The forest is dark but Dean know it isn't night. The sun is there, even if it doesn't want to be found.
He has to get through the forest.
It is easy to see, even through the darkness and the path – there actually is a path, too, beaten down and laid out straight for him – is clear. The trees all lean over the path and then forward, as if urging Dean on.
There is light in the distance, a single, thick ray of sun that is showcasing an absolute vision. Dean doesn't realize he is running until he has stopped at the forest's edge.
"Lisa," he breaths, voice reverent like it never is when awake.
"Dean," Lisa greets with a small smile and warm eyes. "We never got to finish our picnic. Aren't you hungry?"
"I'm starving," Dean says and then he's stretched out across the blanket, his head in Lisa's lap. One of her hands finds the back of his head, fingers sliding easily through his hair, nails scratching lightly. The familiarity of the motion makes Dean's entire being swell with happiness.
Lisa laughs and it sounds like nothing Dean's ever heard from anything else but it reminds him of slow mornings, the wind on the open road, and the purr of the Impala.
Dean reaches out and snags a grape, cants his head back to watch and he places the fruit against Lisa's lips. She opens her mouth, sucks it in, and kisses his finger tips.
Dean hasn't loved many people in his life. There had been his mother, whom he'd loved with the selfish love of a child and his brother, whom he loved with the selfless love of a caregiver. There was his father, whom he could not help but love, even now, knowing what he knows, feeling as he feels. He may had loved Cassie, had she given him the chance.
He wants to love Lisa. There is something desperate in him that wants this more than he's wanted anything else for long time. That desperate thing is digging, hacking away at his heart, trying to best guess Lisa's shape and size so she can slot right in when the time comes.
"Dean, pay attention."
He opens his eyes and now they're both lying down. Lisa is fully clothed but Dean knows every inch of her coffee colored skin, what it feels like, what it tastes like.
With the memory of her flesh at the forefront of his mind, he can't help the curve of his lips as she feeds him a cracker stacked with cheese and ham.
"You'll make a mess," she warns and then she's on top of him, his arms around her. Dean is holding her against his chest, cradling her smaller body, and Lisa's head is tucked under his chin. He feels ready to burst and it just keeps coming.
"Dean," she says, trying to sound stern but there's something bright shining in her eyes; Dean doesn't have to see them to know this. "If we don't eat soon, we'll attract ants."
"Let them come," he announces brazenly. "They tickle."
She has a moment to react but still doesn't in time and then his fingers are dancing over her sides. They're both laughing now and it would hurt if pain had any right to enter into this moment. They roll and wrestle as he keeps up his attack. Lisa's hands are pulling at his, her face hidden against his chest, his neck, to muffle the laughter, her thighs clenched tight on either side of his.
Then she's on her back and Dean's leaning over her. Her tiny, delicate wrists are held to the earth by his much larger hands, but his hold is light, gentle. He would never hold her tight enough to bruise.
They lean together at once and try to kiss, but they're smiling far too wide to manage it.