POV you saw that I said I'd post this chapter in a reasonable amount of time and, shock of all shocks, I didn't.

I'm sorry :(

I hope the end of the chapter is worth it...

CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

2x20 Part 2 - What Is and What Should Never Be

"What Is and What Should Never Be" ~ Led Zeppelin

"And if you say to me tomorrow

'Oh what fun it all would be,'

Then what's to stop us, pretty baby,

But what is and what should never be."

Dean didn't think his body could be so still.

She's dead.

She's dead.

She's dead.

He counted backwards in his head. Eighteen. Ronnie was eighteen when she was…. Maybe seventeen. His blood was rushing in his head, eyes trained on the picture of her smiling on the Internet, his mind filled with her face and her laugh and her eyes.

"Oh," he choked out after a second, not wanting Jordan to hang up on him. "I…I didn't know."

"Sure," she snapped.

"Really," he said, coming out of his stupor slowly. He felt a simmering agony begin to start in his gut, but he tried to ignore it. "I didn't know."

Jordan didn't respond.

"Please," he continued. "Can you just…can you tell me what happened to her?"

"Who even are you?" Jordan asked sharply.

Dean didn't know how to answer. "She was my best friend," he said simply.

Jordan was silent for the ten longest seconds of Dean's life. "Our foster father killed her," Jordan said shortly. "He was a living, breathing nightmare to both of us for years. Ronnie…she was the bravest person I've ever known. Always stepped in front of me to take the worst of it. And once she hit sixteen or so, anytime he drank he would… well, he just… well, I don't really want to… and he drank a lot…."

She continued to stumble over her words, but Dean got the gist. He was almost certain he would vomit, out of sheer disgust, sheer rage, sheer murder. He remembered Ronnie at that age, remembered her laugh and her wit and her ferocity. He remembered how adorable and awkward she was, how there was that one stretch of time where she grew about five inches in a very short period of time and was taller than every other girl her age, remembered how she felt self-conscious and wouldn't wear anything but oversized T-shirts until one day Sam assured her, "You look awesome, Ronnie. Platonically. Wear those shirts if you want, but not because you're a little taller than you used to be."

He remembered at that age she was fretting about things people that age should be fretting about, like fitting in with kids at school and going on dates with shitty seniors like Steven Pennyworth — and, he supposed, the creepy crawlies their families hunted.

She should not have been dealing with this kind of horror that Jordan had relayed to him.

Even back in those days, when she was just a teenager and he hadn't been tossing and turning over her like he had been recently, he would've torn a man limb from limb for even thinking about something as disgusting as what he'd just learned.

The thought that here, in this world, she'd suffered that and likely worse….

Lightning bolts of rage and guilt seemed to zap him from within, so sharp and hot they made him see bursts of color behind his eyes.

"She dealt with it for years, to keep him distracted from me," Jordan continued quietly. "But when I got a bit older, and he started looking at me that way, she'd had enough. One night, things got out of control. She was screaming at him about how she was turning eighteen and would adopt me, and we'd tell everyone what he'd done to us. To her." There was a pause, and even though her voice was even, Dean could just tell that Jordan was crying. "She swung one of his stupid golf clubs at him, and he pushed her down the stairs. Her neck snapped. Just like that. She was gone."

Dean gave up trying to identify each of the emotions swirling in his stomach, his chest, his head. All he knew was that Ronnie, his Ronnie, was dead in this world. Dead after years of what sounded like a miserable, painful, lonely life.

He cleared his throat, needing to push past the roaring in his head to gather more information. "Why was she in foster care?" he asked. "Her mother died when she was really young, I knew that, but her father…."

Jordan also cleared her throat. "Her dad died in some hunting accident I guess, when she was nine."

Dean just shook his head. Too much information to process. Too much to take in.

Without a world where John Winchester was hunting to avenge Mary's death, Seth died on a hunt and his daughter ended up in foster care, where a horrific fate befell her.

This wish for Mary to have never died was a blade twisting itself more grotesquely into his chest with each passing moment.

"Jordan, uh… I'm sorry. I needed to know all this, but um… I'm sorry for bringing it all up."

