jesus, what should I call you, then? 'Your highness'?"
And she smiles. "That's a start."
+
"What I'm saying," Susan says, and Dean looks down at her hand when she covers his, "is let go."
The reply slips out of him before he can stop himself, crackly and hoarse and ashamed. "I can't."
+
In front of the bar, they prepare to part ways, maybe.
"You sure you'll be okay?" Dean asks, 'cause he may be drunk right now, but he can be a gentleman if he wants to. "Don't want to leave you alone. Uh. I mean, this isn't a bar where the good tourists go."
Susan laughs. "I'll be fine. I'm waiting for a friend. What about you? Will you be all right?"
"My motel's just up the road, I can walk."
"That's good." She reaches up and straightens his hair with a card of her fingers, and the gesture surprises him.
"Not very nice of your friend," Dean says, "keeping you waiting like this."
"What can I say? She's a busy girl."
"She?"
"And I had you company." Susan smiles, and Dean wonders if he should kiss her. And then her face lights up, and she says, "There she is!"
Dean turns around as Susan says goodbye to him, and he spots a silhouette standing just outside the circle of streetlight. He can't make out much in the gloom, only the vague gleam of red hair, fluttering in the breeze.
"You take care of yourself, Dean," Susan says, and when he turns to look back at her, she leans in and brushes her lips against his. "Know when to let go," she whispers, and then she smiles, and Dean blinks.
"See ya," Dean says, feeling stupid, watching her jog to her friend.
Dean looks back at the bar door. It's not that late yet, he can squeeze in a couple more drinks. Maybe he can play some pool, make some money, salvage the night. Images of Cassie ghost through his mind, and Dean thinks yeah, another drink. Hey, maybe instead of pool, Susan and her friend can join him for even more booze, and he turns around to call out to her, but to his surprise, the street is empty.