CHAPTER SIXTEEN

He groans, feeling her nails scratch along his spine and lower back. She giggles that damned saccharine giggle and her head moves closer to his as they share a pillow. He massages her thigh, which is draped over his hip, he opens his eyes and, though it's still quite dark in the room, he can make out her smile. Just her smile, nothing else.

"I guess maybe ... I should leave before a big man of about 40 comes in with a shotgun," he mumbles, but he makes no move to get out of bed.

"No, stay," she begs, pulling him to her.

It's been a lifelong dream of his to have a woman beg him and it has every effect on him that he thought it would.

"Just until I fall asleep ... please?"

He smiles; a genuine, possibly noteworthy, smile, and he brushes the backs of his fingers along her soft cheek.

"I'm sweet on you, kid," he says.

She breathes a laugh and removes his hand from her face. "Of course you are," she replies, as if she knows this is just sex, as if she knows he's probably lying. Holding his hand, she rolls over onto her other side and then she pulls his arm across her waist as a blanket. They're still lying on top of the covers and the heat from their sexual activity has dissipated.

Dean cautiously scoots closer to her, his hips pressing into her backside, warming her with his jeans. He knows she's cold, but he also knows she's not interested in exerting energy to crawl under the blankets. He's not exactly awake either, though he's coherent enough to realize they could still be caught together.

He's almost asleep when he feels a distinct grinding against his groin. He wonders for a moment if the rubbing isn't his own hand, but his arm is still wrapped around Janelle. It's her hips massaging him, getting him hard again.

"What are you doing?" he stupidly asks.

She moans quietly, feeling him twitch. "I'm not doing anything," she answers innocently, her hand reaching back to his hip.

"Mm ..." he nods, nibbling roughly on her earlobe. He slides his arm underneath her head as his other hand creeps down her bare stomach and slips beneath her boyshorts where his fingers encounter slick warmth.

Janelle gasps, grabbing his jeans in a fist. "No," she sighs, "Maybe you should leave."

It's way too late for that now.

"I'm leaving," Dean mumbles into her shoulder, driving his hips into hers, flexing his fingers in the way he knows most, if not all, women love. She growls ... she fucking growls ... and her hand rubs his hip, as her thighs clench around his hand.

"Fuck, Dean," she groans, snatching his free hand and thrusting his fingers into her mouth.

"Jesus!" Dean nearly shouts, lifting his head and watching with wide eyes as her cheeks hollow and she sucks hard on his fingers. She said his name, she sucked on his fingers, and now she's rolling her hips in the most pleasing circular motion he's ever felt in his life. "That's so hot."

Dean allows only a few added seconds of her criminal mouth on his fingers before he regains control of the situation. He retracts his hand from between her legs, forcefully throws her onto her back and flings her leg aside so that he may maneuver between them.

"You could have just asked nicely," she whispers, her hands sliding up his chest, her nails grazing his sensitive skin.

"Where's the fun in that?" Dean asks, leaning over her body on his hands and knees. She shrugs immaturely, and Dean nods, having made a point. He dips his head and catches her wet lips in a physically fulfilling kiss even without the support of their tongues.

"I thought you were leaving," she smirks, knowing damned well he isn't going anywhere for a long time.

Dean breathes a hard laugh, his eyes roaming over her body still clothed in bra and panties.

"If you want me to leave, just say it," he growls, gazing hard into her eyes. She arches an eyebrow and shakes her head, sliding her arms around his neck. "Say it," he commands, grinding hard against her. She gasps, her nails digging into his shoulders, and her teeth clamp shut.

"I want you to stay," she breathes, eyes closed as she licks her lips.

"What? I didn't hear you," Dean says, massaging his hips into hers, tormenting her with the hard pressure but lack of rapidity. She moans this time, and he presses his index finger to her lips.

"I want you to stay," she reiterates, opening her eyes. "Please." His eyes narrow and he knows his entire body is throbbing against hers. Jesus, that's what he wanted to hear. She smiles, discerning his arousal for being in control and needing to be begged. "Please," she says again, lifting her head so that her tongue can glide wetly across his lips. "Please stay, Dean."

Dean jumped awake with an angry grunt, his head and right hand lifting off the bed. Fucking dreams. There was just no way any of that could have happened with Janelle. The dreams were just lucid hallucinations brought on by physical attraction and sleep deprivation. He should have been a psychiatrist.

"Shh!"

Dean's eyes blinked to clear his blurred vision and he caught sight of Janelle sitting at the small table near the door. Her bare legs were bent up to her chest, she still wore one of Sam's nicer button up shirts and a pair of his boxers, and she'd found the bag of M&Ms Dean kept in his duffel bag. Her alabaster hair lay in knots on her head and she looked tired, but she still smiled.

There are no weird times to smile, Dean.

"What is it?" Dean asked, struggling to sit up.

