Chapter Fourteen

Now

"Shhh."

I opened my eyes, blinking in a haze. Whatever I was dreaming evaporated with the grogginess of my awaking brain. I blinked hard, trying to figure out what was shushing me, but my brain wasn't working right. I tried to focus, fighting through the fog to remember where I was.

I was lying down, pressed against the solid form of a human body that kept me warm despite the coolness of the air around me. My blanket had fallen away from my shoulders lying somewhere down around my waist. The itchy sheet was tangled around my right leg and the other persons left leg, strapping them together like being caught in a net. If I had been more awake I probably would have tried to free them.

I lifted my head to see that I was sprawled across Dean's chest, my free leg draped over his waist, my arm over his chest. The morning drowsiness was replaced with momentary bliss, warming every inch of me more than any blanket could. I smiled happily into his bright green eyes feeling more at peace then I had in a long time.

"You were mumbling in your sleep," Dean informed me. His arm was wrapped around my waist, holding me against him and his fingers messaging the skin through the fabric of my dress.

"I do that," I mumbled.

I wasn't quite ready to wake up just yet, not quite ready to leave him. I lowered my head back against his shoulder, curling up against him. Dean tightened his arm around me, and in the safety of his embrace I fell back to sleep. I was briefly aware of the bed shifting as Dean pulled away from me. I reached out for him, but couldn't bring myself to open my eyes and I drifted off again.

"Hey," Dean's deep voice vibrated though me a moment later. The bed jostled with so much force that I shot up in bed with a sharp squeak, looking around franticly. Dean was standing at the end of the bed with his booted foot resting against the mattress, "You need to get up."

I narrowed my eyes at him, "You could have just said that, jackass!"

Dean shrugged, giving me the smallest hints of a smile, "This way was more fun. Sam's gone."

"What do you mean, Sam's gone?" I asked around a yawn.

I glanced in the direction of the other bed. The pillows were flat and tossed halfheartedly against the headboard, the blankets and sheet a pile at the end, the mattress held an indentation of a very tall man, a clear sign it had been used and the vacated. Another quick glance around conformed that Sam was nowhere else in the room.

"He's been gone for nearly an hour," Dean informed me. He picked up his and Sam's duffle bag, dropping them on the table where mine already sat.

"How do you know?" I asked, rubbing my eyes. I lowered my hands, grimacing at the black smudges of my makeup on my hands. I groaned internally, I probably looked like a clown. I didn't even want to think about what my hair looked like, "You just woke up."

"I've been up for almost an hour," Dean said, not bothering to even glance in my direction.

There was a new tension his shoulders that hadn't been there the night before, his whole demeanor withdrawn. I clenched and unclenched my jaw, wondering what he had been thinking about. It was probably just him being worried about Sam, but a deep part of my brain told me it was because of me, because of last night. I shook the thought away before it had time to take root.

"No, you just-" I trailed off, looking Dean up and down, noticing that he had changed clothes. My brain must have checked out after Dean had gotten out of the bed, still asleep and not realizing that time had passed. I scratched the back of my head and smiled at him, "An hour, huh? I wasn't snoring, right?"

"Nope," Dean said, finally glancing over his shoulder at me, "I already checked around here and the dinner down the street, but he wasn't there. There's a bar a few miles down the road, so I figured we'd check there next. Get your shoes."

Dean snatched up our bags and walked out of the hotel room, leaving the door wide open for me. Huffing out the air in my lungs, I slid out of the bed. I grabbed my jacket and shoes off the floor where I had discarded them sometime in the night. Not bothering to put them on, I trailed after Dean. At the door I did one last quick glance to make sure we hadn't forgotten anything, and then I closed the door behind me.

Outside, I took a moment to breath in the warm afternoon air. I closed my eyes and tilted my head to the clear blue sky, loving the feeling of the sun on my face. I could feel my lip curving into a smile and my body relaxed. Sudden goosebumps ran across my arms and up the back of my neck. My eyes flew open at the sudden sensation that I was being watched. I looked around for Dean.

