After breakfast, we moved to a new motel—Bobby called Magda back and gave her new directions—and we settled in to wait. Again.
It's surprising how much time spent Hunting isn't spent hunting but preparing for a hunt. It's almost maddening. And when you're like me, you like to keep busy. But there was nothing to clean, here. So I settled on one of the beds and hoped something exciting—or at least interesting—would happen. "Even the mattress isn't lumpy. Why is this motel so cheap? Are you sure you got the price right, Bobby?"
The older hunter grunted assent. I shrugged. He reminded me of an Elder Cleaner. Grouchy.
Dean crossed the room and sat beside me. "Ooh. Bouncy!" He liked to be active, too.
"No one's bouncing on anything—or anyone—boy. Got that?" Bobby groused as he settled at the rickety kitchenette table and opened Sam's laptop. "And for God's sake, quit sniffing yourself."
"But I smell awesome. Is it weird if I want to eat myself?" Dean turned his face toward his shoulder and inhaled, his eyes twinkling. He was deliberately working to get a rise out of Bobby and succeeding. He winked at me.
"Not really. But only because it's you. Anybody else…" Sam peered past the sheer curtain at the window, to the parking lot. "Did Magda say how long she's going to take to get here?"
"As soon as she can. Probably about ten hours or so—Dean! Knock it off!"
"Seriously. I can smell the crust. It's all buttery. And then the apples, and the cinnamon, and the sugar…" Dean moaned.
"Dude. Did you just lick your arm?" Sam settled on the bed beside ours. "Ooh. You're right. This is bouncy." He bounced, too.
"Shut up, Sammy. I'm having a moment here." Dean inhaled loudly. "Mmmmm..."
Sam looked at me. "Seriously. You have to de-scent him. I can't stand much more of this."
"Don't you dare, Insult." Dean commanded and closed his eyes. "I'm going to Hell in three months, and I need something good to remember when I'm there."
What? I turned to him, my heart like a fist clenching and unclenching in my throat. "What did you say?"
"Pie Boy there sold his soul to a demon," Bobby answered, without sympathy. At the time, it was shocking how matter-of-fact he was, but in retrospect, when you've experienced as much as Bobby had, there was no other way to be. "And his contract's almost up. Won't be long before he takes a one-way trip on the down elevator. Unless we figure out a way to get him out of it. But for right now, we've got a different problem to solve."
"We were working on a lead when we found you. And then this whole Kieran thing happened," Sam told me.
"But…but…" I blinked at them; their expressions were grim. They weren't lying or making this up. They were serious. Dean was going to Hell.
But still, I wanted to doubt them. "You're not serious."
"As a heart attack. Ow!" Dean jumped and the whole bed shook. He looked at me with mournful eyes and lowered his arm with a sigh. "It's official. I don't taste like pie."
"Don't even tell me you tried to take a bite out of yourself," Sam said, and rolled his eyes.
"You have to smell me, Sammy. I'm amazing." He looked at me. "I think I love you." He blinked as an idea occurred to him. "We could get married and make a shitload of little pie-scented Winchester babies. We could have a little boy that smells like blueberry pie and a little girl who smells like cherry pie. And we could name her Cherry!"
"Cherry is a stripper's name." Sam lay back on his mattress. "I wonder if she'd keep the name Winchester? Maybe she'd call herself Cherry Pi and pretend to be a math teacher. That would be her thing, with a pair of glasses and slide ruler..."
"Hey. That's my daughter you're fantasizing about you perverted nerd. Knock it off." Dean paused. "What the hell is a slide ruler, anyway? Sounds kinky." He turned to me. "Do you know what a slide ruler is? Nah. You wouldn't know. You're a virgin. Hey, Bobby—"
"Don't involve me in your disgusting math teacher sex fantasies. I want no part of it," Bobby answered, not looking up from the laptop. Instead, he gestured at the kitchenette. "Would someone please make some coffee?"
I wanted to smack Dean. He was acting so…frivolous. And Sam. And Bobby. They were acting so cavalier. As if the whole thing was a joke. Maybe it was a joke. A bad one. "Why? What was so important that you had to make a deal with a demon and sell your soul? Isn't this a bad thing? Don't you care?"
Dean sobered for a moment, and I saw a shadow—of fear—pass through his eyes. But then he grinned, and I realized that he wasn't about to show anything but bravado. "You know what would be really awesome? You could make Sam smell like a la mode." He gave an extra bounce and stood up to make his way across the room. "I'll make it, Bobby." He plucked the glass carafe from the coffee maker on the counter. "Anybody else?"
"Make twelve cups," Bobby answered. "We'll drink 'em."
I looked at Sam, who stared back at me, his expression dead sober, without a spark of humor or bravado. He'd only been cavalier for his brother's sake, I realized; with me, he was being honest. "A la mode is vanilla ice cream, Dean," he said in that you're talking complete shit, you ass hat voice that I'd already come to recognize. He was just playing along. And it was killing him.
