Chapter 20

"Pick up, godammit, pick up," Sam muttered as the Impala swung around the corner and nose-dived into a parking place outside the tavern. He turned off the engine and tossed the phone to me.

"Try him again."

I'd been hitting the speed dial on my phone since we'd gotten into the car, but I called on Sam's anyway, tapping the icon for speaker as the phone rang.

We both heard the woman's voice. "Uh, hello?"

"Who's this?" Sam demanded, taking the phone from me as he pushed the door open and looked down the street toward the tavern.

I climbed out the other side in time to hear, "Oh, well, I just – I picked this off the ground, where I've been standing for ten minutes listening to it ring. Is this Dean's phone?"

"Yeah," Sam said.

"Well...he was supposed to meet me here," the woman said loudly.

I think Sam might've broken his thumb trying to get the phone off speaker at that point, but it was too late. She was standing right there anyway.

"Hi, I'm Mia," she said as we walked up the sidewalk to her. She held out Dean's phone. "Here you go."

Sam took the phone from her, shoving it into his pocket. "He was meeting you here?"

"Had a date, I hope he's okay," she told him.

"What time?"

"We were meeting here, uh," she said, looking at her watch. "Fifteen minutes ago."

"Was he in the bar before that?"

"Sure was," she confirmed, glancing at me.

I was listening but keeping my eyes on the pavement. She wasn't Lauren by any stretch of the imagination, I thought, a tad bitchily to myself, but she had long blonde hair, (dyed and curled, and if she was under thirty I'd eat my boots, my inner bitch added unnecessarily) big blue eyes and a respectable bosom laced into some kind of black bustier.

"Did he talk to anyone? Meet with anyone?"

She shook her head. "So far as I saw, just me," she told Sam.

"Uh," Sam hesitated and I knew he was looking at me. "Can I ask what you two talked about?"

"Who are you again?" she asked him, a little warily.

"Sorry, Sam," he said. "Dean's brother."

"Oh," she said, looking from him to me. "Oh, well, uh, we talked about his problems, a little, then mostly general things."

"His, um, problems?"

She shrugged and waved a hand in the air. "Work, family, love life … he was feeling guilty about some girl. I told him life's short, gotta smell the roses while they're blooming."

"Oh."

I turned away and started back to the car. That was about as much as I'd needed to hear, about all of it. For a minute or three, the fact that Dean was gone, probably kidnapped by some Egyptian god and being held on trial for his life, vanished from my brain. The only thing circling in there was an image of Mia, leaning her respectable bust on the bar and telling him to smell the roses.

"Terry," Sam said, reaching the driver's door as I made it to the passenger side. "This is probably not –"

"Let's go, he might not have much time," I cut him off, opening the door and swinging into the seat.

There was a moment's hesitation and then his door opened and he slid behind the wheel.

"You alright?"

"Fine," I said, as brightly as I could manage, aware on some level at least that my voice had that tinfoil quality, the one that zings your teeth if you bite on it. "Peachy, why shouldn't I be?"

"Terry –"

"Drive, Sam."

He might've decided that it would be easier to get Dean out of life-threatening danger first and then deal with my emotional problems. It would've been the smart thing to do.

I stared out the window, a bit futilely since it was dark outside and once we got out of the residential area the view I got was of my own face, reflected in the black glass.

Nothing should've surprised me by now, I can hear you thinking. You're right too. Nothing should've surprised me. Yet, here I was, sitting in the front seat of the black car, surprised. Actually, surprised was probably a bit of a mild word for what I was feeling, my chest aching and my throat closed up tight for all those who'd missed the matinee and afternoon shows, and all because I could not seem to get my head around the fact that I didn't belong here. Didn't have any reason to be here. Was not of this world. And never would be, that was becoming increasingly clearer.

It took Sam ten minutes to reach the gravel road leading to Milton Orchards, and I was braced in between the dash and the door, not even noticing the fact that I could press my back against the seat to keep from sliding along the bench seat into him.

Dean's a great driver, but Sammy's no slouch.

The headlights flooded the countryside and the barn leapt out at us, red as Warren had said, big and forlorn next to the burned remains of the house. Sam pulled up and stopped the engine, reaching over the back of the seat and snagging the gear bag. In the true manner of a faithful sidekick, I reached down and grabbed a flashlight, exiting the car at the same time as he did, and slamming the door behind me.

