Author's note: I do not own these characters. Now...where were we?

Chapter 25

By the time Dean got the Impala loaded, Sam and Bobby had finished their shopping mission and spoils had been added to both vehicles. Standing in the parking lot, they went over the mental check list together and when they got down to the part about torching the place, Bobby spoke up.

"I know you don't want my help, but let me at least suggest you wait until tonight to burn it. It's a small town and people who live here know whose cars have come and gone. Unless you want her getting questioned, I'd at least give them a day to see this place empty."

Dean seemed to meditate on the idea. From the look on Sam's face, he knew that Bobby had already discussed this with him and he was just waiting to see what Dean had to say on the subject.

"Fair enough," Dean said.

"It probably wouldn't hurt to use this access road over here where I parked too. At least it'll keep you outta sight." Bobby added.

"You wanna tell us what brand of gasoline to use too?" Dean asked, his brow furrowed.

"C'mon, Dean. You know he's just trying to help," Sam interjected, attempting to smooth things over.

"No, he's right," Bobby said. "He don't need my help."

Sam rolled his eyes and shook his head. He knew if they hadn't reached an impasse, they were rapidly approaching it.

"Here," Dean said handing Sam the prescriptions. "You know what to do with these on your way back."

Dean started walking toward the room and as he passed Bobby, he looked in his eyes and nodded slightly.

Bobby watched him walk inside and as he began shutting the door, offered parting words.

"See ya," Bobby's voice was heavy with emotion.

"You ready," Sam asked.

"Hell, if I didn't know any better, son, I'd swear you were trying to get rid of me too."

"We just need a little time is all," Sam offered.

Bobby thought of several responses he could've used, but since they all seemed to revolve around the words "half-demon bitch" he decided to keep it to himself. As he started toward the wooded area to his car, he told Sam about the path he'd cleared and marked. Sam thanked him as he got into Meranda's car and started the engine.

Dean watched Sam back out and stepped from the room as he approached the road. He stood and watched them as they drove away. He felt a huge burden lift gradually from his chest the further away they got. By the time they disappeared, he was back into the room and gathering Meranda.

As it turned out, she didn't live very far from the motel. When they pulled into the driveway of the small, nondescript ranch style house, Dean was somewhat surprised by the modesty of the grounds and the house itself. The first thought he had was how you'd think someone who'd been on the planet for over a thousand years would have something much more extravagant. He looked to Meranda, who was making a visual inspection of her home, and realized that it actually fit her perfectly. It was unpretentious, inviting and, for lack of a better word, cozy.

She had pulled her bag into her lap and dug around for the garage door opener. Finding it, she pressed the button and asked Dean to park on the left side, closer to the entry door for the house. Once the Impala was inside and Dean had turned off the engine, she pressed the button again and secured the garage door.

"You'll wanna flip that switch there by the door," she told him as he exited the car.

The dim light of the opener stayed on just long enough for him to reach the switch and turn on the overhead lights. There were no windows in the garage – something he'd always thought of as a wise decision. Why have a place to conceal your vehicle if someone just needs to peek in a window to see it.

He made his way to her side of the car, opened the door and began helping her out. She handed him her keys with the correct one for the entry door already selected.

He took the keys and then her hand. If he didn't know better, he'd have to say that she was moving much more fluidly than when she woke up and maybe she was. He still didn't know how much of her human side was predominant...another question added to the mounting pile.

Making their way to the door, Dean stepped forward, unlocked it and swung it open for her. Meranda walked into the house and he followed, noticing immediately the salt at the threshold as he closed and locked the door behind them. There was a hint of cinnamon in the air, as if one could expect to find an apple pie fresh from the oven sitting on the stove. It was an inviting scent that made him smile. When he turned back toward Meranda, he began taking in his surroundings.

They were standing in a large, open room that held the living and dining rooms. The dining room held a small oblong wooden table with four chairs around it. There was a black wrought iron shelf unit on one wall that held various plants and knick-knacks. A small painting of a woman standing on a beach, her back to the artist, adorned the wall opposite the shelves. This wall also had an open bar that allowed part of the kitchen to be seen.