I understood then. I had to play along, too even though it was the last thing I wanted to do.
"I know that, Sammy. Just sayin'. It would be awesome." Dean filled the reservoir with water and pulled the filter basket out. "People would love us." He turned to the cupboards then, to search for filters and a can of coffee. "They'd say, 'There are those two guys. One smells like sugar and spice and everything nice—but that Sasquatch-sized one's just plain vanilla.'"
I realized then that Dean wasn't being frivolous at all. He was whistling in the dark. Being a Winchester, a good soldier. Do or die, Semper Fi, be all that you can be and no chick flick moments, Nancy.
And there was no way in Heaven—or Hell—that I'd get Dean to talk about it, I realized. So I went for the weakest Winchester. Or at least the one who'd showed me his sensitive side more easily. Because Sam was in no way weak. Maybe he just reminded me of Kieran. His other brother.
"Why?" I got up and crossed the room to stand next to him. "Why did he do it?" I asked as softly as I could, so as not to be overheard.
"Because," Sam answered, the expression on his face somehow familiar; it only took a moment to recognize it as the same one Kieran had shot my way as the FBI agents hauled him away into their custody. Terror.
"Why?" I repeated, and discovered I'd reached out to him as I couldn't to my cousin, to comfort him, to try to somehow eliminate his agony. I stopped myself and turned to look across the room at his brother, busily distracting himself with a mundane task. "What would make Dean sell his soul, Sam?"
"Me," Sam answered. "Because I'm his family, and family is his fatal flaw." He raised his chin and said loudly, "Dean, you ass hat. Sugar and spice and everything nice means you smell like a girl."
Dean turned back to us and grinned. "You're just jealous, Sammy." Then he put the coffee on to drip, and came back to grab my hand, pulling me away from his brother and back onto the mattress beside him. "Hey, look! Magic Fingers! This place is great. Why is it so cheap, Bobby? Think it's haunted?"
"Triple A discount. I don't know," Bobby muttered. "Is that coffee ready yet?"
"Couple of minutes." Dean bounced and turned to me. "Do you have a quarter? The things I could show you—"
"Oh no, you don't. No one is showing anybody anything on my watch. You—" Bobby pointed at me—"Are sleeping in the adjoining room with Magda. Me and the Spice Girls are sharing this room. And I, for one, am not riding a bucking, fucking mattress all freaking night, you idjit." The grizzled hunter slammed the lid on the laptop, stood, and picked up the folded newspaper he'd carried into the room. He tucked it under his arm. "I'm going to go do the crossword. Behave yourselves, children. And quit that bouncing." He stalked into the bathroom and slammed the door.
Dean waggled his eyebrows. "We've got twenty minutes, at least. Let's find a quarter." He paused. "I wonder what he meant by a fucking mattress? Is it the way he describes the mattress, or is it a mattress specifically for—"
"Dean," Sam admonished quietly.
Dean rolled his eyes and gave me a grin, then got up and went to check on the coffee.
I nodded, too weak, too shocked, and overwhelmed by the whole Hell thing to do much else. How could he stand it? Wasn't he scared? Didn't he care?
"Is Hell really that bad?" I said, mostly to myself. Maybe it wasn't. I'd never seen an actual demon, just their sulfur-scat, and if Sam had once been working with one, they couldn't be that bad…
"Be careful, it's hot." Dean announced.
"What?" I stared at him. Of course, Hell was hot. That was a given. Wasn't it?
"Your coffee. Here. Don't burn yourself, Insult." He held out a mug and I took it gingerly. I put it on the nightstand. I didn't trust myself not to spill it, because suddenly, I was shaking.
Dean walked around to the other side of the bed. "Yeah, Hell sucks. It's—well, there's been enough written about it. And none of it is good."
"We might be able to get him out of it. If we can track down the demon who holds the contract and kill her—"
"Not now, Sammy." Dean lay down next to me. "Insult and me, we're taking a ride." He held up a coin for me to see. "Look what I found in my pocket. Don't take that the wrong way. Heheheh…" He wiggled his eyebrows, then dropped the coin into the box and pulled me to lie down next to him. "Let the fun begin."
"Cut that out! I said, 'no fun', you idjit!" Bobby yelled from behind the closed bathroom door. The brothers grinned at each other and after a moment, I joined in. There was nothing that I could do for Dean—not at the moment, anyway—and if he wanted to spend his last few months yanking Bobby's chain, who was I to ruin his enjoyment? I sighed and let it look like the Magic Fingers was making me shake, and not the overwhelming terror of Dean—the man I'd lusted, maybe even loved—going to Hell for eternity…
"What is the purpose of this Magic Finger thing, anyway?" I asked, my voice quivery with the vibrations.
"You'll find out," Dean wiggled his eyebrows at me.
"Just not when I'm in the room," Sam pleaded.
