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( the closest city with a major grocery store and a decent fucking liquor store is an hour north in nebraska — which is almost laughable after the fact; if he'd known bev was about to show up on his doorstep, he could have just picked her at the airport and saved her the trouble of renting a car and driving out to the middle of bumfuck nowhere on his very specific yet not specific enough directions on how to get to the bunker (which he realizes later are a little hard to follow for someone without an internal gps). the real irony of the whole situation is she must have left the airport around the time they left the bunker, leaving her to wait around for at least a couple of hours — dean insisted while they were in hastings they were getting greasy, meat-loaded pizza at godfather's as a fucking treat (sam still only had a slice of alfredo and a salad, like a heathen) which must have added another half an hour or so on top of their normal in-and-out supply run. though, of course, this trip wasn't so in-and-out considering everything in their fridge had expired while they were being held captive by government operatives.

he gets her text while they're checking out at the liquor store (he can't really blame cas for going through most of their stockpile while they were in government isolation for two fucking months, but it would've been nice if he'd left the good stuff) and, despite the overall innocuousness of it, he can't help the prickling feeling of something being not quite right. they don't usually text like this — unless, of course, this is supposed to be the lead in to some kind of sexting, in which case ... well, that's new, but not unwelcome. he shoots back:

supply run sorry to disappoint gimme half an hour and i can be doing something much more interesting 😏

it's practically a damn record how fast he makes it back to lebanon, anticipation gunning the accelerator, his heart racing almost as fast as the impala. he hasn't seen or spoken to bev since december — he'd called yesterday as soon as he could, couldn't explain everything, not yet, but he needed to let her know he was alive, at least — and, frankly, he's not entirely sure where they stand right now; this particular conversation could go one of two ways and so could his nerves. it's either gong to be a conversation he'll enjoy or it's not and he might be more anxious about it going south than in whatever direction they haven't explored yet. sam's learned by now not to question dean's driving habits or his speeding, but even he has to wonder what the hell has dean making such good time when they're just going back to the bunker. dean assures him it's not an emergency, just that he wants to keep his word to bev, as a personal victory.

so it's no wonder when he pulls up to the bunker and bev is just standing there, leaning against some rental car smoking a cigarette, he's never shifted gears faster, the impala lurching to a stop as he leaps out the door without bothering to shut it behind him. his heart is hammering wildly as he half jogs to where she is, laughing in disbelief, his breath coming out in bursts and clouding in the cold kansas air. what the hell is she doing here? he can't decide if he should be worried or pissed or confused or just ... happy. why didn't you tell me? i would have driven faster. he's sure he could have made it in under half an hour if he really put his mind to it, if he'd known what — who would be waiting for him when he got back. )

Holy shit, Bev. ( he reaches out to hold her face in his hands, press his forehead to hers, maybe just to convince himself that she's really here. ) Sure do know how to give a guy a heart attack. ( but he's laughing, delighted, and then he pulls her in, his arms wrapping tightly around her shoulders, his nose buried in her hair. god, he's missed this: her, physical intimacy, everything. he knows sam is watching, or at least standing awkwardly by the impala and trying politely to pretend he's not watching, so he presses a kiss to her head discreetly, lowering his voice just for her. ) It's so fucking good to see you, babe.

( which sounds a lot like i'll explain everything once we're not freezing our asses off. he pulls back just enough to brush her hair out of her face and look her in the eyes again, as if assessing her for damage, physical and mental. )

You're not in trouble? No warrants for your arrest I should be aware of?

( he's joking, for the most part, but there's a genuine concern laced into it, too. he just wants to make sure she's okay. there are probably more bad reasons why she came all the way out here than there are good ones — and the good one he's pretty sure is standing right in front of her. )

[ Honestly, up until this second, Beverly wasn't sure how this was going to go. It's such a gigantic leap of faith, fueled entirely by impulse (just like when she kissed him in the car, invited him up to her place, adrenaline and attraction buzzing hot under her skin). Ever since Derry, ever since she got her memories back, it's like the veil between her past and present was worn paper-thin and the girl she used to be — could still be — is standing somewhere behind her, pushing, reminding her to make the first choice, to be brave, to follow her heart. It's as terrifying as it is exhilarating and she feels manic with the swings, sometimes, just like when she realised what the fuck she was doing in coming out here.

They're friends, of course they're friends. She's known Dean as long as she's (re)known the Losers in all the ways that count. But whatever they ignited between them back in November is still so new and still smouldering quietly under weeks of silence and uncertainty. But the one thing that is certain, after he called, is that she needed to see him. She could have gone to any of the Losers in this mini mid-mid-life crises, any one of them would have opened his door to her in the throes of emotional upheaval. But there's something comforting about seeing someone outside of all that, removed from the horror of the clown and everything it tore up inside of them.

It's one thing to be known, another thing to be seen, and yet another to have both reframed by perspective and distance without sacrificing the intimacy of either. So — Kansas. So... Dean. Even if she, like him, isn't sure where they stand. But that's for later. Right now is for being swept up in his embrace, warm and solid and tight; and if she feels the burn of unexpected emotions (relief, almost overwhelming), she buries them in his shoulder, laughing into his jacket. Even after his hands dropped away, she can still feel the burning imprints they've left on her icy cheeks.

Yeah, you too, she whispers back, eyes prickling. God. God, it's so good to see him, to lean into the callused curve of his palm against her face, looking back at him with as much openness as he does her. She needed this more than she thought. ]

No, no, it's okay, I'm okay, [ she says in a rush, meaning it as much as she doesn't. Obviously she's not okay, showing up out of the blue like this. But it's not an emergency. She's almost embarrassed that it isn't. If that makes her blush, it's lost in the colour whipped into her face from the wind. ] I'm sorry, [ reflexive, earnest, ] I should've said something, I just — [ didn't know where to go ] — I wasn't thinking. I know. [ Her voice pitches higher, eyes rolling to the sky, wry and self-deprecating: ] Crazy.

[ When she left Tom and had to run, it was Derry and the Losers acting as true north, Bev nothing but a helpless compass needle spinning round and round for 27 years. Now, she has a home in Long Island, Los Angeles, Atlanta, Florida. But she came here. She doesn't know what to make of that: needing him. This. Is that something to apologise for? ]

I'm sorry, [ she says again anyway, her faint smile turning inward, self-conscious. Her hands are still on the small of his back, holding him close. She's distantly aware Sam's behind him watching this go down and she straightens up with a sniff, nose running from the cold, swiping at it with her gloved hand. ] I'm being rude. [ Ruder than showing up unannounced? A shiver bolts up her spine, delayed. ] I should — should say hi to your brother, huh?

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