Witching Hour | Winchester

Twenty-Six

"Come on, Booster Seat."

Roxanne narrows her eyes at Dean, scowling at the nickname. She recalls very clearly that night. A couple nights ago, he decided to sit at the bar, and she had struggled to climb onto the bar stool without assistance. He has since used the nickname enough that Sam has caught onto it, too. She decides to let it go, despite his cheeky grin.

"Where are we going?"

"I'm taking you out for breakfast."

"What about Sam?"

Dean waves a hand lazily. "He has legs. He can get something on his own."

She frowns. "But you waited this long. You can wait until he gets back from his run."

Dean gives her a look, and it takes a moment to register in her mind.

"Oh."

He grabs his leather jacket, shrugging it on. She stares blankly at the door as she thinks it over. They hadn't really had much of a chance to talk since the kiss, and it was now obvious that Dean wanted some alone time with her. But she wasn't sure she could handle that.

"You ready?"

She nods, getting up and crossing the room. He sighs as she picks up her jacket.

"I'll give him a call if it'll make you feel better."

"Will you get mad if he shows up?"

Dean pulls out his phone and holds the door open for her. She raises a brow, smiling as she steps out into the warm April air. Dean locks the door behind them and heads for Baby.

"I guess not. As long as I don't have to share."

They climb into the car, and Dean revs the engine.

"The food? Or me?"

"Both."

Within minutes, the two are seated at a booth in the local diner. After their orders are put in, Roxanne leans back in her seat.

"You know, I just realized something."

"What?"

"I never exactly agreed to do this."

"That's the tactic," Dean sips his coffee. "Tell you what's happening. By the time you realize I didn't ask, it's too late."

She chuckles, eyeing him for a moment. "Who says it's too late?"

"Touché."

She smiles for a bit, then turns to look out the window. She watches as a couple of birds pick over some bread crumbs in the parking lot. She steels herself for what she knows needs to come next. If he won't bring it up, she will.

"So, about the other night..."

"Rox."

She meets his eyes.

"Let's not talk about that."

She frowns. "Why not?"

He shrugs. "Let's just have a nice meal."

She hesitates, her eyes boring into his.

"Was this a mistake?" She asks calmly. "Is that why you don't want to talk?"

"No," he laughs breathlessly. "God, no. I just don't think there's much to talk about."

He reaches across the table, running his thumb over her knuckles.

"I don't regret anything. I just know you're gonna overanalyze everything."

She scoffs. "I will not."