She sniffled. "It's okay, actually. I haven't spoken about her in years. I just turned eighteen, you know. My new family, they're amazing. They adopted me about a year after I was placed with them, just really amazing people. I wouldn't have any of that without Ronnie. I think about her every day. I swear to God I'll name all my kids after her, even if I have, like, seven. She's that important to me." She paused. "She never talked much about her childhood, or any previous friends. What's your name? Maybe we could—"

Dean hung up. He couldn't quite handle more talking about Ronnie.

Ronnie.

Who was dead.

His chest and throat were tight as a feeling he hadn't felt since his dad died crept in. He hadn't been there for her. Some sick bastard had made her life miserable and filled with pain. And he hadn't been around to defend her, to protect her, to have her back.

To disembowel that spineless monster responsible for her misery.

He placed the phone on the desk and looked back at the laptop. Then, he typed one last phrase into the search engine: Veronica Halifax murder foster father.

He instantly got a hit, a small article in a local paper. Dean's blood seemed to fluctuate between ice cold and red hot as he read it, certain sentences and phrases lodging themselves into his mind, spinning in front of his eyes.

Honors student… kept to herself… worked two jobs… described by her foster sister as 'brave, funny, and kind of sad'... abuse physical and sexual in nature… case pending… sister moved to new home….

He looked up the name of the foster father. It appeared he'd managed to get only a few years of prison time, but would be released in the next couple of years.

Dean's fury flared. He knew that if he remained in this dimension at that time, he'd go put a bullet in the man's head the moment he stepped foot outside that prison gate.

He was getting close to completely losing his cool when a blur of movement caught his eye.

He stood up, slamming the laptop closed, as a girl clothed in white walked out of his vision, into his bedroom. Alarmed, his chest still heaving with grief, he chased after her. She had to be the key to figuring all this shit out. Had to be.

The room was empty, and he turned his head around every which way, trying to find where she'd gone. He flung open the door to his closet, stunned to find two women strung up, bleeding, unconscious.

Before he could so much as make a sound, he could feel someone behind him and he swiveled, the girl in white standing right behind him. She was bleeding now — she hadn't been earlier. From her head. The bags under her eyes were dark, and while she certainly didn't look benevolent, she also just looked exhausted. Weak.

He turned back to the closet — empty now. What the hell was going on?

Shocked, he looked back at the girl.

But again, she was gone.

He glanced at a clock on the wall. It was late, but there was no way in hell he was going to sleep. And besides, he knew what he needed to do.

Keys in hand, he tore out of the apartment and headed for the Impala.

The graveyard was warmer than Dean expected it to be.

He almost wanted it to be cold, frozen, barren. It would've reflected the way he felt, standing in front of John Winchester's grave, thinking about Ronnie, about this world he'd been dropped into.

He shook his head and cleared his throat, staring at his dad's headstone.

"All of them," he muttered angrily. "Everyone that you saved, that Sammy and Ronnie and I saved. They're all dead. And…Ronnie's dead, Dad. She never even knew us. And there's this woman that's haunting me, I'm not sure why, I don't know what the connection is."

He paused. "I know what you'd say. You'd say to go hunt that djinn, figure out what the hell is going on, but…. I'm tired, Dad. I'm tired. Why do I have to save these people? Why do I have to be the hero? I'm tired."

He felt frustrated tears sting in his eyes, and he blinked them back angrily. "What about us? I'm not supposed to be happy? Sam's not supposed to get married and have a nice little family? Why don't we get to be happy? It's not…."

Thunder rumbled, breaking his rambling. He shook his head again, not knowing what it was that he wanted to say. Because he wanted the life in this world so badly, and yet he also couldn't live with the thought of those innocent people being dead. Of Ronnie being tormented by some awful monster of a man and then getting killed by him.

It was unthinkable.

He shook his head, knowing what it was that he needed to do.

First thing first. He needed silver.

He knew exactly where to go.

His mom had silver in the dining room cabinet, and it would have to do. He entered the house easily, reminding himself that if his plan failed spectacularly and he was stuck in this alternate universe forever, he needed to tell his mother to lock up a bit tighter at night.

He sifted around, looking for the sharpest silver knives, when he felt the slightest pressure release in the floorboard behind him.

He whirled just as Sam, who'd attempted to sneak up behind him, swung a baseball bat in his direction.

Dean snatched the bat mid-swing and yanked it out of Sam's hand, tossing it onto the ground in near disgust. "That was so easy, Sammy, god. I'm embarrassed for you."

If Sam was offended, he didn't show it. "What the hell are you doing here?" Sam hissed. "It's the middle of the night!"

