The important chapter I was talking about. And, once you're done, a video, to the namesake of this story. So go hit up youtube, search 'lovincopperpot,' and click on 'Dance with the Devil' by moi.

And guess what I typed this on? My new laptop. My first laptop. Special, yeah?

Fun fact: From the very first episode, I knew I wanted to do a story with Dean, mostly because I think Jensen Ackles is sexy. That night, I had a dream in which Dean ran to the end of a dock and screamed, 'Cassie!' really loud and panicked, like he yelled 'Sam,' when Sam spoiler died. I took it as a sign that that would be my character's name, her full name being something along the line of Cassieopia.

Obviously, I scrated that idea when I saw 'Route 666,' though I patted myself on the back for my skills. 'Cassie' was changed to 'Carrie,' which I think sounds better anyway, and I cursed myself when I saw 'What is and What Should Never Be,' since Dean's girlfriend is named 'Carmen,' and is nicknamed 'Carrie.' I decided to go with it, though, since Dean needed a reason to call her 'Carden' and not 'Carrie.' Why? That's so much later in the story it isn't funny.


I sighed contently as I laid my head against Dean's chest, tracing the outline of my week-old tattoo with my middle finger fondly, "I definitely like it here more than I would like a tramp stamp."

Dean's arm was wrapped securely around my shoulder, the other hand firmly gripping his beer. Carefully, he tipped the beer against his lips, "Yeah, yeah, I guess."

I smirked as I looked up at him, "You would really rather I have a tramp stamp? I'd never even let you see it! On my calf you can see it almost all the time."

A week later, and Dean and I are officially going strong. He still hasn't told me what it is that he thinks is 'too huge' for me to know, but I'm planning on eight-day increments of bothering him about it. Meaning tonight, our official third date (if you don't count the fourth of July or getting the tattoo) was his last night to come clean before I pester him.

Sam sat patiently outside the car, obviously under Dean's instruction. Like Dean thinks something is going to happen - he's done this the past two dates too. I always just call and tell Sam it's alright to come in when Dean goes to get ready for bed. It's kind of funny, really. Sam just walks in, all calm on confident, plopping down with his overworked lap top, and Dean visibly deflates. I feel empowered.

Dean never bothered to respond as I continued to trace the darkened lines the surrounded the pentagram. As opposed to Dean and Sam's tribal sun, I'd had the silhouette of a roaring lion serve as the background, featuring the pentagram in its open mouth instead of teeth. Really, I look so badass.

"Hey, Carden," Dean shifted under me, pushing himself up and dumping my head on the bed with a plop. "Can we have a talk?"

I looked up at him warily, one hand still resting on my tensed upper-calf, "Talk about what?"

Dean rolled his eyes, "Damn it, just sit up, this is important."

I rolled my eyes easily as I pushed myself up, pulling my jean's leg down and crossing my legs pretzel-style, "Is this about me calling Sam back in before we have sex?"

Dean glared slightly at me, "Carden, this is serious."

My mouth dried up a little, and I realized that he was serious. Who knew sex would be this important to Dean? "Alright, alright, what's up?"

"I… um," Dean stammered, and that was when the rest of my body froze.

Dean never stutters. It's opposite of the core of his being - Dean is cool, calm, confident. He lies like it's his sick second nature and charms the waitress into covering the bill whenever we're short the money, or just don't feel like paying. But more importantly, he doesn't stutter, stammer, or trip over his words.

"Dean," I reached forward to take his hand, the one night wrapped around the beer bottle, "What is it?"

Dean looked at my hand for a moment, "Carden, do you remember when we were playing that stupid game at the beach?" My heart stopped, already speeding through sickening implications of what he was going to say. Outwardly, though, I just nodded. "Well, I… I lied."

My heart restarted, only to give one necessary, over exaggerated beat, before putting out again. He lied? He doesn't like me? His favorite color isn't dark blue? He would give up his baby to live a normal life? Oh God, oh God, oh God.