~o-o-o-0-o-o-o~

Finding Dean in the barn wasn't difficult. Although I couldn't see any visible light source, the end of the barn was lit up brightly and as Warren had said, there was a stage with a throne sitting on it, flanked by a couple of dog-headed Egyptian-god style statues and in front of that, a long table, a couple of chairs and Dean, trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey in chains. Of the entire scene, only the chains had an effect on me, and that wasn't what you might've expected.

He was squirming around in the chair, the chains clanking a bit, but I heard him clearly over that as Sam and I slipped through the shadows at the other end of the barn.

"Really, Warren? All you noticed were the symbols?"

"Quit squirming, Mr Winchester."

The throne, a second ago empty, now held a large, swarthy-skinned man with a smoothly bald head, a golden staff with an ankh-shaped head and a shapeless black robe with an elaborate golden collar. Osiris, I presumed as he looked down at Dean.

"They're Houdini-proof," the god continued, his voice deep and melodic. "Now, are you ready to hear the charges?"

"What, you can't jump a guy when he's sober?" I could hear the curl in Dean's lip in his words.

"You and that waitress had quite a talk, eh?" Osiris said, smiling at him. "Get a couple of drinks in you and the guilt comes pouring out."

"Oh, eavesdropping – that's cute," Dean said, but his voice wasn't quite as firm as it had been.

"Speaking of …" Osiris looked up, his gaze right on Sam and I. "Are you and your friend going to skulk about back there all night, Sam?"

Dean twisted around in the chair, the chains clanking heavily. "Sam?"

"Nice job of finding us." Osiris inclined his head slightly as Sam and I walked into the light. "I assume you know who I am too?"

"Yeah," Sam said, walking to stand beside his brother.

"Wanna fill me in?" Dean muttered from the corner of his mouth.

"Osiris," Sam said, keeping his gaze fixed on the god. "The first Lord of the Underworld, the Resurrector and the god of Life, also the god responsible for judging the dead."

"Wow, what a relief," Dean said, shrugging his shoulders, the chains clanking again. "Thought it must be a case of mistaken identity, 'cause I ain't dead."

"Yet," Osiris said with a cool smile. "I'm impressed, Sam, that's a lot of research."

"Be impressed by her." Sam jerked his head toward me and I moved slightly out to one side of him. "She's the one who looked you up."

"Well, a female scholar, how novel." Osiris glanced at me. "Now that introductions have been made, you two may go about your business."

"Look, if anyone should be on trial, it should be me," Sam argued.

"That's for me to decide, Sam," the god countered, looking at Dean. "Now, go away."

"But he – he has the right to an attorney … doesn't he?" Sam pressed uncertainly.

"Someone to represent his best interests," I added, thinking that Dean would get himself killed if left on his own here. "To make sure he doesn't incriminate himself."

Osiris burst out laughing, looking from Sam to me. "He already has incriminated himself, dear child. That's why he's here."

"Further," Sam interjected, scowling down at Dean. "Make sure he doesn't incriminate himself further. Let me defend him."

"Unusual."

"But not without precedence," I said quickly. "Horus defended his mother – your daughter – when she was taken before Ma'at at Anubis' accusation."

Both Dean and Sam flinched back as Osiris leaned forward suddenly, his dark eyes narrowed to slits as he looked at me.

"And how would you know that?"

"It is so written in the Book of the Dead," I answered him, thanking whatever was looking after me here that Lauren had sent me everything she could find about the god. "Is it not?"

"It is." He leaned back in the throne, then nodded slowly. "Alright, it's not part of the normal procedures, but you may defend him."

"Uh, Sam, you're not a lawyer," Dean whispered as two extra chairs appeared at the table beside him and Sam sat down next to him. I took the one next to Sam.

"I was pre-law."

"Yeah … pre."

"Are we all comfortable? Ready to begin? The list of witnesses I can call is … well, endless."

Sam stood up. "Objection!"

"Are you going to let me finish my sentence?" Osiris asked mildly, looking down at him.

"No, this isn't fair," Sam said and I felt my stomach drop.

"Fair?" The god rolled the word around his mouth. "Objection overruled. I can make it simple. Three witnesses."

"Objection!" Sam said, leaping to his feet again.

"Grounds?"

"Witnesses being called without prior notice!"

"Ah, yes, a fine objection. Overruled." Osiris turned to look at the side of the low dais and a carver wooden chair appeared there. "The prosecution calls Joanna Beth Harvelle to the stand."

Behind the chair, something shimmered, a pale form that slowly thickened and became solid, washed out of all colour but recognisably Jo Harvelle. She didn't look quite like Alona Tal, but I was kind of getting used to that. Her hair was shorter and darker, and she looked older, not such a kid as the actress who'd played Jo in the show. I heard Dean's indrawn breath, and the whisper of Sam's exhale as they looked at her.