Dean shrugged. "Looking for a beer?"

"In Mom's china cabinet?"

Dean shrugged again, this time with more gusto, and a silver knife fell out of his pocket. As it clanged onto the floor, Sam looked at him. "You're stealing Mom's silver?" he asked, looked genuinely stumped. "You broke into Mom's house to… steal her silver?"

"It's not what it looks like," Dean tried, doubting any explanation would work.

Sam snorted. "Are you serious? What's so damn important that you have to steal from Mom?"

Dean stared at him and then said, "I owe somebody money. A bookie. Lost big on a game, and I need to bring him the cash tonight."

Dean hated the way Sam seemed to believe him immediately. "How are we even related?" he grumbled.

"Sam," Dean said firmly. "I'm sorry."

Sam shook his head. "Yeah."

"No," Dean said, his voice forceful. "I'm sorry we don't get along. And I wish I could fix it. But I have to do this. People's lives depend on it."

He moved to leave, silver in tow, and Sam stepped in his way. "What are you talking about? Whose life depends on a bookie deal gone wrong?"

Dean zipped up his jacket. "Tell Mom I love her, okay?"

Before Sam could say another word, Dean was hustling out the door.

He unlocked the Impala, slid in, and started the engine, trying to reorient himself and remember which way to go to hit the highway, and he was just about to pull away from the house when the passenger door was yanked open and Sam slid in.

Dean stared at him like he was insane. "Sam, what the hell are you doing, get out of the car."

"I'm going with you," Sam said firmly.

"You're just going to slow me down," Dean refuted, but he felt a little kernel of warmth begin to grow in his chest.

"Tough," Sam grunted, buckling his seatbelt and crossing his arms over his chest.

"This is dangerous stuff, Sammy," Dean warned. "You could get hurt."

"Well, yeah Dean, and so could you."

"Sam—"

"You're not going alone. You're my brother. End of story."

Dean gave him a long hard stare. Because there it was. A spark of the brother he knew so well. The corner of his mouth turned up into a slight smirk. "Bitch," he muttered under his breath.

"What?" Sam responded, flabbergasted.

Dean just shook his head. "Nevermind." He put the car in drive and stared ahead. "Let's go fix this mess."

They were about an hour into the drive when Sam noticed the bag of blood.

"Dean," he said tentatively. "What the hell is this?"

Dean glanced over. Sam had the paper bag in his lap, staring at the contents inside in curiosity and mild revulsion. "It's, uh, about what it looks like."

"Is it… human?"

"God no," Dean responded. "It's lamb's blood."

There was a moment of silence. "We're not going to repay a bookie, are we?"

Dean cleared his throat. "Ah, no. I, uh, need that blood to dip one of Mom's silver knives in. Because, uh, in order to kill a djinn you need a knife dipped in lamb's blood."

Sam now looked fully alarmed. "Pull over."

"Sam, no, I—"

"Pull over, you're not okay."

"I know how it sounds, trust me—"

"Look, I want to help you—"

"This is the world, Sam," Dean started quickly. "There are things out there in the dark. Bad things. Nightmare things. People have to be saved and if we don't, nobody will, okay? It's up to us."

"Dean—"

"If we don't go back there, Ron—" His throat closed up. He couldn't talk about Ronnie.

Sam paused. "Ronnie? The guy you mentioned earlier?"

Dean nodded tersely. "Not a guy. A girl."

Sam's eyes widened a bit, curiosity winning out over his general alarm over their situation. "Did you ever figure out where she is?" he asked hesitantly.

Dean stared ahead, fingers clutching the steering wheel in a death grip. "Yeah, I did, actually. She's dead."

Sam's face took on a concerned, sad look. "I'm really sorry, Dean," he said.

Dean just shrugged.

It took Sam a full sixty seconds to formulate his next question. "How long were you in love with her?"

Dean's head whipped around to look at Sam wildly. "In love?" he asked, his voice half an octave higher than he meant for it to be. "I'm not in love with Ronnie, she's just…."

His best friend. His confidant. His ego checker. His partner. His rescuer. His favorite part of a long road trip. His girl.

He shook his head, remembering where he was. "I'm with Carmen," he stated robotically.

The way Sam was looking at him, it was like he was seeing Dean for the first time. "Shit," he let out. "You were real deal in love with her."

