New York, New York, October 2007

He sticks out like a sore thumb, more so now than out on the Cape. He's all rough edges and dark shadows, collar popped as he stands in the entranceway of the gallery. She's a glorified receptionist really but it's not bad for her first job fresh out of school. She's got a position at an up and coming gallery in the heart of the Village, a tiny studio with one of her friends from Sarah Lawrence and plans to get her MFA next year once she's saved up some money. Could be worse - better than she expected anyway.

The one thing she didn't expect was to look up from reading the Voice and see Dean fucking Winchester smiling right at her, like it had been weeks instead of years since they'd seen each other. She gets over her initial shock fast and within a half an hour, she finds herself heading to dinner with him, to her favorite Moroccan place even though Dean put up a token protest at first when she made the choice.

Maria's a little nervous, flustered because she never expected to see him again. It's not like she hasn't dated, she has; including this one guy seriously in her sophomore and junior years. It's just... It's Dean, and he was her first. But then he chews with his mouth open and she laughs, remembers how wonderful that week was four years ago.

She takes him back to her place under the guise of coffee, checks furtively to see if her roommate is around; she isn't thankfully, must be staying at her boyfriend's place. They fuck on the tiny futon in what passes for their living room, her old cat sitting on the window sill, blinking owlishly. He rips her stockings but makes her leave her work shoes on, these black stiletto heels Maria kind of hates but they do magnificent things for her calves

The first time, there on the couch, they don't even get undressed; he just shoves her clothes out of the way, skirt around her waist, shirt open, bra shoved down and his pants at his ankles as he presses inside of her; his sweat mingling with hers, his moans overlapping her groans of pleasure. They move to her tiny shoebox of a room afterward, dropping clothes in their wake. They fuck again, slower this time and if Maria was a bit more idealistic, she'd say they'd made love. But she isn't so she won't.

When she wakes up the next morning (a Sunday thank god, no work) Dean's gone and she finds herself with a tiny bubble of hurt bubbling up in her chest, thinking he'd left without a goodbye. Until she hears the front door open and he's suddenly filling the door frame, large and real and red-cheeked from the chill of the October morning, bearing two cups of coffee from the place on the corner. She smiles and throws back the covers, invites him in with her body and mouth.

They fuck again, then, coffee cooling on her book shelf cum night stand; they're lying there afterwards, bodies pressed together slick and tight when his phone goes off, some god-awful rock tune. He sighs and answers, voice low and gruff and almost annoyed but still filled with affection.

"My little brother, just checking on me." He explains after hanging up.

She smiles. "That's sweet." She stumbles then, just a little, "Didn't know you had a brother."

Dean frowns, swallows. "When you and I-back then, I wasn't sure I did."

Maria frowns herself, sits up and takes a sip of her long-cold coffee.

"Families are a bitch."

Dean huffs what could be a laugh at that and rubs a hand down his face. "Understatement."

He hesitates then and she smiles, not unkind and looks him in the eye, her hair swinging down over her shoulder and her left breast.

"If you have to go, Dean, go. This... us, we are what we are. I never expected anything more."

Dean puts his head down, nods. "I know. Just. I had to come see you. But I don't have to go yet. Sam just gets his panties in a bunch easily."

She chuckles, thinks fondly of her own little sister. "So?"

He rubs the back of his neck and looks at her from under the fringe of his lashes. '"Know anywhere we can grab a bite to eat?"

They make plans to meet Sam at this little cafe she has brunch at almost every Sunday. During the warmer months, they have tiny little tables they set out on the sidewalk but for now, she settles on a cozy table by the window. She watches out at the world through the smudged glass, at the people meandering by on the cracked sidewalk, as they wait for Dean's younger brother. Dean orders a coffee and drinks it black; she'd forgotten the little details about him. Finds herself a little sad that she did.

