CHAPTER NINETEEN

Later, after the sun had buried itself beyond the horizon, Janelle suggested they stop at a motel. She wanted to get to New Mexico and get exorcised, but she also needed to prolong the time it would take to come up with a way to keep Sam and Dean alive and unscathed. Dean argued with her suggestion – profusely – but she could tell how tired he was, and how badly Sam needed to stretch his large frame, and how she desired a warm bed. She was unsure of which reason changed his mind, but he did pull over at a motel that was just a bit swankier than the ones they normally stayed at. It was still crap, but better crap.

"Sleep," Dean sighed thankfully, falling face-first onto the bed closest to the door. "It's better than sex."

Sam paused and looked at his brother. "Dude," he said.

"Shut up, Sam," Dean quickly added.

"Well, I'm hungry," Sam breathed, rummaging through the bag of snacks, "And if I eat anything out of here, I'm gonna lapse into a sugar-induced coma."

"Then go get something else, Mother Theresa," Dean mumbled into the pillow.

"Yeah," Sam agreed, scratching the back of his neck. "You gonna be okay here?"

Dean pushed himself into a sitting position and found Janelle seated on the opposite bed. Her face and body were directed toward him, but her eyes were locked on the drawer between the beds. Her eyebrow was arched high as if she was either examining it or terrified of it. Then she reached over and pulled it open to reveal the Holy Bible. Dean watched as she continued to stare at it.

"You want me to move it?" Dean asked softly. Janelle nodded, and he grabbed the book and carelessly tossed it under the bed.

"All right, I'll be back," Sam announced, retrieving the car keys and leaving the room.

"So, what now?" Janelle wondered.

Dean inhaled deeply and laid back down. "Now we wait for slow-ass Sammy to get back with something gross, we eat, then we sleep."

Janelle nodded, glancing nervously around the room. "Um, Dean?" she said, hardly louder than a whisper.

"What?" Dean growled, rolling onto his back and covering his eyes.

"I have to go to the bathroom."

"So go."

"Could you … cover up the mirror?"

Dean turned his head to look at her. "What for?"

No way was Janelle going to disclose this information. "Please?"

Dean knew better than to question her reasoning and he stood, grabbing his leather jacket and hanging it over the mirror in the bathroom. He made sure it wouldn't fall and the mirror would stay in place before heading back over to Janelle.

"Bathroom's secure," Dean relayed like some sort of secret agent, hoping for and receiving a gentle smile from Janelle.

"Thank you," she whispered, passing Dean as she padded into the bathroom and closed the door.

Dean sighed, scratching his stomach and sitting on the bed. He was about to lay down when his cell phone began to ring. He took it from the nightstand, flicked it open and pressed it to his ear. "Speak," he commanded.

"How are you, Mr. Winchester?" Father Malcolm Rose.

"I've seen better days," Dean dryly replied.

"And the woman?"

"I'm pretty sure she's seen better days, too."

"Have there been many incidents?"

"Incidents? Oh, you mean when that goddamn demon almost killed Sam? Or when it almost killed my car …?"

"Where are you?" Malcolm interrupted.

"Almost to Oklahoma," Dean sighed.

"You seem to be taking your time," Malcolm growled.

Dean took a deep breath and rolled his eyes. "Yes, that's exactly what I'm doing, Malcolm. Hey, I have an idea!" he shouted, throwing a hand up just as Janelle stepped out of the bathroom. "Why don't you crawl out of that fucking Coward Palace you call a church and drive a possessed woman across the country with only a crucifix and holy water to fight the bastard off?"

"Take caution in your tone, Mr. Winchester," Malcolm warned.

"Take caution in this," Dean murmured, pulling the phone from his ear, saluting it with his middle finger and then hanging up. "I hate that guy," he whispered.

"You shouldn't have done that," Janelle breathed, slowly sinking onto the bed in front of him.

"Yeah, tell me about it," Dean said, tossing the phone onto the table. "If you want something to sleep in, you can look in my bag." He pointed in the general direction of his duffel behind him. "It probably won't be clean. I haven't done laundry in … God, when did I do laundry?"

Janelle dug around in his bag a moment before deciding on a pair of sweatpants that could have swallowed her and a dark gray T-shirt. The clothes smelled like Dean, just like Sam's clothes had smelt like Sam. She changed hurriedly behind Dean while he muttered meaninglessly about the last time he'd washed his clothes.

"Is he the exorcist?" she asked, sitting next to him.

"You should lay down," Dean answered. "Get some sleep."

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"Because I'm hungry."

Dean smiled. "Oh, yeah. Well, I wouldn't trust anything Sam brings back. He likes that seafood seaweed health crap."

Janelle's eyebrow arched. "He looks the type. Bein' all skinny and stuff."

"Being all skinny and stuff, that kid weighs a ton." He paused a moment to realize something. "How can we do this?" he questioned.

Janelle looked at him. "Do what?"

"Pretend like nothing's wrong." He glanced at her when she didn't respond immediately, and she appeared to be thinking.

"Defense mechanism, I guess," she sighed.

When the three finished eating and after showering, it was silently decided that everyone try for some sleep no matter how difficult the task seemed. The sleeping arrangement was the same as before; Janelle and Dean sharing a bed while Sam again got one to himself. He wondered briefly if he wouldn't sleep better if maybe Janelle was next to him; she did bare some resemblance to … her, and that thought hadn't been lost on him the first time he met her, but only now did he feel the need to admit this fact. He rolled over, putting his back to Dean and Janelle, and took a deep breath, closing his eyes.

