Wrath of Khan is half over by the time they get inside. Dad's still out – God knows where – and Sam's in his room glued to his Gameboy. Dean's turned the lights down and he's popped some popcorn and he's poured them both a glass of grape juice and Charlie is lounging on the couch next to him, occasionally tossing kernels into the air and catching them in her mouth. Once in a while she'll throw one at Dean. He never misses.
He's looking at her more than the crappy TV, inching closer, then away again. She's pretty, she is. Dean likes her and he likes girls in general now, but he can't help thinking this might be a little easier with somebody - anybody - else.
It's about half an hour later when Charlie finally turns to him, heaves out a frustrated breath and says, “well? Are you gonna kiss me, or just pussyfoot around it all damn day?”
Dean blinks, momentarily stunned by the outbursts. He's not used to being put on the spot, not about things like this. Hell, he's not used to things like this at all, but he quickly shakes it off and smiles. It's better now, he thinks. It's only been one afternoon, only a few tries (and he'll practice more later, when Charlie's gone home for the night) but he's pretty sure he's actually flirting, by this point. His smile feels good, confident.
“Never make a lady ask twice, that's my motto,” Dean tells her. At least, it is now.
He leans in. Charlie doesn't, but that's okay. Dean's the guy, he can do most of the work.
Dean closes his eyes, Charlie does too and when their lips meet, it's... nice. It's nice and then it's awkward when they just stay there, frozen. Neither of them moves, mouths pressed together, bodies stiff with Dean's hand clamped around Charlie's shoulder and her hands pressed flat to the couch at her sides.
It's awkward until Sam comes into the room, a good thirty seconds later.
“Gross!” he says. “Jeeze, Dean. I'm telling dad!”
Dean and Charlie break apart, laughing a little nervously as they retreat to their separate spaces.
“Whatever, loser,” Dean says, over his shoulder to where Sam's getting a soda from the fridge. “You want to watch with us? We got popcorn.”
“Star Trek?” Sam asks, scrunching up his nose.
Dean and Charlie pointedly ignore the dig, but Sam joins them anyway.
***
Four hours later and well into The Voyage Home (turns out there was a marathon) and Sam's asleep on the second couch. The popcorn is gone and so is the grape juice and the space between Dean and Charlie has completely disappeared. She's curled up under his arm, leaning against his side while he twirls her hair around his fingers and holds her close.
Fuck, he's going to miss her. She's the best friend he's ever had.
“It's late,” Dean says.
“Mmmm,” Charlie agrees.
Dean doesn't let go and Charlie only snuggles in closer.
“I don't think my Dad's coming home.”
“Mmmm.”
“You could... stay if you want? I don't mean... No making out, or anything, just....”
“You're warm,” Charlie fills in and Dean smiles against the top of her head.
Dean pulls the throw blanket from the side of the couch and drapes it over Charlie and they're both quiet.
When the credits to The Final Frontier start to roll they're both mostly asleep. Dean thinks about turning the television off, but he doesn't want to let go, wants this night to keep going for as long as it possibly can. He doesn't want to leave town, this time.
“Hey Dean?” Charlie mumbles sleepily, as Dean shifts to get a little more comfortable.
no subject
Wrath of Khan is half over by the time they get inside. Dad's still out – God knows where – and Sam's in his room glued to his Gameboy. Dean's turned the lights down and he's popped some popcorn and he's poured them both a glass of grape juice and Charlie is lounging on the couch next to him, occasionally tossing kernels into the air and catching them in her mouth. Once in a while she'll throw one at Dean. He never misses.
He's looking at her more than the crappy TV, inching closer, then away again. She's pretty, she is. Dean likes her and he likes girls in general now, but he can't help thinking this might be a little easier with somebody - anybody - else.
It's about half an hour later when Charlie finally turns to him, heaves out a frustrated breath and says, “well? Are you gonna kiss me, or just pussyfoot around it all damn day?”
Dean blinks, momentarily stunned by the outbursts. He's not used to being put on the spot, not about things like this. Hell, he's not used to things like this at all, but he quickly shakes it off and smiles. It's better now, he thinks. It's only been one afternoon, only a few tries (and he'll practice more later, when Charlie's gone home for the night) but he's pretty sure he's actually flirting, by this point. His smile feels good, confident.
“Never make a lady ask twice, that's my motto,” Dean tells her. At least, it is now.
He leans in. Charlie doesn't, but that's okay. Dean's the guy, he can do most of the work.
Dean closes his eyes, Charlie does too and when their lips meet, it's... nice. It's nice and then it's awkward when they just stay there, frozen. Neither of them moves, mouths pressed together, bodies stiff with Dean's hand clamped around Charlie's shoulder and her hands pressed flat to the couch at her sides.
It's awkward until Sam comes into the room, a good thirty seconds later.
“Gross!” he says. “Jeeze, Dean. I'm telling dad!”
Dean and Charlie break apart, laughing a little nervously as they retreat to their separate spaces.
“Whatever, loser,” Dean says, over his shoulder to where Sam's getting a soda from the fridge. “You want to watch with us? We got popcorn.”
“Star Trek?” Sam asks, scrunching up his nose.
Dean and Charlie pointedly ignore the dig, but Sam joins them anyway.
***
Four hours later and well into The Voyage Home (turns out there was a marathon) and Sam's asleep on the second couch. The popcorn is gone and so is the grape juice and the space between Dean and Charlie has completely disappeared. She's curled up under his arm, leaning against his side while he twirls her hair around his fingers and holds her close.
Fuck, he's going to miss her. She's the best friend he's ever had.
“It's late,” Dean says.
“Mmmm,” Charlie agrees.
Dean doesn't let go and Charlie only snuggles in closer.
“I don't think my Dad's coming home.”
“Mmmm.”
“You could... stay if you want? I don't mean... No making out, or anything, just....”
“You're warm,” Charlie fills in and Dean smiles against the top of her head.
Dean pulls the throw blanket from the side of the couch and drapes it over Charlie and they're both quiet.
When the credits to The Final Frontier start to roll they're both mostly asleep. Dean thinks about turning the television off, but he doesn't want to let go, wants this night to keep going for as long as it possibly can. He doesn't want to leave town, this time.
“Hey Dean?” Charlie mumbles sleepily, as Dean shifts to get a little more comfortable.
“Mmm?”
“I think moving sucks, too.”