CHAPTER FOURTEEN

"Fuck."

Rain. Of course it had to rain. The sun had long since set and there was hardly any traffic on the road, but the pouring rain made driving conditions less than desirable. Dean flipped on the windshield wipers, sat up in his seat, and took a deep breath. He never minded the rain; in fact, he happened to enjoy the weather on any other day, but the rain now would lengthen the time it would take to get the hell out of Tennessee.

Sam lay back against his seat, watching the fat drops spit against the window. Janelle's earlier comment had reminded him of his own mortality, of Janelle's mortality, and of Dean's. But that wasn't exactly what was bothering him now. He hated that she could obviously see into him, see what he was thinking, and what he was feeling.

"Sammy?" Dean's voice was somewhere off in the distance, but Sam ignored it. All he could see was Jessica's sweet smiling face and all he could hear was her soft, silky voice. "Sam?"

Sam jumped, turning to Dean. "What?" he asked.

"You all right?" Dean inquired, though he was pretty positive that Sam wouldn't admit when he wasn't okay, just like Dean would never admit it if he wasn't okay.

"I'm fine, Dean," Sam sighed, scooting up in the seat.

Dean nodded, expecting such an answer, but the car had stayed quiet for too long, now he needed noise, and he wasn't in the mood for music. He glanced in the rearview at Janelle; she slept soundly, the bear still in her arms, and a quiet peacefulness surrounding her. He hoped she would remain this way for the entire trip.

Sam pulled out his palm pilot. It had been quite a while since he'd corresponded with friends he hardly knew anymore.

Dean's cell phone began to ring and he almost decided against answering it, but then he thought about his father calling. He lifted his hips, retrieved the flip phone from his pocket, and opened it. His eyes shifted from the road to the phone, to the road and back to the phone.

"Son of a bitch," Dean muttered.

Sam looked at him. "What?" he asked.

Dean passed the phone to his brother, and Sam read the two sets of numbers. "It's coordinates," Dean clarified.

Sam's eyes grew in size as he stared at Dean. "From Dad?" he questioned.

"Who else?" Dean shrugged.

Sam read the numbers over and over before shaking his head. "Well, where do they point?" he asked.

Dean was about to make a smartass remark about not knowing the destinations of every coordinate on the fucking map, but Janelle cut him off.

"Up," she said, and the men turned to her.

Dean rolled his eyes, shaking his head. Janelle was a damned good kisser, possibly a damned good lay, and damned beautiful, but Janie was starting on his damned nerves.

Sam opened the map in his lap so that he could find the correct numbers around the edges and connect them to a common point.

"At least we know Dad's okay," Dean said.

Sam sighed irritably, shifting in his seat. "How do you know they're from Dad?" he asked.

"Come on, Sam. Who else do you know that's gonna send us coordinates?"

"A man that blew up the toaster and the coffee machine at the same time doesn't really come to mind first, Dean," Sam said.

"Don't start, Sam," Dean warned.

"Why doesn't he just call us if he's sending coordinates?" Sam went on.

"You know Dad's got his reasons," Dean explained.

"Yeah? Well, I'm getting pretty sick and tired of Dad's reasons," Sam growled angrily.

Dean's teeth clenched and then he chewed on his bottom lip. "You know what, Sam?" he snarled. "I'm getting pretty sick and tired of your mouth."

Sam turned to him, opening his mouth to respond with something equally as nasty.

"Stop," Janelle intervened.

Dean's large, angry eyes returned to the road, dropping the argument with his baby brother, but already planning on picking it back up later on.

"If only we could stop arguments that easily back home," Sam commented, tracing the lines from the top and side of the map.

Dean glanced his way, silently agreeing. "So, where do the coordinates point?" he asked.

Sam took a deep breath, sitting up straight. "I'll give you three guesses, but you're only gonna need one."

Dean nodded knowingly. "Up?" he questioned airily.

Sam nodded. "Louisville, Kentucky." Dean nodded slowly. "So, what do we do?" Sam asked, closing the map.

