AN: Well, I can see from the traffic graphs that there are people still reading, so I'm still updating! As long as you guys still enjoy what I'm writing, I'll keep putting up chapters. The name Ann Wilson refers to the lead singer from Heart, a favorite rock band of mine.
Do You Recall
XII: Edge of the Blade, Part II
They split up: Bobby in his car, Elena in her Camaro, Sam and Dean in the Impala, and started calling nearby hunters. Every house and apartment and motel room they checked had bloody floors and walls and their voicemails full. They agreed to meet back at Bobby's, for which Elena was grateful. She'd seen enough dead bodies in the last three days. If she saw one more, she'd be sick.
Halfway through Minnesota, she got a call from Dean.
"Hey."
"Hey. Everything all right on your end?"
"Yeah, why? Did something happen?"
"Sam got attacked, by this guy…long story short, an FBI agent who was on our trail for a while and locked us up in jail, but ended up helping us gank a bunch of demons. Lilith torched the place right after Sam and I left…he didn't make it."
"Damn…I'm sorry," she said. "Is Sam okay?"
"Yeah, he's fine…look Bobby isn't answering his phone. Have you talked to him?"
Worry set at the bottom of her stomach.
"Not since yesterday when he called."
"Okay, well we're on our way. Almost out of Nebraska."
"You might get there before me. I only passed Rochester half an hour ago."
"All right…be careful."
"You too."
But by the time she made it to her uncle's house (and she borderline raced to get there in under three hours), she found all three of them. Alive, but shit had clearly gone down; they were all beat to hell and the house was a mess.
"Lena," Sam greeted, somewhat sheepishly under her worried glare.
"What the hell happened?"
Apparently, it was ghosts. Specifically, ghosts of the people they couldn't save, and each of them with a branding on their hands. Sam drew it out, and Bobby recognized it enough to begin looking through his book shelves. Then the lights started flickering.
"We've got to move," he said.
"Move where?" Sam asked. Bobby measured him with a look.
"Somewhere safe, ya idjit."
Bobby had built a panic room. He had a panic room, and Elena had never noticed it while living here. Did that make her an idiot? It was in the basement of his house; one hundred percent iron and coated with salt. There was a cot for a bed that was already made, a desk and chair with paper and other writing utensils, and another shelf of books. Not to mention a full and extensive arsenal that Dean fully appreciated.
He and Sam spent their time making salt rounds while Bobby and Elena looked for the symbol, which the older hunter finally found. It was the "Mark of the Witness," specifically of the unnatural. The nature of their deaths forced them to rise, and in agony. It blinded them, making them vengeful spirits against their will. The spell used to raise them was so powerful that it left a mark on their souls.
"'The Rising of the Witnesses,' it figures into an ancient prophecy," he finished.
"Wait, wait, what book is that prophecy from?" Dean asked.
"Well, the widely distributed version's just for tourists," said Bobby. "But long story short, Revelation."
The brothers looked at him oddly. Elena had read it over his shoulder already, and shook her head.
"This is a sign, boys," he said. "…Of the Apocalypse."
The silence in the room was deafening, until Dean spoke up, wanted clarification that this was the Biblical Apocalypse they were talking about.
"Yeah. See the Rising of the Witnesses, it's a mile marker."
"Okay, so what do we do now?" Sam asked. Dean scoffed.
"Road trip," he said, walking away to the table full of shotguns and salt rounds. "Grand Canyon, Star Trek experience…Bunny Ranch."
"First things first," Bobby said dryly, "Let's survive our friends out there."
"Right," said Dean. "Any ideas besides staying in this room until Judgment Day?"
Bobby tapped on one of the pages in front of him with his pencil.
"It's a spell, to send the Witnesses back to rest." He shrugged. "Should work."
"Should work?" Elena asked. Sam laughed shortly.
"Great."
"Good thing is, I think I've got everything we need at the house," said Bobby. He leant back in his chair.
"Any chance you got everything we need in this room?" Dean asked with a hopeful grin. Bobby glanced over at him sardonically.
"You thought our good luck was gunna start now all of a sudden?" Dean rolled his eyes. "Spell's gotta be made over an open fire."
"The fireplace in the library," Sam realized.
"You got it."
"It's just not as appealing as a, uh…ghost-proof panic room," Dean commented. "You know?"
"Most things in our lives aren't," Elena replied. Dean paused.
"Touché."
With a warning to watch each other and not run out of ammo until Bobby was done with the spell, they cautiously left the panic room. Then it was a race to get to the library and make a salt circle around the fireplace while Bobby got the ingredients. He sent Sam upstairs to get a hex box, then Dean to the kitchen to get something out of a false drawer under the cabinets.
Twin girls appeared behind the salt line, grinning darkly and calling out to Bobby.
"You walked right by us," one said, "while that monster ate us all up."
"Why didn't you do anything?" said the other. Elena glanced over at Bobby and saw him staring at them, wide eyed with a pained expression. She shot at both of them and they were gone. It freed her uncle from the distraction and allowed him to continue with the preparations.
