A Welcome Distraction: All Hell Breaks Loose
Author: starhawk2005
Summary: Meg has Allison. Guess what she wants from the Winchesters, in exchange for Allison's life? I'll give you a hint. Four letters and it starts with 'C'.
Disclaimer: Don't own Cameron, House, or any of the Winchesters. Life's SO unfair, dude.
Allison could barely move at all. Tied to a chair and completely helpless. Completely at the mercy of her captors. She twisted, trying to struggle, but the bonds held firm. There was no escape.
This was about as far away from the last time she'd been tied up, as one could get.
They were behind her, talking amongst themselves in low voices. Among them the blonde woman who had fooled her into opening her front door, and then backhanded her hard across the face. Allison dug her teeth into the gag, tensing as the horrific memories came back to her.
Pain lanced through her cheek as she fell backwards, landing sprawled on the floor. The strange woman who had hit her strolled in, smiling in a way that shook Allison right to her core. Two men Allison had never seen before followed after the blonde, one of them smirking and shutting the door firmly behind him.
She was alone with these crazy people-
The blonde woman bent down. "Are you Dr. Allison Cameron?"
"Ye-yes," Allison said, her hand automatically going to her hurt cheek. She could taste blood in her mouth.
"You know Dean Winchester, don't you? You've been sleeping with him for a couple months, right?"
"Yes," Allison whispered, forgetting in the shock of the moment that things were over between her and Dean.
"Very good," the woman purred. She stood up and turned to her companions. "Take her."
Allison tried to scream, but one of them gagged her before she could even take a breath. They tied her hands tightly behind her back and hauled her to her feet.
The blonde woman walked up to Allison, reaching up to stroke across her rapidly bruising cheek. "I forgot to introduce myself, didn't I? My name is Meg. I'm an…acquaintance of your boyfriend Dean. Don't worry, I'm sure he'll come for you. In fact, I'm counting on it. But we really ought to move the party somewhere more private, first…"
Before Allison's eyes, Meg's own eyes suddenly clouded over, turning completely black. No pupil, no iris, no sclera. Just black. Allison froze and stared, wondering if her mind was coming unhinged, trying to scream behind the gag.
There was a shifting sound behind Allison, and then strong fingers slid around her chin, a ring brushing coolly against her skin. The hand tightened, tilting her head back.
The blonde woman – Meg – was looking down at her, smirking evilly. "Sorry my friends had to trash your place, Allison. But we had to make sure that Dean realizes how serious this is. If he comes looking for you and sees the mess we left, I'm sure he'll be that much more keen to hand over what we want. You understand, I'm sure."
Allison moaned behind the gag. She'd never been so afraid in her life. Not even her HIV scare came close to this.
She prayed to a God that she didn't even believe in, for someone, anyone, to rescue her. She couldn't even wonder if this was the reason Dean had lied; she couldn't order any of her thoughts through the terror.
Meg let her go, then walked across the room – they seemed to be in an industrial park somewhere, in an abandoned warehouse – to a table cluttered with things Allison couldn't identify. Strange symbols, sharp knives, black candles that gave off a stomach-twisting scent. And a large goblet.
Meg stirred something inside the goblet, then picked it up, starting to talk at it as if she was having a phone conversation. "Yes, we have the means to bring them to us." A pause. "I called Dean a little while ago," she continued. "I told him I'd call him back. It'll give him some time to round up John-boy and Sammy. I'll probably try them in a few minutes." Another pause. "They'll come. They'll trade it. Dean's in love with this one." Meg turned and faced Allison for a moment, her expression vulpine and cruel. "And John already feels guilty about Jessica, about Mary….I'm sure he won't take a chance with this one's life." An even longer pause. "Yes, sir….yes. I understand."
Meg put the cup down, then strolled over until she was standing right over Allison. "Now, you'll be a good girl, won't you, Dr. Cameron?" Meg asked, pulling a knife from her pocket. "I just need Dean to hear your voice. Behave yourself, do as I tell you, and you'll be fine." Meg leaned down, putting herself face-to-face with Allison. "Try to scream, or give me any kind of trouble, and I'll pick a piece of you to cut off and send to him by way of FedEx. Understand?"
Shaking, Allison nodded. Anything, just to get this nightmare over with.
Dean paced the motel room, agitated. He'd nearly crashed the Impala getting back here to meet up with Dad. He'd explained the situation – "It's Meg. The girl who attacked us with those Daevas in Chicago. She has my girlfriend." – and now they were sitting around.
Waiting.
"I just don't understand you, Dean," John said, sounding disappointed. "How could you put her at risk like this? It's one thing to take a little comfort on the side of the road here and there. But a relationship? This Demon'll stop at nothing to get to me, and that means if it can get to you, it will. How could you put this girl in danger, knowing what happened to Sam's fiancée? And your mother?" Dad's voice was rising, he was getting angry.
Dean spun on his heel, glaring at his father. "I didn't plan this," he ground out. "You think I forgot so easily what happened to Mom, and to Jess? You think I wanted these bastards to take Allison? I didn't plan for Allison and me to have this 'thing' happen. It just did. Maybe you can go twenty-two years without anything in your life but hunting, Dad, but not all of us are wired like that." Dean paced to the window and swept the curtain aside, looking out, ignoring the salt line already laid over the sill.
"Besides," he added, although it was sure to start some fireworks, "I'm not the only one. Sammy has a new girl, too." He didn't need to turn, he could already imagine the betrayed look on Sam's face.
But he didn't care. When Meg called back – and she'd better call back, or he'd systematically hunt down and kill every last one of these evil sons of bitches – he'd find out what she wanted in exchange, and he'd give it to her. Allison wasn't going to suffer for the choices the Winchester family had made. Not if Dean Winchester had anything to say about it.
