Chapter 37

Shadows fell behind fence posts. The western sky began to glow. Baby sped toward the fiery horizon as darkness descended on the prairie. Time stretched and snapped like a rubber band. Dean was speaking again, apologizing. Am I breathing? Am I alive? I inhaled then eased out my breath. If a man dies and no one is there to hear the body drop, is he still dead? One two three four five they fell in front of me with the power of my touch.

"We couldn't find you. We looked at traffic camera video and then hit a dead end and had no idea where you were. Finally, we reached out to Crowley."

My heart thumped in my chest, each beat echoing a falling corpse in a subdivision model house. What have I done? Did one of them just ask if I was hungry? No, I'm not hungry. I'm empty. I'm a shell. I'm terrified of myself.

Dean pulled into a gas station after we crossed the river, after the sun slid down beyond our view. He inched to a stop. "Jane? Jane?" Someone was speaking. I looked up to see the brothers looking over their broad shoulders at me. "Jane?" Dean repeated. Sam glanced at his brother, his face a mix of concern and sympathy.

I reached for the pack of cigarettes beside me and the yellow Bic. "I'm going to go smoke," I stated as I pulled on the latch of the backseat door, my morphed image reflected on the chrome handle.

"Jane," one of them said again.

Are they talking to me again? I felt like an animal who only recognized my own name. Every other word I heard was incomprehensible, like a foreign tongue, like those words I couldn't understand when I healed someone.

But I didn't heal this time. I killed. I'm a killer.

My bare feet stepped onto the white rock, causing pain to shoot up my calves from the cigarette burn. They were saying something, the two of them. I wouldn't smoke at the gas pumps. No. I wasn't suicidal. I wanted to live. I think I want to live. Or maybe I'm not alive. Maybe I'm dead already. Cigarette pack and yellow lighter grasped in my hand, I started toward the side of the concrete block convenience store.

"JANE!" One of them yelled.

I turned back, confused. I was being safe. I was protecting them. "What?"

Sam winced and nodded toward the car. "You wanna get dressed first, I mean, you're not…dressed," he stammered.

I lowered my gaze to my clothing. A shiver stretched across my bare shoulders, my naked arms. I was still in the nightgown that the men had dressed me in. Did that really happen? Am I in some dream?

"Oh," I mumbled.

Dean slammed his door, causing me to wince. He lifted the lid of the trunk and reached in for my backpack, then extended it out to me. "Your bag, I packed it up at the motel, after you disappeared," he explained.

"Oh," I repeated as I reached out and took the backpack, then set it on the hood of the car.

I'm dreaming. This is one of those dreams where I'm walking around without clothes on. I unzipped the bag and removed a pair of folded jeans. One of them said something. I slid the jeans on under the nightgown, zipped the zipper, and turned the riveted button. I lifted the nightgown over my head.

"WHOA!" Sam exclaimed, his arm outstretched in crossing guard's stop as he turned his head. "Jane!"

At the same time, Dean echoed, "Jane!"

Dreams don't matter. I can walk around naked and it doesn't matter. I just want a smoke. I don't smoke.

Dean stared at me, transfixed, then he scolded me again. "Jane!"

I eased a t-shirt over my head, neglecting to put on a bra. "What?" I asked.

"Just. Nothing." Dean studied me, confused, uncomfortable. He scanned the dim parking lot to see if anyone watched us.

I picked up the cigarette pack off the hood, then walked barefooted to the side of the building. All of the filtered ends stared up at me, no lucky smoke to choose from. I pinched the cigarette between my lips as the end caught fire. I inhaled the smoke, then pushed it out again. Inhale the poison, exhale the death.

Dean walked up to me holding my coat. I inhaled, then exhaled.

"Are you okay, Jane?" He asked, handing it to me.

"No, I'm not okay." I felt the echo of my guard collapse all through my body, like that bump when you run over roadkill. I took the coat and pulled it on. I should be cold, I thought.