Then the kitchen door closed, separating them from Dean.
"Dean?" Bobby called.
"I'm fine, Bobby. Keep workin'!"
He scrambled even faster for ingredients, until his hands came up empty for an herb. It was hard to come by and needed to be kept in dark, cold places. But he knew he had some.
"Lena." She turned to him, concern clear in her eyes.
"What do you need?" she asked.
"Get me a dark green bag—under your bed. It should be next to an old shoebox."
"Got it," she said, and headed up the stairs.
Elena had never looked under the bed. It was weird to think about, but she hadn't, even when she'd come here to stay when she was a kid. She had to practically lay on the floor to reach under it. There were things so jammed between one another that she ended up pulling out everything she could, until finally reaching the shoebox. The lid tumbled off in her haste, revealing several pictures, old and frayed.
She recognized one of them; it was of Aunt Karen, probably in her early twenties and sitting on a playground swing. She was smiling widely with a shoe missing from her left foot.
A rasping, whisper of a voice called her name, breaking the silence.
She froze. The picture fluttered down between her fingers.
"Don't tell me you don't remember me, 'cause then you'd be lying," said the bright voice. She didn't want to turn around. Her heart hammered in her chest, her breath coming out in ragged pants.
"Elena." This one was different, gruff, yet just as familiar. If not more. Finally, she looked behind her.
"Dad?" she choked out.
Dean tried talking around Victor Henrickson when he came for him. All his words were the truth, but were also an effective way of stalling. Until he got a spectral arm through his ribcage and his gun thrown yards away. He couldn't block through the pain, and he couldn't shake Henrickson off. But he didn't have to.
Sam shot the ghost with a solid round of salt, making it disappear.
"You all right?" he asked. Dean gave his brother a pained look.
"No," he said, but accepted his helping and hand. The two brought the stuff for the spell into the library, but Dean looked around the room, confused.
"Bobby, where's Elena?" Bobby looked up from his work, thinly veiled alarm in his eyes.
"Upstairs in her room, I needed her to get me somethin'."
Dean swore loudly.
"Sam," he barked, and the two ran up to the second floor. Just when they reached the top, a gun shot rang out clear and loud.
"You've always been a disappointment." Dean recognized the voice. It was coming from her bedroom. "Never listened to me…never did what you were goddamn told."
It was followed closely by an agonized scream, long and echoing off the walls.
"Elena!" Dean shouted. His heart leapt into his throat and he and Sam sprinted to her room. He ripped the door open and saw the ghost of Jack Hayes gripping his daughter's wrist. Her elbow was in an unnatural angle, with his other hand at her throat. Dean didn't wait for her face to get any redder to shoot a round of salt into Jack's head. Elena slumped to the ground in a coughing fit, gasping for air, and Sam easily lifted her in his arms.
"Gotta get back to the salt line," he said, but she stopped him with a hand. Between coughs, she pointed to the bag lying on the floor. Dean grabbed it and followed his brother downstairs.
"What happened?" Bobby demanded.
"What do you think happened?" said Sam. He deposited her in the desk chair. "Can you feel your arm?"
Elena shook her head. Her eyes were clouded with pain.
"It's numb."
She could barely feel her fingers either.
"Don't move it. Your elbow looks dislocated," Dean said.
"Trust me," she said, "I'm not—"
The windows flew open, blowing the salt line away and making the flames in the fireplace flicker.
"Shit," Dean swore, and propped his gun up at the ready. Ghost after ghost came, and Bobby continued speaking out the spell as Sam and Dean, and Elena with one arm, pumped the spirits with salt. Meg Masters, the college student possessed by a demon and robbed of her life. The Twins. Henrickson. Ron, from the bank back in Milwaukee, Wisconsin. Jack. And then a boy that was unfamiliar to the brothers.
"Who are you?" Dean asked. The little boy cocked his head to the side, his brown eyes wide and mockingly hurt.
"She didn't tell you about me?" he asked. "She didn't tell you how she killed me?"
Elena froze, could only watch helplessly as the spirit of her little brother watched her with contempt in his eyes that had never once been there when he was alive.
Sam was the one who finally shot him, making Elena flinch violently. But she decided to stand. She would shoot better standing up.
When Henrickson threw Dean's gun away from him, he was forced to use an iron rod. Sam, busy with desperately trying to reload his gun, was taken unawares by Meg who moved a small shelf and trapped Sam against the wall.
"Sam," Dean called.
"Cover Bobby!"
Elena was still shooting rounds even though pain was shooting up and down her right arm. She wasn't left-handed, so her shots were occasionally a bit off. She missed Jack by a hair, and he appeared inches from her. He punched her across the cheek and grabbed her bad arm, making her cry out and drop her gun. But after a shot from Dean, the ghost dissipated.
Then Bobby's scream of pain alerted them to Meg, who stood behind him with her hand through his back. The filled bowl in his hands began to slip out.
