Author's notes: Thanks everyone for your reviews :)) Hope, you're gonna like the following chapters
Chapter 2
Dean opened the door to the roadside motel room and, being such a gentleman, held it for Bela.
"Feel like home!" He allowed graciously following her inside.
Bela looked around the small room with long worn-out carpet, faded comforters on two single beds, scratched bedside tables with a TV that looked like a museum rarity on one of them, and curtains that were a little too short and probably twice older than she, and sighed. Wondered in the back of her mind whether these stains on the carpet near the window were dried blood but decided that it wasn't the best thing to think about at the moment. Not really homey but definitely Dean Winchester style, Bela decided.
"I'd rather not," she muttered under her breath.
Then she came up to the window and looked out at the empty parking lot, arms wrapped around her own shoulders. From where she was standing she could see a neon sign that read "Pacific Haven" at the far end of it which seemed ridiculous as the place was quite far from being a Haven and not even anywhere close to the Pacific. Two letters were turned off, probably broken, and one more was flickering like crazy. The lights in the registration office were on, though, and a shadow moved there behind the curtains. Most likely a clerk struggling to find what to occupy himself with for the rest of the night.
Meanwhile Dean took off his jacket and threw it carelessly across one of the beds. After that he fished his mobile phone and dialed the number.
"Hey, Ruby, it's…" he stopped and winced, obviously at the reply he received. "Yes, I've heard that already before and I'm freaking flattered, really. You're nice as always." He smiled as if Ruby could see him. "Um… listen, I know how to get the Colt back, and it's not a joke. I only need you to do whatever it takes to make your lot believe that my brother is dead." This time he had to jerk the phone away from his ear for a while giving Ruby a chance to say her furious remarks, which referred mainly to his your lot definition. Bela looked questioningly at him listening with interest to what she could make out. Dean caught her gaze and said soundlessly only with his lips pointing at the phone, "She's just awesome!" which Bela had no reasons to doubt as the tirade finished with something very close to frigging jerk. "Okay, honey! I knew I could count on you." That was addressed to Ruby again. "Thanks!" And he hung up before she could say something.
"So, your docker-like manners are not my privilege only, Dean." Bela smirked. "Just give me some time to understand whether it pleases or wounds my feelings."
"Well, that's a progress! At least we known you have them," Dean returned with his trademark Winchester smile all across his face.
"Sweet!" She commented dryly. "What now?"
"Now? Now I'm going to save your ass. Once again." Dean grabbed his jacket and headed for the door. "Sit tight!"
"Oh, no! You're not leaving me here alone!"
"Yes, I am, sweetheart. You can't help and hell if I let you cause me any more trouble than you already did." He checked his gun before tucking it behind the waistband all the way pretending that he didn't notice her flaring look.
"And what am I supposed to do here?" She asked sullenly with a displeased frown.
"Well, I don't know! Use your imagination!" Dean shrugged. "Watch TV. There's that midnight talk-show… Enjoy yourself! Please, be good girl and don't make me cuff you, I'm not in the mood for these games now."
"Dean…"
"Lock the door," he ordered before walking out. "I'll be back… sometime."
"What about my car?" She asked after him but it was as good as talking to the wall, as Dean had already been halfway through the parking lot by the end of the phrase with the door slammed behind him. "That's just damn perfect!" Bela muttered when she suddenly found herself standing in the middle of the cheapest and shabbiest motel room she'd ever seen. Everything happened so fast that she didn't even have a chance to understand if it was good or bad. Like a dream come true at first sight, Bela thought somewhat warily. More than she could ever wish and hope for. Or maybe nothing at all in the end.
She sighed and looked around. The idea of watching TV when her nerves were on edge seemed ridiculous just because. At last she spotted an old armchair that could possibly belong to her grandmother's grandmother that stood in the corner, climbed into it and pulled her knees up to her chest. Even despite the late hour the lights were off, for conspiracy. Not that it would be of any use against hell creatures, Bela thought, but she felt somehow safer that way, with the only illumination coming from streetlamps and that bloody neon sign. She reached into the pocket of her jacket for a mobile phone and tried to connect with Rufus, ask him if he'd talked to Dean, probably tell him that he was as good as dead if he had, but his phone was turned off. Bela stared at the black display as if waiting for a hint and then tucked the phone behind one of the cushions, thought she'd hear if it rang.
