CHAPTER ELEVEN

Dean sucked in a sudden breath as his eyes shot open. The ceiling above him looked vaguely familiar, but why was he on the floor? What happened before he blacked out?

As he touched his forehead where blood trickled down the side of his face, memories came flooding back to him.

"The Chosen One."

Red bugs.

White light.

Darkness.

He sat up straight, immediately regretting doing so when he became unbearably dizzy. His eyes crossed as he surveyed the room: all the windows were broken from the inside, every trinket that had been placed on thee dressers were shattered along the walls, and every being lay unconscious on the floor, save for Julie, who was still in bed.

Dean's eyes whirled over to Janelle and Sam. Her head was resting on Sam's steadily-rising stomach and two tiny red rivulets stained her cheeks from her eyes to below her chin. Dean scrambled over to them as fast as his weak, nauseated body would allow, and he hovered over Janelle, his legs straddling hers. His hands moved to touch her face, but he recoiled slightly, afraid of what might happen if he laid his hands on her.

He pushed the fear aside as best he could and reached down to wipe the red from her cheeks with his thumbs. Not able to forego curiosity, he lifted one thumb to his mouth. Definitely blood, which brought back unwanted memories of little girls and mirrors. Next, he took a deep breath before separating her eyelids to find that her pupils were dilated so much so that there was hardly any white left in her eyeballs and the irises were black.

"Ah, damn it," Dean whined, plopping into a sitting position next to Janelle and in front of Sam. He gazed down at her hand for a few haunting seconds and then grabbed hold of it, laying it in his lap and massaging the palm with his thumb as if to make everything right again.

"You were after her all along," he said, speaking furiously to Elathan. "The whole goddamned time, you son of a bitch."

How could he have let this happen? He should've known. Julie was weak, anybody could see that, and Janelle was one of the stronger people he'd ever met. Of course Elathan would want her, but why didn't he see it? He fucked up. He fucked up bad.

"Dean?" He turned as Sam lifted his head from the floor. "What happened?" Dean smiled bitterly, putting his back to his little brother again.

"Turns out you're very useful as a human shield, my friend," he said nonchalantly.

"I mean with Julie," Sam sighed.

"He wants Janelle, Sam," Dean informed absentmindedly. "He wanted her the whole time … and we didn't even know it." Sam slowly sat up, gingerly lifting Janelle's head so that he could, and then he replaced it on his thigh.

"All right," Sam whispered, knowing that his brother had become extra sensitive toward this case, toward Janelle. "What do you wanna do?" He quickly glanced around the room, "Since we no longer have the assistance of the Catholic church." Dean did another once over on the room, now noticing what Sam had; the priests were missing.

"This thing wants to play hardball," Dean growled, holding tightly to Janelle's cold, lifeless hand, "I'll play hardball." He placed Janelle's hand on her stomach before standing.

"What do you mean?" Sam asked, staring up at his pacing brother.

"I'm calling Malcolm," Dean said, looking down at Sam as if to challenge him. Sam's eyes widened.

"Wait a minute, what?" he asked incredulously. "Malcolm, as in Malcolm Rose?" Dean bent over and gathered Janelle into his arms and left the room. Sam scrambled to his feet and hurried after Dean.

"As in Father Malcolm Rose," Dean corrected.

"Right," Sam nodded, annoyed, "And didn't he shoot you?"

"Tried to shoot me," Dean once again corrected, "And he would have if I hadn't unloaded his gun before I slept with his daughter." Sam rolled his eyes.

"And what makes you think he's gonna help us?" he inquired. Dean laid Janelle on the couch.

"Doesn't matter if he wants to help us or not," he began, "Because Mal believes in Elathan. They've met a couple times."

"Dean, I just …" Sam started, but Dean growled, dropping his arms to his sides.

"Sam!" he yelled, turning his head to glare at Sam over his shoulder. Sam had only seen that frightening glint in his brother's eyes one other time, but it was still just as scary.

"I'm gonna go check on Julie and Spencer," he stuttered, shying away from Dean's obvious rampage.

Dean made sure that Janelle appeared as comfortable as possible before whipping out his cell phone, hoping it hadn't busted during any of his confrontations with the wall. When the blue backlight lit up upon opening the phone, he let out a sigh of relief and then proceeded to dial a number from the very back of his memory files. It took three tries, but he finally recognized the voice of Father Malcolm Rose.

"Mal? It's Dean," he said, full of determination as he watched Janelle lie immobile on the couch.