"Dean!" he called, and Dean dove, just managing to catch it.
"Fireplace!" Bobby ordered, and the bowl and all its contents went into the flame. The room was then engulfed in a flash of light so bright it was painful, and then it was gone, including all the ghosts. Bobby gasped and fell to the floor.
"Bobby," Dean grated out, and he and Sam, who by then had managed to push the shelf away from him, helped Bobby stand. They surveyed the utterly trashed room.
"Well, shit."
They took Elena to the emergency room after the three men unanimously decided (despite her protests) that it would be better than trying to reset and treat a dislocated, possibly broken elbow from Bobby's house. If they didn't do it right they could end up really breaking her arm, with longer lasting damage. She whined and complained all the way there and through the hospital corridors after her vitals were taken and her case was deemed not life-threatening.
"Quit whinin' and just maybe I won't leave your ass here," Bobby threatened. She quieted after that.
They were forced to sit in the waiting room for twenty minutes. Elena grew fidgety, though she winced with every shift. Dean looked over and felt bad for her. Her elbow was bruised purple and swollen, like a balloon.
"Is that guy over there here for a bloody nose?" he whispered in her ear. She looked over to where a twenty-something-year-old guy had napkins shoved up his nose. Other than that, he looked fine.
"Seriously?" she groaned, then leaned toward his ear, lowering her voice. "Someone's been hitting the pay-per-view a little too hard."
Dean coughed on a laugh, earning strange looks from the people sitting in front of them. Usually he would've been the one to make that joke.
"I think I've rubbed off on you," he said, not quite able to fight off an amused smile.
"Like that wasn't your goal all along."
"True."
"Wilson, Ann," a nurse called. "Ann?"
"Finally," Elena sighed, and stood. "Coming!"
The three of them followed her and the nurse to another room, where the nurse encouraged Elena to sit on the bed while they waited for the doctor. It took another five minutes, but soon enough, Dr. Steve Marshall came out—a thirty-something with a head of blonde hair and dark eyes that were as friendly as his smile. He introduced himself to everyone and greeted Elena (or more accurately, "Ann"), her father, and her two brothers.
"Now, as I see it you think you've dislocated your elbow?" he asked kindly.
"Tripped and fell down the stairs," she supplied.
"She doesn't have the best balance," Dean added. She gave him a cursory side glance.
"My brother tends to leave his shoes on the steps," she told the doctor. "Kind of like a five-year-old."
Sam looked down to hide his smile as Dean raised a brow at her, while Bobby only sighed tiredly. The doctor smiled good-naturedly.
"Well, let me just take a look and see how bad it is, Ann. Is it Ann, or Annie?" Elena smiled, feeling a small blush on her cheeks.
"I like Annie too," she admitted. He smiled back.
"Okay, Annie. Well, let's see here."
He probed lightly at the skin around the joint. She hissed in pain once, then twice, and then Dean wished this guy would finish with his fucking tests and blatant flirting and get her some painkillers and a sling already.
He asked her routine questions about her overall health history, previous surgeries, etc., along with the major symptoms she was experiencing besides bruising, inflammatory pain, and numbness.
"I'll have to run an x-ray to make sure, but your elbow may be broken. If that's the case, then you're going to need surgery."
Elena blanched.
"Surgery?" she asked weakly. Dr. Marshall gave her a sympathetic look.
"'Fraid so. It's the easiest way to fix the bone."
"How long will that take to heal up?" Bobby asked.
"Recovery can take up to several months, unfortunately. But if it's only a dislocation, recovery time is pretty quick in comparison."
"How quick are we talking?" said Sam.
"Three to five weeks, depending on the severity. When it's healed enough you can start physiotherapy treatments to strengthen it back up again," said the doctor. He turned to address Elena, "But let's take you to get x-rayed now, and we'll know for sure."
She nodded and stood, but looked back to Bobby and the Winchesters.
"You'll wait for me…right?" she asked, though her eyes were more on Bobby than anyone else. His softened a bit.
"Course," he promised. She smiled a little, then followed the doctor out. When the door closed, Dean grinned over at his surrogate father.
"Gettin' soft in your old age, huh, Bobby?"
"Oh, shut up."
Fortunately, it was only a dislocation. They gave her a sling with a prescription of painkillers. In a few hours, they were on their way back to Bobby's house. The old hunter made sure they all had their own blankets and pillows so he didn't have to go looking for it later, because he was taking a nap, even though it was only six in the afternoon. What used to be the boys' room now only had one twin bed, since the other one had gotten too old and too hard to sleep on. So now there was Elena's room, one other empty bed, and the couch.
With Bobby trudging to his bedroom and closing the door behind him, that left the three of them. The sun was still up, but Dean didn't think he could take another step more than what it would take to shower and lay down.
"I'll take the—"
"It's all right. I'll take the couch," Sam cut him off and set his backpack on the nearest cushion.
