Chapter 9

His head felt like it was about to split open.

And through the pain and agony, flashes of memories ran through his mind.

Images of dark murky walls; of faces blurred unrecognizably; of round tables and tall stools. Images of a bar and rows of bottles. All popped into his head in-between blinding white lights that he thought was from his own vision. He remembered sounds as well. Clatter of glasses, laughter and chatter all mixed together.

He tried to distinguish what was now and what was before. He seemed to recall the memories. At least what he thought were memories. He remember sitting at the bar, pouring one drink after another into his body. He tried to remember how many. He couldn't; nor could he remember when or how he got back.

He tried to decide whether it was something that happened to him yesterday or sometime back. But for some reason his brain was refusing to cooperate with him. His thoughts felt hazy and lethargic. As if unwilling to leave the corners where they had lain peacefully.

Then he remembered why he was drinking.

Tracy's face appeared and rested there for some time making him forget everything else.

Then, as if that image had jarred his mind awake, more memories started to rush in.

He was not at the bar, or at home. He was in the swamps of Louisiana. It was the dead of the night and they were being hunted.

They, as in, there were others.

Images of faces filled his mind. And of the dead; memories of their demise followed behind. But then there were the living.

He tried to remember what happened to them.

Trevor was again back with Tracy.

They were talking. At least she was. She was trying to convince him to let her go after Dean; because that was 'her' mission. She didn't need his permission or approval, but she needed him not to protest or try to stop her. Worst, she didn't want him to report it back. He knew that. He should have. But he let her convince him that it was in the best interest of the group.

'They needed Dean' he tried to tell himself.

'Besides the group was tired; he could see that. They also needed rest' he tried to convince himself.

The truth was that he was just repeating what Tracy had told him. Trying hard to convince himself that it was logic that made him let her go without much argument, and not anything else.

This was not true.

He chided himself for again letting her do this to him.

'Was he that much of a spineless….'

His head hurt worst.

The throbbing became worse like the drum beat of a rock band.

He wanted to move his hands to his head. Maybe to hold his head in case it really was trying to split open. But then he realized that he couldn't move his hands.

Well he couldn't feel them where they should be.

Then his mind shifted to where his hands claimed to be, and he felt something else.

Then more memories flashed into his mind and his heart almost stopped.

Dean turned around to come face to face with the barrel of a Smith and Wesson Model 15.

"What are you doing?"

"You're coming with me" she said

"Are you crazy. We need to find the others"

"They're dead, Dean. Don't be stupid. Think about your brother" she replied never lowering the gun.

"How do you know?" he asked

"I don't, but it's the most rational conclusion."

"'Rational conclusion!' Did you even hear what you just said?"

"We're talking about real human beings. Not numbers. You can't just assume their dead and move on."

"Even if they're not dead, then if we go after them there is a good risk that we will be."

"It's a risk I'm willing to take"

"No you're not. What you're trying to do, or at least hoping will happen, is that you'll get killed. Sam's death is not your fault Dean."

Dean opened his mouth and his face twisted into an expression of rage, before suddenly calming himself down. He took a second and a deep breath.

"I don't care what you think my motives are. Either shoot me or let me go, because, I'm not going to change my mind."

Tracy hesitated only for a few seconds before firing her gun.

Dean thought for sure that he was a goanna that time. But the bullet missed him. He heard the bullet flying inches away from his right ear.

It was not deliberate. He knew she intended to kill him. The look in her eyes was clear. It's just that she had suddenly lost her footing.

He hadn't noticed the intrusion. He was naturally preoccupied with trying to figure out why Tracy was trying to kill him. But now a quick glance towards her told him everything he needed to know.

There was a vine wrapped around her leg and pulling her across the ground.

It must have snuck up on her and pulled her just as she shot. Thankfully that jerk and change in latitude was enough to save him.

Nevertheless, it didn't change one thing. Tracy had tried to kill him.

Dean's mind flashed back to the motel. To his room, where he had been in an almost state of brain dead. Lost in his own grievances. All hope lost, and with the knowledge of what had happened before with Sam.

Then Tracy had come in and given him hope, a trace of it. At least that was what he had thought then when she told him about Johns.

She had claimed ignorance about him, but somehow managed to give him enough to convince him that he could help. But Johns couldn't help him, well wouldn't. Instead what she brought him to was a death trap. To a man who swore some kind of grudge against him; who sought his death.

All this, whether coincidence or not, happened after he came to the ball. When he came with her. She brought him here, she convinced him. She made him want to. She planted the seed that grew into the idea that led to this night.

Dean turned towards Tracy. She had regained her composure. She had twisted her body around so that she could get an aim of the vine and was shooting at it.

She was getting all her shots on target. But every time she managed to shoot a hole in the thick vine it repaired itself. It was healing itself faster than she could shoot.

It didn't take her long to run out of bullets.

Then again she had already wasted one bullet.

As he watched a second vine erupted out of the ground and started making for Tracy. Who was now unarmed and without means to defend herself.

Then again, who's to say this is Tracy Bell. The young girl he and Sam had rescued. Who's to say anything she said was real, that she was even human. Was he to believe her story that somehow he and Sam had done a Rip Van Winkle and popped themselves back in the distant future.

Nothing he had seen showed that they were in the future. No flying cars or luminescence clothing. The world looked the same mess they left it in.

There were shape shifters, there were demons, and then there was this Johns guy who seem to have a few tricks up his sleeve as well. So who's to say anything about Tracy Bell was real.

Dean watched as she was being dragged across the grass. The skirt of her dress was riding up revealing the empty holster hidden under her dress. The bullets on the belt of the holster glistened teasingly, out of reach of her hands as the vines constricted her.

He knew what came next.

'Damn it!' he said as he started to walk towards her. He pulled out his gun and fired; unloading round after round on the vines. He was relentless in his shooting. Never stopping until one and then the other tore off and crept back into the ground.

All the while Tracy watched him with wide open eyes.

Dean didn't hear the click as the trigger pulled without any resulting response. The slider stuck halfway in its pullback.

Thankfully the vines were gone, and seemingly not about to return.

Dean lowered the empty gun. Staring blankly at where the vines had once come out from. Then he turned his attention towards Tracy.

He walked up to her and stood next to her. He then pulled out his pocket knife and showed it to her.

"I don't know what or who you are. And I better not find out that you work for Johns. Because I swear if I do, it will be very painful for you. Understood." He then stretched out his hand out to her.

They were not even yet, but they were close enough.

Tracy paused for a second before taking his hand

"Dean I…" she started

"Not another word unless it is to explain exactly what the hell is going on and why the hell you were about to shoot me" he said interrupting her.

"Dean" she started as she took his hand and suddenly her expression changed and her gaze went sideways.

"Watch out" she shouted out, but it was too late. Before Dean had the chance to turn he felt a powerful blow against the back of his head. He heard a loud 'clank' as if he was hit by a frying pan, and then everything went dark.