"Jo?" Dean said, his voice higher than normal.

She looked at him. "Dean. Sam. Long time."

"Take the stand, Ms Harvelle and we can proceed," Osiris said, waving a hand to the chair in front of her. "State your full name for the court."

"Joanna Beth Harvelle."

"And what is your relationship to Dean Winchester?"

"We worked together," Jo said, sitting a little straighter in the chair.

"Isn't it true that you admired him?" the god asked, leaning on the arm of the throne toward her. "Felt more than the camaraderie of colleagues?"

Jo turned her head to look at him. "As a hunter, yes. He's the best I've ever worked with." She looked back at Dean, the corner of her mouth tucking in very slightly. "As a guy … he was kind of a jerk."

"I see," Osiris said, looking at Dean. "So you saw him as a … mentor … of sorts?"

"I wouldn't describe it that way," Jo said.

"How would you describe it?"

"He put everyone he worked with first, even at the expense of the job," she said slowly. "It made trusting him easier."

"And still, your trust was betrayed," Osiris said, watching her face. "You were injured and died on a job that he'd asked for your help with."

"Was that a question?" Jo asked, turning to look at him coolly.

"Why did you follow him to Carthage?"

"Because the devil had risen and had to be stopped, and it wasn't a two-man job," Jo said acerbically.

"Do I need to remind you that only you may only tell the truth here?" Osiris asked softly.

"I am telling you the truth, you can see that for yourself," Jo snapped at him, her hands curling into fists in her lap.

I hadn't cared much for Jo on the show. I don't know why the writers had written her as a spoiled, rather careless teenage-type, but it'd fallen flat to expect the fans to accept her as a love interest when she'd been written as someone who had an awful lot of growing up to do. I wondered how accurate those scripts were now, as I saw her standing up to the god, keeping her wits about her.

"So if anyone else had asked you to help with this task, you'd have said yes?" Osiris pressed.

"Of course," Jo replied. "We're – I was – a hunter."

"Your witness." The god leaned back in his chair and looked at Sam.

Sam got up and walked around the table, looking at Jo. "So, uh, your dad … he was in the life?"

"Yes, he was."

"And your relationship with him?"

"Good, I mean …" she hesitated, looking at his face.

"You idolised him?"

"You're leading the witness, Sam," Osiris warned softly from the throne.

Jo glanced at the god and back to Sam. "Yes, I did."

"So, why you'd start? To impress some loudmouth punk you'd just met? Or to be like your dad?" Sam asked her and I had a hard time keeping still in my seat. It wasn't the issue, no matter how much Osiris might want to pretend that it was.

"Daddy issues," Jo said quickly. "Definitely."

Osiris raised his hand as he looked at Dean. I followed his gaze and saw Dean's expression, a torn mixture of gratitude and doubt.

"Permission to approach the bench?" I asked quickly and the god turned to look at me. "If it please the court, I would like to ask this witness questions along a different line?"

Sam looked at me, his mouth falling open. Osiris stared at me for a second then nodded abruptly. I didn't dare look at Dean, since I was channelling every freakin' legal tv show and movie I'd ever seen.

"May I call you Jo?" I asked her as I walked around the table. She nodded, obviously a bit non-plussed at the turn of events.

"Jo, can you tell the court how it was that you and your mother became involved with the events at Carthage?"

She blinked, then drew in a breath. "Bobby Singer called my mom. He was asking for volunteers for the job, and he told us clearly that it might be an end-run," she said, looking from me to Dean. "Mom argued with me for about four hours about going along, but she finally conceded that I was an adult and if I didn't go with her, I would find my own way to Sioux Falls."

"You've stated for the record that you chose to take on the job because Lucifer had risen and there were too few hunters to help the Winchesters destroy or trap him again," I said, thinking my way through the next bit.

"That's right," she confirmed, her gaze still on Dean. "Lucifer was killing thousands and there was no other choice but to do what we could." She turned and looked back at me. "We knew it wasn't going to be a cake-walk, Bobby was … incredibly clear about that. It didn't matter. Had my father still been with us, he would have gone in a heart-beat, and for my mom and me, that's all we needed to know."

I nodded, wondering how much of this was getting through to Dean. It'd been so obvious he'd taken their deaths as a personal failure, a betrayal of their trust, never even considering that they'd made their choices for their own reasons, none of which might've had anything to do with him.

"Once you reached Carthage, you were confronted by the demon, Meg, who had more than one hellhound with her, is that true?"