"Sam—"
"Dean, you're about to fall over," he said bluntly. "You guys go ahead and shower, I'll get some food."
"Got it. But I'm lying here for a while," Elena said, and pretty much dropped onto the couch.
"You feel like something specific?" she heard Sam ask. Usually he'd just go out and get the closest thing.
Dean's only been back a month, and already he's been beat to hell, she mused, her lips turning down with a frown.
His face was bruised, lip split, and from what she'd heard, Henrickson would've gotten him if Sam hadn't been there in time. That must have been enough to get to Sam.
"Uh, I dunno man," Dean said, and stretched his back a little. "Did you see anything on the way?" He could have pushed his brother about the couch thing, because Sam looked pretty exhausted too, and he'd rather see to Sam than the other way around. But it looked like he was in one of his moods, when pushing against him was like pushing against a brick wall. Frankly, Dean didn't have the energy.
"I know there's a Chinese restaurant, a Papa John's…I think I saw a burger place around the corner with a 'takeout sign' on the window."
Damn, Dean thought. The sound of a burger was already making his mouth water.
"You're reading my mind, Sammy. Cheeseburger with bacon?" he asked hopefully.
"And extra onion rings, got it," Sam said with a grin. "Lena?"
"Cheeseburger."
"Fries?"
By the sound she made, she didn't care much.
"Right. I'll be back," Sam said, and grabbed the keys on his way out. Dean glanced over at Elena's prone form.
"You gunna shower?" he asked.
"You go ahead," she murmured.
"Sure?"
"Mhm."
He knew something was off, but he wouldn't press her for now. Instead, he gathered his clothes and washed off all the blood and dirt and grime, cleaned the small cuts on his arms and prodded gently at the bruise on his cheek while examining himself in the mirror. Then he got a good look at the rest of his face and almost sighed. With a tired exhale, he stared hard.
His body was clean and, besides the new cuts and the handprint on his shoulder, void of all his old scars. But the eyes that stared back at him were decades older. Tired. Holding in everything he wouldn't say. Couldn't say. And that was how it had to be.
Dean blinked and the weight was gone, pushed behind the surface for now.
He stepped out of the bathroom with a wad of clothes he threw in his bag. Only ten minutes had passed according to his phone, but it felt like an hour. He looked over and saw that Elena hadn't moved, not even an inch from where she was curled on herself facing the back of the couch.
"Elena?"
When she remained quiet, he tentatively sat beside her.
"Hey," he said. From here he could just make out the profile of her face. She was awake, her gaze not really focused on anything. She didn't answer though.
"Somethin' wrong?" He almost winced, realizing how dumb that sounded after…well, today. "I mean…"
"Dean," she stopped him. Her voice was tired. "I just want to sleep."
"You can't sleep yet. Sammy's bringing back food," he said. "And he wants the couch."
This time when she didn't answer him, he did sigh.
"Come on, Shortstop," he prodded, "Talk to me."
That earned him a narrowed look from over her shoulder, and he grinned a little. Her eyes returned to the dull beige walls, but he caught sight of the emotions beginning to break through.
"I saw your dad," he said. "Heard what he said to you."
Elena bit her lip, and the cracks fell through. Tears rolled down her face.
"He blamed me," she choked out, "for Jamie. And Jamie blamed me too."
"That wasn't him," Dean said, but her body began to shake anyway, curling more into herself. From his vantage point, it couldn't be comfortable. Her trembling didn't stop when his hand rested on her shoulder.
"Hey." And with that gentle lilt of his gruff voice, the dam broke. The hand on her shoulder squeezed a bit. "It wasn't either of them. Not really."
He was surprised when her hand came up to rest over his, and squeezed back. But he waited until she stopped shaking, smoothing his thumb along her shoulder as her tears ebbed. Eventually she let go of his hand and rolled over, looking up at him with red, glassy eyes. He dried her flushed cheeks and got her to smile a little. That small embarrassed smile he liked to get out of her sometimes.
Then she laughed a little at herself, because of course he had to see her cry again. Thank God the pain meds were drowning out the part of her that might've cared. But they were also making her feel a bit lightheaded.
Where's Sam with the damn food already.
She closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them again Dean was still there with that boyish grin of his. That stupid, stupid grin that came out after Elena finally had to smile at his stupid face.
"How do you do that?" she asked, wiping at her eyes.
His grin broadened into a smirk.
"'Cause I'm awesome."
A smile played at her lips, but she sighed and sat up. Carefully folding her legs under her, Elena hugged him with her good arm. Dean was solid and warm and smelled like soap and Old Spice deodorant, and she closed her eyes when he pressed a kiss to her hair. That was new, but she couldn't say she minded.
She'd forgotten the way he'd make her cough out what was wrong, but would actually listen to her and quip a joke afterward that would make everything more or less okay. He wouldn't try to fix everything, just be there. For her, that had always been enough. Always.
And then Dean was gone.