The fireworks he'd expected didn't happen, though. There was just a heavy sigh behind him, and his Dad said: "OK. Let's just see what they want. You said Meg would call back?"
"Yeah. Any second no-"
Dean's cell rang, and he snatched it up. "Meg?"
"Very good, Dean. I'd say you were psychic, but we both know that's more Sam's area. Is he there? And your Daddy?"
Dean looked over at his brother and his father. "Yes. But I still want to speak to Allison before we get down to business."
"When I'm ready to let you hear her, you will. For now, you're going to listen to me. We know you have the Colt, Dean."
"Yeah, what about the Colt?" Dean watched as his father mouthed 'no' at him, eyes wide in surprise. Didn't matter. They knew already, and if Dean lied, Allison would pay the price. He wasn't going to risk that.
"You're going to bring it to us. A trade. Your very pretty girlfriend, in exchange for the Colt and any bullets it has left," she said silkily.
"Where?" Dean asked flatly, ignoring the fact that his Dad looked ready to have an aneurysm.
"I'm waiting in a warehouse in Lincoln. Corner of Wabash and Lake. You're gonna meet me here. With the Colt. At midnight tonight."
"It's a day's drive," Dean objected, "Give us more time."
"No," Meg said. "No negociations, Dean. If you're not here by then, I'll cut her throat."
Dean closed his eyes, hands curling into fists. "You let me talk to her right now. NOW! Or I'm not handing over anything."
He could hear the satisfied smirking in her voice. "Fine, Dean. I can be generous. When you cooperate." There was a pause, a rustle, and then Allison's tearful, scared voice. His heart lurched painfully in his chest. "D-Dean?"
"Yeah, baby, I'm here. Did that bitch hurt you?"
"I'm OK, Dean. Please-"
He cut her off. He didn't know how long Meg would let them talk, and he had a promise to make. "Don't be scared, Al. I'm coming to get you. That's a promise."
She started to answer, but there was more rustling on the line, and Meg's voice came back on. "There. We have a deal? Midnight tonight?"
"Yeah. And if you've hurt her-"
"Shut up, Dean. And put your Daddy on, I want to talk to him. Time for the grown-ups to discuss a few things."
Dean held the phone out to his Dad, not looking at him. Dean knew he had bargained away their one chance to kill the Demon, but what else could he have done?
"This is John," Dad said into the phone. He listened for awhile, but Dean wasn't paying any attention. He picked the Colt up from the bed, shooting Sam a threatening look when Sam tried to get him to leave it alone, and starting shoving it and their other weapons into a duffle bag.
When Dad hung up, he looked pale and upset. "What did Meg say, Dad?" Sam asked worriedly.
"More threats. That they'll hunt down and kill even more of our friends if I tried to talk Dean out of handing over the gun." He rubbed a hand over his stubble. "Dean, hold up. We need to figure out what to do."
"No time," Dean growled. "Be there by midnight , she said. That means we need to leave, now."
"No," John said, striding over and grabbing Dean by the lapels of his jacket. "Don't you get it? It's a trap. She said she wants all three of us there." John glanced over at Sam, then back at Dean. "The Demon doesn't just want the Colt out of the picture, it wants all three of us out of the picture. It's using your girlfriend to do that." He shook Dean, lightly. "I know how you feel, but we're so close. This is the most important hunt of our lives, Dean. The big one. In a week – less – that Demon is going to be here in Salvation, destroying some other family. We need the Colt. We can't give up our one shot to kill it."
Dean twisted himself out of his father's grasp. "I don't care. I'm not going to put Allison's life on the line," he spat. "I've followed your orders all my life. I think it's time I got a little leeway in return."
"Dean, please," John tried begging, "Can't you see how stupid this is? We could finish this whole thing, right now! I just want this to be over, and I know you do too. We can't sacrifice our only chance-"
"Yes, we can!" Dean shouted. Sam came over, his face troubled, but Dean brushed him off.
"You managed to find the Demon this time, Dad. That means we can always find it again later. So let's go and kill these fuckers, and-"
John's expression hardened. "That's not the point, Dean. You're willing to put the life of your girlfriend above that of the next family the Demon's going to attack?"
"Maybe we don't have to," Sam offered quietly. "If we can get there by midnight and get Dean's girl away, that still leaves us lots of time to get back here. I mean, the Demon's supposed to show up around the end of this week, according to the signs, right? If we can rescue Allison and get back here within a day or two, we can still go after this thing. We can't just sit here and let Allison die, Dad. Not like Jess and Mom did." Sam turned beseeching eyes on their father, while Dean prayed silently that Dad would see reason.
John hesitated, and Dean saw his chance. "Sam's right, we can take them out and be back here in no time."
John sat heavily on one of the beds. "There has to be another way."
"Like what?" Sam was asking, but Dean just shook his head and continued to shovel gear and clothing into their bags.
"Maybe I can go alone. Bring them a fake gun, or something. No one's seen this thing except us and a few vampires, no one knows what it looks like-"
"Won't work," Dean reminded them. "Meg insisted all three of us show up. Besides, what if they figure out it's a fake? Allison's dead if we do that. And probably so are we."
"Well, maybe I should call Meg back, try to make another deal," John suggested.
"What the Hell are you talking about, Dad?" Dean retorted.
"Offer myself and the Colt. Just me, instead of all of us. At least you boys'll be safe."
Dean just stopped and glared at his father. "With all due respect, Dad, that's bullshit. We work better as a team. We don't know how many other things besides Meg are going to be there, waiting for you. And if you can't free Allison, and get taken yourself, what then?" Dean shook his head and started opening and emptying more drawers. "Besides, I made her a promise. That I'd come for her. I'm not brea king that, I don't care what you say." He looked up and held his father's gaze. "You really telling me that if you'd had a chance to save Mom, you wouldn't have taken a risk like this? We're not making any damned deals, we're going to face this as a family, and save Allison. And then get back here and kill that fucking Demon, as a family. So we can stop living like this." He viciously shoved socks into his bag.