I found him at the trunk of the Impala; it was popped open and he was putting in our bags, he wasn't focused on me. I scanned the area around to see if I could catch who it was. There were a few pedestrians walking past on the side walk, they were all too busy on their phones or with her friends to pay me any mind. There was a couple trying to wrangle in their three children into a car. None of them even so much as glanced in my direction. Ruby's voice trailed through my head, reminding me there was a hit on my head. I steeled myself, my muscles tightening and reading for a fight.

I waited only a few more seconds, but nothing happened. There were no spooky shadows, no cold chills, nothing. If someone was watching me, then they would just have to keep doing it. I walked to the passenger side and slipped into the seat, discarding my boots on the floor and tossing my jacket behind me. The trunk was shut with a slam, causing the car to bounce slightly. A few seconds later Dean got into the car beside me, starting the car with a rumble. He backed up, placing his hand noticeably close to my shoulder as he turned around to watch behind him, and we were off toward the bar.

Dean clicked on the radio and the car was filled with a classic rock song. I listened to the words, a smile on my face as I watched Dean drummed his thumbs against the steering wheel, mouthing the words to the song and nodding his head to the beat.

"Who is this?" I asked, running my fingers through my hair to brush out the knots.

Dean's eyes shot to me in disbelief, pointing at the radio with his finger as he spoke, "This is Bob Seger's Travelin' Man. He's one of the greatest classic rock singers ever!"

I pressed my lips together and nodded, swallowing down my laugh before saying, "I bet he is."

I twisted my hair up into a messy bun on the top of my head to hide what I'm sure was a disaster. I used the movement to glance behind us to see if there were any suspicious cars trailing behind us. There was a cherry red ford behind us, but the man in the cap didn't look suspicious. Of course if he was a demon I wouldn't have been able to tell. If anyone was fallowing us, they were doing a really good job of hiding. I turned back around.

Dean must have caught the amusement in my voice because I earned a glare from him, "You honestly never heard of him?"

"I'm sure I have and I just don't know it," I smiled. Sitting up a little, I pulled down the visor to look at my makeup. It wasn't all bad, just the eyeliner had smudged giving me a faded raccoon look. I wiped at the makeup, "Not all of us where raised on classic rock, remember?"

"What were you raised on, then?" Dean muttered, clearly not approving, "Country and banjo music?"

"Classic music, mostly," I said, counting off on my fingers, "Bach, Mozart, Beethoven, that sorta thing."

"Next you're gonna tell me you play the piano," Dean mumbled.

I nodded, smirking at him as I smacked up the visor when my face was more presentable and started to pull my boots on, tying them to just the right amount of snugness, "And the violin."

Dean made a ticking sound with his tongue, looking impressed, "Well, good for you. I can play a little piano myself. A bit of guitar, too."

"Well, good for you," I smiled, propping my feet up on the dashboard.

"Feet," Dean reached over and whacking my legs.

I dropped my feet back to the floor. Dean glanced at me out of the corner of his eyes, a small smile on his lips. He licked his lips and pulled his bottom lip between his teeth. My heart pounded just a little hard at the glint of lust in his eyes. He turned his head, focusing his eyes back on the road. I did the same, but it was hard not to glance at him.

"Halestorm," I said.

"What?" Dean asked, looking at me with a puzzled look.

"That's my favorite band," I told him, "Although I do enjoy a good classic piano, and I like a tone of different genres, but I'm more into modern rock."

"Crap rock," Dean muttered, pulling into a parking spot and switching of the Impala.

I looked out the windshield to see were where already at the bar. The car ride had not nearly been long enough. I wanted to find Sam, but not that quick. Dean was out of the car in a blink, eager to get inside and find his brother. I followed suit, trying not to pout as I headed for the bar. Dean held open the door and I stepped inside.

The bar had a nice rustic interior, with wood walls and flooring, wood tables, and a long wood bar. It was fairly busy for the time of day, the soft sound of voices and country music playing from a jukebox. There were a couple of people scattered throughout drinking, an older gent reading a paper, and a group of people playing pool and munching on nachos. My stomach growled, reminding me that I hadn't eaten since the day before. I licked my lips, my mouth watering and turned away, spotting Sam was sitting at the bar.