Dean shook his head, feeling exhausted in about a hundred different ways. "I don't know how I felt," he said. At least that was true. "I never let myself think about it."

It felt safe, talking to this Sam about Ronnie. This different Sam, who didn't have all the same baggage that his Sam had.

And who wasn't best friends with Ronnie.

"And now? If you think about it?" Sam asked.

Dean stared at the road ahead, and thought about it.

Slowly, flinchingly, he let his mind wander over the walls he didn't even know he had constructed over the course of the last several… months? Years? Lifetime?

He thought about what it would be like, just looking at Ronnie instead of sneaking looks. He wasn't much a hand holder, but he thought about holding her hand, lacing his fingers with hers. Thought about making her laugh, of pulling her in when she was upset. Thought about slaying monsters for her, with her; thought about her slaying monsters for him. Thought about driving miles and miles across the country with her to some remote beach town, where by day they lay next to each other on the beach and by night—

He cleared his throat. Old habits die hard, and old walls are reluctant to fall.

"It doesn't really matter," he said to Sam softly, his voice somewhat hoarse. "She's gone."

Sam stared at his brother a moment longer. "Does this…this djinn thing you keep going on about, does it have something to do with her?"

Dean nodded. "Kind of. It's… it's really impossible to explain. I just have to show you, okay? Can you just trust me on that?"

He knew this Sam had no reason to trust him. But still, Sam's head bobbed up and down. "Okay."

Dean felt a relief unravel in his chest. "Okay," he responded.

And on they drove.

Hours later, when they arrived at the same warehouse in Illinois that Dean had so casually ventured into what felt like a lifetime ago, Sam looked upon the building with understandable trepidation. "Where the hell are we?"

Dean walked around to the trunk, grabbing weapons and making sure his silver knife was thoroughly dipped in lamb's blood. "Definitely not in Kansas anymore."

"And you think…something's in here."

Dean glanced up over the trunk. "I know it is."

Sam nodded, and a few silent minutes later, they were walking in.

It was just as dark and cold and creepy as Dean remembered, but this time, he was far more on his guard. He kept one eye on Sam at all times as they wandered through, searching for signs of the djinn.

They walked in silence until a small scuffing sounds caused both of them to perk up. Dean put a finger to his lips and then motioned for Sam to follow him, and together, they crept towards a dark room down a hallway to their left.

At the end of the hallway was a terrifying sight.

A cavernous room opened up at the end of the hallway, filled with shelves and empty bookcases and boxes of what looked like medical equipment. Hanging up on a rod supported by two posts was a pale, bruised, sickly looking girl.

A familiar girl. The girl Dean had kept seeing over the last couple days.

In front of her stood the tall, hulking, blue form of the djinn. He was messing around with some wires, not looking at the girl.

Sam and Dean watched as she stirred. "Where's my dad?" the girl moaned exhaustedly, her voice barely a whisper. "I won't tell…."

Dean's heart pounded angrily at the girl's helplessness, watching as the djinn looked up at her. "Sleep," thme monster said gruffly, stroking her face. His eyes glowed bright blue, and a few tears slipped out of the girl's eyes as she fitfully fell back to sleep.

And then Dean and Sam watched, disgusted, as the djinn pulled at a wire in the girl's arm, which was feeding her blood into a bag. Then, the monster pulled the bag up to his face, and began to drink.

Dean fought every instinct in his body that told him to go stab that heinous bastard, knowing that he needed more intel, and that all the evidence pointed towards him not killing that girl before he could feed more. And he was right; a minute later, the djinn placed the bag back down and walked away, farther into the recesses of the warehouse.

Sam and Dean slowly backed out of the room.

"Holy shit," Sam breathed. "This is real? You're not crazy?"

Dean barely registered his brother's words. His mind was working fast, putting pieces together. "She didn't know where she was," he mused out loud. "She thought she was with her dad."

"Huh?"

Dean looked back into the room, at the girl. "Maybe the djinn doesn't grant you a wish," he muttered, his realization dawning on him quickly. "It just makes you think it has."

Sam frowned. "Dean, that thing could come back. We should go."

Dean ignored him, walking back into the room, towards the girl. As he stared, his mind started to swirl, and in a quick flash, he saw himself, hanging by his wrists, skin pale, tubes protruding from his neck. He stepped back, a gasp stuck in his throat.