John came over and put a gentle hand on Dean's shoulder. Dean tried to ignore his father, but his packing efforts ground to a halt when he saw the tears in John's eyes. "I know, Dean. Don't you think I want that, too? I want Sammy to go back to Stanford. I want you to have a home and a family. I want to finish this, put this behind me….for Mary. And I don't want innocent people to be hurt."
"Then help me," Dean implored, taking his father by the shoulders, and looking over to include Sam in his plea. "Help me go and save Allison, so we'll stop this from happening to another person we love. And then let's face the big badass together. Stop the Demon from taking any more lives, once and for all."
"OK," John said quietly, resigned. "OK, Dean." Kneeling down on the stained carpet, John started to pack away the rest of their ammo and gear. "Let's talk strategy, then," he said, clearing his throat and becoming all business.
Dean restrained a sigh of relief, but he exchanged a meaningful look with Sam. Maybe this would work out after all. Maybe they could turn this trap back on itself.
"Depends what Meg is," Sam pointed out, rolling their clothes into neat little bundles and packing them away. "Is she a demon herself?"
"Either that, or possessed," John said. "Doesn't matter in the end. We can use some of the same tricks. Salt lines will block them just as well, so maybe we can use that defensively. Holy water, although I'm not sure how we can use that as a weapon, either. Ampoules and bottles don't exactly have a long range. Exorcizing these people won't be an option, either, unless we can contain them somehow while we do it." He paused, looking frustrated. "We need offensive weapons, if we're going to get in there and bust Dean's girl out. And we only have four bullets left in the Colt. I want to save them for the Demon, not one of its measly friends."
A sudden thought occurred to Dean. He thought about it for a few moments, then turned to his father. "I think I know how we can make those things into a weapon."
John listened grimly while Dean outlined his idea. By the time he was done, though, John was smiling. Actually smiling. "That's so crazy, it might actually work," John said approvingly.
The drive to Lincoln felt like the longest of Dean's life. He'd been on long drives and longer stakeouts before, it came with the territory, but this was something else. He even let Sammy drive, that's how much of a nervous wreck Dean was. Hoping that Allison was OK. Hoping that his crazy idea would work. Hoping he hadn't wrecked Dad's chance to end this thing. Even feeling stabs of guilt for involving Allison in this. But that last self-flagellation didn't last long. Like he'd told Dad, he hadn't planned this. Just like Dad had never planned for Mom to die, or Sam for Jess (or Sarah, come to think of it).
So they drove. They kept to the speed limit as much as possible, mindful of the fact that the cops might be looking out for one Dean Winchester. All the while, talking to each other over their cell phones, hatching plans, discussing strategy. Plus, once Dad had cooled down, he had apologized to Dean for his initial reaction. For acting as if Allison was expendable. Dean had gruffly accepted the apology, and then hung up. 'No chick-flick moments' applied to Dad as much as they did to Sammy.
They made a quick – really quick – stop along the way, and then got back on the road, arriving with barely twenty minutes to spare.
Dad loaded the Colt and stashed it under his jacket, then stuffed a few bags of salt into various pockets. Dean felt like all the bulges in his and Sam's jackets were visible from miles away, but there was no time to do otherwise. They couldn't even stake out the place in advance. No time, and Meg was expecting all of them. They'd just have to make do and pray it worked.
The three of them cautiously entered the building. No one on the first floor, so they rode the rusty, creaky elevator to the second floor.
Dean saw Allison the moment the elevator door opened. She was bound to a chair and gagged, with two men standing behind her. More demon-possessed humans?
Dean followed John as he strode slowly out of the elevator, with Sam bringing up the rear.
The rest of the room was empty, except for what looked like a makeshift altar off to one side. And Meg, who strolled towards them out of the shadows, a pleased look on her face.
"John, Sammy, Dean. Glad you boys could make it." She smirked and looked John up and down. "The great John Winchester. I can see where the boys get their looks from, but I must say – I thought you'd be taller-"
"Skip the pleasantries, bitch," Dean rasped. "We brought the Colt. Untie Allison and let me and Sam leave with her, and then Dad'll hand the gun over." Of course, that wasn't really the plan at all.
"No," Meg said. "That's not how this is going to go."
"If I give you the Colt, how do we get out of here?" John said reasonably, almost affably.
"Not my problem, sexy. But if you don't, I'll make dear Allison's death your problem."
"I could just shoot you," John said in that same casual tone.
Meg laughed. "And waste your precious bullets? Go right ahead, John-boy. You think me and my two brothers there are the only ones? Plenty more where we came from. More all the time, in fact." She shifted closer, grinning.
It wasn't going according to plan, but Dean fought to stay relaxed. Waiting for Dad's signal.
"Maybe," John said, drawing the Colt and pointing it directly at her head. "And maybe you're a little too fond of your own skin. This isn't going to send you back to Hell, not like an exorcism. It's going to kill you. Period. You ready for that, sweetheart?"
Meg's smile faltered for just a fraction of a second, but Dean saw it. Dad had been right. Dean forced himself not to look over at Allison. If he let himself get distracted now, they could all be dead.
"Give me the Colt!" Meg demanded, starting to stalk rapidly towards them.
"Now, boys!" John ordered.
In an instant, Dean dove to one side while Sam went the other way, both of them drawing the supersoakers from under their jackets as they went.
Dean really couldn't follow what Sam was doing, but his brother must've aimed a quick shot at Meg, because she hissed and backed up as the water hit her and her flesh started to smoke.