"I'm sorry we weren't there sooner." Dean apologized.

"Yeah, me, too. I'm sorry about a lot of things." But I'm not sorry about killing them. I pulled the smoke in, then let it out, repeating until the embers touched the filter. I dropped it on the pavement.

Dean stomped it out beside my naked feet.

I gazed up at him, this angel in my dreams, Dean. He reached toward me and I jerked back.

He froze again. "Sorry. You want something to eat or drink?" Dean asked.

"No, I'm…I don't need anything. I'm just a little tired." In my mind, I saw my victims surround me. They would torment me. They would question their death. They would blame me, the monster that I am. My heart began to race. I couldn't sleep. I wouldn't sleep.

"No, I'm…I just…I want some coffee," I relented.

"Let's go back to the car. I'll get you whatever you need," Dean offered.

I followed him back to the Impala. I slid across the seat, my gaze still outside. "Just a large coffin, I mean coffee." I squeezed my eyes shut, suddenly seeing dead men in black caskets. I opened my eyes again, staring down at the seat in front of me. "I just want a coffee, please." I pulled the door closed.

Sam eased into the front seat. He shifted and leaned back toward me. "What happened to you, Jane?"

I cleared my throat and gazed out the window. "I went to get a Powerade from the pop machine. That guy from the parking lot kidnapped me. He gave me to his boss, who made me heal someone." I cleared my throat again, distancing myself from what happened. "I escaped. I was caught. I was drugged and thrown in the basement. He made me heal someone else and, when I woke up," I walked through the house and killed them all. "I escaped."

Stars began to peek out of the navy blue sky. I escaped. I survived. I killed. The one in the hallway, he wanted to be an engineer.

"But how did you escape?" Sam pressed.

"I killed them," I confessed. I felt an unseen hand squeeze my stomach.

The car door opened, startling me. Dean held out a large Styrofoam cup of coffee, concern in his eyes. "Are you okay?"

"No," I answered taking the cup from his hand. I burned my tongue as I sipped. I can't sleep. I won't sleep. Faded fields illuminated by moonlight sped by across the landscape. I replayed the history of my captivity, upstairs in the bedroom, running across the lawn. Sam and Bobby abandoning me in Hell. Dean played music from generations ago, full of rebellion, full of hope.

But there was no hope.

Monsters didn't deserve peace. They didn't inherit Heaven or Hell. They lived in torment, hunted and hunting. I thought of Dean and Purgatory. Will he hunt me someday? No, it didn't take some other world. If he knew what I was, he would kill me in this one.

Outside in the darkness, dead cornstalks peeked through the flat earth like a wasteland. White lights from farmsteads winked at us from the distance. The brothers gave up trying to get me to talk and we rode in silence, the Impala engine purring as it hurried down the interstate.

When Dean pulled off I-70 on to Highway 177, I had him pull into the truck stop. Inside, I grabbed a 24 ounce cup and poured the thick, syrupy coffee knowing it would be bitter, knowing it would keep me awake. After Sam paid, I walked out and lit up another cigarette, then burned my tongue as I tried to take a sip. Dean waited and watched me as he leaned against the black classic car with his arms crossed. I inhaled. I exhaled.

The one in the kitchen took violin lessons as a child. The one who fell outside watched reruns of the Golden Girls. It felt so good taking their lives. I shivered. I squeezed my eyes shut, then opened them again. Their lifetimes live inside of me now. I carry their deaths. With a single touch, I extinguished their fire and left only ashes.

In the clear night, we rumbled down the gravel road. Dean eased Baby to a stop inside the bunker garage. They said something, but I didn't hear them. "I need a smoke," I said, stepping out into the darkness outside the wide doors. I inhaled. I exhaled.

Dean followed me outside, sliding his hands in his jacket pockets and frowning at the cigarette between my fingers. "You keep smoking like that, we might have to drag the iron lung out of storage."