So, she sat there, and the silence was so think that even the sound of her own breath seemed too loud and out of place. And she prayed. For the first time in years she prayed, for Dean, for herself, feeling the unbidden tears slide down her cheeks and thanking God that she was alone at the moment.
The simplest alarm clock that so perfectly fit the furniture of the room flickered on the bedside table between the beds. If Dean failed – which Bela didn't really like to think about but still if – she had a little bit more than two hours left. That thought made chill run down her spine and she wrapped her arms even tighter around her knees. Oh, God, please help him. Just for once, please don't leave him alone…
--
Bela must have dozed off somewhere between one thought and another, probably too tired, or jaded to be exact, by all recent events that even her anxious state could not help her stay awake.
When she woke up from a pretty nasty dream several hours later it took her a couple of minutes to understand why on Earth would she be sleeping completely dressed on something that felt very much like a wooden bunk without a mattress. Something that least of all resembled anything she got used to. And then the memories of past few hours crept into her mind…
Bela sat up at a rush having several realizations at once. First of all, it started raining outside. She could hear heavy raindrops pattering against the window, firm and steady, right above her head. No wonder she was dreaming about a thunderstorm, she thought absentmindedly. Second – speaking of right above – Bela was no longer sitting in the armchair. Somehow – and she still had to figure out how – she moved to one of the beds and, what was even more surprising, she was covered by the side of a comforter she was actually lying on at the moment, definitely with care. And the last, the most unexpected discovery – was that her suitcase at the door?
"Dean?" Bela called out for him almost sure that she was still alone, assuming the silence in the room and complete unreality of what she was seeing.
"What? Can't sleep without me?" The sound of his voice made her whip round. "I always knew you've gotta be dreaming about me, Bela."
He was sitting on the next bed leaning against the headboard, with a pillow behind his back and a notebook in a weary cover in his lap, which he closed and put away together with the small flashlight that he used for reading as soon as she turned his way. He had dark circles under his eyes and he definitely looked tired, Bela decided, and who knew how long he'd been sitting here like that, but he still was Dean with that trademark smirk of his on his lips.
Bela sighed with relief and tried not to think about how it could be that his presence was making her feel warm all over.
"Don't flatter yourself," she made a funny face in reply to his comment. Okay, at least she found out how she got to the bed, which, she had to admit, was very nice of him. Something she least expected of Dean. Ever. Something she appreciated but, well, he didn't need to know about that. "What did you do to my car?"
"Sold it," Dean shrugged. "That junk," he waved his head to the suitcase, "no one wanted, though."
"If everything you own is junk, Dean, it doesn't mean that the same goes for everyone," Bela smirked, pleased with herself when he had nothing to say against that.
"You okay?" He asked suddenly, pretty much matter-of-factly, and added with pretended indifference in response to her arched brows. "I saw you had troubled sleep." It sounded almost like an excuse for the question because there was definitely something more in his voice than he was intended to show. Concern?
Well, yes, to some degree, because he did move her from that armchair which was fine but clearly uncomfortable to death when it came to sleeping in it and onto the bed. And then he watched her sleeping, and he felt really weird as he did. Worried, Dean decided. And protective. It seemed normal at first sight. Would've been in any other circumstances. If only he wasn't feeling over-protective about… Bela? Yes, she still was a pain in the ass, his personal major pain in the ass to be exact, but knowing what she had to go through just kind of changed everything. Like she was still Bela but not the same Bela he knew. He couldn't look at her the same way anymore. And it was something totally different from what he got used to.
"It's nothing," Bela retorted somewhat defensively feeling slightly uneasy about the way he looked at her. "How did everything go?"
"Awesome!" Dean grinned at her and – now that she was awake – turned on the light. "You know, digging the friggin' corpses out of their graves to burn them down so that their restless spirits could calm down was okay. Well, had been, since I got used to it. But stealing a body from morgue was a total yuck!" He winced. "A brand new experience!"