"Dean!" Sam exclaimed, grabbing his arm and pulling him away.

Dean shook his head and yanked his arm back. "I'm just like her, Sam. And this…." He looked at Sam in astonishment. "This is all in my head."

Sam shook his head. "That doesn't make any sense."

"No, it makes total sense," Dean said, pacing around. "That's why she keeps appearing to me. She's… a flash of reality. Because in reality, I'm hanging up somewhere, catatonic."

"Dean," Sam said, his voice growing in firmness. "We need to get out of here."

"You're not real," Dean said, more to himself than to Sam. "Goddammit, you're not real."

"Hello?" Sam responded, pointing at himself. "I'm right here. Super real. This isn't some acid trip, Dean."

Dean shook his head, his heart pounding with hope. Because if this wasn't real, if this was all just a dream… Ronnie was alive. Those people he saved were alive. "One way to find out I guess."

He pulled out a knife that he hadn't yet submerged with lamb's blood, pointing it at his chest with a sureness he was almost uncomfortable with. Sam's eyes flew open in alarm. "Dean! What the fuck are you doing?"

"Old wives's tale," he said gruffly. "If you die in your sleep… you wake up."

Sam was already talking. "No, no, no, no, no, you just die. You're acting crazy. This isn't some dream, Dean, you're talking about killing yourself."

Dean shook his head. "I'm pretty sure. Like, ninety percent. Sure enough."

He placed the tip of the knife at his chest.

"Dean, wait."

The voice caused him to pause, and he looked up.

His mom was there. And Carmen. He heart jumped in agony. They were looking at him with such concern, such fear and love and worry. "Dean," his mom breathed. "Put the knife down, honey."

If there had been any doubt in his mind that he'd been wrong, it had vanished now. Tears pricked at his eyes. "You're not real," he said through gritted teeth.

"That doesn't matter, Dean," she said softly, lovingly. "We're a family again. Let's go home."

Dean stared at her. "I'll die, though," he croaked. "The djinn will drain all the life out of me in a couple of days."

She grinned at him sadly. "But in here, it'll feel like years. Like a whole lifetime. No pain, no fear. Just love, comfort, and safety."

"And you won't have to worry about Sam." Dean's head snapped to the side, staring at Jessica, who had her arm intertwined with Sam's, her head on his shoulder. Sam looked down at her lovingly, tugging at the saddest of strings of Dean's heart. "He's happy here. With me."

Carmen walked up to him, placing a hand on his shoulder. "We can have a future together," she whispered. "A family, to love and cherish and protect. Isn't that what you've always secretly wanted?"

Ronnie's face flashed across his mind sharply, and he shook his head, clarity spiking through him.

Sam stepped forward. "Dean, it shouldn't be our job to save everyone. We've done enough. I'm begging you, Dean, give me the knife."

Dean took a deep breath, closing his eyes. He thought of Sam, his Sam, the broken one. He thought of the headline he'd read in the paper about Ronnie's death, thought about her smile, her warmth, her laugh.

"I'm sorry," he breathed.

And then he drove the knife into his chest.

Ronnie was certain that if she and Sam managed to save Dean from the situation he'd just found himself in, she was going to kill him.

They'd warned him. Had told him not to go check out the warehouse by himself. But he had, and now there'd been absolute radio silence from him for nearly a day.

It had taken her and Sam a while to figure out where exactly Dean had run off to, but after some digging — and seeing the Impala parked in front of it — they finally located the place.

The moment they stepped into the warehouse, Ronnie regretted the fact that she was just wearing an old thin gray T-shirt, her jeans and boots doing little to shield her from the chill of the building. She held a flashlight in one hand, her blood-tipped silver knife stowed in her belt. Sam stood beside her, similarly armed, looking at the building warily.

"What an idiot," Sam sighed.

Ronnie smirked, trying not to let her fear for Dean overcome her. "Once we all get out of here in one piece," she said, "I'm going to have the sweetest 'I told you so' moment the world has ever seen."

A grin flickered onto his face before disappearing. "This place is massive, and I don't know how much time we have," he said. "The plan is to stick together, but—"

"But if we have to split up, meet back at the entrance ten minutes later. I know the plan, we'll be fine. C'mon."

They made their way in, flashlights in hand, and began to scan the eerie, dark rooms of the warehouse. It really was massive, and after fifteen minutes of wandering, they still hadn't found much at all.

