Chapter Thirty-Eight
Screams.
The words pouring from Melinda's mouth weren't her own. She wasn't even sure if they were English. "Dean" kept coming out a lot, and "oh god" and "no."
She hit her knees beside the bed, but she couldn't see. Oh, god, why couldn't she see? Who kept yelling so loudly? Was it her? She didn't know; it might have been. It probably was. If it wasn't for the ringing in her ears, she might have heard Peyton screaming, too.
Blood.
God, there was so much blood. His shirt was ruined. She didn't really like that shirt anyway. Not that it mattered now. But he liked it. The outer shirt, at least. One of the only non-plaid shirts he owned. Why did they insist on wearing so many freaking layers? Sure, it was January, but it was still warm in some parts of the country. Their wardrobes never changed though. T-shirt, plaid shirt, jeans, boots.
All she could see was red. The blood that covered his chest, soaked through his shirts, completely saturating the sheets on the bed. Crappy, scratchy, cheap motel sheets. The sheets were ruined. His shirts were ruined. Oh God.
Their whole fucking lives were ruined.
Holes.
She couldn't bear to look at, and couldn't take her eyes away from, the holes in Dean's chest. Three distinct bullet wounds, right in the center of his chest. He'd have bled out in seconds. God, she hoped it was seconds. She hoped it was quick.
There were only two holes in Sam's chest. Why did Sam only get two? And why did Peyton keep screaming at her? Was she trying to plug the two holes in Sam's chest? Did she not realize his blood now covered her hands?
Melinda looked down. Why didn't she try to stop Dean's bleeding?
Because there was no stopping it. Not anymore. She wasn't a doctor or anything, but she thought the blood had begun to stop itself. Deep, dark red slowly dripped from the ruined, saturated sheet onto the carpet, ruining the ugly-ass, maybe-once-was-beige-but-now-was-baby-shit-brown, as Dean had said when they checked in.
Oh, God.
Dean.
Green.
Melinda made Kate laugh one time by telling her Dean's eyes were as green as Tinker Bell's dress. He hadn't understood why she'd grabbed his hand and forced him to the living room, making herself at home in his lap as she made him sit through Peter Pan. Every time Tink was on the screen, Kate would dissolve into full-belly giggles, and Dean would shake his head, unable to keep from smiling.
How was she going to make Kate laugh now? How was she ever going to laugh again? His eyes were open. Wide open. Wide and green and lifeless. They were glassy now, like they'd gotten that time he'd developed the fever so high Melinda just knew he'd spontaneously combust. "But what a way to go," he'd told her when he recovered.
That wasn't how it had happened, though. That wasn't how he went.
It had been a hunter's death. Dark and bloody.
No.
She reached up, hand shaking harder than she even noticed, and she slowly shut his eyes. The blood spatter on his face smeared just a bit, and she stared at her hand, at the blood that was now there. She turned, slowly sitting down on the floor beside the bed, reaching up and taking hold of Dean's arm. It was still warm, somehow, a reminder that if she'd only been a few minutes sooner, he might still be alive.
Tears blurred her vision as she wrapped her arms around his arm, pulling it close to her chest. Somehow, her heart was still beating. She had her hand wrapped around his wrist, and her eyes closed, begging for just once, let her feel his pulse against her fingers. Let there be some shred of hope left.
Still.
"He always said he was going to die bloody."
Peyton lifted her head from the one spot on the bed that wasn't permeated with Sam's blood. She couldn't see Melinda at all. Dean's body blocked her. Peyton sniffled, shaking her head.
"What?"
A deep intake of breath, letting it out slowly.
"Dean. When he talked about dying, it was always bloody."
"What the hell are you—"
"The human body is made up of approximately five and a half liters of blood. Someone Dean's size, or Sam's—definitely Sam's—there'd be more blood. Maybe six, seven liters? Maybe even more. Probably more."
Peyton swallowed, looking up at the bed, then back down to her hands as Melinda spoke again.
"What do you think? There's got to be at least … what? Four liters here? Probably more. I don't know. Dean was always better at measurements than me."
Peyton closed her eyes as Melinda's quiet voice filled the room.
"I'm no doctor, but I think … One of two things. Maybe they bled out, which seems likely, considering the amount of blood on these beds right now."
"Mel."
"Or maybe they … Maybe they choked to death. Maybe they drowned in their own blood."
"Stop talking."
Melinda nodded, still holding Dean's arm. After a moment of silence, she shook her head.
"It's too quiet. It's never this quiet. Not even when they're sleeping. Dean never sleeps soundly. He always makes these little noises, always shifts around."
"Sam snores."
Melinda smiled, but it slid from her face just as quickly as it appeared.