Her face sort of froze, and I was sorry that I'd had to bring that memory back up, but it was essential to the next bit.

"Yes, that's true."

"The hellhound brought down Dean, as you were all running for cover, and you stopped and started firing your weapon," I said, carefully picking and choosing through the memories of the episode and hoping like hell that the writers had gotten all this part accurately. I was sunk if she turned around and denied it. "Jo, if the hellhound had taken down Sam – or your mother – would you still have done what you did?"

She stared at me in astonishment. "Of course! Those sons of bitches were after all of us!"

"And to just clarify one further point," I continued, relief filling me at her answer and the look on Dean's face as he listened to her. "Your death, in the hardware store … it was from the wounds the hound had given you, wasn't it?"

"Yes." She looked at Osiris. "The memories are difficult to recall exactly, but my last clear one was leaning against my mother, hearing her heart beat, then feeling myself kind of falling away. I heard her say my name, and that was it."

"Heard her say your name," I repeated, looking at Dean. "She obviously couldn't have done that if the building had already exploded."

"No, she couldn't," Jo said, turning her head to look at Dean as well. "She was the one who pressed the button. I'd already gone."

"Thank you, Ms Harvelle, that will be all," Osiris said, snapping his fingers as he looked at Dean. Jo vanished and the room was silent.

I turned back to the table, meeting Sam's eyes momentarily and seeing something in them. I wasn't sure what exactly it was. I looked at Dean. He was staring at the table top and I couldn't work out his expression either.

"Alright." Osiris banged the end of his staff on the floor of the low dais once. "Interesting presentation, Miss …?"

"Alcott, your Honour," I said, looking back at him. "Or Excellency, or should it be Holiness?"

He smiled suddenly, but I was pretty darned sure that smile hadn't reached his eyes. "Honour will do at this moment. I take it you are a lawyer, Miss Alcott."

"I've studied this case for a long time, your Honour," I said. Not an answer to his question, but definitely a challenge, I thought.

"Have you now?" He looked at Sam. "You may have a moment to strategise, then I'll call my next witness."

Sam looked at Dean. "Alright, who's the next witness?"

"I got no clue," Dean said, turning to his brother, his gaze skating past me.

Neither Sam or I wanted especially to ask Dean who else he felt most guilty about, but I think we both knew anyway.

"Next witness," Osiris said, looking down at the table. "Prosecution calls Sam Winchester to the stand."

Sam looked back at Dean as he walked slowly to the chair and sat down.

"Not exactly the life you expected, was it?"

Sam lifted his chin, looking at his brother. "The details are a little different," he allowed cautiously.

The god leaned on the arm of the throne, his expression sympathetic. "For a while there you were going to be a real lawyer … marry the girl of your dreams."

"Yeah," Sam said stiffly. "That was a long time ago."

"But were you or were you not happily out of the family racket when your brother showed up in that gas-guzzler? Careful, Sam … the truth now."

Sam shook his head. "It's complicated."

"That one act, your brother seeking you out, that had quite a domino effect, didn't it? You come back, and Jess is dead."

"That wasn't his fault!" Sam grated and Osiris tilted his head to look at the rafters.

"Of course not, and neither is everything that came after, all the death and blood and hanging on by a thread. None of that is on Dean. Directly."

He paused for several moments, presumably to let that sink in to both brothers and I realised what he was doing. Or rather, how he was doing it. He wasn't getting his information from fate or history or anything real or objective. He was getting it direct-dial from Dean's memories, slanted the way Dean saw them, like loaded dice that always fell the same way.

"But don't you think your brother dragged back into that catastrophic mess because he'd rather damn you with him than be alone?" Osiris' gaze slid slyly to Dean. I looked at him too, his head was bowed again.

"No," Sam said. "One way or another, I'd have been pulled back in."

"You know that for certain?"

"Pretty sure," Sam said. "I'm sure."

"You're sure," the god repeated, nodding. "I believe you, Sam. Hey, if it was about convincing me, I would say …"

"What?" Sam turned to look at him.

"I don't decide anything, Sam. I don't decide on whether Dean's guilty or innocent. I just weigh the guilt that's there."

I saw it dawn on Sam's face, his fast glance at his brother and then at me. He'd walked into the god's questions, thinking he was doing so well and not realising that every word he'd said had made Dean think about it, made Dean feel worse.

Osiris looked down at Dean. "This is solely about how Dean feels, way down deep. Them's the breaks."

I looked at Sam and shook my head slightly as the god turned back to me. "Your witness?"