Bobby, bless him, would try. When he saw that she wasn't handling it well—her father dead, her new-old life in Hill City gone, Dean, then Sam, in a matter of months. On a bad day, Bobby would ask. He would pry as much as he could, and sometimes (and these were few and far between) she would tell him exactly what was on her mind.
But more often than not, she didn't have the heart to say things that would only bring her uncle more pain or guilt by mentioning them. One step closer to the whiskey in the cabinet.
Elena couldn't help a few more tears. They ended up drying on Dean's shirt.
I missed you.
All too soon he pulled away, caressing her hair in a brotherly gesture. Or at least, it felt like one...and Elena wasn't sure why that one bothered her.
She grabbed her things to take a quick shower before Sam got back. But the odd combination of spice and soap stayed with her until she shut the bathroom door behind her.
Elena had slept soundly the night before with all the pills she'd taken, but apparently, Castiel (or "Cas," as Dean had taken to calling the guy) appeared to Dean, this time without all the pomp and circumstance. He confirmed Bobby's notes on the Witnesses. It was part of sixty-six seals being broken by Lilith, of all people. Well, demon, but whatever.
The seals functioned as locks on a door, specifically a cage door. Lucifer's cage. The fucking Devil and archangel. And that's why the angels are more frequently coming down to earth after, according to Castiel, over two thousand years.
Lucifer.
The Apocalypse.
It all made sense now, at least to Elena. And though she didn't want to see them go, it also made sense to her why Sam and Dean had to leave without her. She couldn't very well hunt with a dislocated elbow, and she'd failed at almost everything she'd set out to do.
She tried to help the Winchesters break Dean's deal.
That obviously didn't work.
Then she and Sam tried to find a way to save him that didn't involve hoodoo of any kind, but that went south too. Finally, when Dean was alive and more or less well, she'd helped them track down who brought him back. Elena supposed that was…the most she could do.
But now there was a matter of the impending Apocalypse, unless they found a way to stop it. Stopping it would involve killing Lilith, which they had no leads on and no real way to find her.
So for now, Elena was helping Bobby anyway. For the two months until October, it would be answering phones and doing things with her left hand.
Sam called once or twice, just to see how she was feeling and update her on what they were doing. It was sweet of him, so she told him the truth: she was bored to tears. She couldn't even drink a beer with the painkillers and antibiotics she was on. Plus, she always felt loopy and unfocused whenever she took them. He'd laughed and said that was normal, though he wished there was a little more boring on their end.
Elena got a package toward the beginning of October from "Joe Elliot." Either it was the lead vocalist of Def Leppard sending her a green Oktoberfest hat, or it was Dean Winchester. Attached to the long black feather on the side was a note written in his familiar scrawl:
Don't down that beer until you're off your meds.
She'd sent him a picture of Bobby's fridge: half the second shelf was filled with about two six-packs of beer. She texted him.
E: It's like I'm an alcoholic or something. I don't even drink that much.
His reply took all of five minutes.
D: We'll fix that when the doc clears ya.
With Bobby on hunts more often than not, it got kind of lonely. But she had Val to talk to (the woman was always ready to talk her ear off). And she was certain that once Elena got her cast off that the two of them were going to Jesse's, but not until she wouldn't get a headache from the loud music and flashing lights. Keeping discussions about Sam and Dean at a minimum was hard, but Val eventually got the hint not to press so much on why they traveled all the time (the story about the business her dad used to be a part of that Elena decided to rejoin sounded flimsy to Val), and if they were single. Or worse yet, Val trying to set up Elena with one of them.
"You don't even know them," Elena said over the phone, rubbing the bridge of her nose, "How are you so sure of how many kids Sam would want to have, if he even wants any?"
"He seems like the family man type, which I know is more your speed. He'd want two kids, at least. And you two have a lot in common, with the whole bookworm thing going on," said Val. "But then again, Dean is all mysterious, rough and leather jacket-wearing badass."
Elena had to laugh. Val was the only one she could talk to like this. For a few minutes, she could pretend she was a normal twenty-eight-year-old, talking about guys and making normal plans to catch up with her best friend.
"Just stop, you've only met him once," she said. "And Sam is…he's like my brother. You don't even know what he looks like, what he—"
"Well, what does he look like then?"
"Um…he's tall, like six-four, probably five—"
"Stop there. Too tall for you."
Elena rolled her eyes. "I'm not that short."
"Honey, you need a step ladder to reach the kitchen sink," said Val. "You're a short-ass."
"Fuck you," Elena laughed.
"Just saying. Anyway, it seems like Cupcake's caught your eye."
Elena could only assume she meant Dean.
"Are you kidding?" she choked. An involuntary smile (the kind of smile that came from flushed cheeks and her sudden urge to pace her room with the phone on her ear). "We're just friends. Been friends for a long time now."
"Then how I can tell your face is getting all smiley? I know about that hat too."
Elena sighed, glad that Val couldn't see her blush.
"I'm smiling because you're an idiot."