Dean was more interested in taking out the two guys guarding Allison. He strafed the three of them with his supersoaker, knowing that Allison would be left unharmed (and confirm that she wasn't possessed herself). By the time he had reached her, it had worked perfectly, the two guys falling back and writhing in pain on the ground, and Allison damp and confused but otherwise OK. Dean could still hear the scuffle continuing behind him, but he didn't have time to wonder if Dad and Sam were doing all right with their end, he just reached into his pocket and pulled out his knife, slashing open Allison's bindings. They hadn't bothered to tie her ankles, so Dean just aimed another blast from the supersoaker at the demon-dudes again, and hauled Allison to her feet. "C'mon, Al, c'mon!" He tugged her back in the direction of the elevator, spinning around himself.
He froze. The plan had been for Sam to blast Meg with the holy water from the supersoaker, driving her backwards while Dad poured a line of salt across the entrance to the elevator. Then Dad and Sam would take cover inside it and keep Meg down with more holy water, until Dean could get Allison in there.
Instead, Dean saw Dad sprawled on the floor, bleeding and unmoving, and Sam was trying to use a Mandaic amulet to hold Meg off. Dean saw why, too – Sam's supersoaker was already empty. A quick glance confirmed that Dean's gun almost was, too. Damn it!
He only had seconds to act, and he knew it. The Colt was there, lying a few feet from Dad's limp hand. Dean pushed the supersoaker into Allison's hands and ran forward to snatch up the gun.
He had it, but he only stood up just in time to see Meg bodily throwing Sam towards him. His larger brother collided with him, and they both went down.
"Sam, get off me!" Dean demanded, shoving at his brother. He'd managed to hold onto the Col t, thank God, but they were probably all dead if he didn't get a chance to use it.
"Dean!" Allison suddenly screamed, and a sudden rush of adrenalin helped Dean to shove Sam off him. He scrambled to his feet.
There was Meg, holding a knife to Allison's throat.
"Drop it, now," Meg snarled, steam still rising from her flesh. Dean glanced quickly over at Sam and Dad, but there was no help there. Sam was on his knees, bloody and dazed and unarmed, and Dad was stirring but otherwise unarmed except for the salt. And the two dudes at the back of the room were already starting to recover, struggling to get back on their feet.
Dean knew he had no choice. If he didn't take the next step, Allison was dead anyways, and so were they. He raised the gun and fired.
Meg's head snapped back at the impact and she fell over, almost dragging Allison down with her. Meg's body spasmed as the bullet's power jolted into her, and then it was just over. She was dead.
They had to get out, now. Dean lunged forward and grabbed Allison's arm, dragging her back towards the elevator. She looked like she was in a state of shock, but they didn't have time for that now. "C'mon Sammy, c'mon!" Dean shouted, hauling Allison over to Dad's side. "Help me, quickly," Dean ordered Sam.
Still looking a little woozy himself, Sam helped John to his feet, the four of them staggering into the elevator. Dean dug in Dad's pocket and grabbed the salt-bag, sprinkling the contents quickly across the entrance to the elevator. None too soon, because the two demon-guys were on their feet now, snarling and stumbling towards the elevator.
"Go Sam, go!" Dean urged, watching the two of them getting closer.
Sam hit the down button and the door closed. Dean held tightly to the Colt. "Get ready to move, fast," he said to Allison. "You OK, Sam? Dad?"
"Yeah," Sam said. "Dude, you've got a hard freakin' head."
"Bitch," Dean scoffed.
"Jerk," Sam retorted, supporting Dad. John's face was covered in blood, but at least he looked more aware now. "Dad?" Dean asked again.
"I'm OK," he slurred. "Let's just get the Hell out of here."
The elevator doors opened, and Dean pulled Allison with him, trying to scan all around them at the same time. But the two dudes were nowhere to be seen, although Dean made sure to dump more salt in a line across the outside door as soon as they passed through it.
Cool night air hit their faces, and Dean breathed it in gratefully. He looked over at Dad, who seemed way too out of it to drive. "Sammy, you stick with Dad. You drive. Let's get back to Salvation right now. Let's move," he ordered, leading Allison to the Impala.
It was only after they'd been driving for about twenty minutes, and there was no sign of them being followed, that Dean allowed himself to relax. And to remember that he had a shellshocked girlfriend – who was maybe an ex-girlfriend – in the passenger seat.
"Al, look at me." She turned to face him, but he didn't like the look of her face. Pale, haunted. A nasty bruise on one cheekbone. A shallow cut across her throat where Meg had managed to cut her, while falling backwards after the shot from the Colt. "It's over. I've got you. You're safe."
"Wh-what the Hell is going on, Dean? First you lie to me and won't tell me what you really do for a living, and then those crazy people came to my apartment and hit me, trash my place-" Dean's hands tightened around the steering wheel. He hadn't known about that – "and-" she took a deep, shuddery brea th, "That's not the worst part. I must be losing my mind, because I could've sworn her eyes turned black at one point. Totally, completely black. Right in front of my eyes. I must be insane." She buried her face in her hands.
"No, Al, you're not," Dean reached over and squeezed her shoulder. "It's going to be OK."
She turned and looked at him then, really looked at him. "You don't think I'm crazy," she said slowly, "because you've seen it, too. You know exactly what I'm talking about."
He nodded his head. "Lemme tell you a story."
Hours passed, while Dean laid it all out for her. The very beginning, with his mother dying, eviscerated and flamed on the ceiling of Sam's nursery. His father trying to cope, amidst charges of murder (later dropped) and accusations of insanity (never really dropped), and then meeting Missouri and finding out the truth. How his father had hauled him and Sam around the country, from place to place. Keeping them safe, and also hunting the evil things out in the dark. But always searching for that one particular monster. Not finding it, but still looking. Training him and Sam to be hunters, as well.
"It's what I do," he said at one point. "We don't get paid. We don't get recognition. But it's the right thing to do, so we do it. We already know the Demon won't leave us alone anyways. Better to take the offensive, than to be sitting ducks. And take down a few other evil bastards along the way."