I felt Dean breathed a sigh of relief from behind me, the air ruffling the loose hairs on the back of my neck, glad to see his brother's lanky form hunched over a small glass filled with bronze liquor. Dean placed his hand on my shoulder to gently push me to the side so he could make a beeline for his brother. I hung back as a man holding a beer cut in front of me. His golden-brown eyes looked me up and down as he passed with a crocked smile on his face. I smiled back at him, waving my fingers at him before walking over to the Winchesters.

"There you are," Dean said, smacking Sam on the shoulder, patting it slightly.

I walked to the other side of Sam, sliding onto the barstool beside him. He turned his head to acknowledge me and smiling sweetly at him. He looked at me with half leaded eyes, sighed, then turned back to his drink.

Dean leaned against the bar, catching his brother's attention, "What are you doing?"

Sam shrugged, like it should be obvious. His head curved in my direction, when I didn't say anything, he turned back to his brother, "I'm having a drink."

"It's two in the afternoon," Dean pointed out, grabbing hold of Sam's drink and sniffing. He made a face and set it back down on the bar, "Drinking whiskey?"

"I drink all the time," Sam said, lifting his shoulders indifferently.

"No, you don't," Dean argued. From what I had seen, Dean was right. I'd seen Dean drink any alcohol you put in front of him, Sam hadn't had more than a few beers.

"What's the big deal?" Sam said looking around the bar, indicating the whole with a wave of his hand, "You get sloppy in bars. You hit on chicks all the time. Why can't I?"

I pretended not to have felt the ping of jealousy that bubbled up in my chest, fixing my gaze on Dean. An unwanted image of a long line of women standing before him washed through my head. He looked around at the female population that inhabited the bar. There was a woman in black biker gear chatting it up with a gent a few seats down the bar, and the waitress was a bit curvy in places but still cute, along with a few others. Sam could have done worse. Eventually Dean's eyes came round to me. I raised my eye brows at him, a silent dare for him to say something. He turned back to Sam with a smirk.

"Aside from present company," Dean said, nodding his head faintly to me, "It's kind of slim pickings around here."

Sam didn't seem to care. It wasn't the point he was trying to make, just covering up the truth. There was pain in Sam's eyes, something that he was drinking to forget.

"What's going on, Sammy?" I asked, placing my hand on his shoulder for support.

"It's Sam," Sam scoffed slightly, but there was no real meaning behind his words. He'd said it out of reflex. Sam shook his head, his face falling into defeated. He placed his hand on mine, squeezing it gently. He gave me a sad smile, "I tried."

"To do what?" Dean asked.

His eyes shot from his brother, to me, to our hands, then back again. I kept my hand where it was, even after Sam had let it go. I needed Sam to know that I was here for him, that he wasn't alone. I would be there to help him fight. I'd stand beside him as long as I could, just as I had promised Dean. It was a promise I intended to keep, even if it mad Dean uncomfortable. If I lived long enough to do it, I had my own demons to contend with, after all. I glanced around to see if there were any suspicious people hanging around, but all strangers seemed sketchy to me.

"To save you," Sam said softly, bring my attention back to him. His eyes where turning red. If it was from the alcohol or unshed tears threatening to break through his resolve, I couldn't tell.

I felt for Sam, I really did. Losing your family could destroy you if you let it. If it wasn't a constant thing on Dean's mind then he was mental. It did seem to be a constant thing on Sam's mind however. And it should have been on mine as well. Here I was being all flirty with Dean and in a few short months he would go to Hell.

When I was around him, it was easy to forget that. He was so alive. He was here, now, solid and real. But if I was going to win my own battle, I couldn't allow myself to get distracted and attached. I needed to stop drooling over this boy, stop pretending that things might still work out. It killed me a bit, but mine and Deans relationship would have to be strictly business from here on out. Lest losing him destroyed me, too.

Dean took a seat and turned to call out his order to the bartender, "Could I get a whiskey, double, neat."

