CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Dean sat in the window of Janelle's room at Lovelace Medical Center in Albuquerque, New Mexico, gazing down at the parking lot below. It had been nine days exactly since Janelle had last spoken to him in the car on the way to Malcolm Rose's church. She now lay in a bed with IVs in her arms and bandages wrapped tightly around her hands. She was breathing on her own, but the doctors were unsure of her mental competency and whether or not she would ever wake up.

Sam had called Janelle's father almost immediately after arriving at the hospital, but Julie informed Sam that her father had fallen ill not too long ago, so none of Janelle's family would be there for her. Dean wasn't comfortable with leaving Janelle alone, and Sam understood. He'd give Dean his time because eventually, Dean would need to leave and throw himself back into his work to forget about everything that had happened.

"Are you sure you don't want to tell him?" Mercy asked, as she and Sam were headed back from the cafeteria with coffee for Dean.

Sam sighed. "I'm not going to tell him, Mercy. Dean doesn't need to know that Janelle was pregnant and the baby was possessed."

"But the baby was his," Mercy argued.

"There is no more baby," Sam said quickly. He'd made sure of that by asking the doctors to run a test; the results were negative. "If I told Dean about my vision of him and Janelle together and their baby girl being born already possessed by Elathan, he'll be pissed that I didn't tell him in the first place. And then he'll hate me for making the decision to … exorcise his unborn child without his say."

"Do you think he would have wanted to keep the baby knowing it would be evil?" Mercy asked.

Sam shrugged and shook his head. "I don't know. But I couldn't take the chance."

"What about you? How are you going to go on knowing what happened?"

"Knowing that I prevented Elathan from bringing Hell on Earth? I'll think I'll do just fine."

Sam walked away from Mercy, wondering angrily why she was even still hanging around. He'd only needed her to get him to the church using her speedy vampire abilities and now he was finished with her. He guessed she was worried about Dean, so why wasn't she nagging him?

"Got you some coffee," Sam told his older brother as he entered Janelle's hospital room. Janelle hadn't moved.

"Thanks," Dean returned, taking the Styrofoam cup from Sam and sipping the plain black coffee.

"Any change?" Sam asked thickly, leaning against the window beside Dean.

Dean miserably shook his head. "Nothing." He looked up at Sam. "So, how's that half-vampire, half-werewolf, half-Sammy thing workin' out for you?"

Sam sighed a laugh. "I'm still me, Dean," he said. "Just a little … enhanced, is all." Dean only nodded as he stared at Janelle. "Do you think it was the demon dragging her to the ceiling?"

"No."

"How can you be so sure?"

"Because she's not what it usually goes after. She doesn't have any kids and I'm not … in love with her, and she's not in love with me." He looked at his brother. "I don't think it would target her for the hell of it." He watched Janelle and shook his head shamefully.

"She's alive, Dean, that's what matters."

"And what quality of life does she have now, Sam?" Dean whispered cynically. "She's in a coma and she has no family here for her. If I were her, I wouldn't want to wake up, either."

Sam sighed. "She'll wake up when she's ready, Dean. She'll be fine." Dean looked at him. "You just have to trust me."

"Did you have a vision?" Dean inquired. "Did you see her waking up?"

Sam reluctantly shook his head. "No," he responded regretfully.

"Then how do you know?" Dean hissed.

Sam shrugged. "I just do."

Dean stared at his kid brother a moment before climbing out of the window, setting the coffee on the table beside Janelle's bed. "We're leaving."

"Dean, are you sure?" Sam probed.

His older brother ignored him as he lent down to Janelle's level and whispered something in her ear. He then soothed his fingers through her coarse hair, kissed her cheek, and then left the room without another word.

Sam huffed dejectedly and made his way toward the door. He wasn't going to acknowledge the goodbye in the air, nor was he going to acknowledge Janelle's body, but he couldn't leave things this way. He hurried over to the bed, cupped her face in his hands, and kissed her forehead for a long moment. She was warm, but still. Soft, but broken. Sam didn't feel responsible, but still a sort of commiseration lingered within him. He wanted to stay until she woke up, only it wasn't an option.

"I'm sorry," he whispered against her forehead. "I'm sorry, Janelle." She didn't reply, not that he expected her to, and his back straightened.

Sam left the room and eventually the hospital.

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Waiting patiently until the Impala was long out of sight, John Constantine invaded the hospital, asking not politely where Janelle Markem's room was located, and taking the stairs to the correct floor. He entered the room without a knock or a word and took a seat next to her bed. He placed his left hand over her eyes, closed his own, and whispered a quick prayer. Constantine then wiggled a finger beneath the gauze on her hand where he allowed it to be coated in blood, which he brought to her parted lips.

"Time to wake up, Janelle," he spoke nonchalantly.

Janelle suddenly gasped and choked, her head lifting from the pillow, her hands grasping the beige blanket covering her body.

"You have work to do," Constantine told her.

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The epilogue will be posted tomorrow.