Janelle shushed him again and pointed to Sam. "Sammy's sleeping," she whispered, nodding once and continuing to gnaw on the small candies.

Dean shook his head defiantly. "Sammy doesn't sleep," he mumbled, rubbing a hand over his matted hair.

Janelle grinned knowingly. "He does now," she boasted.

Dean cleared his throat. "Are you feeling okay today?" he asked. She stared at him with an arched eyebrow. "I'm sorry about last night, Janie. I don't ever … ever want to hurt you. Do you understand that?"

"Be forgiving, Dean Winchester," she admonished, cocking her head to the side.

Dean's eyes narrowed and he looked down. He knew she probably meant be forgiving to himself, but that was just about the most impossible thing for Dean to do.

"I'm going to get in the shower, Janie," he murmured, throwing the blankets to the side and drowsily climbing out of bed. "Do you need me to wake up Sammy or will you be okay?"

Janelle looked at him, looked down and then back to him. "I'll be okay," she said, tightening her eyes in a curious gaze directed at Dean.

Dean paused a few beats, staring back at her, struggling to read her thoughts and feelings. He would hate nothing more than having to awake Sammy, who hadn't slept in months, for no good reason at all, but he was insecure about leaving Janelle unsupervised.

"All right," he finally conceded, "But if you need anything, wake up Sammy or just yell for me. Okay?"

Janelle's grin shook, rattled and rolled his nerves all the way to his very core, but something inside him propelled his legs into gear. He gathered clean clothes from his bag, chanced one last look at Janelle and headed into the bathroom.

Dean started the water, making sure the temperature was practically scalding before he began to remove his clothing. Tossing them aside, he stepped into the steaming shower and was embarrassed when he whimpered under the magical streams as they stung his back. A shower had never felt so invigorating, so delightful, so relaxing. He turned to face the shower head, placing his hands on the cold tile wall and dropping his chin to his chest. Tiny rivulets of water spilled down his nose and chin as he slowly rolled his head in circles. This was what he'd needed all along to make him feel real – like a human, like a man, like a hunter.

A clinking sound slithered into his ears; a resonance resembling that of a glass hitting carpeted floors. Dean shook it off, deciding it was probably Sam awaking from a nightmare and knocking something off the table with a flailing arm. Dean was just finishing shampooing his hair with the cheap motel imitation when he heard Sam scream. He'd heard Sam yell and shout before, but never scream like he was now.

"Dean!" he cried, and then he was cut off by the most sinister, malevolent howl Dean had ever suffered through. It was the shriek of a possessed woman closely corresponding with Julie's.

"Sam!" Dean yelled, jumping out of the shower and, forgoing his clothing, tried turning the doorknob – locked. "Sammy! Open the door!" He twisted and pulled and pushed and kicked with negative results. "Sam!"

"Dean!" Sam shouted just before a loud thump against the wall. His voice was cut off and replaced by gagging sounds all too familiar to Dean.

"Goddamn it!" Dean yelped, yanking on his jeans and zipping them enough to keep them on his hips and then he proceeded to kick the door with his bare foot. "Stay away from him!"

Three kicks and a bloodied foot later and the door burst open. Dean bolted into the room, but the ordeal was over. Sam sat trembling in the corner near the entry door, his arms wrapped around himself and his bottom lip quivering uncontrollably. For the moment, Dean forgot about Janelle as he hurried over to his brother to inspect him for injuries.

"Sammy?" he said quietly, positioning his hands gently on his brother's neck. Sam gave no answer. "What happened, Sammy?"

Sam's eyes suddenly met Dean's with a strange defiance and infiltrating terror. "Oh, no," he growled brashly, shaking his head angrily. "I won't see that again, and you can't make me!" he finished with a yell. He was acting like he was thirteen and Dean had just told him to take the trash out. "I won't!"

"Sam!" Dean interrupted, but Sam continued yelling, refusing to see again whatever he'd just witnessed, and the only thing Dean could think of was to backhand his brother in attempt at knocking sense into him.

Sam blinked thoughtfully. "Dean?" he asked.

Dean exhaled relief and yanked his brother to him for a quick hug.

"That hurt," Sam whispered.

Dean chuckled. "Sorry, Sammy, but you were hysterical." He pulled away and looked at Sam. "I had to shut you up somehow."

"And that was all you could think of?" Sam whined, clutching his jaw and moving it around in circles.

"You're welcome," Dean bitterly replied, swatting a hand at Sam as he turned around. "Now … where's Janie?"

Sam gulped and pointed a shaky finger. "She fell over there."

Dean took a deep breath and headed slowly over to the small area between the wall and the bed closest to the bathroom. Janelle's platinum hair eventually came into view in such a way that Dean knew she was lying face down on the carpet. He wasn't surprised – not with so many years of demonic possessions and exorcisms under his belt – as he cautiously rolled her over onto her back.