He told her about Jessica. About how John had disappeared, and about how Dean and Sam had gotten together again, looking for him, honing their hunting skills. He showed her the Colt, still stuck in his belt, and explained to her what it was and what it did.
He explained to her about demons, and the Demon, and possession.
When he was done, she just sat there, staring out the windshield, and not knowing what to think. She understood perfectly why he'd lied, now. If she hadn't seen those things for herself – the strange rituals over the goblet, Meg's eyes, the way their flesh had smoked when the water (holy water, Dean had said) hit them – she would've had him committed immediately.
It was utterly insane. It didn't fit into what she believed of the world. That people lived and died. That people got sick, and often could be cured by medical science. Science. She had enough trouble believing in God, let alone the Devil or monsters.
Dean shifted, uncomfortable with the silence, but he waited. Allison had a lot to process, and he was going to let her do it. She'd just had everything she believed she knew about the world turned on its ear. It wasn't like him and Sammy, who had grown up knowing nothing else.
"How…how do you live like this?" she finally asked, turning to look at him.
Dean shook his head. "No choice. That Demon has it in for my family. I'm not going to sit by and let it carry out whatever plans it has. And all those innocent people out there, they need people like us. Hunters, people who will protect them. Besides, this job's not without its perks." He grinned over at her.
But she didn't respond to his smile, and Dean turned his attention uneasily back to the road. Allison hadn't asked to be dragged into this, he reminded himself. "For what it's worth," he said in a low voice, his eyes never leaving the road in front of them, "I'm sorry, Al. I never intended for you to become a target. I never really planned any of this. I don't usually do relationships. Our lifestyle is too fucked-up for that."
Allison looked over at Dean, but he was very deliberately not meeting her gaze this time. She heard the self-recrimination in his voice, and knew he was blaming himself. But, if she asked herself honestly, did she wish that she'd never met Dean?
No.
She touched his arm. "I know you didn't mean for this to happen. And I'm sorry, too. I shouldn't have been so quick to cut you off like that."
"That mean I'm still 'Mr. Cameron'?" he asked, trying for lightness. But he couldn't hide all the tension he was feeling.
"Yes," she said, "I guess I was just really rattled when the cops came and showed me your picture, and said you were a serial killer."
Dean gave a short, bitter laugh. "Yeah, that's another long story. I'll tell it to you sometime." He scrubbed his hand over his face. Damn, but he could barely keep his eyes open. They were only halfway back to Salvation, too.
Not to mention, Allison probably needed some food, and some rest. They all did. Coming to a decision, Dean pulled out his cell phone.
"Let's pull off at the next motel, Sammy," he said to his little brother. "We've got lots more driving ahead of us, and we're not going to be able to do much good if we're asleep on our feet when we get back to Salvation. Or if we get involved in a crash on the way. Besides, we probably still have a few days or so before the big badass comes to town."
Dean waited, bracing himself for Dad to object. But no, after a quick conference with their father, Sam was agreeing. Wonders never cease, Dean thought.
They got two rooms at some fleabag six miles down the road, but Dean wasn't arguing. He led Allison into one of the two rooms, telling her to make herself comfortable, and then went to see Dad and Sam in the adjoining room.
Or he tried, anyways. Dad was already sprawled on one of the motel beds, snoring, when he came in. It worried Dean a bit. He glanced over at Sam, who was lounging in the room's single rickety chair. "Whoa. Did Meg give Dad a concussion, or something?"
"Hell if I know," answered Sam with a shrug. "Hey, Allison's a doctor, right? Maybe she should take a look at him."
Dean doubted Allison was in any fit state to treat anybody right now, but Dad looked OK to him, if exhausted. "Well, I guess he seems all right for now. Heck, he always used to drag his ass home and sleep for a day after a big hunt, right?"
"From what I remember," Sam agreed.
"Just keep an eye on him, OK? If anything changes, come get me. We'll nap for awhile, then hit the road again."
"Sounds good," Sam said, rubbing at a purple bruise on his arm.
Dean raided a few vending machines on his way back to their room. Allison was still in the same position as he'd left her, seated slumped-over on the bed. "Here, Al. It's not a five-course gourmet meal, but it'll do."
She took the packages from his hands, smiling a little at them. "Doritos, Combos, and Cheez-Its." Well, it was better than nothing. "You sure know how to show a girl a good time," she joked, tentatively. She was too tired and wrung out to fight this. Best to just go with it.
He smiled and sat on the bed beside her, shedding his jacket. "Pass the appetizers, would you?"
They shared the food – plus a few tattered Power Bars Dean found at the bottom of his bag – and sat in near silence, both of them lost in their own thoughts.
Dean was trying to plot out what to do next. He couldn't let Allison go home, that was clear. She'd been targeted once, and they'd no doubt come for her again. Could he convince her to stay with them? Or, more importantly, could he make Dad agree to let her tag along?
Allison's thoughts were a complete jumble. She kept seeing Meg's face, with her eyes going black. Memories of the two strange men trashing her apartment. Mental pictures of Dean bursting in, guns blazing (or rather, squirting).
Soon, that image was all that she was seeing. Because she remembered something. Remembered her HIV scare, and how she'd needed somebody to be there for her, and how House had shut her out. Even laughed at her expense. The first time in her life she'd been that close to death, and the man she'd been in love with had barely reacted. Or cared. House hadn't lifted a finger to help her. Probably wouldn't have in this situation, either.
Not Dean. Dean had risked his life to save hers. He'd made a promise to save her, and he'd kept that promise. If Dean had been there when she'd been exposed to HIV, he wouldn't have turned his back on her. Unlike other men in Allison's life.
Allison stretched out her hand and touched the side of Dean's face. "You…you came for me."