"It's too quiet."
"I'm cold."
Melinda turned her head, even though she couldn't see Peyton. All she could see was Dean, his body so still and growing colder, stiffening up. Melinda closed her eyes, and Peyton's voice was thick when she spoke.
"Sam is always so warm, and I … Now, I'm just so cold."
Melinda let her head fall back against the bed, and in the back of her mind, she wondered if there was blood around her. Maybe blood was getting in her hair right then.
It was odd, the way something that usually disgusted her couldn't even remotely bother her right then. She slid her fingers through Dean's, absentmindedly wishing he'd give her hand a squeeze, then opened her eyes.
"You know what I find odd?"
Peyton shook her head, even though she knew Melinda couldn't see her.
"Angels. Where the hell are they now?"
Peyton stared at the wall, and Melinda continued to talk.
"I mean, Cas has such a hard-on for Dean. Have you even seen him?"
Melinda glanced at the ceiling.
"Hey, Cas. Can you hear me now? Dean could really use your help from the three bullet wounds in his goddamn chest. Think you could carve a moment out of your busy schedule to stop by and pay your respects to a dead friend, you son of a bitch?"
When she didn't get a response, Melinda gave a humorless laugh.
"What about Zachariah? God knows he got his jollies from torturing us. Or Michael? Don't you think he'd give a damn if his fucking vessel had bit the dust? Even Lucifer should have something to say right about now."
"Just shut up, Mel."
Melinda closed her eyes and blew out her breath. She shook her head, opening her eyes and glancing to her right. The light glinted off of … something, but she didn't know what it was. She kept hold of Dean's hand, leaning over and picking up a shell casing.
She sat back against the bed, rolling the casing around between her fingers.
"Son of a bitch."
"Mel?"
She closed her eyes, pinching the casing between her fingers, holding tight, and she gasped quietly as a premonition overtook her senses. After a moment, she opened her eyes, muttering softly.
"Son of a bitch."
"Mel, what?"
Melinda sighed, lifting Dean's hand to her lips, pressing a gentle kiss to his palm. She stood on shaky legs, closing her eyes at all the blood, letting out a shaky breath as she walked to the door.
"Melinda!"
She glanced back from the door, at Peyton, at her pale, tear-streaked face. She shook her head, and Melinda let out a sigh.
"Call Cas. Get his ass here and make him fix this."
"What are you doing? Melinda!"
The only answer Peyton received was the slamming of the door.
Melinda bit her thumbnail as she stood in the warehouse, staring at the symbol she'd recently spray-painted down. She took in a breath, turning to her right as Chris orbed in beside her.
"All right, we found them."
"You did?"
Chris nodded.
"They're right down the street, at the bar."
Melinda bit back the screams she wanted to give and nodded. Chris glanced at the table next to them and let out a breath.
"I'll go get the sons of bitches and bring them back to you."
Melinda nodded, and Chris orbed out. She let her eyes drift shut when she knew she was alone, then walked over to the table and laid her hands on it, blowing out a deep breath. She heard Chris orb back in and turned around in time to see him lay one unconscious man on the ground. He held the other one upright with his powers, lifting his arms above his head, fastening the cuffs hanging from the ceiling around his wrists. He did the same with the other man, then walked to Melinda. She took in a breath as Chris laid a hand on her face.
"You okay?"
"There's something I need to tell you."
His dark eyes narrowed for a second before a moan was heard from across the room. Chris grit his teeth and walked to the table, lifting up the flask of holy water.
"Time to wake up, you sons of bitches. Let's go!"
Chris stepped forward, tossing the holy water into the faces of both men. When nothing happened, he stopped. He glanced down at the flask, then looked to the men again as he tossed the holy water on them again.
No screams, no burning flesh, no smoke.
"What the hell?"
Melinda had a hand lifted, fingers pressed to her mouth as she looked to her brother. His eyes widened, and he shook his head.
"Melinda, what is going on here?"
She pushed a hand through her hair, and Chris closed his eyes.
"They're not demons, are they?"
Melinda shook her head, and Chris cursed under his breath.
"You need to go."
Chris' head popped up. His dark eyes went wide, and he shook his head.
"What are you going to do to them?"
"You don't need to know."
"Mel—"
"Go, Christopher."
He shook his head again.
"I'm not leaving you alone. Not until you tell me what's—"
"Get the hell out of here before I make you."
His eyes widened again.
"Mel."
"I mean it. Go, and don't come back."
Chris' dark eyes were full of hurt, and he took a small step forward, hand outstretched towards her. She threw out her hands, and he exploded into tiny blue orbs. Melinda closed her eyes as she spoke.
"From whence he came,
Send him back now.