"Charming," Bela said with obvious disgust. "You know how entertain yourself, Dean." After that she swallowed nervously; keeping her cool was getting more and more difficult. "Do you think it actually worked?"
"It's four in the morning and you're still alive," he shrugged and gave out a wide yawn. "There was that guy, shot in the street fight, the same age and constitution as Sam but… um… hardly recognizable from the face." Dean sighed having no idea why he would tell her the details in the first place. Wondered if she cared at all but went on anyway. "Ruby took some blood from me and mixed with his. Some creepy DNA stuff," he raised his left arm and showed the bandage right below the elbow that was obviously covering the cut. "And she added something else to it – don't ask me what because I have no freaking idea. But I guess it worked." He looked Bela straight in the eye. "They bought it. From now on Sam Winchester is officially dead to everyone demon-related."
She watched Dean intensely for a while, trying to read the expression of his face which was strangely grave, despite the lightness of his voice. And she didn't like what she saw.
"It can't be that easy, can it?"
"In can't," Dean agreed with a nod.
Oo-kay!
"What is it, then? What's the trick?"
"It won't get them too long to understand that this son of a bitch is not my brother," he said with a regretful sigh. "Because he isn't, with all my respect to Ruby's resourcefulness."
Bela felt her stomach clench uncomfortably and adjusted her position on the bed, sat cross-legged to face him fully and absently ran her fingers through her hair.
"How long?"
"I don't know, several days. Ruby said, maybe three. Five at most," Dean dropped his gaze; pretended that the wristlet of his watch suddenly became very interesting.
"Five days," Bela repeated. "Let me think…" She closed her eyes and rubbed her forehead. That and a deep breath cleared her mind and helped her calm down and concentrate on the news. "That should be enough. Technically."
"Enough for what?" He blinked at her.
"Enough to get the Colt back. That was the whole point, remember?" Dean shrugged vaguely, which Bela took as Sure, but I can't say right to your face. "I'll… I'll make a couple of phone calls," she looked up at the alarm clock, "in the morning. And then I'll probably have to… Okay, joking aside, where is my car? You surely don't expect me to hitch-hike for your plaything across the world, do you? I need my car."
"You?" Dean gave out a short laugh and shook his head, obviously amused. Turned a deaf ear to her rather insulting plaything remark though. "Oh, no, sweetheart, I'm not letting you out of my sight before I have my gun back. Wherever you go, I go there, too."
That wasn't an offer or a request. His voice was stubbornly determined. Bela wanted to comment on lack of trust, which of course was justified but no less offensive nonetheless, while they stared at one another with withering looks. At last Bela rolled her eyes.
"Whatever, Dean," she huffed. "Not a problem. Two tickets to London, then. Hope you don't mind traveling in the first-class cabin, not in a luggage space?"
"I'll cope," he assured her with a venomous smile. "Wait a minute…" Dean paused when the meaning of the words she'd said sank into his mind, eyes grew unnaturally wide. "Two tickets to where? London? You mean like flying?"
"You can drive," Bela snorted. "I'm sure your car will make an indelible impression on the sharks."
--
Bela's subtle suspicions were confirmed as soon as they got on board. Of course it was hard not to notice that Dean was unusually nervous during registration – his constant humming and impatient tapping on the registration desk were irritating - and the way he looked as they walked along the numerous duty-free shops to their boarding gate reminded Bela of an animal trapped in a cage. But, Lord, it was Dean Winchester! Something in the back of her mind just didn't let her believe that it was something more than a simple natural response to an unfamiliar and overcrowded place.
Still, he looked quite on edge, if a white knuckled grip on the seat handles of his seat was an indication. And when the stewardess came up to them, bent over Bela giving her best radiant smile – sincere, not simply professional, Bela noted with irritation – to Dean and offered, "Champagne, sir?" he mustered something not even close to Dean-Winchester-like at her. And asked, "Do you have real alcohol?"
"No, thank you!" Bela answered with a polite smile for the both of them when the girl frowned and before Dean had time to ask for something like cheap beer in the first-class cabin.