"You don't have to babysit me. I'm not going to run off. I won't hurt myself."

"I know. I just want…I almost lost you, Jane. I did lose you. Again."

I took another drag.

Dean shifted his stare to the ground. "I had that bastard and I let him go. I should've trusted my gut. None of this would have happened. None of it would have happened to you."

"It's not your fault, Dean. You can't blame yourself for everything. I shouldn't have went for that Powerade. I'm the one who left the room." I'm the one who healed that monster. I'm the one who killed those men. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Crowley lied. There were only five. Only five. I inhaled. I exhaled. I watched the poison cloud escape from my lungs and climb into the dark night sky, disappearing like those men's souls.

"Yeah, well, I still should have protected you," he argued.

"Should've. Could've. It doesn't matter now." Nothing matters. I'm the monster now. How soon until you hunt me, Dean Winchester?

Dean stepped toward me. I stepped back, putting my open palms out at him to stop. "Don't," I warned him. "Don't touch me."

Dean took a step back, extending his hands in surrender. "I'm…sorry. I forgot."

I wanted to fall into him. I wanted his embrace to make it all go away, but I couldn't. I'm dangerous. I'll kill you. Please don't let me kill you.

"I love you, Jane. You've been through a lot, and I get it. I do. If you need time, that's okay. Take all the time you need."

NO. NO. NO. YOU DON'T LOVE ME. NO. YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT I AM. YOU ARE THE HUNTER AND I'M THE HUNTED AND I WILL BE THE END OF YOU UNLESS YOU KILL ME FIRST. I LOVE YOU DEAN WINCHESTER AND YOU WILL HATE ME WHEN YOU REALIZE WHAT I AM.

"Thank you," I mumbled.

I dropped the cigarette and smashed it under my shoe. The moon had disappeared, leaving the black sky above. Pinpricks of light peered through the void. Distant stars, centers of solar systems, burned brightly illuminating worlds beyond. In another universe, maybe I wasn't this monster. Maybe I didn't kill. Maybe Dean grew up in a town in Kansas and we met in college instead of on a hunt. His parents still lived in the house in Lawrence and I took him to visit my grandparents on the farm.

But this wasn't a planet far away in another time. In this world, he was good and I was evil. I was the darkness and he was the light which pierced through me.

"I'm going to go shower," I informed him as I went inside, leaving him under the starlit sky.

The water didn't wash away the feeling that I was unclean, despite my scrubbing. In the foggy bathroom mirror, I looked the same. I looked like me, even with the green shadows under my eyes. I trailed my fingers across the stitches on my cheek. I felt like the creature envisioned by Mary Shelley. I was death stitched together in a human suit.

Dean found me in the laundry room, emptying the clothes from my backpack.

"Hey," he began.

"Hey," I returned, adding soap to the washer.

"Was that guy from the parking lot, uh…Donny…was he one of the ones…you had to…you know…at that house?" Dean stammered.

"One of the ones I killed when I escaped? No. When he delivered me to Mr. Casey, Mr. Casey killed him in front of me." I closed the lid and turned the dial on the machine. "It was a test and I refused to save him."

"We caught him in the traffic camera, but no one knew what happened to him after, not his friends or his ex-wife. He just disappeared," Dean explained. Had he told me this before?

"Well, now you know," I confirmed, walking out of the room.

Dean kept talking as he followed me down the hallway. "We knew he worked for Casey at one time, but that guy? Casey lawyered up as soon as we tried to talk to him. They demanded a warrant from a federal judge. We just couldn't get to him. He's one of the richest men in Kansas City."

I stepped into the kitchen, grabbing the carafe from the coffee machine. "I gathered that." I walked to the sink and turned on the water. Mr. Casey. He's the one who did this to me. He is the one who turned me into a killer. He's the one who made me do it, all of it. He's why Dean isn't be safe with me, why no one is.