A return trip here,
Do not allow."
She let out a long, slow breath, then turned her attention to the two men who were almost back to full consciousness. She grabbed the flask Chris had been using and stepped forward, flinging the water on both of their faces.
"Wake up, you miserable cretins. We've got shit to discuss."
The men both groaned, opening tired, red eyes. Melinda looked from one to the other, then back. A smile crossed her face.
"Roy, isn't it?"
The man swallowed, and Melinda looked to the other man.
"And you have to be Walt."
She nodded, slipping her hands into the back pockets of her jeans.
"Long time."
"Sorry, sweetheart. Do we know you?"
Her grin widened, and she bit her lip as she nodded.
"Well, actually …"
She held up her left hand.
"You know my husband."
She let her hand drop, stepping forward.
"You went and saw him just a little while ago, didn't you?"
Walt grinned at her.
"I see a lot of people, darlin'."
He let out a breath when her hand connected with his face. He blinked his eyes widely, then turned his face back to hers. The smile was gone from her face, and her blue eyes looked downright icy.
"Don't try and be cute, Walt. It won't end well for you."
Melinda watched as Walt's throat worked as he swallowed. He made a move to bend his arms and try to turn, and she smiled, tossing out a hand, freezing him where he stood. Roy's eyes went wide as she twisted her wrist, and Walt blinked, head moving, the rest of his body standing still.
"What the hell?! Roy!"
Melinda stepped even closer and clicked her tongue.
"Now I know you must have heard that Winchester married a witch, right?"
The wide eyes on both of the men in front of her answered her question. She cleared her throat.
"Let's play a little game, shall we? We're going to have us a little chat."
"Listen, we don't … we don't want any—"
"What, trouble?"
Melinda stepped close to Walt, tears sparkling in her blue eyes.
"Maybe you should have thought about that a few hours ago."
She flicked her wrist and Walt unfroze, stumbling as he was caught off-guard, groaning when pressure shot across his shoulders. After a moment of silence, Melinda stepped backwards as Walt threw his legs out and Melinda blew out her breath.
"Should have known. You looked like an asshole from the moment I saw you."
He opened his mouth to say something, and only let out a low groan as his arms stretched out above him. Melinda let her hands fall, and Walt's arms did the same. She turned to the other man, and his eyes widened as she stepped closer to him.
"Talk to me, Roy. Tell me what happened this morning."
He swallowed, opening his mouth.
"Don't you dare, Roy!"
Melinda closed her eyes, then stepped over, punching Walt in the face. As he groaned, blood spurted from his nose, and Melinda stepped back to Roy. Walt let out a gasping breath.
"We … swore, Roy. No … no one … will know."
"Do you have a death wish, Walt? Because trust me, I will gladly grant that wish for you."
He groaned again, shaking his head at Roy. Roy stared at the ground instead of at Melinda, and she closed her eyes, letting out a sigh. She nodded, walking over to the table. The men were quiet behind her, and she held her hands behind her back as she walked over to them.
"I just want some answers, boys. Answers to the questions I have. Such as, why in God's name are there three bullet holes in my husband's chest? Why is Sam dead on the bed next to his? Why didn't you wait five fucking minutes and take me out, too?"
Roy blinked at that, and Melinda swallowed, letting out a harsh breath. She shook her head, walking up to Walt again. He shook his head.
"We ain't talking."
"I figured. But let's see if I can't convince you otherwise, shall we?"
Walt screamed as Melinda held the Taser to his chest. Roy's mouth opened, and Melinda's blue eyes were cold, almost lifeless as she continued to pump electricity through Walt. She'd pull the Taser back after a few moments, let him catch his breath, then Tase him again. After three cycles of this, Roy spoke up.
"We didn't have a choice!"
Melinda lifted the Taser from Walt's side and looked to Roy.
"What was that?"
Roy was breathing hard.
"We—we didn't have a choice. We had to do it."
"You had to kill my husband."
"Dean was … He wasn't supposed to be there. He wasn't supposed to—we wasn't supposed to kill him! Just Sam."
Melinda walked back to the table, setting the Taser down, closing her eyes.
"Sam."
Roy spoke again, letting out a ragged breath.
"Sam started the Apocalypse, and we … Nobody was doing anything. He needed to—to be punished."
"Death is a pretty harsh punishment, don't you think, Roy?"
Melinda turned around, and Roy swallowed, but nodded.
"We didn't have any choice in the matter. We'd never be able to punish Sam, not with Dean around."
Melinda went still. She turned around, bracing her hands on the table again.
"Dean would never let you live if you hurt his brother."
"Exactly. Yes."
She nodded slowly.