Janelle's hands were contorted into claws and held tightly against her chest and stomach and her head was turned to the side, causing her thyroid bone to almost protrude through her skin, but most unnerving of all were her eyes, which were completely drowned in crimson liquid most likely to be blood. Dean carefully placed his hands beneath her shoulder blades and began to lift her from the floor. Her entire body was stock-still – nothing bending, nothing shaking.

"Rigidity," Sam muttered, watching closely.

"Rigidity?" Dean exclaimed, struggling to bring Janelle's unmoving body into a standing position. "She's frozen solid, dude."

Using the wall, Sam pushed himself onto his feet. "He's not done yet," he whispered, staring with unblinking eyes at Janelle.

At his words, Janelle blinked, sending two streams of red down her cheeks, and she glared at Dean.

"Vos mos non servo suus, venator," she snarled, her right eyebrow trembling with every word. You will not save her, hunter.

Dean glared right back; his jaw muscles working over time to try and stop him from retorting back, but it was no use. "Ego mos transporto vos tergum ut Abyssus, everto," he growled. I'll send you back to Hell, demon.

Janelle's lips curled into a menacing, knowing smile.

"Don't talk to it, Dean!" Sam shouted.

"Capiam suus me," Janelle whispered. I'll take her with me. Dean wasn't deterred. "Ego sum magis validus quam vos umquam spes futurus." I'm more powerful than you could ever hope to be.

Dean's upper lip curled so high that his top teeth began to show, as he stepped closer to Janelle, closely touching his nose to hers. He was seething with fury, ready to burst, and Sam knew this is exactly what the demon wanted.

"Ostendo mihi," he whispered, raising his eyebrows. Show me.

Janelle's face closed the space between she and Dean, her lips brushing his as she spoke. "Vos volo video vidi visum quis ego operor?" she breathed. You want to see what I can do?

It was Dean's turn to smirk. "Etiam." Yes.

Sam hurled into action, grabbing the crucifix from the table next to the television, taking one large step over to Janelle and Dean and wrapping an arm around her throat as he pressed the cross to her chest. The howl Dean had heard in the shower escaped Janelle's delicate mouth as her skin sizzled beneath the holy object. Sam didn't relent until her body became limp and she fell back into his embrace.

"What the hell were you thinking?" Sam yelled at Dean, carrying Janelle to the bed and lying her down gently onto her back. "You know better than to have a conversation with a demon, Dean!"

"I'm a big boy, Sam, I can take care of myself," Dean replied, moving back into the bathroom to retrieve his tee-shirt. Only then did he remember his foot was still bleeding. Oh well, he'd tend to it later.

"It's not you I'm worried about," Sam said. "Do you have any idea what could happen to Janelle if Elathan …"

"Yeah, I do," Dean quickly interrupted. "I know a thing or two about demonic possession, Sammy. I stuck around, remember?"

Sam tilted his head and his arms dropped at his sides. "You've got nothing better to say to me than to bring up my leaving for college," he pointed out. "When are you going to let that go, Dean? I'm here, aren't I? Helping you out!"

"Yeah, and it's only because ..!" Dean stopped himself immediately before speaking something he knew he would regret, but Sam knew what he would've said.

"Say it," Sam told him, shrugging.

Dean shook his head. "Nothing," he refused.

Sam rolled his eyes. "I didn't want to live under Dad's tyrannical rules, Dean," he went on, "So I went out and got my own life. I'm sorry that you're going to hold that against me for the rest of our lives."

Dean said nothing, but he gave Sam raging glares while grabbing two towels from the bathroom. "She's out," he said, wiping Janelle's blood-stained cheeks. "Hopefully for a few hours."

Sam sighed and brushed his fingers through his hair. "You could have done everything I did, Dean," he breathed. "You could've gone to college. You're smart enough." Dean shook his head with a slight grin. "Hell, you're smarter than me at all this!"

Dean glanced up at him. "Colleges frown on that sort of thing, Sam. Besides, I knew Dad needed me … and I wasn't going to abandon him."

Sam huffed angrily. "I didn't abandon Dad!" he hollered. "Dad was crazy! Dad is crazy! I had to leave before he got me killed!"

"Oh, but it was no big deal if Dad got me killed?" Dean retorted.

Sam shook his head. "I knew I didn't have to worry about you, Dean. You could take care of yourself. Besides ... Dad would have done everything in his power to protect you ... I don't think he felt the same way for me."

Dean's eyes widened and he slowly stood from the bed. "You want to run that by me again, Sammy?" he growled.

Janelle suddenly jumped up, shrieking at the top of her lungs – comforting Dean because it wasn't the howl of a hell-sent demon – and shaking her hands as though they were burning. Dean moved to grab her upper arms, but she kicked at him and scrambled backward into the headboard. Dean looked up at Sam, silently wondering why Janelle was pushing him away. Sam returned the same bewildered expression, but he felt it necessary to comfort her and certainly get her to stop screaming before the motel manager was called.

