sorry this chapter took so long. my computer died last week with my entire story on it. i'm still waiting for it to be fixed. i didn't wanna keep you guys waiting too long, so i rewrote this chapter from memory.

CHAPTER NINE

He can see her face so clearly even in the inky darkness of her room. He's still lying on top of her comfortably between her legs and he has no plans of moving anytime soon. He just wants to lie there with his hand on her cheek, and her hands gently massaging his shoulders.

"We could get caught, you know," she whispers, her breath a hot rush over his lips. He growls a laugh and nods once, feeling her shiver beneath him.

"I know," he replies in a whisper as well. She giggles, and he loves this sound. She sounds so childlike, so innocent.

"You're the kind of guy who gets off on that sort of thing, aren't you?" she asks deviously. He laughs again, brandishing his teeth.

"I might be," he grins. Another giggle.

"You kinky bastard."

Dean jumped awake, immediately feeling something cold against the back of his head. More dreams of Janelle, only it didn't feel like a dream; it felt like a genuine goddamned memory. He could still feel the physical aspects of it all; her touch, her kiss, her laugh.

"Take it easy, Nightshift."

Startled again, Dean jumped away from the voice, though it was familiar and a bit revitalizing. His eyes came to meet Janelle's as she held a rag full of ice to the back of his head. Then he began to notice the intense throbbing pain all around his brain.

"What happened?" he asked.

"You were thrown into a wall," she replied, obviously attempting to hide a tinge of amusement in the tone of her voice. Dean chuckled, mortified that he couldn't seem to do one damned thing right where these sisters were concerned.

"Well," he sighed, his eyebrows rising, "Not the first time and it definitely won't be the last." Janelle's smile was quick, and Dean almost didn't catch it.

"I called a priest," she disclosed regretfully.

Dean nodded knowingly, staring hard at the floor. He couldn't blame her for making the call after his untimely run-in with a relentless wall, but he felt ashamed of himself just the same for not being able to handle this case. He let her down, he let Spencer down, he let Jenna down even though she had no idea of the situation, but most of all, he let Julie down.

"Probably a good idea," he mumbled, albeit feeling quite sick having to admit it. Janelle gazed sadly down at him. It was way more than obvious that he was humiliated over the events that had occurred the past few days.

"Your brother told me to," she said, hoping this bit of information would make him feel a little better. He looked up at her with a raised eyebrow. He knew what she was doing and he appreciated it.

"Janelle, I'm really sorry we couldn't help you," he said, and the straightforwardness in his voice and his earnest eyes made her believe him, made her feel his sincerity.

"You did help us, Dean," she whispered her reply, smiling halfheartedly. "You believed us." She tilted her head and readjusted the ice on his head. "That's really all we needed." Their eyes were fastened in a silent duel, and then Janelle touched his busted bottom lip.

"Ah!" Dean growled. Janelle winced.

"Sorry. You should put ice on that, too," she advised. Dean's gaze permeated her thoughts until her eyes moved from his full lips to his eyes.

"I'm alright," he breathed.

Unsure of what exactly she was doing, Janelle moved her fingers from his lip to his stubbled cheek, her eyes leaving his again to watch the movements of her hand as it caressed his skin. Dean's eyes closed; it had been so long since he'd been touched like this. Her hand was so soft and her eyes were intense, fiery. Dean still wondered about his dreams and whether or not they were real, and the situation now was doing nothing to help his decision.

"Are you sure?" she whispered. Dean took several moments to remember what she was referring to. Upon remembering, he nodded.

"Yeah," he sighed, his head falling back against the wall. "I'm alright." Her face moved closer to his, and he ached to kiss her, but he restrained himself because he didn't want to rush her or put her into a position she didn't want to be in.

"Dean," she breathed, her minty breath floating over his mouth. He blinked.

"Yeah?"

Janelle licked her lips, scooting closer to Dean, and she glanced from his eyes to his lips and back to his eyes. She bit down hard on her bottom lip, taking one last moment to reconsider her plite, but she quickly realized there was no reason for this, as she was going to kiss him either way.

Her lips lightly brushed his, not wanting to cause his injured lip any unnecessary pain; she would have to let him lead. Dean knew what she was doing when her lips didn't apply any pressure after whisking over his, so he did well to take control.

Their lips moved perfectly in synch, slowly and softly, familiarizing themselves with contours and techniques. Seconds later, the two were practically clawing at each other as tongues met and proceeded to copulate and teeth clashed. Moans were muffled by the other's mouth, and Dean had completely forgotten about the pain in his head and lip. Janelle had long since dropped the rag full of ice, wrapping that arm around his neck while her other hand continued to caress his cheek.

"Excuse me?"

Janelle jumped - immediately breaking the connection with Dean - and hiding her face between Dean's head and the wall. The voice didn't belong to Sam or Spencer, so it had to belong to only one other person.

"Hello, Father," Dean greeted over Janelle's platinum head. He smiled awkwardly as the embarrassment from Janelle radiated into him.

"I'm Father Harris," the priest said, "And this is Father Staite."

"Dean Winchester," Dean said, awfully amused when both priests leaned down to shake his hand. Then they looked to Janelle, who was still visibly concealing her humiliation.

"Miss Markem?" Father Harris asked. Janelle pulled away from Dean, gazing hopefully into his eyes, begging him to get her out of the situation, and then she finally turned to the priests.

"Father," she whispered, unwantonly coming to her feet. The three shook hands, and Janelle pointed to Julie's bedroom door.

"We'll be getting started in a moment," Father Harris said, then he and his colleague headed into the room to prepare. Janelle turned to Dean as she smiled strangely, placing a hand to her forehead.

"As if my week hasn't been bad enough, I had to get caught making out by a priest," she complained. Dean chuckled, grabbing the rag with ice before standing.

"Well, look at the bright side," he sighed. "You picked the handsome brother." Janelle smiled weakly up at him and wrapped her arms around his waist for a somewhat awkward hug, but Dean replied by encircling her shoulders with his muscular arms. She felt safe and protected.

"Tell me everything's gonna be okay, Nightshift," she said. Dean grinned at the nickname; it was quite appropriate with he and Sam's line of work, and the fact that he usually took the nights to watch over Julie.

"Everything's gonna be okay," he assured her, tightening his grip on her. Janelle blinked slowly and pulled away enough to look up at him.

"You're lying, aren't you?" she asked quietly. Dean simply smiled.

"It's what you wanted to hear, isn't it?"