"So you killed Sam, and since he was there, and you wanted to cover your asses, you had to kill Dean, too."
She glanced over her shoulder, and Roy nodded slowly.
"Yes—yes ma'am."
She closed her eyes, crouching down and setting her forehead on the table for just a moment.
"Did it ever occur to you, Roy—or even you, Walt—to think of the people who would get left behind if the Winchesters died?"
Roy went quiet, and after giving a cough, Walt spoke in a shaky voice.
"He didn't say nothing about that. He just—"
"He?'"
Melinda looked to Walt.
"He who?"
Walt swallowed, looking over to Roy. Walt gave a small shake of his head, and Melinda slammed her hand down on the table, making both men jump.
"Who the hell are you talking about?!"
"The angel!"
Her eyes widened as she swallowed.
"Wh—what?"
Roy let out a breath, shaking his head.
"This man came to us, said he was an angel. Said we had to do it."
Melinda swallowed again.
"Who was it?"
Roy closed his eyes.
"He said his name was Zachariah."
Melinda blinked twice before she put her hands over her face, muffling her scream. She turned her back to the men, looking up at the ceiling.
"Are you fucking kidding me?! You did this?! Zachariah, you son of a bitch!"
She sobbed out loud, falling to her knees. She shifted, sitting down, bringing her legs up, resting her forehead on her knees. She started rocking back and forth, sniffling. She finally lifted her head, looking to the two men who were watching her.
"Did he … did he promise you anything? If you did this, he'd give you something?"
Roy shook his head, and Walt coughed.
"He told us that we had to do it, and do it right. We were the only ones who could do it, and killing them would get us out of this hell."
Melinda nodded, letting out a quiet laugh.
"He lied. That's what he does. He's a liar. He is nothing but a damn liar and a creep and, apparently, a murderer."
She shook her head.
"No, not a murderer. He wouldn't get his hands dirty. He's the mastermind."
She glanced at the two men, a smile crossing her face.
"He's Charles Manson, and you two are just members of the Family."
She shook her head, resting the heels of her palms against her eyebrows. She swallowed, closing her eyes.
Every sound she heard was Dean whispering her name, the cadence of his laugh, his off-key singing in the car. Memories flashed in her mind, of the feel of his lips against hers, his strong arms holding her close, the feel of his rough hand holding onto hers. She saw him standing in the Manor in his tux, heard him telling her he would love her for the rest of his life at their wedding, saw him relaxing on the island during their honeymoon.
And then she'd remember the way his lifeless eyes stared into nothingness as blood slowly seeped from the holes in his chest.
She lifted her head then, shaking it slowly. She glanced towards the table, at the different tools and things lying there. She let out a laugh, shutting her eyes as it trailed off into a sob. She covered her mouth with her hand, then let out a long, shaky breath. She looked back to the men.
"I don't … I don't know what to do now. I was going to … well. Use your imaginations."
The men exchanged a glance with each other, and Melinda breathed out again. She closed her eyes, face twisting as more memories assaulted her senses, to the point that she could swear she heard the Impala outside. She opened her eyes, shook her head as tears blurred her vision.
"You took away the most precious thing I have ever known. I loved that man more than … And you just killed him. I went to get him breakfast. Did you know that? The man had just taken out a poltergeist, saving a sweet little family, and he was just trying to get some rest. And instead, you just … you killed him."
Tears slid unnoticed down her cheeks.
"Because the angels told you to. What kind of …"
She shook her head, biting back the sobs she wanted to just dissolve into.
"You thought you were doing the 'right thing.' At least, that's what you thought when you shot Sam. Dean, though, he was just collateral damage. Wrong place, wrong time."
She let out a scream then, tangling her hands in her hair. She stood up, taking hold of the table and flipping it, sending the weapons and tools flying. She turned to the men, and Walt swallowed.
"Why don't you just go ahead and do it anyway?"
She narrowed her eyes at him, and he nodded towards the knives on the floor.
"You should. After what I did… Grab one of those knives and put me out of my misery. We're all going to die in this damn Apocalypse anyway, so what's the problem in speeding up the process?"
"Walt—"
"Shut up, Roy. Come on, baby. Do it!"
Her eyes widened as she looked down, at the knife in her hand. She didn't know how it had gotten there. She hadn't moved. Had she used her powers to pick it up? Surely it hadn't just appeared in her hand… Roy's eyes were nearly bugging out of his head, so it must have been something unnatural.
Melinda shook her head, and Walt let out a moan.
"Come on, sweetheart. Can't you imagine how good it will feel?"
"Damn it, Walt, shut up. Just shut the hell up!"