"Why did Donny take you, anyway? How did he know what you could do?" Dean folded his arms, leaning against the doorway.

I scooped the coffee out of the tin and into the filter, then poured the water into the top of the machine. "After you and I…met. I healed someone outside of the truck stop at Percival, east of Nebraska City. Donny saw me. I was out of the hospital before he found out what happened to me."

Confusion spread across Dean's face. "But why did you put yourself at risk like that? We had a great time, didn't we?" Suddenly, he realized what I was doing in the kitchen. "It's like one in the morning. Why are you making coffee?"

"We did have a great time in Nebraska City." I remembered the bewildered look on the desk clerk's face, flirting over breakfast, the sick feeling in my stomach as I watched the Impala drive away. "And I wasn't ready to be alone, I guess." I sat at the table and stared at the coffee machine. "And I'm not tired."

Dean studied me suspiciously. "Well, I'm beat."

"Go to bed. I'll be there in an hour or so," I lied.

He nodded, "Yeah, okay."

And soon, I was alone again.

I started at one end of the library, picking a worn volume off of the top shelf. I read through each of the entries, trying to figure out what kind of a monster I was, where I had really come from. I wasn't a healer or a prophet. I was something else.

I made another pot of coffee. I started playing Candy Crush. My eyes hurt. I changed over my laundry. I smoked the last cigarette out in the predawn. I scrubbed down the kitchen sink with Comet and polished the stainless steel. I tried to read again.

Sam woke first, concern on his face as he spied me in the library. Of course, I had slept, I lied. He nodded in disbelief, but didn't press me about it. He made more coffee. He asked if I wanted to join him for a run and I considered it, then decided to stay in the bunker. This where I'm safest, I thought. Where I can't hurt anyone else.

Dean woke and caught me in the kitchen. He plodded into the room wearing slippers and his grey robe, sleep heavy in his eyes and his hair sticking up. "Did you sleep?" He grumbled at me, pouring coffee in his cup.

"I'm not tired."

I started searching through the fridge, looking for something to cook. The acid from the coffee had started gnawing at my stomach. I knew I needed to eat. I found a bag of moldy bread and cringed. "There's nothing to eat here."

"I'll make a run in a little bit," he offered, sitting down at the table.

I shrugged, "I can't make breakfast if there's no food."

"I think there's some cereal and milk," Dean suggested. "Lucky Charms," he raised his eyebrows and smiled.

"I already threw out the milk. It was spoiled. I'll make a list."

Dean sat down at the table. "You don't feel guilty, do you? About what you had to do to escape?"

"You mean about killing them?" I looked down and shook my head before meeting his eyes. "No. I don't."

I freed them, you see? I took away their pain. I felt the euphoria as I took them from this world. It was that same lightness after a strong drink. It was the tickle of Dean's fingertips across my naked skin. It was symmetry. It was perfection and the last puzzle piece. It was bliss.

You really must admit, it does feel good to kill, to end someone's misery. If it didn't, then you wouldn't keep doing it. I heard Death in my head. I was going mad. I was terrified.

A shiver rippled up my spine. "I'm going to go take a shower," I explained as I hurried out of the kitchen away from Dean.

The result was the same as the night before. The wrongness still clung to me, even after I tried to wash it off. Dean went for groceries and reluctantly picked me up another pack of smokes. Sam returned from his run. They watched me with suspicion which brought me comfort as I put the produce away in the antique fridge.

They will be the ones to stop me. They will keep everyone else safe. Outside of the bunker, I inhaled the smoke. I exhaled.

Should I leave? Should I stay? I didn't have the courage to kill myself. I should have fallen out of the car after Dean picked me up in New Mexico. I should tell them, let them do what they do best. No, I can be harmless here. I can behave.

Mr. Casey told me to behave and I didn't. He needs to die. I need to kill Mr. Casey.