"You know what?" Dean said suddenly. "I changed my mind. You go there alone and I'll wait you here. Call me when you land."
He made an attempt to rise up but Bela put her hand on his arm and pushed him firmly down. Besides, his seatbelt had already been long fastened and the plane itself was halfway through the runway, its speed increasing with each passing second while the houses and trees outside were getting terrifyingly small.
"Relax, Dean, it's just a plane," she said carelessly, simply couldn't help but tease him.
Dean looked up and down the isle with slight panic at other passengers, most of whom were absolutely calm and indifferent to the fact that the distance between them and the solid grown was growing very fast. How could they be reading these damn magazines or listening to music or… sleeping?! Freaks! And, wait a moment! Why would anyone decide that people were meant to fly in the first place?
"Just a plane," he mimicked leaning against the leather seat and taking deep breaths, which actually were small and convulsive against his will. "It is a freaking metal box that moves at least five times faster than the car at the height of seven thousand miles above the earth." And added, "They crash all the time!" Okay, now he was panicking. Awesome! "The last time I checked the captain was possessed by a demon intended to kill all the passengers no matter what and the plane was halfway to becoming a coffin," he wrinkled his nose at the memory, and at the fact that his voice was probably too small and miserable than it should've been.
Wow, that was a hell of a discovery – Dean Winchester was afraid to fly!
In any other circumstances Bela would've never missed an opportunity to comment on that but now she suddenly felt sad – probably it was the lack of sleep or something like that – because that discovery first of all proved how little she actually knew about him. A lot less than he knew about her, anyway. It turned out that aside from unexpected run-ins and light banter that both obviously enjoyed, they still were total strangers. Was there a chance that he felt as lonely as she did?
So, instead of saying a witty reply that had already formed in her mind and was about to slip out of her mouth Bela simply covered his hand with her palm and entwined their fingers when Dean, caught by surprise, loosened his grip on the handle. Her touch was warm and soft and somehow reassuring. And it kind of burned on his skin and mixed all his half-formed thoughts. It was better this way. It felt like… like a bond. As if they cared.
Dean looked at her, puzzled, but she was staring thoughtfully out the window at the while blanket of clouds that was flowing right beneath the aircraft, so solid and fluffy from above that even the idea of possible clash seemed utterly ridiculous – in case of emergency the plane would simply land right there, onto the safety of these cotton-like forms. Like in a fairy-tale… A fairy-tale with happy-ending.
"I talked to Sam," Dean said quietly to break that sudden and uneasy silence – felt an immense urge to say something and didn't find a better subject than his geek of a brother right away. And it was a little bit embarrassing to tell the truth, like they had nothing else to talk about, but Bela's move – obviously comforting move, even beyond her rather flat expression – needed some response.
Bela knew he did; saw him talking on the phone, all annoyance and irritation, while she was buying the tickets to London for Mr. and Mrs. Simpson. If it wasn't Sam she had no idea who else could it possibly be. Still, she was pleased that it was Dean who started the conversation, even if it was nothing more but his poor and purely egoistic attempt to distract himself from his own nasty thoughts.
"And how did he like the idea of being dead?" She turned to him with her eyebrows arched expressively and her head tilted slightly to the left side in a questioning manner.
"Little jerk was totally pissed off, to tell the truth, aside from the part where he wished for a mahogany coffin," he rolled his eyes with a snicker and judging from the tone of his voice Bela could not say for sure if he was annoyed or amused by that. Probably both. "Said he had no time to play hide-and-seek. I told him to sit tight till I'm back because he can kinda ruin everything by running around like a friggin' Zorro. He said I might as well go to hell."
"He might as well understand that pretending to be dead is better than being dead for real," she said dryly.
"Yeah, well… Ruby's going to pay him a visit. To look after him actually. You know, just in case." He cleared his throat and shrugged. "To make sure we're not wanted by their bloody demonic Interpol all over again."
"To check on how much Sam's going to be pissed off by the fact that his brother sent him a babysitter," Bela added and couldn't help but smile when he winced.
To be continued…