Melinda swallowed. It was magnetic, almost, the way the knife was pulling towards Walt. She looked down, staring at the knife, at the way it shone in the light. She looked up again, jumping, shocked when she found herself standing directly in front of Walt. He smiled at her.
"Come on. It will be perfect payback, won't it? Taking my life the way I took your husband's?"
Melinda shook her head, breathing out harshly.
"You could do whatever you want. You could make it quick and painless, just slice one of my carotids. Drag that knife across my throat, and that's all she wrote. Or you could drag it out. Nick my femoral artery, maybe? Stand back and watch as I bleed out?"
"Stop talking."
Walt smiled, motioning with his head. He winked at her, and she swallowed. She lifted the knife, holding it at his face, seeing the light glint off of it again. A smile crossed her face, sliding away when she noticed the wetness on the edge of the knife.
It wasn't blood. No, it was clear. Was it … was it a tear?
She looked over, and Walt shook his head.
"What are you waiting on? Let's dance, baby."
She smiled again, turning the knife in her hand before finally gripping it, raising it up.
"Mel, no!"
She froze, and the knife fell, clattering to the ground. Melinda blinked as she looked at Walt and saw the pure, unadulterated terror in his eyes, the tears coursing down his cheeks, breath heaving in and out of his lungs. Roy had his eyes closed, head leaned back as he breathed just as hard. Melinda shook her head, stepping backwards, slowly turning around.
She gasped in a breath as Dean made his way to her, taking her in his arms when he reached her, clutching her to him. Melinda started shaking, eyes wide as she watched Sam undo the handcuffs, freeing Roy and Walt, who both fell to the ground.
"It's okay, baby. It's all right."
"Dean."
She sobbed, shaking her head as she leaned back, taking his shirt in both of her hands and gripping tightly.
"No, you—you were dead. I close—I closed your eyes. You were cold. Dean, I—"
"I know."
He pulled her back to him, holding a hand to the back of her head.
"Angels, baby. Damn Zachariah did this. But I'm here now. I'm right here, Mel."
"Dean."
"Shh. It's okay."
She sobbed into his shoulder, arms coming around him to hold him tight. Over her head, Dean locked eyes with his brother, seeing the fear he knew was in his own eyes reflected in Sam's. He swallowed, and Sam nodded. Dean nodded back, then gently rubbed his hand over Melinda's back.
"Let's get out of here."
She squeezed him tighter, and Dean closed his eyes. He reached in his pocket, tossing the keys to Sam, who caught them easily in one hand, slipping them in his pockets. Peyton appeared in the warehouse, dark eyes widening when she took in the setting. Sam shook his head, motioning to Dean and Melinda. Peyton stepped over, laying a hand on each of them.
Dean opened his eyes to see they were now in a different hotel room. Peyton gave him a nod, then disappeared. Dean let out a breath, gently kissing Melinda's forehead.
"Baby. Hey."
She shook her head, trying to burrow into him. He let out a sigh, bending to slip his hands under her thighs, lifting her. She wrapped her legs around his waist and he carried her to the bathroom, setting her down on the closed toilet while he started the shower, turning the water to just this side of scalding.
She let out a whimper, standing to her feet. Dean went still when he felt her hand gently touch his back. He closed his eyes as her fingers drifted over the bullet holes in his shirt and he stepped away from her, scrabbling to get the outer shirt off, yanking the t-shirt over his head. He moved back to her, pulling her close to him, and she gasped just before she wrapped her arms around him.
"Oh, god. Dean."
"I'm here. It's okay."
She shook her head and he pulled back just a bit, to take her face in both his hands. Tear-filled eyes locked on his and he let his hands fall, drifting down to the hem of her shirt, rolling it up and over her head. She shivered, even as the bathroom was filling with steam. She just stood there, watching Dean as he undressed her.
"I'm here, sweetheart."
She let out a sob at that, stepping out of her jeans. He made quick work of his own jeans, then pushed back the shower curtain, stepping in backwards and leading Melinda in. She sucked in a breath when she was under the water, closing her eyes when Dean wrapped his arms around her. His hands slid over her hair, and she leaned forward, resting her forehead against his chest. She had her eyes open, staring at his chest, at the places she knew the bullet holes should have been. She swallowed, lifting a shaking hand, laying it against his heart. Dean's eyes closed as she let out another sob, shaking hard in his arms.
"Baby, please. It's okay."
She shook her head, moving to rest her head against his heart, closing her eyes when she heard it thumping rhythmically in his chest.
"You don't understand. You were … You were gone, and I—I just …"
He gently pushed her back, leaning and covering her mouth with his. She reached up, cupping his face in her hands, kissing him almost frantically. She gasped when he turned her, the coldness of the tiles at her back a stark contrast to the heat of the water and the man currently ravaging her neck. Her hands were in his hair, twisting just this side of painful, and he let out a groan against her skin.