"Thank you, your Honour," I said, walking around the table again and thinking as fast as I could. I really didn't want to exchange one prisoner for another but at the same time, I needed to get Dean off the hook before he hung himself. "Sam, several months before Dean showed up at your apartment in Palo Alto, you were having dreams."

Sam swallowed but nodded, his eyes widening at me.

"Could you tell the court what those dreams were about?"

"I was dreaming about Jess," he said, looking at Dean. He'd told his brother this before. I didn't know if Dean hadn't taken it on board, or what the story was, but he needed to hear it again. "About Jess being in danger, about her on the ceiling, burning, exactly as it happened."

"Do you think those dreams were premonitions of Dean's return to your life? Or were they premonitions of the danger Jess was in because there were demons watching your every move?"

"I think they were premonitions of the danger to Jess from the demons who were watching me," he answered, staring intensely at Dean now.

"A long time later, you ran into Brady, an old class-mate of yours," I continued, repressing the desire to chew on my fingernails as I tried to think of ways to convince Dean without hurting Sam too badly. "Can you tell the court what he told you about those demons, the ones who'd watched you through your whole life?"

Dean's head had snapped up and I couldn't remember if he'd been privy to the information that Sam'd had about that meeting, about Brady and what he'd said to Sam. It seemed like he hadn't been.

"Brady told me that he'd been assigned to me in college. To introduce Jess, to keep an eye on me, and to drive me back into hunting with her death," Sam said tightly. "Lucifer told me later on, when I'd – when I – when I'd consented, that my teachers through grade school, my dates, my friends had all been possessed by Azazel's demons, to make sure I followed the path I was supposed to be on."

"So there was never any chance that you would be allowed to have a normal life? The life you thought you wanted?" I asked him, watching Osiris from the corner of my eye.

"No," Sam said, directly to Dean. "There was a never a chance of that at all. It wouldn't have mattered if I'd never seen my brother or father again. It would all have played out as it did because they made sure of it."

"Clever," Osiris said to me, his eyes moving to Dean. "But you're making a mistake, my dear counsellor. People want to be judged. They truly do. When your heart is heavy, real punishment is a mercy."

"Perhaps, your Honour, but if guilt is misplaced, taken on as a burden without understanding that it was not of your doing, was not a regret that belongs to you, then it is a punishment in itself," I said to him, as loudly and clearly as I could. "Don't you agree?"

He scowled at me and waved at Sam dismissively. "Do you have a witness, Sam Winchester?"

"I call Dean Winchester to the stand," Sam said, before I could talk to him.

In an eyeblink, Dean was sitting in the chair beside the stage, his chains gone. Sam swung around and looked at him. Dean's gaze flitted across to me and back to him and Sam nodded.

Walking toward me, he muttered from the corner of his mouth, "Please, do whatever you're doing again."

I didn't know what I was doing, I thought, my stomach turning somersaults as I walked slowly back to the chair. I was freakin' well winging it and sooner or later my brain was going to turn to mush, like it always did, and I was gonna drop the ball. But please, some other little part of me prayed fervently, not this time.

"Dean, there have been a lot of events in your life that have tested your desire to live, to keep going, haven't there?"

He frowned at me, then nodded. "Yeah, there have."

I felt my breath catch in my throat at his hesitation. In the same way, I'd seen his feelings about the case earlier, I now saw, all too clearly, that he wasn't sure that what I'd been saying, all that we'd just gone through wasn't just fast talking and clever semantics. I sucked in a deep breath, pretending to be considering his answer as I did it.

"In all those events, what would you change, if you could do them again? Live them again, knowing what you know now?"

It was a risk, and I heard Sam drag in a deep breath behind me as he tried to review everything that they'd suffered and bled through.

Dean dropped his gaze to the floor, thinking hard about the last six years, since he'd pulled up out back of Sam's apartment and broken in to see his brother. He looked up and opened his mouth, then closed it again, clearly rethinking whatever memory had popped into his head.

Osiris sighed dramatically and I turned and gave him the coolest look I could muster. Of all the questions asked, this one demanded a careful and well-thought-out response and I had a feeling that it was within his rules to have to give as much time as it needed to Dean.

"I would've gone with Tessa, when she first appeared, instead of fighting her," he said eventually, looking at me, his eyes a little too bright.

"To prevent your father's sacrifice," I said, making it not a question, but a statement of fact.

He nodded and looked back at the floor.

"Even though it was your father's own choice, unswayed by anyone else, that he wanted and needed his sons to live and was prepared to do whatever it took to ensure that," I pressed him a bit harder and he looked back up.

