Who Do You Love - Dean Ambrose

building bridges

As it turned out the thank you didn't help and the next morning we packed our bags and left the motel in silence.

As in silence silence.

Not a word was spoken.

Or at least it wasn't spoken by him. I on the other hand chattered away constantly, trying my best to pick the mood up and encompassing everything from the state of the weather, to the road conditions and global news.

Nothing.

Dean didn't grunt, he didn't try to answer, in fact he didn't so much as look at me and eventually I sighed and reluctantly gave up.

The thing was I couldn't really blame him either. After all I had been impossibly stupid and reckless and crazy and every word in between. If I was honest then it was only thanks to his intervention that I was still there and not – I shuddered – somewhere else. As it had turned out I hadn't drunken enough that the night had blurred or faded and as a result I could still remember it pretty clearly, even though I longed to forget. I could remember the feeling of Jeff's clawing fingers, his stale smell of sweat and the look on Dean's face.

Ugh.

That was the worst part. Easily, out of all of it. Dean's two parts angry to one part sad look. I had put that there. I had done that and I was desperate – desperate– to take it back off. I had already tried being upbeat and cheerful but clearly it was time to try something else and drawing in a long breath – which also fought down the nausea – I swallowed and awkwardly cleared my throat,

"Okay, look, about last night – ,"

"Jesus," he groaned and although it was angry, I was pretty relieved to hear his gruff tones, "Do we really gotta do this? The fuckin' post-mortem?"

I glanced down at my hands and shrugged,

"I think we do."

"What's left to say? You went out, you got drunk and some guy tried to drag you back to his hotel room. I punched him. It's done. You want to rehash it? Be my guest. But leave me out of it, okay Princess? This isn't group therapy. I don't do that shit."

His answer was so hostile and oddly bitter that it took me by complete surprise.

Some guy tried to drag you back to his hotel room.

That part still made me utterly shudder. But wasn't that exactly what had nearly happened? Killing things between Dean and I at the same time? Last night – before my drunken misadventure – I had felt Dean and I were breaking down a wall. We were talking, he was teasing me, kind of looking out for me and the whole thing had felt undeniably nice. Suddenly however we were back at square one again and although I knew it was all my fault I couldn't not try to make it better.

I couldn't just let him sit there in a mood.

"Well maybe you should."

He blinked at me fiercely, the blue orbs flashing in sudden affront and although I'd been dying for him to look at me all morning, I could have done without the obvious ire,