"Ronnie," Sam whispered at one point. "There are two other floors besides this one. And we've barely scoped it out."

She looked over at him. "You really think splitting up is a good idea?"

"No," he admitted. "But I don't know how much time we have."

The unspoken thought — that Dean could already be dead, or near dead — pushed Ronnie's misgivings to the side. "Okay then. Split up. Meet back at the entrance in ten."

"And if you find anything?"

She rolled her eyes. "Scream bloody murder?"

"Ronnie."

"Sam, c'mon, I know all the fun little rules and codes and plans and texts, okay. You got weapons?"

"Yeah."

"Flashlight?"

"Yeah."

"Okay," she said. "See you in ten."

She turned left down a hallway, and she grinned when she heard Sam grumble to himself in annoyance and start climbing a set of stairs.

She wished she was wearing a jacket. She couldn't help but shiver all the way down the hall, her flashlight swinging to and fro.

She wasn't expecting it, when her flashlight swung to the left and she saw, far away into a large storage room, an unconscious Dean Winchester.

She stopped in her tracks, her heart rate picking up as she surveyed him from where she stood, maybe two dozen feet away. He looked alive, but barely, his arms strung up, his head bowed low.

Without thinking, she rushed into the room, needing to know he was alive. As she got closer to him, and could see his chest rising slowly up and down, her fear turned into something sharper, more focused.

Anger.

No, rage. At whoever had done this to Dean, had rendered him so helpless, so vulnerable. Whoever had hurt him.

"God, Dean," she breathed, taking stock of him. There were small tubes attached to his neck and arms, slowly funneling blood out of his body. She felt slightly nauseous, not wanting to think about what the djinn was doing with him. "What did it do to you?"

She shook her head, quickly grabbing her phone and texting Sam, trying to give him short and clear directions to where she was, and then she looked back at Dean, trying to decide where to begin.

And that's when his lips parted ever so slightly, and he breathed, "Mom?"

If it weren't all so serious and scary, Ronnie would've laughed and made some sort of quick joke about him thinking she was his mom. As it was, she just grew more concerned. What the hell was going on inside of Dean's head?

"Dean," she whispered, reaching up and removing one of the tubes. "Where are you right now?"

He didn't answer, and she removed the final tube, tossing it onto the ground before starting on the binds that held his wrists. Her fingers worked quickly to untangle Dean from the binds, her heart hammering against her chest. She was worried Sam wouldn't find them, worried about Dean, worried that the djinn would get there before she was able to free Dean.

The worry shifted as Dean began to stir, his head lifting slightly, eyes heavily lidded. "Sam?" he rasped.

"Hey, DW," Ronnie whispered brightly, freeing one of his arms. Half of his body weight sagged down onto her as he groaned in pain, and she draped his arm across her shoulder, wondering how the hell she was going to manage this. "You're okay," she grunted, sawing away at the last bond on his other wrist. "I'd like it if you woke up, though."

His eyelids flickered as she felt his hand grab hold of her waist, trying to keep himself upright. "Sam? Mom? Jessica?"

"Just me," she said sadly, wondering where on earth Dean was returning from. "C'mon, Dean, I need you back here. With me."

He groaned, blinking a few more times. "Where the hell am I?"

With a triumphant "ha!", Ronnie snapped the last of his bindings.

And Dean's body plummeted into her arms.

His arms locked around her neck and his feet wobbled on the ground, and she stumbled backwards as the full force of his weight pushed into her arms, his head falling onto her shoulder, her arm muscles screaming as she tried to keep the both of them from tumbling to the floor.

Her back hit a wall as his body collided into hers, his chest flush against her, heaving with newfound breaths. He lifted his head and his eyes found hers. Bright green and hazy, almost as if he were burning with fever. They were glazed with shock, disbelieving. They almost looked relieved.

He lifted one hand, which was visibly shaking, to her face, cupping her cheek, like she was an apparition. She was so shocked she just stared back, eyes wide.

"You," he breathed. Like a prayer. Like a revelation. "Oh, thank god, it's you."

And then his lips were on hers.

There was no frozen moment, no stopped clock, no time grinding to a halt. There was just fire, and the powder keg it had found.

Explosion.

One of Dean's hands clutched her shoulder like it was his anchor to the world, keeping him upright, while the other snaked its way from her cheek into her hair, pulling her head closer, locking her into his body.