"It wasn't his decision to make," he said, his voice deepening.

"Actually, it was," I countered, meeting his gaze. "You think it would have undone everything that followed?"

"Yeah," he said. "I think it would've."

"Is it guilt for your father's death you feel – or is it guilt that you didn't think he'd do that for you?" I asked, and on the throne, the god let out his breath in a long, low whistle.

Dean stared at me, flummoxed. "What difference does it make?"

I glanced at Osiris. "It makes all the difference in the world," I said. "One is a regret that you didn't do something personally. The other is a regret that you didn't know someone as well as you'd thought."

"You're skating on very thin ice, counsellor," Osiris said. "I would hate to have to kill you out of hand."

"The defendant is entitled to know the difference, your Honour," I said, drawing myself to my full height, knowing how ludicrous that was, and facing him. "Consumed by a guilt that is not related to something you haven't done, but purely to something you hadn't realised the whole truth of, is not counter to living life honourably and in the right according to Ma'at."

Osiris scowled at the floor and waved his staff. "You are right in this instance."

I looked back at Dean, feeling a line of sweat run down my back. "That's the only thing you'd change?"

He looked at me for a second, then looked at Sam. Then he dropped his gaze again as he answered, "I wouldn't have gotten off."

I bit my lip. "You wouldn't have gotten off the rack, in Hell?"

He looked up then, his face tensing as he realised that he'd been trapped into actually talking about it, to some extent at least. His gaze went past me again to Sam and he nodded.

"Yeah."

"Did you know before you made the decision what the full consequences would be?"

"No."

"No, if you had, you'd still be there, right now, wouldn't you?" I asked him, keeping my voice as emotionless as I could.

"Yes."

"While it is a regret, it was one that you couldn't have made a different decision about at the time, was it? You didn't have all the information, you didn't know that your decision would affect anything other yourself?" My stomach was in knots and I kept my hands wrapped tightly about each other to stop anyone else from seeing how badly they were trembling.

"Not at the time," he admitted, very cautiously. "It doesn't change anything."

Osiris smiled and I heard Sam's explosive exhale behind me.

"Do you want me to call another witness, Mr Winchester? I can you know," the god said, and Dean looked from Sam to me and shook his head, his shoulders slumping.

"A very nice try, Miss Alcott," Osiris said to me. "I can see the legal profession missed out on a skilled advocate, however, in the present case, your … client … is heavy-hearted indeed."

"Dean, you don't have to carry the burden for that choice," I said to Dean, my voice shaking openly now. "You were under duress and you didn't know the consequences!"

He looked at me then turned to the god. "Whatever, just get on with it."

Before Sam could even get up, he struck the floor of the stage with his staff three times. "The court's reached a verdict. I find you, Dean Winchester, guilty in your heart... and sentence you to die. I'd suggest you get your affairs in order quickly."

And he was gone.

"What the – ?" Sam said, pushing back his chair and walking around the table. "What the hell did you do?"

He stood up and shrugged. "Nothing."

Looking around the empty barn, thinking of the lack of salt we had with us, I shivered. "Come on, we can argue about this on the way back to town, can't we?"

Sam gave Dean the keys and pulled out his phone, heading fast for the door when he realised he wasn't getting a signal inside. Dean followed him more slowly and I trailed behind both of them. I'd known that he wasn't going to talk about it, and I'd known it would be a risk to try and get him to, especially in front of Sam, but I couldn't see that there'd been much choice in the matter.

When we reached the door, he stopped, standing to one side. Beyond it, we could both hear Sam, talking to Bobby in strident tones but I stopped next to him as he looked up at me.

"You really do know everything that happened, don't you?" he said quietly. I didn't know if that had made him feel better or worse, I couldn't see his expression in the gloom of the place.

"I don't know," I told him tiredly. "I know what they wrote, what they showed. Some of it's wrong, but I don't know which parts."

"That part wasn't wrong," he said, waving a hand toward the car. "It was my choice and I have to live with the consequences. All of them."

I stepped past him and his hand caught my arm, stopping me.

"You helped – a lot – with the Jo and Sam stuff," he said, his voice gruff. "Thanks."

"You're taking on more than that, Dean," I said, looking at his hand as it dropped away. "You're carrying guilt that isn't yours to carry."

He didn't answer and we walked to the car, Sam's voice filling in the silence.

~o-o-o-0-o-o-o~

"What'd Bobby say?" Dean asked as Sam opened the door to the room and hurried to the laptop.