"Baby. Easy."
She let her head fall back against the tiles, chest heaving with the breaths that she was forcing into and out of her lungs. Dean turned from her and picked up the shampoo, pouring it into his hands and rubbing them together before reaching over and gently massaging the shampoo into her scalp. She let out a moan and he maneuvered her around, putting her back beneath the water.
"If we don't do this now, we never will. Tilt your head back."
She did, gasping as he finished with her hair and began soaping up her body. She held onto his shoulders, keeping touch of him, standing under the water while he washed himself. He shut off the water, stepping out and grabbing a towel, wrapping it around his waist. Melinda crossed her arms over her chest, shivering in the shower until Dean turned around and wrapped her in a towel before putting his arms around her, kissing her temple.
He turned and walked into the room, smoke billowing from the bathroom behind him. Melinda picked up a comb and dragged it through her hair before tightening the towel around her and walking into the room. Dean was standing in the tiny kitchenette, still in his towel, staring out the window.
Melinda held a hand to her heart, clutching the towel closer. Dean hung his head, letting out a sigh. She walked up behind him, looping her arms around him, pressing her hands to his chest. He lifted one of his rough hands and covered both of hers, and she closed her eyes, resting her forehead against his shoulder blade.
"Baby—"
"Just … shh."
He went quiet, and still, and felt her warm breath against his back as she held her hands over his heart, just soaking in the feel of his heartbeat. Dean closed his eyes when he felt the tears dripping onto his shoulder, and he murmured her name. She let out a laugh, shaking her head.
"I can't … I thought I lost you. When I opened that door, I just … I lost it, Dean. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't think. All I could see was you, and you were so still. So quiet. And then I—"
"Don't. Don't go there."
She let her hands fall from around him, turning away and putting a hand over her mouth. Dean stepped up behind her, pulling her back against his chest, wrapping his arms around her, pressing his lips to her cheek.
"It's all right."
"You saw the—the things I had there. I was going … I would have—"
"Shh. Easy, now."
She shook her head, lifting her hands to grip his arms.
"It—it scared me. The way I was … I was so willing and ready to do—"
"Mel, baby. Stop."
He turned her around and she closed her eyes, shaking her head until he reached up, cupping her face in his warm hands. She let out a shaky breath, then went up on her tiptoes, pressing her mouth to his. Dean kissed her deeply, until she pulled back, face still in his hands, eyes shining with tears.
"I need to feel you."
"Baby—"
"Please. I can still see you on that bed, and I need … I just … I need you."
Dean leaned down, pressing his lips to hers. She let out a groan, hands drifting down to undo the towel around his waist. He dropped his hands from her face, untying the towel from around her, pulling her naked body against his. She gasped, wrapping her arms around him, walking backwards until her legs hit the bed. She broke away from his kiss then, looking up at him, seeing the green of his eyes burned out to only a thin ring around dilated pupils. She swallowed, lifting her hand to gently push her fingers through his hair. He lowered his head, gently kissing her collarbone before lifting her and gently laying her against the pillows.
Melinda was resting on Dean's chest, fingers absently tracing a triangle on his chest, on the exact places the bullets had hit. He tried not to think about it, tried to ignore it while he ran his fingers through her hair.
"Where did you go?"
Her voice was so quiet he almost didn't hear it. He let out a sigh and swallowed.
"Uh… Heaven, actually."
She stopped her tracing, lifting up and looking into his eyes. He smiled.
"Yeah, I don't know how, either."
She shook her head.
"That doesn't surprise me at all."
Dean gave a quiet laugh.
"Mel. Come on."
"No, you…"
She sat up more, and he did the same. She shook her head, pushing a hand through her hair.
"Of course you'd go to heaven."
"Melinda. This is me we're talking about. Dean Winchester, who they're reserving one of the close parking spots for in Hell."
"Dean."
"No, I'm serious. They've got a sign up and everything."
Melinda rolled her eyes, and Dean sighed.
"I have done nothing to get into Heaven."
"Are you kidding me? Dean."
He pushed the covers back on the bed, walking to his bag and pulling on a pair of boxers.
"Seriously, Mel. I gank monsters on a daily basis. Sometimes, those monsters are people. I have killed actual people. I went to Hell for forty years and tortured—tortured, Melinda—innocent people."
"Obviously, the people weren't innocent if they were in Hell."
He gave her a look, and she held up her hands. He shook his head.
"Not to mention the credit card fraud, theft, burglary, etc., that I've been involved in for the past what, almost thirty years? That doesn't exactly put me at the top of Heaven's Most Wanted list. Well, unless you were to talk to Michael."
