CHAPTER TWELVE
Dean jogged down the hall on the top level of the house to Janelle's room. More memories – no, dreams – bombarded him as her scent filled him to the brim and he almost passed out. He was terribly disoriented from the beatings he'd received lately, but he'd long since been relying on pure adrenaline to keep him awake, alert and on his feet. When his adrenal gland was sucked dry, he would inevitably crash. Hard.
Opening her closet with the intention of grabbing whatever was in front of him, he paused, gazing at the colorful wardrobe that simply screamed Janelle – bright tee-shirts, tight jeans, multi-colored belts and several scarves and hats. Curiously and quite unknowingly, Dean gingerly took the sleeve of a neon green sweater and brought it to his nose where he inhaled deeply. He was quickly overwhelmed by pretty, his headache and dizziness that he nearly tipped over, but he grabbed hold of the crossbar before he had a chance to lose his balance. He pressed his face into his lifted arm and closed his eyes, willing away the pain with the power of what little mind capacity he had left. Dad had trained him well for this and he realized that for the first time when he began to feel minor relief from it all.
"Dean!" Sam called, hurrying into Janelle's room. He caught his brother in that vulnerable position and he expected Dean to reclaim a manlier stance and pretend nothing was wrong, but he didn't move an inch. Instead, Dean used the sleeve of his shirt to wipe the sweat from his forehead, and then he rested his cheek there as he gazed at the floor.
"What, Sam?" he asked groggily. Sam was about to ask his brother if he was all right, but he bit his tongue.
"Spencer's awake," he said. Dean nodded, clearing his throat, and he reluctantly let go of the crossbar.
"Did you talk to him?" he inquired, yanking a handful of clothing from the closet and tossing them onto Janelle's bed. Janelle's bed.
"Yeah, he's not exactly a fan of us taking his possessed daughter on a road trip," Sam explained. Dean's jaw muscles flexed furiously as he turned to his little brother.
"If we're going to work together, Sam, you need to grow a backbone," he said. Sam's face hardened.
"I'm sorry I can't be the heartless hunters you and Dad seem to be," he retorted. Dean stalked over to him, pointing an accusing finger at him.
"Not now," he warned.
One more glare at his younger brother and then he headed for Julie's room. Sam glanced around Janelle's room, deciding to handle the packing for Dean, who was a definite candidate for a heart attack at the moment. He found a bag on the floor of the closet and carefully packed the clothes from the bed. He didn't know how long they'd be gone, so he filled the bag with as many pairs of jeans and shirts as would fit. Then he remembered undergarments as he glanced at the top dresser drawer. Dean's words echoed in his mind.
"I'm not weird," he mumbled exasperatedly, yanking the drawer opened and grabbing a handful of whatever was there. He stuffed them into the bag as well and zipped it shut only after he noticed nothing in that handful was silk. Then he wondered why in the hell he paid attention to this fact. Okay, maybe he was weird.
Sam carried the slightly heavy bag downstairs and dropped it onto the couch where Janelle had been sleeping. He looked up, spotting her at the window gazing out with a stoned expression of longing. Her dainty, delicate hand rested on the window pane, and Sam's eyebrows knit together sadly.
"Janelle?" he asked softly. She turned her head, her innocent smile brightening the room.
"Janie," she whispered. Sam tilted his head curiously, but he nodded understandingly.
"Okay …" he said quietly, friendly. "Do you know who I am?" She turned to him, walking over to him, and the toes of her shoes touched his. She stood up on her tip toes, her eyes examining Sam very closely. He gazed down into her emerald orbs and he knew he was looking and speaking to a completely different person, just as Father Rose had predicted.
"Sammy," she finally said, smiling wildly. Her voice had been diminished to child-like along with her eyes, which now seemed a lot less experienced, younger. Sam smiled despite these revelations. "Sammy's pretty." Sam blushed slightly, his eyes falling, and Janelle tilted her head to her shoulder and leaned forward so that, despite looking down, he was looking at her. "Sammy's sad," she said, her voice reflecting said sadness. "Why are you sad?" Sam shook his head.
"We're going on a road trip," he said, trying his absolute hardest to sound excited. "You want to come?" He was using a very sweet, very young tone of voice, but he felt it was necessary. He felt he was now dealing with a child. Her face brightened so quickly and her hands clasped together in front of her chest.
"Road trip!" she cried, practically bouncing. "In shiny Priscilla?" Sam cocked his head, and she pointed to Dean's Impala.
"Oh, the car!" Sam exclaimed. "Yeah, we're going in that car."
"Kay," Janelle breathed, still smiling incredibly.
"Get the hell out of my house, you bastard!" Sam and Janelle jumped, turning to the staircase just as Dean jogged down them with a box in his hand and a very large, very angry Spencer Markem on his heels.
"Come on, we're going," Dean grumbled, grabbing his jacket from the floor.
"Dean," Janelle beamed. Dean stood up and looked at her. He gazed closely, knowing right off that she was someone different.
"Take her to the car, Sam," he instructed, cupping her face with his left hand. Janelle grinned, leaning into his warmth, but his hand was knocked away by Spencer.
"Stay away from my daughter, you crazy son of a bitch," he demanded, retracting his fist, completely ready to knock Dean into the next county. Janelle jumped in front of Dean, putting her hands on her father's chest.
"No," she said softly, and Spencer immediately lost his anger to be replaced by sadness. Janelle smiled, her hands reaching behind and above her to Dean's face where they brushed over him gently, almost poking him in the eye several times. "Dean can help."
"You can't go, Janelle," Spencer cried. "I won't let you." Janelle's smile suddenly dropped, her eyes fixing in a deathly glare on Spencer, and Sam tilted his head.
"Yes, you will," she said sternly but quietly, "Because you don't know what else to do, Daddy." Sam glanced urgently at Dean, and both knew that time was running out.
"Spencer," Sam decided to intervene, "Janie will be fine. We're just taking her to someone who can help her. Someone we know can help her." Spencer walked over to the couch, sat down and put his head in his hands. Dean motioned toward Spencer and he removed Janelle's hands from his face as he ushered her toward the front door.
"Dean's going to drive Priscilla," Janelle gleamed, practically skipping toward the Chevy.
"Yes, I am," Dean said proudly, whipping out his keys to unlock the back door. Janelle happily hopped in and turned to look up at Dean. He gazed down his nose at her as he twiddled the keys in his hand; she looked so fragile, so small, so helpless.
"You'll take care of me," she spoke. Dean leaned inside the car close to Janelle.
"I promise," he said, nodding. Janelle grinned, tilting her head.
"I know," she whispered pointedly. Dean tore his eyes from her and slammed the door shut.
"Sam!" he called. Seconds later, Sam exited the home with Spencer behind him, but Spencer remained in the doorway. Dean was thrilled that he wouldn't have another confrontation with the man.
"We'll call you every hour, Mr. Markem," Sam said, walking backward.
"On my phone?" Dean grumbled.
"Shut up," Sam hushed, waving Spencer goodbye. Janelle's father was frozen. Sam opened the back door and handed Janelle a stuffed bear. Dean watched curiously.
"Your dad said you liked it," Sam smiled. Janelle's eyes grew huge and she gratefully accepted the bear.
"His name is Elvis," she said. Dean rolled his eyes and climbed into the driver's seat.
"Elvis and Priscilla, ain't that a peach," he muttered. "Get in the car, Sam." Sam started away, but Janelle grabbed his shirt and pulled him closer.
"What is it?" Sam wondered. Janelle reached up and fixed a few stray hairs on his head.
"Sammy's pretty," she said.