"I need a ram's horn," Sam answered distractedly as he woke it up and typed in the search.

I looked around the room. The salt circle was still there, a bit scuffed on one side. The window ledges and vent lines were still intact but the line across the doorway was cactus.

"Where you gonna find one this time of night?" Dean asked, heading for his duffle. He pulled out a pint bottle and unscrewed the lid, drinking a mouthful from the neck.

"Uh …"

"Synagogue," I supplied automatically. I wasn't Jewish but a lot of the people I'd worked with in my job were, and you pick things up, little by little.

"You're gonna steal from a temple? Well, that's a new low."

"You're on Death Row, Dean. Quit joking around here. Keys. I'll be back."

Dean threw the keys to him and swallowed another mouthful. "He's gonna sic Jo on me."

"You still feel guilty about Jo?" It stopped Sam at the doorway.

"No, I don't think so," Dean said, with a shrug. "I don't know."

Sam looked at me. "This is what you were talking about?"

I nodded. It was worse now, I thought pensively. A lot worse. He looked like he didn't care about anything anymore.

"Don't let him leave, don't let anything get him," he said, and yanked open the door, dragging it shut behind him. I went to the bed and picked up the remains of the salt bag.

"Dean, get in the circle," I said, tipping the bag up and closing it again. There wasn't enough left to re-do the door. I hoped the circle would be enough.

"She's here," Dean said softly and I felt a drop in the temperature, saw the lamps flicker furiously.

Jo materialised just outside his circle, glancing at me and looking back at him. She looked almost as despairing as he did. "You know I'd never do this."

"I know," he said, watching her wearily.

"What happened to you, Dean?" she asked him. "You never gave up."

"He was right about me, that dick judge. You were just a kid."

"No, he wasn't," she argued. "He wasn't right about any of it. My life was good, Dean, I don't regret a moment. Not my choices, not what happened, none of it."

"You … and Sam … I just … you know, hunters are never kids. I never was. I didn't stop to think about it."

She looked at me then. "What's going on?"

"You tell me," I said in frustration, watching him. "Ever since we got here, he's been getting worse, like nothing matters any more."

"Dean, it's not your fault. It wasn't on you," Jo tried again, moving around the circle to look at him.

"No, maybe not, but I didn't want to do it alone. Who does?" he asked. "No, the right thing to do would've been to send your ass back home to your mom."

"What?" Jo looked back at me. "Dean, Mom was there, she pushed the button –"

"Jo, how's Osiris controlling you?" I asked her, moving closer to the circle. Dean seemed not just lost in the past, but just lost…or drowning. I didn't think he was even hearing most of what Jo was saying.

"I don't know," she said, shaking her head. "Do you think he's controlling Dean?"

"Either that or he's put something in the water," I said, frowning as I looked at him. "He's not listening to you."

"He's listening to something," she said and I could see that she was right. His gaze was a little unfocussed as if he was hearing something we couldn't.

"Dean," she said again, looking down at the salt line that was keeping her away from him. "You're carrying crap that you don't need to, crap that isn't even your responsibility! Trust me, it's clear for me now."

"Well, in that case," he said, his eyes regaining their focus on her. "You should know that I'm ninety percent crap, Jo, I get rid of that, what's left?"

She tensed in exasperation. "You wanna die not knowing?" She looked at me and back to him. "With friends around? Family? What's Sam going to do if you're dead, Dean?!"

"Sam," Dean said softly, his gaze going to me for the first time. "Sam's got Terry. And Terry's got Sam. They'll be fine."

"No, we won't," I said, my voice rising to a high pitch with incredulity. "We won't be fine. Sam would be devastated to lose you, Dean."

"I can't touch him, and the compulsion's getting stronger," Jo said, looking at the stove in the kitchen. "If this is … some kind of spell, you have to do something about it."

"What?"

"I don't know," she said, turning stiffly. "But there isn't much time left so think of something! I don't want to kill him!"

I was panicking and I stepped across the circle and up to him, shaking like a leaf. "Dean, snap out of it, come on and fight this, you can fight it, please," I said desperately.

He looked down at me, his face all smoothed out, a little sad. "Sam'll be pissed, I know, Terry, that's why you gotta tell him this is for the best, okay?"

"NO!" I shouted at him. "So not freakin' okay, Dean!" I looked over my shoulder and saw Jo was nearly to the stove, dragging her feet but still advancing toward it. "This is a gas explosion we're talking about here, one explosion fits all – I'll die too!"

He blinked, his jaw lifting slightly. "You're right, you have to leave."

"Not without you," I told him.