"Damn straight," Dean answered, looking deep into her eyes for a second, before the intimacy of the situation became too much for him and he had to look away again. "'Course I did." He couldn't bring himself to say he loved her. He could say as much to Dad, when it came to convincing John to help save her, but saying it to Allison herself? He couldn't go there, couldn't make himself do that just yet. "You mean a lot to me." But even that felt like a dangerous admission, so he covered it up with a joke, "How many other chicks out there are as kinky as you?"
Allison laughed, but she'd seen the truth in his face. So despite the fact that she felt awful – she knew she stank of fear-sweat, and that her hair was greasy and tangled – she wrapped her arms around him and pulled him close.
If he was put-off by her current state, he hid it well, kissing her passionately, his hands stroking her back and shoulders. Still, she'd feel more human after she cleaned up a bit, she decided. "Do you mind if I grab a quick shower, Dean? I feel really dirty."
"Not in the good way, I'm guessing," he smirked at her.
"No," she chuckled.
"Of course, go right ahead. Save me some hot water, OK? There's some soap and shampoo in my duffle if you need it."
"No problem, and thanks." She gave him another kiss, and then she headed for the bathroom. No, no soap at all – what a cheap place – so she collected what she needed from Dean's bag. The thought of having to put the same dirty clothes on again after the shower made her shudder, but there was no help for it.
At least the water pressure was half-decent, as she discovered when she got into the tub and turned the shower on. It took forever for it to get hot enough, but then she just closed her eyes, standing gratefully under the spray, letting it massage the aches out of her.
The curtain was suddenly drawn aside, and a very naked and smirking Dean was climbing into the tub behind her. "Hello, beautiful," he said. "Come here often?"
She shook her head and looked salaciously over her shoulder at him. "Let me guess, you decided to do your part for the environment by conserving water."
He grinned. He'd always appreciated her brains. "Damn right, girl." His mood darkened, however, when he saw again the ugly bruise developing on Allison's face. The demon inhabiting Meg had died too quickly, he thought vindictively. But at least it wasn't coming back.
"Pass me the shampoo, I'll even do your hair for you. My version of 'Room Service'," he winked at her, making an effort to put his more hunting-related thoughts behind him. At least for now.
He soon discovered that he liked washing her hair. He liked having the soft strands wrapped around his fingers, and she shivered most interestingly and made nice noises of appreciation when he massaged her scalp. It gave him a few ideas, in fact.
Dean guided her back under the shower to rinse the foam away, and then found himself kissing her, desperately, urgently. He'd come so close to losing her. Close to buying the farm himself. It made him pull her tight against him, made him kiss her like he'd never get the chance to do this again.
There was so much he wanted to say. So much he was feeling. So relieved she was safe, and that they were together again, even here in this dingy dive of a bathroom.
He didn't know if this was love, or what most people would call love. He just knew that her body belonged in his arms. That it felt right. It was simple as that. But he knew he couldn't say something like that to her.
Way too flowery and 'chick-flicky'.
It was easier to release her with a final kiss, and then scoop up the soap. He lathered it up in his palms, leering at her the whole time.
Allison was pretty sure she knew what Dean had planned, and she wasn't going to say no. Those talented hands, greased with soap and sliding all over her? It made her knees weak already and he hadn't even touched her yet.
He started with her shoulders, rubbing the soap into her smooth, pale skin. He let his fingers follow the line of her collarbone, making a side trip to slip gently over her throat (avoiding the shallow knife-slice) and the sides of her neck. Then down over her breasts.
Dean's palms covered her nipples, rubbing lightly, and Allison moaned and pushed herself against him. "Still the tease, Stee-Winchester." That was going to take some getting used to. Though she had to admit she liked the sound of it.
Dean gave her a crooked half-smile. He looked adorable, his hair wet and plastered to his head, muscles glistening wetly. And his erection looked pretty tempting, too. "I like the way you say my name, baby," he purred back at her, hands leaving her nipples to glide slickly down her belly, massaging the soapy foam in circles. "Wouldn't mind hearing you scream it in ecstasy, come to think of it."
She laughed and splashed him with water. "God, no matter what your name is, the ego's the same, isn't it?"
"I've earned it, haven't I, Al?" he asked, making a wounded expression that was so overdone it was obviously false.
"Maybe," she lied, "I'll have to think about it. Rescuing me from three possessed people is pretty high on my 'things I want my men to know how to do well' list."
Dean grinned and kissed her again, although he got a mouthful of water from the shower when he pulled back, and he had to spend a few moments in undignified coughing while Allison giggled behind her hand and pounded him on the back.
He snatched up the soap to work up a fresh lather, soaping up her arms. He gritted his teeth anew at the red marks on her wrists – fucking demons – from the bindings. Still, she'd gotten off relatively easy, all things considered.
"Turn around, so I can do your back," he ordered her. Other areas, too, but he'd let that be a surprise.
She was happy to turn and brace her hands on the tiled wall, to let the warm water beat down over her shoulders while Dean scrubbed along her back and sides. There was a pause, during which she assumed he was working up another lather, and then slow teasing hands were circling her ankle and making a slow path up her leg. Paying particular attention to her inner thigh. She arched her back, gasping, and felt his lips brush over the curve of her ass.
Dean switched to her other leg, smirking. The water running along Allison's back and splashing into his face was a damned pain, but it was worth it. He had a great view of that gorgeous ass, those long legs, and all the interesting areas in between. He finished soaping her upper thighs, then ran his hands over her curvaceous rear end.
He grabbed for the soap a final time, working up the biggest lather yet, and then nudged Allison's legs gently further apart. He let one hand massage the soap into the delicate depression between her cheeks, teasing all the sensitive nerves there, and let his other hand work the lather slowly into the dark, wet curls beneath.
She moaned loudly, a sound that echoed pleasingly, and Dean pressed more firmly, easing soapy fingers between her folds and sliding them in a circle around the stiff little bud of her clit. She was even more slippery here, but whether it was the soap or her own fluids he couldn't tell.