The next morning, Dean strolled into the library with a steaming cup of coffee in his right hand. He was in his classic attire: a flannel shirt and jeans. "Didn't sleep again? You need to sleep, Jane."

"I'm not tired," I lied. I lie a lot now. I stared back down at the pages of script.

"Yeah, you are," he argued as he sat down at the table across from me. "You've been looking at those two pages for ten minutes."

Shit.

I closed the book and met his eyes. "I lost almost a week sleeping, Dean. A week."

"But you're exhausted," he asserted, leaning forward.

"No, I'm not." I stood and walked out of the room. I poured myself another cup of coffee in the kitchen and went out for a smoke. Dean didn't follow.

One two three four five. I'm flying at the top of the arch on the swing set. My neck snaps at the first punch I take in the face. My fingertips touch his skin as I feel his life pass through me. The rush tremors in me like a tuning fork as I watch them fall before me, all their memories becoming mine. I am the monster. I shuddered. I liked how it felt, to kill them.

I hated who I was, who Mr. Casey made me become.

I got on my laptop and started to search for Sam Casey.

There it was, right at the top of the results: .

The window opened to a picture of the Kansas City skyline, a photo of Mr. Casey in the center. He sat in a room which would make a French monarch jealous: gold filigreed chair, surrounded by marbled pillars, his image nearly reflected on the polished marble floor. I felt the rage rise up in me. "Do I need to call my men in here, to teach you how to be a good little bitch?" I felt the hate that caused the first man to drop dead at my feet. I felt the rush of taking his life.

"Hey, Jane."

I slammed my laptop closed. Sam stepped into the library. "Hey," I blurted out.

Sam eyed me with suspicion. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah, fine. I was just heading out." I rushed out of the room and climbed the stairs which led out of the bunker. With the snap of the flint, I lit my last cigarette. I inhaled. I exhaled. I kept seeing his face, Sam Casey's face.

Dean gave me a ride into town for more cigarettes and coffee. Down the dusty graveled roads, my mind kept racing, separating myself from my companion. Dean said something I didn't hear. Sam Casey was probably in his mansion, playing with his son. Was he working on that casino? Was he signing some business deal in a glass high rise in downtown Kansas City? I could have killed him, with a simple touch. I could have reached out and watched his body collapse on the ground. He needs to die.

"What you need is sleep," Dean grumbled, shifting Baby into park outside the grocery store.

I grabbed a jar of cherry pie filling off the shelf and a can of Folgers, then carried them to the counter. I can make Dean pie. I asked for a pack of Camels and spied the Red Bull in the refrigerator by the door.

Jenna's eyes widened when she saw me. "Jesus, what happened to you?"

"Got into a fight," I lied. I am a liar.

"With him?" She nodded toward the glass windows, out toward the Impala, Dean watching me from the rearview mirror.

"No," I shook my head. "Not with him."

"You call me. You let me know if you're not safe," she urged me, writing her number on the back of the receipt.

I stopped and stared at my reflection on the way out. Puffy, grey half-circles hung under my eyes, the left tinged with the green of a fading bruise. Tiny, black sutures still poked out of my cheek. I stepped out of the store into the empty graveled street. I crumbled the receipt in my hand. I opened the door and tossed in the plastic grocery sack, then lit up another cigarette outside of the car. I inhaled, I exhaled.

Fuck. I was tired.

As Baby rumbled back to the bunker, Dean started to question me. I cracked open the tab of the Red Bull. I gagged. It was like drinking antifreeze.

"You're afraid to sleep, aren't you? The nightmares?"

I said nothing. I kept my eyes outside of the Impala. Large green tractors plowed the fields in the spring sunshine.

"When you sleep, I'll be right there beside you, to remind you that they're just dreams," he offered. "I'll be there, if you want."

"I'm not tired." I tried not to yawn as I rubbed my eyes.

"Sure, you're not," Dean mumbled.