The screaming was abruptly cut off, and the brothers turned to Janelle. She was staring dumbfounded at her own hands, turning them over, inspecting her fingers and touching her hands together. Then she touched her face and, as unnerving as it was, smiled. She looked up quickly, meeting Dean's eyes.

"Dean?" she whispered, as if meeting him for the first time in many years.

Dean glanced at Sam. "Yeah, Janie, it's me," he softly replied.

Janelle maneuvered around onto her knees and began crawling toward him. "You can hear me?" she asked.

Sam and Dean were struck at the same moment with the revelation that Janelle's voice wasn't as soft or hesitant as it had been since the beginning of her possession. Her eyes no longer resembled a lost child only a few years born, either. She was Janelle, not Janie.

"Janelle?" Dean asked before Sam learned to comprehend words again.

"Yeah!" Janelle squeaked, bursting into tears as she threw her arms around Dean's neck and quite ungracefully clamored onto his lap. "What's happening, Dean?" she sobbed, her entire body trembling. "Please tell me what's happening to me."

Dean stole a glance at his much taller brother, telling him – through not but a simple twinkle in his eye – that he had no idea what the answer to Janelle's question was. He knew very well that she was possessed and she'd all but had a split personality for the last day and a half and, to top everything off, there was an epic battle raging somewhere inside of her between good and evil. Jesus, it sounded like a bad SciFi movie.

"Doesn't matter," Dean forced out, gently pushing her away so that he could look into her terrified eyes. Her tears must have washed away any last remnants of blood. "Because Sam and I are taking you to our friend … and he's gonna help you. You'll be fine in a few days, okay?"

"I don't wanna die yet," Janelle wept, lying her head on his shoulder.

"Who said you were gonna die?" Sam finally entered the conversation, sitting behind Dean and examining Janelle's face.

Her eyes met his and she blinked back more tears. "I don't remember," she whispered, looking down confusedly. "I mean, I can remember … but … not what happened." She gazed to the side of Sam with something of an airy thoughtfulness. "That's weird."

Dean's cell phone began to ring and Dean motioned for Sam to answer it. Sam sifted through Dean's bag, following the ringing. Once he located the device, he yanked it open.

"Can you just hold me?" Janelle asked Dean, tightening her grip around his neck and inching as closely to him as physically possible. "Like you held her?"

Dean's heart skipped a beat, stopped, and then quickened, feeling a bit like a fish on land. Her? Did Janelle really know about her? God, he hoped not.

In any event, he hesitated, unsure if he remembered how to hold a woman or if ever really knew how. But before he could attempt it, Janelle pulled away and looked at Sam.

"Is that my dad?" she asked.

"Uh, yeah," Sam answered, holding the phone out to her.

Janelle climbed off of Dean and took the cell from Sam.

As his brother sat next to him again, Dean hoped that Sam hadn't heard Janelle's comment about her because Sam would surely grill Dean about it until Dean couldn't possibly take it anymore.

After conversing with her father and assuring him a thousand times over that she was fine, Janelle hung up and shakily handed the phone back to Dean, making it a huge point not to brush her fingers against his. As she watched their hands almost connect, she noticed that she was wearing a dressy long-sleeved shirt, which did not belong to her and a pair of shorts that certainly were not hers.

"Uh, they're mine," Sam informed her, watching her nervously as she pulled at the shirt. "We didn't bring you anything to sleep in."

Janelle arched an inquisitive eyebrow. "Who dressed me?" she questioned, but her tone suggested to the brothers that she already knew.

"Who cares?" Dean said, standing from the bed and continuing to gather his things from around the room. "Since you're capable now, why don't you get dressed so we can get the hell outta here?"

Sam had to hide his smirk, as Janelle grabbed her clothes from her bag and headed into the bathroom. He watched Dean treat everything around him roughly, knowing exactly what his problem was.

"Are you jealous, Dean?" he wondered, no longer able to hide his smile.

"Did you see her naked, Sam?" Dean burst out, throwing a shirt onto the bed and turning to Sam with frustration evident.

Sam looked down, suddenly finding his sneakers to be the most interesting thing in the room.

"You did, didn't you?"

"She wouldn't undress herself, Dean," Sam sighed shamefully. "She wanted to get into the bath with all her clothes on." Dean exhaled hard and slowly down again. "You know, Dean, the first step is admitting it."

"Admitting what, exactly?" Dean said. "That I kinda wanna run you over with my car?"

Sam breathed a laugh. "That you're a little more interested in Janelle than you normally would be," he explained.

"Oh, yeah, I forgot. I'm now traveling cross country with the King of Normal," Dean growled.