"The scariest moment of my life wasn't when Sammy almost died," Dean chose his words carefully. There's another thing Dean doesn't do - pick his words carefully. Again, my mind shifted through a multitude of possibilities before Dean continued, "It was when Sammy died."

The heartbeat I hadn't even realized started again stopped, and I felt fear creep through my bones - Sam is a Zombie? Does Dean realize it's now my duty to kill him, because I do not want to kill Sam. Sam's a sweetheart. And if this is Dean's way of brushing the job off on me, I might kill him.

I finally muttered a very concise, "Huh?"

"He was stabbed, about eleven months ago; his spinal cord was severed, he… he died in my arms. My little Sammy died in my arms," Dean was muttering by the end, his eyes glazing over and yet at the same time focusing intently on the comforter.

I nodded, half-listening and half-berating myself for not figuring out that Sammy was a zombie sooner. I mean, no living man can be that nice. Wait, hold on, that's horrible reasoning! Zombies aren't even nice!

"Dean," I finally ventured, trying to find out just how long Sam had been dead – he isn't decomposed at all… at least, not anywhere that I can see. Maybe he wear's make-up… and fills in the holes with putty.

"I don't know. Seems like forever; I didn't really pay attention to dates until this year."

Well, Dean will officially be no help. He's off in la-la-lost-my-brother land, a place I have no business being. Let Dean have his moment, I'm trying to figure things out while I die from lack of heartbeat myself. Wait, I bit my lip, almost shaking off my possible-realization.

Mine as well check, I thought. Maybe getting him talking will bring him back to reality. "Dean, why did you only start paying attention this passed year?"

Dean sucked in a breath, "That's what… that's what I really wanted to talk to you about."

And then Dean gave me one of those inexplicable Dean looks, and I saw what he wanted to say, but couldn't figure how to say it. I knew I must be wrong, but I was too busy thinking the words 'oh my God' like a broken record in my head to actually come up with a better explanation.

"Carden, I… I sold my soul to the Crossroad's demon to bring Sam back to life," Dean finally spit out, sighing once the deed had been done.

OH GOD OH GOD OH GOD OH GOD OH GOD OH GOD O-

"Carden, can you… say something," Dean ventured hopefully, and I took a few deep breaths before I felt myself capable of speaking.

"Oh God." There. Very dignified. Holy, even. Like a nun, or a priest.

I knew my voice had cracked, and Dean took a stronger grip on my hand, "Carden?"

"How long," I finally sputtered, the all too familiar feeling of my eyes sinking back into my head quickly taking over all my senses.

"Another month," Dean responded, matching my quiet tone but trying to sound comforting. Oh God, oh God, oh God.

Dean's dying.

The mental articulation of the words made everything cosmically clear; I'd killed my first real boyfriend, and my second one had been sentenced to death before I even met him. Horrified, I looked up at Dean, figuring to see fear, hope, one of the many emotions I was feeling. This would be the part he would tell me how we could stop it, how we could fight it.

But… I didn't see any of that. Dean was the picture of cold resignation; Dean has left the building. What the hell? "How are we going to… stop it."

Dean cracked a cruel, cold smile; it didn't even occur to me that he had been joking, but that smile, as defeated as it seemed as he stood and turned away from me, gave me hope that he was, "We don't."

Whoosh. That was all the air leaving my body, laughing at me and my misery. "What?"

"It was a part of the deal – if I try and weasel my way of the deal, they'll kill Sam."

"Wh… they can't kill them if they're dead," I responded dumbly, trying to grasp at straws. Cause this isn't happening; not at all. This is all too… scripted, planned. Horribly, horribly cruel.

"Demons don't die, Carden," Dean spit back, sounding very frustrated and turning on me, "Haven't you learned that by now? Azazel was dead, and look what happened."