"Sure thing, pal," The bartender said, grabbing a glass from behind the counter and poured the drink before eyeing me, "What about you, sweetheart?"

"I'm fine, thanks," I gave him a small smile before turning back to Sam. The bartender shrugged and went about his business.

"I'm serious, Dean," Sam said, his focus shifting from Dean to his alcohol once the bar tender had wondered off.

"No, you're drunk," Dean informed him, downing his drink in one gulp.

"I mean where you're going, what you're going to become," Sam said, his face turning hard. He shook his head and scoffed.

"Become?" I asked before thinking about how I didn't think I wanted to know the answer.

"A demon," Sam informed me, looking at me with an incredible amount of pain in his eyes, "When he goes to Hell, it will turn him into a demon."

I clenched my jaw and I was glad I was sitting down, or I might have fallen over. It made since, demons were human souls Lucifer had tortured and twisted into something dark and horrible. I hadn't really thought about it much, never really cared. Hell was a place for evil people, murders and child molesters; they got what was coming to them. But Dean? He deserved better. Anyone who sacrificed their life to saving people deserved better than that.

If Dean became a demon, one day he might even return, possessing the body of some poor chap. Maybe even in my lifetime. I wondered if he would remember us, if he'd hunt us down. Or would he become a crossroads demon, tricking people into selling the souls for petty little things like money or talent. Would he care that he was damning people, just like he had been damned?

"I can't stop it," Sam said, ripping me from my reverie before turning back to Dean, "I'm starting to think maybe even Ruby can't stop it. But really, the thing is no one can save you."

"That's what I've been telling you," Dean said, completely shaking off any emotional attachment. He made it look as easy as changing ones shirt.

"No, that's not what I mean," Sam said, looking disgruntled, "I mean, no one can save you because you don't wanna be saved. I mean, how can you care so little about yourself?" Sam looked Dean dead in the eye, completely serious when he asked the next question, "What's wrong with you?"

Dean and Sam stared at each other for a long moment, Dean's mouth hanging open. The question even shocked me, and is looked back and forth between the two brothers. Dean glanced at me, shifting in his chair and looking uncomfortable. I wondered if he even knew the answer. He opened his mouth, but no words came out. Dean looked like he was seriously trying to think of what was really wrong with him, or at lease trying to come up with a good enough lie. Dean took a deep breath, and I found myself leaning closer in anticipation of his answer, but his cell ringed, sparing him from having to answer.

"Hello?" Dean asked with a little too much force, "Yes, this is Mr. Sniderson… What?" Dean paused to look at Sam, his face full of concern, "Where?"

"What's wrong?" I asked.

Dean didn't respond. He snapped his phone shut and motioned for us to fallow him, tossing a couple twenties on the counter before leaving the bar. He was in the Impala and had the car started before he had even shut the door. Sam slid into the front seat, and I got into the back. I scooted into the middle and sat at the edge of the seat so I could lean in between the two brothers to be a part of the conversation.

"It's Bobby," Dean said as we sped out of town, "He's in a hospital in Pittsburgh."

"What?" Sam demanded, "What happened?"

"I don't know," Dean said with a shrug, "They said he was found in his hotel room, something about a coma. They need us there right away."

"Um, who's Bobby?" I asked carefully.

Sam glanced back at me, "Robert Singer, he's a hunter friend, been at it a long while. We've known him since we were kids." Sam turned back around to Dean, "What was Bobby doing in Pittsburgh?"

"Unless he was taking an extremely lame vacation…" Dean muttered, his voice trailing off.

"He must have been working a job, right?" Sam asked.

Dean clenched his jaw, pressing his foot harder on the gas. The Impala roared to life, speeding down the highway at lawfully speeds. The ride turned into a tense few hours, the boys worry nearly tangible enough to cut with a knife. I grabbed my jacket off the floor and draped it over my legs as I tucked my feet under me, staring straight at the road ahead. I stopped paying attention to what Sam and Dean where talking about, and at some point they had stopped talking altogether. We drove the rest of the way in silence.