The living room had a large, overstuffed sectional sofa that wrapped around the far corner of the room, the front door just behind it. A tile-topped coffee table holding three remote controls and a book sat between the sofa and an entertainment center that housed a decent sized television, photographs, a stereo, a large CD collection and more plants.

"Make yourself at home," she said, smiling at the curiosity she saw in his eyes as he visually absorbed the room.

She walked through the living room and turned right into the kitchen. Turning on the light, she spoke to him over her shoulder.

"If you're thirsty or hungry, the kitchen's stocked."

"Yeah, we uh...we brought some groceries too," he said, still taking in his surroundings.

He was making his way to the other side of the couch, the hallway peaking his curiosity, when his phone rang. He stopped, pulled it from his pocket and wasn't surprised to see it was Sam on the other end.

"Yeah," he said answering.

He gave Sam directions to the house and went out into the garage to open the door and wait for him. From where Sam said he was, Dean knew he'd be there within five minutes, pending some unforeseen obstacle.

Three minutes later, Sam was rolling the Cavalier into the garage. As Dean pressed the button on the wall by the door, Sam cut the engine. By the time he got to the door himself, the garage door was closed. Dean had already walked in and left the door open for him.

Sam walked in and looked around as he walked to the coffee table and placed the two paper bags down. Meranda was carefully walking away from him down the hallway.

"Where's Meranda going?" Sam asked his brother casually.

Dean realized that he'd left her unattended and instantly felt remorse. As he jogged past Sam to get to her, he had visions of Jackie kicking his ass with an iron pipe – an image that should have had him on his knees with tears of laughter running down his cheeks, but somehow tugged at his conscience instead.

"Slow down, Speedy Gonzales," he said jokingly as he caught up to her. "You need to let me know when you need help, you know?"

Holding onto the walls of the hallway as she walked, she spoke without breaking stride.

"I know…I don't want to wear out my welcome either."

"Okay, how about I just follow you and if you want help, you ask and I'll already be there…and if you want privacy, you let me know and I back off…at least for today."

Dean had tried his best to see her as a supernatural creature, but he just couldn't. When he tried to think about it, the abyss of thought threatened to swallow him still. When he felt it was about to overwhelm him, another sensation swept him out of its grasp. He realized that he suddenly wanted her. Slightly confused by this abrupt desire, he shook his head as if to clear it.

Without realizing it, he had followed her into what was obviously her bedroom. A large queen size four-poster bed stood against one wall. It was high off the floor and a small set of steps stood beside it. There was white netting draped from the posts giving it an exotic, but romantic feel. The smell of her seemed to be everywhere and as he breathed it in, he knew he had to touch her. By the time he noticed where they were, she was standing in her bathroom and he was staring at her from outside the door.

She had turned on the water in the bathtub and was doing her best to undress. He didn't wait for her to ask. He went to her, grasped her hands and gently moved them away from their activity. She had managed to unbutton her jeans, but no further.

Kneeling in front of her, Dean unzipped her pants and, sliding his thumbs between the material and her skin, peeled them down to the floor, trying his best not to pull on the wound side anymore than necessary. When they were down to her feet, she placed one hand on his head, the other on the vanity to stabilize herself. She slowly lifted one foot as he pushed the pants from her leg completely and then repeated the process for the other leg. Lifting her shirt as carefully as possible, he inched the hem to the top of the bandage. At the sight of it, his stomach did a small flip and felt the phantom of pain from the work Jackie did on it. He closed his eyes and put his forehead lightly against her stomach.

She slid her hand still on his head, to the back of it and ran her thumb back and forth over his scalp, his soft, short hair bristling back up as she passed over it. He breathed in her smells deeply and fought the urge to pull her closer, knowing that it would cause her pain. He kissed her skin and stood, grasping her shirt and lifting it. She raised her arms and he pulled it off as deliberately as he could. He looked into her face and saw the same longing in her eyes that he felt.