"What do you mean?" Dean retorted.

"Are we going to Louisville?"

Dean's expression was that of bewilderment, staring at his brother with utter astonishment; eyes wide, mouth open, brows arched. "Has your mind taken a walk off a map, Sammy?" he interrogated. "Hell no we're not going to Louisville!"

"You're kidding, right?" Sam said. "Dad just sent you coordinates and you're not going?"

"Since when did you ever listen to what Dad said?" Dean demanded.

"Not me, Dean. You. You always go where Dad tells you." Dean glared at him. "That's why you were always the perfect soldier son."

"Sam, I swear to God, I'm gonna drive this car off a fuckin' cliff with the next word out of your pompous mouth."

Sam's lips curled into a snarl and he opened his mouth to return the insult when a soft hand was clamped over it.

"Shh …" Janelle whispered into his ear, and he could feel her wet cheek press against him. "Please Sammy, no more fighting. No more."

Sam nodded, gently squeezing her wrist and removing her hand from his mouth. "I'm sorry, Janie," he whispered, placing a soft kiss to the palm of her hand, "And Dean's sorry, too." When Dean didn't immediately apologize, Sam smacked his arm, causing his brother to jump.

"Yeah, I'm-I'm sorry, too … Janie," he forced out, making it a point not to look at her after hearing her sniff. He knew he would not be able to handle her crying.

All was quiet again for a while with Dean contemplating whether or not to risk traveling to Kentucky, which was so obviously out of the way. It just wasn't in the cards; not with an internal battle, which would more or less decide the fate of the world, going on inside of Janelle that could end at any time. Not happening. Sorry, Dad.

An almost inaudible rumble was heard from the backseat area and the brothers slowly turned to Janelle. She seemed just as confused as they, as she lifted the bear away from her body and looked down. Dean put two and two together and then clicked on his turn signal.

"What?" Sam asked.

"There's a rest stop up here," Dean replied, pointing his finger. "We'll get her something to eat and then get the hell out of this state."

Dean veered off the highway onto the exit for the rest stop. Finding a parking spot right in front of the diner area, he switched off the ignition and sighed, rubbing his eyes. God, he was so tired and sore and just irritated as hell with where he was. He hated being bested, especially by some fucking demon.

"Stay here," Sam said. "I'll take her and we'll bring you something back."

Dean shook his head. "I'm fine," he grumbled.

Sam rolled his eyes. "You're not Superman, Dean," he said. "Take a break."

Dean looked at him, briefly considering taking Sam's advice, and then hating himself even more for doing so (if that were possible). "Don't let her out of your sight, Sam," he ordered.

Sam smirked, shaking his head, and got out of the car. He opened the back door for Janelle and she climbed out after planting a sloppy kiss on Dean's cheek.

"Bye, Dean!" she beamed, waving.

Dean raised his hand without a wave and then pointed at her. "Stay with Sam!" he called, as the door was slammed shut. He watched his brother and Janelle head toward the diner doors and he didn't relax until they were safely seated inside. "This-this is just a bad idea," he mumbled to himself, lying back against the seat. "Bad, bad idea."

Janelle shouldn't be sitting inside a public diner in her condition, Dean decided. She could have had a seizure, Elathan could possibly have come out to play, or she could have played her psychic card and told a waitress when her husband was going to bite the dust. And Sam was hardly capable enough to handle a potentially hazardous situation. So, really, what in hell was Dean doing sitting in the car while they ate without him?

Dean pulled the keys from the ignition and got out, trusting that none of the hillbillies around had the balls to try and hotwire Priscilla once he presented himself in the manliest way possible by darkening the diner's doorway, eyeing each customer closely before sauntering over to the table Sam and Janelle were occupying.

Janelle's face brightened when she saw Dean approaching, and Sam didn't have to turn around to know who she was grinning at. He had to hand it to Dean, though, for waiting so long before giving into his stubbornness.