"Killjoy." Dean said, lying back with his hands crossed over his chest and his eyes closed.
After a moment, I closed my eyes too, and tried not to think about Dean's problem. After casting about for something to distract myself with, I found myself wondering about Magda and John. How had they met, and how did Magda manage to birth a Hunter's child and not be Banished? And why they hadn't used protection, for crying out loud?
I mean, I was a virgin, and even I had plans to have a contraceptive plan. Especially since I was lying next to Virility Guy on a bouncy, vibrating mattress. Abstinence, a little voice whispered, is 100% effective. A few moments earlier, I might have almost agreed with it. Then I opened my eyes and turned my head to see Dean, staring at me intently with his smoldering green eyes, and all my girly parts stood up and took notice. Abstinence is boring, they whispered. And I couldn't deny that was true.
Because his lips were so pink and so damned kissable. I wanted to nibble on them and slide my tongue over them and spend the day just exploring his mouth with mine. And the rest of him...
When I finally managed to pull my attention from his lips, I realized even though I couldn't exactly read his thoughts, I could easily imagine them. Because I was pretty sure he and I were on the same page, so to speak. Or mattress. Whatever. At any rate, it was a wonder the smoke alarms hadn't gone off. The Magic Fingers, apparently, had revealed their purpose: Sex.
I stared deep into his eyes and swallowed. Hard.
Sam got up and wandered to the other side of the room. "Good coffee, Dean," he said, probably the only thing he could think of that would remind us he was there and not tip Bobby off about us. Any more than he needed to be alerted, anyway.
"Yeah," Dean agreed, without taking that intense gaze from whatever parts of me he was intensely gazing at. I think it was my nose, to be honest. Couldn't have been my boobs; they were camouflaged by red plaid flannel. But I digress.
"Absolutely." I nodded, wondering if there was a smooth way I could convince Dean we should find someplace to be alone without making it obvious to Sam and Bobby we were sneaking away to not abstain, somewhere.
Suddenly, Dean rolled off the mattress to his feet, and grabbed my hand. "We'll be back," he said.
"Where are you going?" Sam asked.
"Nowhere. Just going to check out the sights. You know, like the Liberty Bell. Or something."
"Can I come with?" Sam put his coffee down.
Dean's eyes shuttered as an expression I couldn't read flickered through them. He squeezed my fingers with his own. "No."
His gaze dropped to my mouth, and as he licked his own lips, I knew he wasn't about to let Sam ruin whatever time alone we might have left. Because he knew as well as I did: once Magda arrived, our time together was over.
And then—not too long after—Dean would be on his way to Hell.
In that moment, I vowed I'd give him more than the scent of apple pie to remember once he got there. Even if we ended up making another Winchester baby, it would be worth it. I let him lead me out of the room, and then, to the Impala, but then ended up just driving it around to the other side of the hotel, where he parked and got out. "Wait here," he told me and went to walk along the outside, ground floor rooms, but in a few moments he was back. "Come on," he said, and led me to one of them. The door was open because he'd jimmied the lock.
"This is 'checking out the sights'?" I teased. "Doesn't look that much different from the other room, except everything's mirror-imaged and backward."
"Wrong," Dean said, shutting the door behind me. "It looks very different. There's no Bobby here. Or Sam. Just—us."
"I know that," I told him. I couldn't help rolling my eyes. Honestly. Dean was—is—as cute as hell, but sometimes, he's not the brightest bulb on the panel. Because I honestly don't think he got that I was teasing him. Or maybe he did, and was teasing me back? I couldn't tell. (Which would mean I was the dim bulb. Crap.) But then again, I was so nervous, I could barely think over the pounding of my heart. "But won't they find us? I mean we're not that far-"
"Hidden in plain sight," he said, and pulled me up against him as his tongue invaded my mouth. Well, invaded is sort of a strong word. It's more like his tongue wandered in and set up a concession stand, because it wasn't going anywhere, and I didn't want it to.
I stood on tiptoe to link my hands around the back his neck and one of my legs around the back of one of his knees. (You know, Dean wasn't kidding when he said we Cleaners are like munchkins. I've mentioned this before, and I think I told you that I'm even smaller than the average Cleaner, standing at about 5'0" if I'm lucky. Not that you need to know this, but—well, size matters when you're trying to picture sex. I mean…well. Crap. Anyhow, Dean's tall and I'm not; realistically, I couldn't do much in the way of wrapping around him in a sexy way.) He lifted me up so that I could at least attempt to wrap both my legs around his slim hips, and he carried me to one of the beds.
Where there's a will, there's a way, they say. Not sure if Keiran (remember him?) would agree, but...ah well. Stay tuned and feel free to review. :) Incidentally, this is a great place just to tell everyone who HAS reviewed how much your words help me to keep going. Or at least enable me to wave like ammo in front of those moody Muses' faces. THANK YOU!