"I can smell your denial. It reeks, even from this side of the state."
"Come on, Val."
"No, you come on! I can sense it."
"What, like a Spidey-Sense?"
"No, bitch. Women's intuition."
"Since when do you have women's intuition?"
"Since always. It's like, my sixth sense. That's why if you know what's good for you, next time you go out you'll wear that top I bought you last time we went out."
"What, that lacey half of a hoe's uniform?" Elena exclaimed with a laugh.
"Just trust me."
"Yeah, because I've got every reason to do that."
"You're getting laid one way or another. When was the last time you—"
"Nope. Not going there," Elena shook her head. And not because her recent "dating" history was a sad, dusty road of tequila and regret.
She heard a blowing sound from the other end, like there was a breeze. But she knew Val. "You're smoking, aren't you. I should've known. You always try to give me dating advice when you're high as shit."
"…That's beside the point."
"I don't think so," Elena muttered. Val coughed a bit.
"Whatever…so when are you going to visit me? Or when can I come up?"
"I'm kind of swamped here right now, but you can come up whenever your schedule clears up," Elena promised. "I know you've got work pretty busy around now with Halloween this month."
They usually decorated the museum she used to work at pretty heavily, even took out the more priceless breakable objects and made the place sort of a haunted house with actual information from the time period Halloween was created. Not stuff heavy or dark enough to creep kids out, but enough that they might actually learn something historical.
"I'll let you know," she said.
The following week, Dr. Marshall cleared her for everything, even took off the splint, and she never thought it would feel so good to bend her arm. It was just her luck that by the time she got back to Bobby's, the Winchesters needed help on a case.
"Dean's got ghost sickness," he told her.
"What?" she asked. "That's a real thing? Thought it was made up."
"Nope. It's real, hallucinations aside," said Bobby. "Thing is, they can't salt and burn the ghost. He was road-hauled by a factory. The remains are all over the place."
"So what do we do?" she asked worriedly. If that was true, Dean didn't have a lot of time before his heart would give out from the "fear" the sickness induced. She'd read about it in books she read for one of her mythology classes in college, but hadn't heard of anyone in the hunting world who'd ever come across it.
"That's what we're gunna figure out when we get there."
"Get there?" she asked. "Where are we going?"
"Colorado."
They ended up saving Dean in record time by road-hauling the ghost with iron, replaying his own death, near moments before Dean could have a heart attack. It wasn't until they were all teasing him about his time as a scared little girl that the brothers noticed her cast was off.
"You're free," Sam commented with a smile.
"Free to do whatever the hell I want," Elena grinned.
"Don't go burnin' buildings," Bobby warned.
"Well, I did promise a night out, didn't I?" said Dean. He winked at her, then turned to Bobby. "Care to join us?"
Bobby snorted.
"The hell I wanna be with you three on a goddamn spree," he said with his usual snark. "Leave me out of whatever fool plans you've got. Just make sure I don't hear about it the next morning. I'm not doin' any bailouts."
"Will do, Bobby," Sam promised with a crooked grin. With all the crap they'd had to deal with lately, unwinding a bit sounded good.
And that's how Elena found herself once again in the Impala on the way to the motel they'd settled in. The boys let her shower first, knowing she would probably take the longest to get ready. They hadn't known how right they were until it was an hour later and the two of them were bored to tears.
"Elena," Dean started, getting up to knock on the door. "Get your ass out here or we're leaving without you—"
The door slid open, and he was met by exasperated gray eyes and long, dark lashes. His gaze roamed her face, lured in by the pout of dark red lips, down to the lacy black top she was wearing.
"Relax, I'm done," she said with a small grin, and she brushed past him. He caught a whiff of something—perfume, he realized, and his eyes fell to the skirt: tight, mid-thigh, and navy blue. Though his gaze traveled back up the back of the blouse. Or rather, the lack of it.
"You look great," Sam complimented. He took her hand and twirled her around for effect. It made her laugh, even as embarrassment made her face grow warm.
"Lose a fight with a pair of scissors?" Dean remarked. It was cut low, nearly down to the small of her back and revealing smooth skin. It was catnip to many a skeevy bastard.
He was conflicted. Caught between tempering his own interest, and the surge of protectiveness he felt. She was Bobby's niece, and therefore off-limits, he'd long ago decided. But he still watched out for her...in a quasi-brother sort of way.
But she only laughed. "What're you, my dad?"
"That's not what I'm saying," he denied (lied). "It's cold outside. Like in the thirties."
"That's why I have a jacket," she pointed out. At his dissatisfied look, she said, "If you want to wait another twenty minutes for me to change, be my guest," she said, placing a hand on her hip. After a tense pause, Dean sighed and grabbed his keys.
It was going to be a long night.