Dean started to sit next to his brother, but Janelle pulled at his T-shirt, silently commanding that he fill the seat next to her. He plopped down into the booth, shaking Janelle's thin frame, and looked across the table at his brother.

"What took you so long?" Sam inquired, raising his brows inquisitively.

"Shut up," Dean retorted, glancing up at the elderly waitress.

"What can I get ya, hon?" she smiled, proudly showing off her Southern accent.

Dean was so far finished with Southern accents.

"Coffee would be great," he said. As she walked away, Dean swatted at something tickling his ear, having no idea that it was Janelle assaulting him.

Sam smirked and looked down. "You're not hungry?" he asked Dean.

"I was, but there's nothing like the fresh scent of urine and beer to crush the old appetite," Dean responded.

Sam breathed a laugh, leaning back into his booth and placing his arm on the back of it. Dean swatted at his ear again, this time recoiling from whatever it was attacking him.

"We shouldn't be here, Sam," he sighed, setting his elbows on the table and covering his face with his hands.

"She's normal, Dean," Sam said. "She's just a ... younger version of herself." Dean stared blankly at the younger man, so Sam continued with his analysis. "I don't think she's a completely different person like Malcolm said. She's ... still Janelle, but ... four-years-old."

Dean waved at another poke at his ear, this time coming in contact with Janelle's finger. He glanced at her incredulously, his hands held up in confusion. "What?" he exclaimed. Her eyebrows knitted together and her lips pursed. Jesus, she did look like an uncompromising toddler.

"It won't come loose!" she complained.

Dean's eyes widened as he shook his head in agitation. "What?" he asked.

"The memory!"

Dean gawked at her for several moments, blatantly dumbfounded by the entire conversation, and then he turned back to Sam without another word. Janelle stayed still for several instants before proceeding her mission of 'freeing the memory'.

"You're never having kids," Sam said, entertainment stamped all over his face.

"Thank you, Sam, for stating the obvious," Dean sarcastically remarked. "Is that what Stanford taught you all them years?"

Sam was just a bit insulted, but Janelle's onslaught on Dean's head could not deter his amusement.

"No," Janelle interrupted, yanking something hard from Dean's head. Could it be the memory she'd been referring to? Sam wondered. "Stanford taught Sammy to argue." She smiled, nodding proudly, as she pressed her palm flat to the table. She then grabbed Dean's hand and slapped it there so that he was now holding down the invisible object. "He likes to argue."

"And he's damned good at it," Dean commented, regarding Sam with accusing eyes.

"Uh huh," Janelle agreed, grabbing the small salt shaker and unscrewing the lid. "Sammy's smart. Smarter than you think, Dean." She looked at the older sibling. "He'll be a good lawyer."

Sam's lips curved into a sad smile as he scratched the back of his head, though he seriously doubted he would ever finish college, let alone become an accomplished attorney.

"Will be," Janelle repeated.

Sam gazed at her. Could she actually see into his future?

Janelle tipped the salt shaker, and Dean immediately retracted his hand and grabbed it away from her.

"Dean ..." Sam started.

"No!" Janelle shouted, watching something fly through the air before reentering Dean's head. "Why did you do that?" Her voice saddened dramatically.

"You can't pour salt all over the table, Janie," Dean said, screwing the lid back on the shaker. "You can't waste salt. Salt's very important."

Sam's eyes narrowed as he watched the scene play out in front of him.

"But I didn't like that memory," she whispered. "I didn't like how it made you feel."

"What memory?" Dean questioned, lifting his arm and wrapping it comfortingly around Janelle's shoulders. She leaned into him, and Dean felt oddly uncomfortable as she snuggled against him.

"When Mary died."

Sam sat up straight, observing Dean's questionably calm reaction to the mention of their mother.

Dean took a deep breath, shifting in the booth. "Sometimes memories make or break a person," he explained. "In my case, they ..."

"Made you," Janelle finished.

Dean nodded.

Sam's eyebrows rose. Hell, maybe Dean would make a good father someday. Or maybe he was actually Superman.