Janelle faced away from Dean as well, but she didn't even bother to close her eyes because she knew she'd be awake for the remainder of the night, possibly even the remainder of the trip. She thought about Dean behind her, though, wondered if he was sleeping and what he was thinking about. And then she could no longer endure the quiet; she had to hear the voice of one specific Winchester.

"Dean?" she whispered, but her voice carried like a fucking scream. "Are you asleep?"

"No." His voice wasn't a whisper but a low, tired growl.

"If I die," Janelle said, and Dean turned his head in her direction, "Promise me that you won't blame yourself."

Dean rolled over to face the back of her head. He could've argued that she wasn't going to die, that he would protect her and that he would die trying to protect her. "Okay." But he didn't. "I promise."

"Can I trust your promise?" Janelle inquired, raising her arm in the inky blackness along with her pinky finger.

Dean looked up at the outline of her raised finger and felt himself smile before locking her pinky finger with his own. "My pinky promises are the best I can give you, Janelle," he said.

"Thank you," she whispered, pulling his arm around her and his body closer to hers.

"You're welcome," Dean breathed, adjusting his body to the closeness of Janelle's. The heat was definitely a better feeling as opposed to the cold he'd experienced lying alone. He hadn't held a woman in so long that he'd almost forgotten exactly how to do it, but when Janelle's hand tightened on his against her chest and her petite body scoot back closer to his, he realized that he didn't need to remember.

In the early hours of the night, Sam tried to roll over in his half-awake, half-asleep state, finding that he couldn't because of a light weight resistance on top of him. Sam's eyes slowly fluttered open and he jumped, his elbows supporting his upper body. He couldn't believe his eyes and he knew he had to be dreaming; no way was what he was seeing real.

"Jess?" he whispered.

"Sam," she smiled, touching his cheek gently.

"Jess, I …"

"Shh … just listen," she interrupted.

"I thought you were …"

"I am." Her smile widened. "Janelle's body is like an opened door for Above and Below. When she fell asleep, I saw my chance and I took it."

Tears pricked the corners of Sam's eyes. He knew he was looking at Janelle, but all he could see and hear and smell and feel was Jessica. "I miss you so much," he wept.

"I came here so you could say goodbye, Sam," she told him, brushing her fingers through his sweat-soaked hair. "That's what's really bothering you, isn't it?"

"No," Sam whispered.

"Let go of the visions, Sam," she begged. "If you would have told me about your nightmares, I wouldn't have believed you, and you know that. You're just torturing yourself this way, and I can't stand to watch it anymore."

"I should've told you," Sam whined, reaching to touch her face. "I should've been honest with you."

"Stop it, Sam," she demanded. "I came to relieve your guilt so you can move on with your life, so you can find someone else. You deserve a better life."

"I don't want anyone but you," Sam admitted.

"I have to go soon, Sam. Please don't make this visit a bad idea."

"You wouldn't be mad if I … if I … found someone else?" Sam shakily asked. "I don't want you to be disappointed …"

She giggled. "Sam, I'll be mad and disappointed if you spend the rest of your life alone and grieving." She suddenly turned around as if someone had just called her name. "I have to go, Sam," she whispered, smiling down at him.

"No! Jess, wait!" Sam stammered.

"Be happy," she said, "And don't forget to smile; it looks pretty on you."

Sam watched as Jess's image faded away until – as much as he still wanted to see and talk to his late girlfriend – he was looking at Janelle above him. Before he had the time to understand how incredibly awkward their position was, Janelle's eyes closed slowly and, even more slowly, laid back down: her legs stretching out but still straddling Sam's, arms on either side of his head, and her head finding refuge just below his chin. She'd been asleep before Jess had invaded her body, as well as during and now she was continuing it.

Glancing over at Dean still sleeping, his arm lying lonesome next to him where Janelle had been sleeping, Sam knew that if he allowed Janelle to stay in his bed for the remainder of the night, Dean would be upset. He wouldn't admit it, of course, but Sam was not stupid; he'd witnessed enough of Dean's irrational actions to know that his older bother was a prime candidate for homicide, suicide or a mental breakdown.

After several moments of plotting, Sam put himself into motion to get Janelle back into the right bed. He sat up very slowly with his right hand on her back and his left hand bending her right leg at his side and then he did the same to her left. Her head fell onto his shoulder as her entire body remained limp against him. She should've woken up, but Sam didn't dwell on this fact for too long. He threw his legs over the side of the bed, took a deep breath, and stood up. When Janelle's legs dangled against his – her toes brushing his knees – Sam awkwardly maneuvered an arm beneath them and scooped her into his arms. Still she didn't move, and he gently laid her on the bed next to Dean, who didn't stir, either. When Sam slid his hands out from underneath Janelle, she rolled over and snuggled closer to Dean. Dean replied by clearing his throat, adjusting his position, and throwing an arm around her to pull her closer.

Sam smirked, remembering a number of times when he and Jess fought, went to sleep on separate sides of the bed, but awoke tangled together. He quickly climbed back into his own bed, hoping he'd be able to get back to sleep.