As usual, Dean did the driving. He didn't tell them where he was going though, which irked Elena. Until they saw the signs for Denver, Colorado, and she started getting excited. It was beautiful at night, all the stores and restaurants and lights and people walking around. After parking the Impala on one of the roadside parking spaces, they became part of the crowd. Every now and then, Elena would stop and look at something, be it pastries in the window of a bakery, or handmade knickknacks and painted candleholders she would probably never need.
Eventually, Sam caved and they went into one of the bakeries, splurging on sandwiches with fancy names and cookies dipped in chocolate that Elena and Dean fought over. She ended up stealing the last one out of his hand, but felt bad enough at the pathetic look on his face that she bought him a chocolate covered Twinkie to make up for it. He gave her half anyway.
They made their way past a club that, from the outside, looked bigger than the kind of places they were used to going for drinks. More expensive.
"Let's at least check it out," Sam reasoned, and Elena was glad he did. The place was nice, but casual. Large enough for there to be a dance floor, but not so packed that you couldn't find seats at the bar. They were able to find three next to each other, and Dean immediately started ordering. They found themselves sharing a booth enough away from the loud music that they could actually hear one another.
Elena swirled the ice around in her drink. It was nice, she reflected, being with Sam and Dean again, talking and joking at their own table. The place was big enough and loud enough that they could sit close together and make fun of the drunks on the dance floor.
"So after tonight," she started, a little reluctantly. The brothers looked over at her. "Are…you taking me back to Bobby's?"
The two glanced at one another, then back at her. Dean shrugged casually.
"If that's what you want," he said, taking a long sip of beer. She shrugged to cover her disappointment.
"Sure," she said, and downed a shot.
Sam's gaze lingered on her face. He'd known her long enough to know what she wasn't saying. Then Dean bumped his shoulder and pointed out a guy who just split his pants trying to dance a bit too hard.
A few shots later and Elena was more than a little buzzed, though. Part of her thought it was a good idea to go on the dance floor. The other part told her to sit the fuck down. Then a third part chimed in. The part that was eyeing the list of drinks written in chalk on the far wall blackboard.
"I wanna try something else," she told them. "We always get the same stuff."
"Go for it," said Sam. "Just remember to pace yourself."
She stuck her tongue out at him and went to the bar and only stumbled on her heels once.
"Hi," she greeted the bartender, her speech only a little bit slurred.
"Hi," he replied with a bored expression. "Something else for you?"
"Yeah," she nodded, leaning on the counter. "I want something new."
"That's specific," the bartender said. She glanced at his nametag that read, "Mick." He was tall, into his forties, and built, like he'd worked at a few dives before this club, and not as a bartender. As a bouncer, maybe.
"Feeling adventurous?" he asked.
"Yep. Lay it on me."
"You got it."
In about five minutes, "Mick" came back with a tall glass of something iced and dark red, almost black.
"Enjoy," he said.
"What the hell is that?" she asked. With the music pounding in her ears, she didn't really catch what he said next. But he promised it would be fruity. She could've sworn he said Mongolian Nutter Butter, and hoped it wouldn't taste like peanuts and sugar.
Fuck it, she thought, and made the mistake of trying to throw it back like a shot. The liquid that scorched down her throat tasted like gasoline and orangey pineapples—oh, and with a side of Pepto. She found herself in a coughing fit that had the bartender asking her if she was okay.
"What the hell was that?" she exclaimed, and set the glass, three quarters full, down on the counter. "I just drank motor oil with a fruit basket."
"Calm down, sweetheart. If you hadn't chugged it like a milk carton maybe you wouldn't be coughing out a lung."
If there was something she hated, it was unprovoked sweethearts.
"Yeah, well, can you make me something that won't cost me an organ transplant?" she snarked.
"Look, that was a twenty-dollar drink you want to piss away. You sure you wanna go for something else?" Mick asked. Elena's eyes widened comically.
"Twenty dollars? For that?" she snorted. "Look buddy, I've already got a tab. I'm not paying for something that nearly made me upchuck my lunch."
"Let me tell you the way things work around here, sweetheart," Mick said, his expression turning stony.
Again with the sweetheart, she thought. Irritation prickled under her skin.
"You drink, you pay. No exceptions."
Just when she would've shot back with something less than pleasant, Dean's hand fell on her shoulder.
"Is there a problem here?" Dean asked with his usual disarming grin meant to diffuse the situation.
"Missy here wants to skip out on her tab," Mick answered, but Elena shook her head.
"Not the whole thing, just the fruity carburetor fluid you gave me," she corrected, gesturing at the glass. Dean looked at it, puzzled, wondering why it was familiar.
"Let's see, it can't be all bad," he said, and sipped at it. He swallowed past the liquid fire sensation and felt a shiver run up his spine. Dean had to shake himself.
"What the fuck is that?" he coughed. Then after a moment to taste what had just been in his mouth, he almost groaned when he realized where he'd tasted that before.
"You see!" Elena exclaimed. "I told you!"
"You drink. You pay," Mick repeated.
"You gave her a Mongolian Motherfucker?" Dean asked. "Jesus, that'll give anyone a new lung."