She forgot that there was a monster on the loose. Forgot Sam was probably on his way to find them. Forgot that they were who they were.

All she knew was that before Dean had kissed her, she'd been one person, and now, with his lips on hers, she was another.

He kissed her like he was drowning and she was fresh air, with a desperation and a hope and a relief. His body pressed into hers, flattening her against the wall, his skin feverish on hers. Her mouth had opened against his instantly, and her eyes had closed, some uncaged instinct taking over in a way that felt as good and natural as taking a breath. His tongue dipped into her mouth, tasting her, and without thinking she responded in kind, stars bursting behind her eyes, which were nearly rolling at the perfection of it all, at the lightning that was shooting through every nerve in her body.

His lips were rough, searching, thirsty, and the hand that was on her shoulder slipped lower as he found his footing, standing up taller, grabbing onto her hip and pulling her closer. His consciousness and confidence seemed to be growing as he took hold of her, directed her body, coaxed her towards him.

Not that she needed much coaxing. He was all that she could perceive, all that she could hold onto, the only tangible thing in her universe. She grabbed him by his shirt, feeling the muscles underneath, and at that moment his hand had brushed up under her shirt and touched the skin of her stomach and she couldn't help but release the moan that had been building up in her throat—

And then she was on the ground, colliding with the floor in a panting heap. Wildly, she lifted her head, twisting it to see what had happened, her lips still stinging.

When she saw Dean throwing a fist in the direction of a hulking, blue tattooed djinn, she pieced together what had happened. The djinn had clearly snuck up on them. Dean must've opened his eyes — perhaps her unexpected moan had shocked him to his senses — and seen the creature, and then thrown Ronnie behind him in an effort to protect her.

Amid the hundred other emotions swirling inside her stomach, annoyance flared within her. He was the one still weak from djinn poison, while she was fit as a fiddle, albeit somewhat jarred by what had just transpired between them. What the hell did he think he was doing?

As she scrambled to her feet, her annoyance turned to concern as the djinn landed a blow to Dean's shoulder that normally wouldn't have done much to him. But he was weak, and pale, and if she had actually been paying attention to his physical wellbeing earlier, she would've seen that his eyes were red-rimmed, his breathing still shallow from whatever hellscape he'd just escaped from. The blow sent him to the floor, where he rolled over, groaning in pain.

With a pleased snarl, the djinn moved to descend upon him.

The instinct to protect washed over her like a tidal wave, and Ronnie launched herself at the djinn, landing a punch to his jaw and a kick to his groin. He stumbled back, little more than irked, and moved to grab onto her throat. She was able to swat his arm away, but instead he just grabbed onto her upper arm with shocking force, and he whirled her around and slung her into the shelf. Her shoulder rammed against the metal, absorbing the majority of the impact as opposed to her head, but before she could turn to defend herself the djinn was there, grabbing her and throwing her down onto the ground. She collided with the cement floor for the second time that night, and then cried out as a foot found its way into her ribcage.

She coughed, rolling over before the foot could find her again, and then jumped to her feet. She reached for her belt, hoping to grab the knife coated in lamb's blood, but it wasn't there. She swallowed harshly, scanning the floor around her. She could see the hilt of it peeking out from under the shelves the djinn had just thrown her into. She either had to find a way to grab it or wait for Sam to find them, which wasn't her favorite plan.

A quick glance over her shoulder reassured her that Dean was still behind her, slowly finding his way to his feet, glancing in her direction with frustration in his eyes. Clearly, he wasn't a fan of being incapacitated like he was. She whipped her head back around with just enough time for the djinn to rush her, tackling her with the full force of his strength.

They crashed into a wire shelving unit across the room from where her blade was tucked away, and she couldn't help but cry out as the bars poked against her back sharply, piercing through her shirt and scratching along her shoulder. Furious, she ducked for his next lunge, and he missed her, tumbling into the shelves and crashing down to the floor with them.

Praying that Sam wasn't far behind her, she grabbed a broken piece of shelf, a heavy metal rod, and walked up to the djinn, wielding it like a baseball bat. When he arose to his feet, more quickly than she could have ever imagined, she swung, landing a blow solidly against his head.

What would have killed a man simply caused the djinn to roar, and when she drew the makeshift weapon back and swung again, he grabbed it from her hands.