He wanted to, though. "Time to rinse off, baby," he coaxed, taking hold of her and positioning her under the spray to rinse all traces of soap away.
Dean let her turn around and brace her hands against the wall again, and he kneeled down behind her. He tugged her a bit backwards so the water pouring down her back wouldn't drown him, and then brushed his lips over the dripping curls between her thighs.
She didn't taste like anything at first. Slightly of soap, perhaps. Until his probing tongue worked its way inside her, and then he could taste her again, feel the slick honey under his tongue. It made him want to tease her, see if he could persuade her body into producing more for him. He let his tongue curl around her clit, stroking, while his hands wrapped themselves around her thighs, his thumbs caressing her.
Allison groaned deep in her throat, digging her nails into the edges of the tiling. Her head was spinning, from the heat and steam and the wicked things Dean was doing between her legs, and she wondered how much longer she'd be able to stay standing like this.
Besides, she had needs, too. She waited until Dean paused for breath, and then she reached behind herself to catch at his wrists.
"Time for me to return the favour, Dean," she said. "Get up."
"Yes, ma'am," he said, grinning and licking his lips. She ignored his attempts to distract her – a hand 'accidentally' glancing across her nipple, or 'mistakenly' groping her rear, all while he put on an innocent expression and said "Oh, oops, 'scuse me, miss." – while she maneuvered around him to get to the soap.
He stood there obediently enough when she began massaging him with soapy hands, however. She followed his earlier lead, starting with his strong shoulders, then his lightly-stubbled throat, and then sliding down over his pectoral muscles. She tweaked his nipples lightly, and he bit off a groan. She got another handful of soap and did his arms, then tiny circles along his belly. He tensed as she got lower and lower, shooting her a mock-annoyed look when she winked and ordered him to turn around.
Her grin faded when she saw the damage the rescue had done to his back. Probably from his fall, when he'd been slammed into by a 6'5" missile named Sam. Dark purple bruises, and a few small cuts and abrasions. "Do they hurt?" she asked softly, lightly touching one of the larger bruises.
"Not when you're busy distracting me," Dean suggested helpfully. He'd had worse. Much worse.
Her hands were on his ass now, kneading lightly, and he grinned. "Someone's liking my 'ass-ets'."
She groaned. "Yeah, well that's not all of you I like. Turn back around," she told him. He grinned knowingly as she soaped up his legs with long, deliberate strokes. "Only one spot left to clean," he pointed out.
She smirked at him as she worked up another rich lather. "Thanks for the reminder."
"You're welcome," he replied, although considering how obviously aroused he was, she'd have to be blind not to notice. "Helpful is my middle nam-"
He had to close his eyes and lean against the wall as two slick, soapy hands slid around and over him. Slender fingers teased at his balls, gently tugging, lightly massaging. While her other hand wrapped tightly around his aching erection, pumping up and down with maddening slowness.
"Christ, Allison," he rasped. He swayed slightly on his feet as she had her evil way with his family jewels, until he couldn't take it any more. He pushed her hands away, and turned to face the spray, letting the water wash him clean. "Rinse your hands," he instructed her.
"But I didn't do your hair-"
"Fuck my hair," Dean opined. He waited until her hands were soap-free, and then he turned the water off and shoved the curtain back.
Allison watched bemused as Dean first climbed out of the tub, and then dug through the pockets of his jeans, cursing quietly to himself and dripping water everywhere. "What are you-?" she started to ask.
He held up a condom packet between two fingers. "Come over here. I'm about to assert my rescuer's rights."
She snorted with amusement behind her hand but got out of the tub, not even stopping to squeeze the water out of her hair because Dean looked that impatient.
That was how she wound up bent over the bathroom counter, water running in ticklish trickles down her skin as Dean thrust strongly into her from behind. But this was more than their usual frenzied joining. She could see his face reflected in the dingy mirror over the scarred sink, and he could see hers. It was a degree of connection that they didn't usually have in this kind of sexual situation. Added to the relief of being alive and relatively unharmed, after a frightening time for both of them.
Dean's heart was racing in his chest, his green eyes locked to Allison's in the mirror. So damned close to losing her…no, never again. When she closed her eyes and her head drooped, shuddering as she came, he gave a low choked growl and came himself, hands wrapped possessively around her hips. Mine, he thought.
No one else's.
A few hours' nap, and a quick conference with Sam and John later, and they were back on the road. Allison had felt a bit awkward, meeting the both of them for the first time under those circumstances. But Sam had been friendly, shaking her hand and telling her in a sincere tone that he was glad she was all right. John had been more distant, more reserved. He'd almost growled his introduction, barely able to meet her eyes.
It puzzled her, that the elder Winchester seemed to dislike her on sight, but she supposed from what Dean had told her that the kidnapping situation had put John's lifelong quest at risk. It bothered her, that he seemed to be blaming her, and for something that wasn't even her fault, but she decided to let it go for now. Maybe, with time, John would be more accepting of her.
Back in the Impala with Dean, while his younger brother kept their father company in the truck, Allison had a few moments to think. Things still didn't make much sense to her, the pieces still didn't fit together in any way that she liked, but she supposed that, too, would come with time.
It was when they blew past a town sign that she suddenly realized something; that the real world hadn't ceased to exist behind her. That there still was an ornery boss and two colleagues back in Princeton, likely wondering why she hadn't called in sick or shown up to work yet.
"Dean, wait," she said, almost panicking at the thought of how House must have reacted to her unexplained absence. "You have to take me home."
He shook his head, looking over at her in disbelief. "You're kidding, right, Al? You'd be in danger. You need to stick close to me."