Elena's hands went to her waist. "I'm saying!"
Mick rolled his eyes, but he looked thoroughly pissed off. "Look, pal. Just pay your bill and get out."
"Hey, we're paying customers like everybody else!"
"Dean," Sam interrupted, coming up from behind his brother. He looked up at the bartender. "Look, before you made my friend's drink, did you tell her what it was or tell her the price?"
Mick stared at Sam, silently simmering.
"I didn't think so," Sam said. He pulled out his wallet. "But how about this. Here's our tab, and an extra ten for the drink, and we'll be on our way."
He held out a wad of cash, and after a moment, the bartender took it and waved a dismissing hand as he turned away from them. Sam all but hauled his brother and Elena out of the club.
"Next time, ask what it is first," Sam said while Dean left to go get the car. They'd had quite a few more drinks at a different bar as the night went on, and Sam and Elena were significantly more buzzed. Well, Sam was buzzed. Elena was heading down the route of plastered if she had a couple more shots.
"Stop bitching," she grumbled. "You're all…pissy."
He shot her an annoyed look.
"You're the one who couldn't take the heat," he pointed out. "I'm the one who had to save your ass."
She grinned up at him.
"I didn't know it was your time of the month too."
He rolled his eyes, though a smile played at his lips. "All right. Next time I won't bother."
"Whatever, Samantha," she teased, but leaned on him a bit when a gust of wind hit them. She blamed the cobbled sidewalk for throwing her balance off. "Dean's the one who blacked out the first time you dared him to drink the…Nutter Butter thing."
Sam laughed a little, conceding her point.
"At least he made a good call on going to get the car," he said. "We'd have to drag you a mile."
She gave him a peeved look and shivered. "I res…resn't that."
"I think I see him," Sam said. His smile fell at watching her sway and shiver drunkenly in the wind. He braced her arm against him. "You might wanna put on your coat."
Her chin took on a stubborn tilt. "I don't wanna."
Sam sighed. "You're cold."
"I'm so not," she retorted. He was pretty sure she was just spiting him. "If I put it on it'll be too hot."
"I hear your teeth chattering."
"It's your fault. We're standing under a vent."
"We're outside."
"You don't have yours on either. Quit being so…" She paused, obviously trying and failing for the word for it. "Pissy."
He thought about it. Slinging his arms through the sleeves of his own jacket sounded like a lot of effort. Lucky for both of them, Dean finally pulled up with the Impala.
"Fine, just get in the car," Sam said, shaking his head with a smile. They walked away from the nightclub, and Dean rolled the passenger window down to glare at them from the driver's seat.
"Where are your jackets, dumbasses?" he said when the two climbed into the car. "It's twenty degrees and dropping."
"I was too hot," Elena said. But her smile said she was just drunk. Dean then looked over at his brother.
"And you?" he asked. Sam shrugged. Dean shook his head.
"Damn five-year-olds," he muttered, and drove back to the motel. Elena was a little more lucid by the time they got there, but that wasn't saying much. Sam let Dean help her get out, as she was complaining about the thin heels on her boots being "uneven."
"It's like, twenty-something degrees," Sam reminded them. As if they needed reminding.
"It's all right, go inside," Dean said. "I can handle this."
Sam chuckled. "All right."
He was about to crash, and crash hard on the nearest bed.
Meanwhile, Dean got Elena standing on the pavement and she immediately shivered.
"It's cold."
"I told you," Dean said. He grabbed her coat and wrapped it around her. "Why don't you just take off the damn heels?"
"If I bend over, I'll fall," she said factually. Her balance was screwed to hell at the moment and both of them knew it. Dean sighed. He hadn't been able to find good parking on a Saturday night, even for this rickety motel. So they were on the far end of the parking lot.
"All right, sit down." She sat down on the edge of the car seat. Dean knelt in front of her and began undoing the buckle on one of her boots, then ran the zipper all the way down. He slid it off and...couldn't help glancing down at her smooth thighs pressing together for warmth.
"Do the other one," she wiggled her impatient left foot. He breathed a laugh and obliged. Then he looked up at her, finding amusement in her bright smile.
"You ready to get up?" he asked.
"Yep!" She held out her hands. Dean shook his head and stood, grabbing her hands to lift her up after him. She ended up too close. Their legs brushed one another, his hands still holding hers up to his chest. The way her eyes widened when they found his made him pause, made his mouth go dry.
"Thanks," Elena said, sounding more sober than she had before.
"Yeah," he said. He watched her gaze flit down to his mouth when he licked his chapped lips.
It wasn't long before he found himself leaning toward her. He didn't realize it until she was tilting her head up to him.
But Dean hesitated, pulling away a bit. The smell of alcohol mingled with her perfume.
It didn't feel right, even if her curves pressing against him did.
He caught the flash of disappointment in her eyes. And then it was gone, as she shivered at the gust of wind that blew through them.
"Come on," he said, steering her toward the motel. "Let's get inside."