Melinda let out a sigh.
"So, the thousands of people you've saved over the past almost thirty years… What? They don't matter?"
"They don't make up for all the bad shit I've done."
"Christ, Dean."
He blew out his breath.
"Anyway… Sammy was there. Him, I can see in Heaven."
"The same Sam who was addicted to demon blood and kick-started the Apocalypse?"
Melinda raised an eyebrow at the look Dean shot her. She shrugged her shoulders.
"Just saying."
Dean shook his head.
"Anyway… We were like … I don't know. It was weird. Like a replay of our greatest hits. Or, what we thought of as our greatest?"
"How do you mean?"
Dean buttoned the jeans he'd pulled on and shook his head again.
"When I first got there, it was Fourth of July, 1996. Sam and I were in this field, and I had a box of fireworks. We burned down that field and had the time of our lives. Dad would have never let us do that, but he was hunting a wendigo way up near the Canadian border."
Melinda blinked, and Dean walked back over, sitting down on the bed.
"From what we saw, and witnessed, Heaven is where your best memories occur over and over again. We saw Ash, and his Heaven is the Roadhouse. All the PBR he can drink, no hangover. Pamela was there. Her heaven is one long show at the Meadowlands."
Melinda smiled.
"So your Heaven was the Fourth of July with your brother?"
Dean sighed.
"Not exactly. We bounced around a lot. I found Sam when he was like, twelve, eating Thanksgiving dinner with someone else's family."
He shook his head, absentmindedly rubbing his palms together as he stared at the wall.
"We saw Mom. I was four, Sammy was just a baby. She and Dad had a fight, and Dad took off for a couple days. Then we left there and ended up in Flagstaff, when Sam ran away from me when he was a kid."
Dean smiled.
"We stumbled on this one day, when I was like eight or nine. Bobby took me to a park and taught me how to throw a baseball. After that, we were in this day when Sam and Peyton were at this lake in ... Hell, I don't even know where. But thank God we got out of there before the skinny dipping started."
Dean shivered, and Melinda laughed. Dean went still, taking in a deep breath and letting it out slowly.
"And we ended up at the night Sam took off for Stanford. Apparently, that was one of his greatest memories."
Melinda blinked.
"So everywhere you went was a great memory for you?"
Dean smiled, nodding.
"Some of the best."
Melinda went quiet, glancing down the rings on her finger.
"So you saw Sam, Bobby, and your mom."
Dean nodded, glancing over his shoulder.
"My family, you know?"
Melinda slowly nodded. Dean sighed, turning back to look at the wall.
"Ash came and got us, saved us from freakin' Zachariah. He was pulling the puppet strings on this one, naturally. Wanted to send us back here after we learned our lesson. And we ended up exactly where Zach wanted us, until Joshua showed up."
"Joshua?"
Dean glanced back at Melinda.
"Angel who tends The Garden."
"Garden? Whoa, The Garden? Of Eden?"
Dean nodded.
"Yeah, he uh… He told us that God …"
Dean shook his head, giving out a humorless laugh.
"God's just like John. Another deadbeat dad that doesn't give a shit."
"Dean."
"No, I—I'm serious."
Dean stood up, walking back to his bag and pulling out a black t-shirt.
"God knows everything that's going on, everything that's been going on, and He just—what did Joshua say? He doesn't think it's His problem."
He pulled the shirt on, then shook his head.
"We're on our own on this one. Not like we haven't been this whole time. Oh, but just so you know, it was God that saved us when Lucifer first came out of the Pit. So you can thank Him for that, if you feel the need."
He sighed, glancing back at the bed.
"I'm going to get us some food. What are you feeling?"
Melinda shook her head.
"You pick. I don't … I'm not that hungry."
Dean nodded, grabbing the keys before he walked out the door. When he was gone, Melinda gasped, laying back against the pillows as she covered her face, tears streaming from her eyes. She sobbed, turning her face into the pillows so that she could muffle the screams that tore from her throat. She sat up, grabbing the lamp from the table beside the bed, throwing it at the wall, throwing her hands up and freezing it before it could hit. She brought it back to her, crying quietly as she set it back on the table, plugged it back into the wall.
She sniffled, wiping her eyes on the sheet that was still wrapped around her. She took in shaky breaths, letting them out slowly, shaking her head. She climbed out of the bed, walked to the bathroom. She looked at herself in the mirror, at her red, puffy eyes, the tear tracks on her cheeks.
"He didn't even … I wasn't one of his greatest memories? Peyton was in Sam's Heaven, but I'm not even a part of …"
She covered her face with a hand, walking backwards and sliding down the wall. When the tears finally slowed, Melinda looked up at the ceiling.