She stared back at him. "I can't just drop everything, leave my life and my job behind-"
"Yes, you can," Dean objected. "Weren't you listening earlier? I told you, this Demon killed my mother, then Sam's fiancée. You told me yourself, Meg seemed to be talking to someone. I'll bet it was the big badass himself. Besides, she said there's more of them out there. You really think they won't make another try for you, if I let you go home unprotected? No, you're staying with me. That's not negociable."
His hands were white-knuckled around the steering wheel, and she'd never heard him speak in that tone of voice. He was terrified, she realized. It made her afraid again, too, wondering what these monsters were, that could cause Dean to react this way. She'd seen only the tip of the iceberg, she was starting to suspect.
Dean took a slow breath, obviously fighting to relax, and continued: "Besides, this is almost over. Dad's got a bead on the Demon. We think it's going to show up in Salvation, Iowa, sometime around the end of this week. We think that it'll try to destroy another family the way it did ours. That's where we're headed now, and if we can find out when and where it will attack, we can take the Colt and kill it." He reached across the seat, wrapping icy fingers around her hand. "Then it'll all be over, and you can go home again. And maybe I can finally have a normal life, and stop being a freak."
The last sentence was said so quietly, Allison wasn't sure she'd heard him right. But if it was true, if this was all going to be over soon like he said, she supposed she could do this for him.
"Just another week. Less, even. Please, Allison," Dean gave her a pleading look, and that decided her. She squeezed his hand in return.
"OK," she said. Still, she couldn't leave her PPTH teammates totally in the dark. "But can I at least call House?"
"Why?" Dean asked, scowling.
"Because it's not right for me to just disappear with no word to anyone. I'm part of a diagnostic team, they depend on me." She paused as another thought occurred to her. "If you got called away for some reason, wouldn't you let Sam and your father know what was going on? Didn't you tell me how much it bothered you when John went missing? House may not be the nicest boss on the planet, but he still deserves to know that I'm all right, and roughly when I'll be back." Privately, she believed that House was likely furious at her for missing work. Maybe even a bit worried about her, though she doubted it.
"Fine," Dean said after a long pause. He reached into a pocket and handed her his cell. "But don't you go telling him where we are, or where we're going."
She looked at him in consternation. "Why not?"
"Because anyone, anywhere, could be a friend of the Demon's. And we wouldn't know until it was too late. Didn't Meg and her friends seem pretty normal to you? Except for the whole black eyes and altar and knife-fetish thing, that is?"
"You're saying House could be possessed?" It would explain a lot – haha - but Allison didn't buy it.
"No, I'm saying we have to be careful. That we won't always know who's on our side and who isn't. So we need to play it safe, at least until this is over."
"Dean-"
"This'll all be over by the end of the week, so why take chances? Please, just do this for me. Call it my reward for saving your ass."
I thought your reward was the sex we just had, she almost joked, but Dean was obviously deadly serious. "OK," she replied.
"And another thing – don't even tell him you're with me. If the cops really are out looking for me, the last thing we need is them getting in our way as we're trying to kill the Demon."
It made sense, but it sure didn't leave Allison much to actually say to House. Still, her conscience wouldn't let her leave House wondering (she knew how he loathed puzzles that he couldn't solve), so she dialed his home number and waited.
He picked up two seconds into her halting phone message. "So nice of you to finally remember you have a paying job," he said cuttingly.
For a moment, Allison almost hung up the phone. She'd been knocked around and kidnapped by demon-possessed people, been forced to watch them trash her place, and then had a knife held to her throat. She wasn't really in the mood for House's sarcasm.
"I was in trouble, House," she said sharply, ignoring Dean's warning look.
"I don't care. I don't even care that you decided to go all urban-demo décor at your place-"
"What?" House had been to her place? She wondered why he had bothered.
He kept on going, ignoring her. "I just want to know when you're going to be back here doing your job."
She swallowed hard, but she had no choice. "Not for a little while longer," she said, struggling to stay calm. "Another week, most likely. Things aren't totally dealt with-"
"What the Hell is going on, Cameron? Where the Hell are you?"
"I- I can't tell you that. Not yet," she stammered. This was harder than she'd expected.
"What? Did that fucking pizza boy kidnap you?"
She was tempted to tell him to mind his own business, and then hang up. But she was going to go through with this. Maybe I should've called Wilson or Foreman instead, she thought grimly.
"No. This has nothing to do with him," she lied. Everybody lies. "Look, House, all I can tell you is that I'm safe. I was in serious trouble, and now I'm safe. But I can't come back yet."
"What the fuck does that mean, Cameron?"
"I can't go into that now, House. I just called so that you-" But she couldn't say 'wouldn't worry' to him.
"You have to do better than that! I need my immunologist. People are busy dying, and I need my team at full strength to help save them. And all you can say is 'I can't tell you'?" He was yelling, and Allison yanked her head away from the phone, grimacing.
For one moment, Allison considered disobeying Dean and giving House a reason to think she was a candidate for a rubber room. Well, House, it's like this. Dean hunts ghosts and demons for a living, and some of them decided to get back at him by kidnapping me. But he came and rescued me, and now he wants me to stay close by while he takes out a major player. Helluva world, isn't it?
"I can't do better than that, House." Now she knew how Dean had felt during their own phone conversation along these lines. "I'm sorry. Goodbye."
"Wait!" House said loudly, and she paused. There was only silence on the line, but then he gave a heavy sigh. "If I can't have my immunologist with me in body, then will you at least do our latest patient a favour and be with me in spirit?"
"What is that supposed to mean?" she retorted, having an uncharacteristically tense reaction to his use of the word 'spirit'.
Would anything ever feel normal again to her, after this?
"You don't want to come back here, and I need an immunologist, stat." There was the rustle of papers in the background.
"42 year-old male, initially admitted to ER complaining of a rash on his chest…." House listed off a bevy of symptoms, then paused.
"Differential diagnosis, Dr. Cameron?"