"I'm not coming."

"The heck you're not," I said, and I swung my hand, hitting him square over the cheek, my palm hot and stinging like crazy and a deep red hand print beginning to bloom on his face. He didn't even move. It might've been an insect bite for all he seemed to register the blow – or my face – or the shrill tone in my voice.

At that I really panicked. And I did what any panicking person would do in the same situation. I lunged forward, lurched up on my tiptoes, wrapped my arms around his neck and kissed him.

His lips were warm and surprisingly soft, but totally unresponsive and as the seconds ticked by I can tell you, I was starting to worry that it was due to a lack of any interest whatsoever. I was ready to give up when he seemed to shiver, a ripple of movement that travelled all the way through him and into me.

When his arms lifted, closing around me, I felt his mouth twitch under mine. I'm not sure if he came to then or what happened with him really, only that he was kissing me back with an increasing hunger and it was going to be too easy – way too easy – to get myself lost in that. I opened my eyes and drew back a smidgin, just far enough to see him looking back at me, his eyes wide, a little disbelieving, but himself again.

"Hurry up!" Jo said from the stove and his gaze moved to her, to the match in her hand, nostrils flaring as he took in the sweetish, heavy pong of the gas that was filling the room.

He took it all in and leapt out of the circle, one arm wrapped hard around my ribs as he dragged me along. He'd just pulled the door open when there was the biggest, softest whoomping noise and a huge hand pushed us both out of the room, throwing us into the wall opposite and bouncing us down the hall. I landed flat on my back, Dean spread-eagled on top of me and I could just see a sheet of flame roar out of the doorway behind us.

The building shuddered and bits of it starting falling and Dean dropped his head until his cheek was tight against mine, his arms over both of us, then the lights went out and I'm not sure what happened next.

~o-o-o-0-o-o-o~

"Terry."

The voice was very deep, warm and a bit worried. I opened my eyes with some difficulty, and fingers brushed over them, knocking off the dust. They worked better without it. Looking up, I saw that he was coated in dust too, his hair powdered white, bits of the ceiling and walls resting on his shoulders and back.

"You alright?"

There was a slight ringing in my ears, but I could hear again, and I thought that was a major plus. I drew in a breath to answer him and started to cough, turning my head to one side. From that vantage point, I could see that the room we'd been in was now a gaping hole to the outside world, and I thought it was lucky that there wasn't much wind or we'd suffocate with all the fine, powdery dust covering everything in sight.

"Yeah," I managed to say when the paroxysm subsided. "You?"

"Yeah." He wiped his hand over his face, seemingly disinclined to move from his position on top of me. I can't say I minded. "You kissed me."

"Yeah, well, hitting you had no discernible effect," I told him, trying to keep my tone dry.

"I … uh, I thought you – and Sam – uh –"

"No," I cut him off before he could get any further. "Not even close."

"Huh."

For the very first time since I'd fallen into this world, I realised that I felt quite comfortable with myself, and he was quietly floundering. It gave me an irrational spurt of courage.

"Scale of one to ten?" I asked him and he seemed to get the picture because his mouth quirked up to one side a bit.

"Hard to say, didn't last long enough," he said, considering. "I'd probably need another go before I could decide something like that."

"No time like the present," I suggested, and I slipped my hand behind his neck, drawing him down, my eyes dropping closed of their own accord as his mouth met mine.

I figured that it wouldn't matter too much if I got lost this time. Since the room was gone, and we were certainly going to lose our deposit, not to mention that we'd already lost all our worldly goods that had been in it, there didn't seem anything better to do while we waited for Sam than this.

There's no question that kissing is art form. Amateurs move around a lot, bang their teeth together, mash each other's lips into numbness, have unseemly tongue-wrestling matches, produce too much saliva or too little, and often make a lot of noise.

Dean Winchester was not an amateur.

It was a long, and toe-curlingly sweet, exploration and the shiver that started somewhere in my middle took forever to spread its heat and lightning through the rest of me, a kind of cascading arousal that I got the feeling he was well-versed in and understood the effects of all too well.

"Dean! Terry!"

Somewhere in the distance I heard that familiar voice, but it was far away and utterly unimportant.

"Oh … good, well … I'm glad you're both okay."

That was much closer and I felt Dean's smile, curving on my lips, before he ignored his brother completely.

~o-o-o-0-o-o-o~

AN: As much as it might seem like it, this is not, in fact, the end. Crowley's plots and the problems in Heaven are still very much looming large in the Winchesters' world and Terry's choices get narrowed down very, very fast.