"Dean who?" Malcolm asked thoughtfully. Dean's eyes closed. He knew that Mal knew who he was speaking to.

"Dean Winchester," he reluctantly disclosed.

"Goodbye, Mr. Winchester," Malcolm said just before hanging up. Dean sighed, smiling only out of pure distress, and he redialed the number. He wasn't surprised when Malcolm answered. "I thought I made it abundantly clear to you, Mr. Winchester …" he began, and Dean rolled his eyes. There just wasn't time for this.

"It's about Elathan," he cut in. Malcolm's end was silent, but he hadn't hung up. "We've got the host, Mal."

"What happened?" Malcolm quietly inquired.

"It was a routine exorcism on a woman, then Sam and I found out it was … him."

"Is she a triplet?" Dean's eyes moved back and forth.

"Uh, yeah," he stammered. "But then he jumped into her sister."

"White-haired triplets?" Dean gulped.

"Yeah."

"Was there a light?" Malcolm's voice diminished into barely a whisper, which was less than soothing for Dean to hear.

"Yeah," he whispered as well. A long pause from Malcolm gave Dean heart palpitations.

"My God," Malcolm murmured. "It's happening." Dean gulped; he'd known it was happening, but hearing the fear in Malcolm's voice reminded him of everything that could happen if the demon within Janelle reigned victorious.

"I-I don't know what to do," Dean honestly admitted.

"Is your brother with you right now?"

"No, hold on." Dean covered the end of the phone. "Sam!" Seconds later, Sam came bounding down the staircase, and Dean held the phone between them just like the time when they'd listened to their dad's voicemail.

"Listen very carefully," Malcolm instructed. "The Light inside of … what's the girl's name?" Dean cleared his throat.

"Janelle," he answered.

"The Light inside of Janelle will battle with the darkness inside of her." Dean rubbed his forehead irritably. "The Light will use whatever it can to win."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Dean commanded.

"What light?" Sam asked, a little less demanding than his brother. "The light we saw in the room?"

"Is Janelle awake?" Malcolm asked, possibly dodging the question intentionally.

"Unconscious," Dean replied dryly.

"When she wakes up, she'll be different. It's quite possible she'll act like someone completely different altogether. But the real person, the real Janelle, is in there somewhere. Always keep that in mind." Dean gritted his teeth.

"I don't understand, Mal," he yelled. "I don't understand!"

"Get her here as fast as you can," Malcolm went on.

"There?" Dean continued yelling. "As in New Mexico?"

"Elathan needs exorcised and you two aren't nearly capable enough to do it." As if Sam and Dean didn't know they were ill-equipped for battling Elathan. Dean waved the cell phone around angrily before bringing it back to his ear.

"How long do we have before the battle … ends?" Sam asked.

"It can last five minutes or it can last five years. I don't know. It all depends on The Light and Janelle's will to fight." The brother's shared a look.

"All right, we'll be there," Dean said quickly, clicking the phone shut.

"Dean, what?" Sam inquired, eyes wide. "It'll take a week to get there." Dean turned to him with an arched eyebrow.

"Seventy-two hours," he said, "And that's if I don't get pulled over."

"Dean, seriously …"

"What, Sam?" Dean growled. "You wanna fly? You wanna take a possessed woman on an airplane?" Sam sighed irritably.

"I just don't see why Malcolm can't come here," he explained. "Do you have any idea how dangerous it's gonna be with Elathan riding in our backseat for seventy-two hours?"

"Malcolm doesn't leave his church, Sam, you know that."

"Even if the fate of … the world were at hand?"

"Sam, I really don't need this right now," Dean sighed. "Now make yourself useful and go pack Janelle a bag."

"What?" Sam squeaked.

"No, never mind. I'll pack the bag. I know how you get around women's underwear." Sam wondered how Dean could be under so much stress but still find the exact wrong moment to crack a joke. It really must have been part of Dean's charm.

"What do you want me to do then?" Sam asked, deciding that going along with Dean was a lot easier than arguing with him.

"Try to wake up Spencer and let him know what's going on," Dean said, heading up the stairs.

"You mean that we're kidnapping his daughter?" Sam said.

"Yeah, and if he doesn't wake up before we're ready to leave, write a note." Sam blinked slowly, almost finding it hard to believe that Dean would actually take someone's daughter across the country after leaving her father only a note. But then he remembered who his brother was: Dean Winchester, Do It His Way Or Hit The Highway extraordinaire.