She unwraps her pale pink and brown stripe scarf after awhile and stuffs it in her bag. He smiles at her but then his attention is diverted when the door tinkles, announcing the arrival of a new customer. There's a guy there; tall, dark, floppy hair and Maria finds herself eyeing him, thinking he's exactly her type. He makes his way over to the table and it takes her a minute to figure out that Oh fuck, this is Sam, Dean's baby brother. She almost chokes on her oolong when he smiles and introduces himself, settling down across from her and Dean.

He's wearing a Stanford hoodie and she asks him about it, says she had a friend transfer there. Turns out he went there, too, and they spend the better part of an hour talking art history and debating Impressionists paintings vs. Modern, music, Greek life (which neither were a part of) and various other aspects of college life.

After awhile, Maria is aware of Dean tearing his paper napkin into tiny strips and biting his lip. She puts a hand on his knee and squeezes. Sam hasn't asked about how she and Dean know each other but she offers it anyway. Something passes between the brothers when she mentions the year, silent yet tangible and this time, Sam tenses and fidgets. She wants to ask about Stanford and Dean's remark from earlier but refrains. Contrary to what her sophomore roommate thinks, she can have tact.

The three of them spend another hour together and then Sam makes an excuse about visiting the library, his eyes lighting up like only a true bibliophile's would and she smiles as he leaves. Dean finishes his fourth cup of coffee and the last bite of her egg and cheese croissant and looks her in the eye.

''Sam-Sam took off the year before you and I... My dad didn't take it well. Sam and I lost touch till about two years ago. So... just..."

He trails off and she reaches over, cups his stubbled jaw and kisses him.

"It's ok, Dean. You don't have to explain."

He shrugs. "Sure you don't wanna head up to the library with him? You two seem to have plenty of things in common."

She rolls her eyes and smacks him upside the head as she winds her scarf back around her neck again, stands up and buttons her tan corduroy coat. Holds out her hand to him after he tosses money down on the table to settle their tab.

"You ass. We might have things in common but. Dean." He stands and she looks up into his green eyes. "You're... you were. You're special, alright?"

He smiles, but it doesn't quite touch his eyes. "I'm something alright."

She shakes her head but feels something like sadness settle over her shoulders as she laces their hands together and leads him outside.

They spend the afternoon wandering around, poking in used bookstores and consignment shops. The sharp bite of winter is trying to sneak in, under her tights and skirt, through her sweater but she just presses closer to Dean and ignores it, focuses on how the cold turns his cheeks and ears pink.

They end up back at her place at dusk, ordering in some Chinese food from down the street, lo mein and General Tso's and egg rolls. They eat on the floor, food spread out on the coffee table as she forces Dean to watch some shows she'd Tivo'ed earlier in the week. He tries to deny it but she can see him chuckling at Nancy Botwin and her predicament.

They end up back in her room when her roommate Brie comes home, fucking quietly under her wash-worn jewel toned blankets. Every touch of his hands and mouth and cock are tinged with sadness and Maria can feel it. She holds onto him after they come, cradles his head on her chest and feels tears well in her eyes but not sure why. They fall asleep that way, Dean's arms wrapped tight around her.

Maria wakes the next morning to find Dean dressed, mouth turned down, hands shoved deep in the pockets of his navy blue jacket. She sits up and slips on a tee, walks over to him, wrapping her arms around his waist. He holds onto her tight, almost clinging for a moment before pressing a kiss to her hair (it's all brown now; she stopped dying it blue in junior year). She pulls back to look at his face and has to ask.

"What was this about Dean?" She knows he's leaving, can read it in every line of his body. He smiles, features maudlin.

"Goodbye." He runs his fingers down her jaw line and then kisses her forehead. "Sam's number is in your phone now. Call him if you ever need anything."

Maria nods, her eyes wet and doesn't ask why Sam, why not him, why not Dean. Doesn't want to know the answer. He leaves then, with a small wave and a tiny click of her bedroom door. She collapses back onto her still warm bed, the covers reeking of him and her and them and she curls up, thanks god she doesn't have work again and starts to cry, quietly mourning the first man she ever loved.



END