"Well, God, Dean," I spat back, standing and running a hand shakily through my hair, "Why the fuck would you do this?!"

"I couldn't do it – I can't live without Sammy; he died in my arms, Carden! He fell into my fucking arms!" Dean was so close I could easily make out the lines of red tracing their way through his eyes; had they always been so bloodshot?

"So? I shot my boyfriend; I'm not going to sell my soul to get him back," I yelled back, desperate.



"Oh, sorry, Saint Maria," Dean yelled back. Saint Maria? Does he mean Santa Maria? "Sorry I can't be so virtuous as you."

"Well, damn it, Dean, what the fuck did you think you were doing? Did you think God would give you a freebie just because you save the world a lot?"

Dean sucked in a breath, "I knew what I was doing, Carden, and I thought it was damn worth it."

"Is it worth it to Sammy? Is it worth it to me?" If it were true, this would be the part where I scream 'I LOVE YOU' at him in a frenzied, widowed twenty-two year old kind of way.

"Sorry, Carden, you weren't quite high on my list of people whose feelings I should consider when I'm selling my soul to a demon," Dean spat back.

His words shouldn't have hurt – they were logical; we didn't even know each other a year ago. I thought all hunters were idiots who have death wishes, and Dean probably didn't even know what a Slayer was. Logic – for the first time in Dean's apparently very short life.

But they stung, as inexplicable as it was. I felt them all over, and they pounded painfully in my head like a bad migraine until I surrendered to them, forced to accept them at face value and move on, painfully.

"I'm going to save you," I finally declared, sticking my chin out as I felt a single tear slip down my cheek and into the corner of my lips.

The salty taste was forced upon me as Dean leaned forward, glaring at me, "No, Carden, you're not."

"You expect me to just sit down at take this," I questioned, my brow furrowing as more tears slid down, leaving no chance of escaping this without raccoon eyes.

As illogical as it was, we're back to good ol' Dean, Dean nodded, "Yeah, yeah, I do."

"Then why did you tell me," I cried back at him, my jaw dropping in shock. My God, does he want to die?

"You wanted me to, remember," Dean questioned, looking shocked that I would ask such a question.

"Dean, I'm a fighter, what do you think I'm going to do? Take this lying down?"
"Yes," Dean screamed back, stomping his foot, "I'm not losing Sammy just because you don't want to lose another boyfriend! You're leaving at the end of August anyway," Dean had trouble not screaming this part, his face hard.

"Oh, so I'm leaving, and that's that? We go our separate ways forever? Cause I was kind of planning on still trying, Dean," I said, half-honest. I hadn't thought that far ahead all the much just yet.

"Well, just think of this as me breaking up with you," Dean responded smartly, turning and storming into the bathroom, like he got the final word.

Frustrated, I turned, not looking any farther ahead than the parking lot. Something should happen by then; lightening will strike, or a bear will attack. I mean, that's what God seems to think of my life, anyway. It's just some huge soap opera for his amusement.

Through skewed vision, I made out Sam, already pulling his things out of the car and stretching after being in the car for so long. Better get to him before the bear gets there first, I decided to myself, making it to Sam just as he turned to head for the motel.

I hit him with an 'oof' on his part, and he dropped his bag onto the tar next to me. For my part, I had my hands over my face and was using my body to push myself further into him, for protection. Carefully, Sam wrapped his arms around me, pulling me in.

"Did he tell you," he questioned, fragilely. It was annoying, in the sweetest, most Sam way of being annoying, which wasn't actually very annoying.

I could only wail in response, and Sam nodded comfortingly, his chin bumping into the top of my head. "I've got to save him, Sam," I finally said, my sobbing in a momentary recession. The Trickster's words, cryptic though they were, echoed against the walls of my skull before settling down next to Dean's declaration that a year ago, I didn't matter. "I have to save him," I whispered this time, along the lines of a realization to myself than so Sam would hear.

I just… have to.

Save the jackass, save the world.