She heard Dean call her name as the djinn swung the rod. She was able to move in time to keep it from smashing her skull in, but it still clipped her in the ribs, knocking the wind out of her. She couldn't let him steal any more seconds from her though, and as djinn followed through with his swing, she grit her teeth and landed a strong, sure kick right in the center of his chest, causing him to stumble backward, hard.

Breathing deeply, she heard a fumbling sound near her, and she flicked her gaze briefly to the side. And there was Dean, reaching under the shelves to grab the fallen blade, his hands clasping around the hilt.

Their eyes locked, and a current of understanding ran through them.

As deftly as any professional athlete, Dean threw the blade through the air in her direction.

Natural dexterity, a lifetime of training from a devoted father, the genetic gift of near perfect vision, and sheer luck allowed Ronnie to catch the knife by the hilt, turn, and point it in the djinn's direction as he charged her one final time.

As his arms enclosed her, attempting to take her to the ground and perhaps just beat her to death, she drove the knife deep into his heart, knowing with absolute certainty that she had not missed.

The djinn roared in agony, and as the light flickered away from his eyes and his tattoos, his body crashed to the ground, Ronnie stuck beneath, the knife still wedged between him and her. She could feel blood running onto her body, but she breathed deeply, knowing that they'd won.

"Ron!"

The concerned voice came from above, closer than she'd anticipated. She opened her eyes to see Dean, exhausted and wide-eyed and beat to hell, quickly falling to his knees beside her. With an angry grunt he shoved the djinn off of her, and she coughed as he did so, feeling the beginnings of the gnarly bruises she was sure to have.

"Holy shit, Ron," Dean breathed, his hands hovering above her torso.

She tracked his eyes to the bloodied front of her shirt. It looked bad. "I'm okay," she assured him. "Not my blood."

She sat up, Dean's guiding hand ghosting on her back as she did. Trying to ignore the feeling of his hand on her body, she rubbed her head as Sam arrived on scene.

"Ronnie!" he exclaimed. "Shit, I'm sorry, I got all turned around in this place, it's like a maze."

"All good," she muttered as Sam bent down, grabbed her chin and turned her head like she was a toddler, checking for any big head injuries. She shoved his hands away. "Could've used your extra magic lamb's blood knife, but all good."

He cracked a grin. "Ronnie, I know you're gonna be hurting tomorrow, but I just have to say that watching you catch a knife midair and then stab a djinn with it half a second later is maybe the coolest fucking thing I have ever seen in my whole life."

She choked out a laugh, shakily standing to her feet. Both brothers immediately moved to help her, hands holding onto her arms to make sure she was steady. The feel of Dean's hand on her right elbow practically stung; without thinking, she jarred it out of his grasp, stepping back.

"I'm okay, guys, really," she said, glancing at Dean out of the corner of her eye. He was staring determinedly away from her, towards the djinn's body.

Heat rushed to her face, and for a millisecond, all she could think about was the intoxicating way his hands had held her so gently and yet so desperately, the taste of his mouth, the heat and the need —

She blinked. "Let's get out of here," she said quickly.

"Not yet," Dean said gruffly, still not looking at her. "There's a girl here."

Ronnie and Sam stared at him.

"A girl," Dean repeated. "Strung up like I was. We have to find her."

They didn't ask any more questions. They just followed Dean as he wandered a couple rooms over and, as if he'd been there before, he led them straight to another open room where a young girl was strung up just as Dean had been, except she looked weaker, closer to death.

Ronnie found herself confused at the need to swallow back tears at the look on Dean's face when he saw the girl — a look of devastation and loss and connection that she felt like she couldn't look at without intruding. She didn't move as Dean walked up to the girl, hastily working on the binds that held her until she was free. And as Sam helped lower her into Dean's arms, and the girl whimpered sadly, Dean just stared at her. "I've gotcha," he said in a low voice. "It's done, I've gotcha, you're okay."

Ronnie made eye contact with Sam over Dean's shoulder, and she saw her own feeling of heartbreak reflected in his eyes. She swallowed around the knot in her throat. No matter what had happened when Dean was lost in the djinn's poison landscape — or what had happened after — something in Dean had broken.

Silently, Sam and Ronnie followed him out of the warehouse, slid into the Impala, and drove to the nearest hospital.

Long time coming I supposed.

Fingers crossed I can get another update up within the month.

Much love.

~ Lacey :)