( continues...) It's always people, just using the unexplained to their own benefit."
Sandy eyebrows shoot upward, and Dean's face relaxes into a patronizing smile that doesn't come anywhere near her eyes. "If you're so sure about that, then why are you back here in ghost stories?" She lets out a low chuckle that ruffles Velma's bangs, and waits for the answer Velma can't give her. When it doesn't come, her arms loop down, lifting Velma up until her eyes are even with Dean's and the back of her head is pressed against section 127, the unconscious and the subconscious.
Dean's mouth is hot and hard and unexpected against her own. Velma whimpers against it, wrapping her legs around Dean's waist and feeling like she's just solved the biggest mystery ever. One hand holds her steady, fingertips caressing the small of her back through the thick orange wool of her sweater, while the other one slides across the bare skin of her knee, under her skirt and up the inside of her thigh. Then, as suddenly as it started, it stops. She's standing again on shaking legs, Dean a foot or two away, arms at her sides, face unreadable.
"I mean it," Dean says quietly. "Stay away from there tonight. It's no place for amateurs."
Mute again, Velma nods.
Dean smiles, leans in and brushes a quick kiss across Velma's slightly-parted lips. "Good girl," she whispers, and walks away.