Of Darkness (Supernatural Mates Book One)

|03| Dean

Song of the Chapter: Amber Run – "Spark (Radio Edit)"

Word Count: 2466

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|Dean|

"Dean! Deeeaaannn!"

Why was I screaming like a maniac in the middle of the woods? Simple: I was looking for Dean. And why was I looking for Dean? Well, after the little incident in Art class I couldn't calm myself the rest of the day. I needed someone to talk to...even if it was a dead someone who was perpetually eighteen.

I felt like someone was constantly watching me and following me the rest of the day. I didn't know if it was a residual effect from seeing that faceless...whatever it was, but I really hoped that was the case. I didn't need to start being followed by anyone or anything.

The whole time I've had my ability, I've been lucky enough to not be haunted by any of the ghosts. Which was strange because when I looked up some of the, well for lack of a better word, "symptoms" of my ability, haunting popped up as one of them.

I cupped my hands around my mouth preparing to shout out his name again when I tripped on an upturned root. I let out a scream as I came tumbling forward, my glove-clad hands out ready to catch myself when I landed, but the impact never came.

Two strong hands held me at my waist, a unique buzzing sensation traveling through the fingertips. Like constant static biting at my skin. "Whoa there sweetheart. Do I have you falling for me already?"

A wide grin spread across my face at the sound of his voice. I hadn't heard it in days, but it had felt like a lifetime ago. I threw my arms around him in glee, extremely happy to see him, and telling him so as he wrapped his arms around me in a hug.

Strange thing about ghosts, the longer they are one the more things they can do. Like Dean, if they feel a certain emotion—any kind of emotion—strongly, and they reign in and focus on it, they can become solid (or as solid as a ghost can get). When they became solid, they weren't completely...whole. There was a weird feeling of hollowness to them, like they were walking, talking mannequins with static-y, cold skin. Dean always felt that way to me, but with it came an odd sense of security.

When we broke a part he asked, "Why were you screaming my name? I mean I only ever thought I'd hear you scream my name like that in my dreams, but..."

I rolled my eyes at his immaturity. Even dead boys were perverts. "I needed to talk to someone."

"Ah, I see. Well then," He took a step back and gestured to the rope bridge behind him. "Step into my office." I sat next to Dean, our legs dangling over the edge of the bridge above the rushing river. "Tell me what's bothering you, babe."

"I saw something today..." I started, but I honestly had no idea how to explain what it was I actually saw.

"You're always seeing things," He shrugged. "That's nothing new."

"I know," I looked at him, and my eyes latched onto his. Despite his nonchalant words, he looked concerned.

With a jolt I realized that he and Aspen looked a lot alike, just, Dean's facial features were a tad bit softer than Aspen's—not as severe—and he wasn't as broad. Maybe that's why I'm attracted to Aspen.