"I know what he said, but I … I can't believe that You … You can't not care. Please. I need—I can't keep on like this."
She didn't feel the peace that she once had when she prayed. She didn't feel anything but hopeless. She shook her head.
"Please."
Nothing.
Melinda closed her eyes as the tears started again. She heard the Impala pull back into the parking lot, and she lifted a hand, turning the shower on. As the front door opened, she stepped into the shower. The water was blessedly hot, and Melinda closed her eyes as she heard Dean's deep voice ring out.
"Baby? I got you some sweet and sour chicken."
She nodded, swallowing back the lump in her throat.
"Thank you. I'll be out in a minute."
She let out a shaky breath, leaning her head against the cool tile. She turned around, letting the water wash away the tears from her face, staying in the shower long after the hot water went out.
Dean was asleep when she finally got out of the shower, a takeout container still in his hand. She shook her head, a hint of a smile on her face. She took the container from him, and his fork, setting it in the tiny fridge in the tiny kitchenette. She opened the container of sweet and sour chicken, opening the packet of chopsticks, going into the container and picking up a piece of chicken before setting it back inside. She set that container in the fridge beside Dean's, then let out a long sigh.
She walked to the bed, looking at the man sleeping there. She looked down at her rings, then back to him. She shook her head, slipping one of his flannel shirts on.
"There's no way I'm not in your Heaven. No possible way, right?"
She did her best to ignore the seed of doubt that was wiggling in the back of her mind. She swallowed, then bent down, untying Dean's boots. She gave a gentle tug and he took in a deep breath, sitting up slowly. She gave him a smile.
"It's okay. I just don't want you to be uncomfortable."
He smiled back at her as he yawned, sitting up and taking his boots off. He tugged his t-shirt over his head and laid his jeans over a chair. He yawned again, then climbed into the bed beside Melinda. She rolled to him, resting her head on his chest again. He ran his fingers through her hair.
"I love you, Dean."
He smiled, yawning once again.
"You too, baby."
He drifted back to sleep almost immediately, and Melinda blinked back tears as she listened to the steady beat of his heart.
"Dean. Hey, wake up."
Dean blinked widely, then pushed himself up from the bed. Sam stood before him, and motioned with his head.
"Cas is here. There's also a case in Winnebago, Minnesota."
Dean blinked again, and noticed Melinda walking around the room, packing their things. Sam cleared his throat.
"Peyton's loading our stuff in the car."
Dean nodded, letting out a yawn. Sam nodded towards the bathroom, and Dean leaned over to look in there, seeing jeans and a shirt folded on the counter. He nodded back to his brother, then stood up, going into the bathroom and shutting the door behind him. Ten minutes later, Dean walked out, dressed and with his toothbrush and toothpaste in his hand. He handed them to Melinda, then turned to Sam, who let out a sigh.
"I, uh … I gave Cas the rundown of what we saw."
"How'd he take it?"
Sam glanced back, and Dean followed his gaze. Cas shook his head, turning to face the brothers.
"Maybe Joshua was lying."
Dean shook his head as he grabbed his boots and sat on the bed to put them on.
"Didn't seem like the type to lie, man. Especially not about something on this level."
Sam let out a sigh.
"Sorry, Cas."
Castiel let out a breath, turning his back to them, staring up at the ceiling.
"You son of a bitch. I believed …"
Melinda stopped what she was doing, lifting her head to the angel. Cas stared at the ceiling, then finally let his shoulders drop. He reached into the pocket of his trenchcoat as he turned around, handing Dean the amulet he'd borrowed.
"Here. I don't need this anymore."
Dean took the amulet, staring down at it as he rolled it in his hands.
"It's worthless."
Melinda and Sam both looked up at Cas when he whispered the words. He turned to go, and Sam held out a hand.
"Cas, wait."
But he was gone. Melinda let out a breath, picking up the two bags and carrying them out the door. Sam let out a sigh, rubbing a hand on the back of his head. He glanced at Dean, who was still looking at the amulet in his hands.
"We'll figure this out, Dean."
"How?"
Sam shook his head, letting out a sigh.
"I don't know. But me and you? We'll find a way."
Dean slowly nodded, but the look on his face was clear that he didn't believe Sam. Sam let out a sigh, and Dean stood up from the bed, going for the door. Just before he could walk through it, he stopped. He held onto the necklace, letting the amulet fall from his hand and dangle in the air. Sam took in a breath, and Dean dropped the amulet into the trash. He walked out, into the sunlight and Sam let out a shaky breath. He reached up and gently rubbed his chest, then squared his shoulders and walked after his brother.