I reached and turned up the radio. The Allman Brothers belted out the blues.

When the black car came to a stop underneath the incandescent bulbs of the garage, I hurried out. "Thanks for the ride." I grabbed the pack of cigarettes.

In the late afternoon sun, I lit the cigarette. I blinked my dry eyes. I hadn't slept in days. I knew I needed to rest, but couldn't face those I had killed. No. I can stay awake. My eyes burned. I went back to the library and picked up a book, hoping to find something of value. My eyes kept blurring. Dean lurked outside, keeping his eyes on me outside each room, making sure I was safe. I went back outside for a smoke.

Suddenly, a man appeared beside me, causing me to jump.

It was the man from Wyoming, the killer. What is his name?

"Hello, Jane," he began.

"You're dead. I killed you." I blinked, confused, hoping he would disappear.

"Yes, I'm dead. You made sure of that," he grinned. "So, why aren't you?"

"Because, I'm not—"

"A killer? Of course, you are," he laughed. "A monster? Oh, you're that, too."

"I…you're not real. You're not here," I panicked. Is he here for me, the demon who will drag me down to hell? I hurried inside, panting as I slammed the steel door. The light flickered overhead. I rushed toward Marie, jerking open her door and sliding inside.

In the passenger seat beside me, Cas sat.

"Who are you running from?" He frowned, scanning the garage.

"Um, nobody, I…thought I heard something," I stammered.

"Hellhounds?" He questioned me.

I shook my head. He can't be serious. "No, not hellhounds. Hellhounds only come after those who sell their souls."

The angel nodded, "You're right. You don't have a soul."

"I…have a soul." Do I have a soul?

He frowned, "No, you don't. Demons don't have souls."

"I'm not a demon," I insisted.

"Maybe not a demon, but you are evil. I wasn't assigned to take care of you, Jane. I was assigned to make sure you didn't kill anyone. Looks like I need to go back on duty."

Tap tap tap. I twitched. I saw Dean grinning at me through the driver's side window.

I rolled down the window of the car. "Yeah?" I asked, my heart going thud thud thud thud in my chest.

"Who were you talking to?" He asked.

I glanced at the empty seat beside me. "No one. I was…singing along with the radio," I stammered.

"The radio isn't playing," he observed.

"Yeah, um, I mean, I was thinking of a song and singing."

Dean nodded, "Okay. You want some coffee? I made you a fresh pot."

"Yeah, that sounds good."

I followed him down the winding tiled hallways back to the kitchen. Don't sleep. No sleep. Don't dream. They will slice and hack and tear you open. They will dismember you in your dreams.

Dean picked up the carafe and poured the steaming coffee into the red-rimmed cup. "You don't have to say anything, okay? We don't need to talk about it. We don't need to talk at all."

"Okay," I agreed. The coffee burned my tongue. I cradled the hot cup with my hands. "Look, you've been wonderful, okay? This isn't about you. It's about me."

He nodded, "I know."

I blew on the cup and sipped. I had to stay awake. I asked if there was ice and he brought me a couple of cubes from the freezer. Once cooled, I swallowed the coffee fast. I slid him the cup across the table. "Can you get me more?"

Then, the kitchen tilted. I blinked and it straightened. I need more coffee. I'm falling asleep.

Dean nodded, studying me. "Okay," he grabbed the cup and strolled to the coffee pot behind me.

The kitchen started to move again. Dark shadows crept into the corners. I felt a wave of nausea hit me. I started to teeter to the side. Dean caught me before I fell. I jerked away and tried to blink back the shadows. "Don't touch me!"

"Okay, okay!" He put his palms up and stepped back. "Are you alright?"

"I just…" The room started to spin. "I just need to sit and steady myself." I inhaled. I exhaled.

He didn't die when he touched me.

I squeezed my eyes shut and opened them wide. The room began to spin. "I'm…not…feeling very…good," I slurred.

I began to fall back.