AN: So, this is probably going to be the shortest chapter out of all of them. Sorry about that, but the cut off needed to be just right on this one. Many thanks to all who reviewed! Reading your feedback does wonders for motivation, so keep it coming!

I'm also gathering ideas for one-shots in this Do You Recall (DYR)-verse. Any requests? Maybe an extended scene or a specific scenario.

Do You Recall

"Here we stand
Worlds apart
hearts broken in two, two, two
Sleepless nights
Losing ground
I'm reaching for you, you, you
Feelin' that it's gone
Can change your mind
If we can't go on
to survive the tide
love divides,"

—Journey, "Separate Ways (Worlds Apart)

XVII: Any Way You Want It

Anna was not only able to steal back her Grace, but regain her angel status. By the time the explosion of light from her Grace disappeared, she and Alastair were gone with it, leaving two angels, a demon, and three hunters.

Dean picked up Ruby's knife off the floor and met Castiel's stare.

"Well, what're you guys waiting for?" he asked. "Why don't you got get Anna? Unless you're scared."

"This isn't over," Uriel promised, though Castiel held him back from attacking them. Dean smirked.

"It looks over to me, Junkless," he said.

When the angels disappeared, all four of them were relieved. Ruby limped over to them, a deep stain of blood getting larger through her shirt.

"Are you okay?" Sam asked.

"Not so much," she replied wryly.

"What took you so long to get here?" Dean asked. She gave him an incredulous look.

"Sorry I'm late with the fucking demon delivery. I was only being tortured."

Dean nodded, but it wasn't an apology. He wasn't doing that more than once in his life to a demon.

"Well, Sammy. I gotta hand it to you," he said. "Bringin' 'em all in one place, angels and demons? It's a damn good plan."

"Yeah, well…when you've got Godzilla and Mothra on your ass," Sam said with a glance at Ruby, who gave him a small grin, "best to get out of their way and let them fight."

"Ah, now you're just bragging."

The last thing Elena wanted to do was stay, especially after Ruby left. There was nothing to distract from how tense things still were, though not between her and Sam. He was the one who bribed her with a half-eaten chicken sandwich and a beer, so she wouldn't hit the road on empty. It was a poor excuse and both of them knew it, but because he asked her so earnestly, she caved and let him open a beer for her as the three of them leant against the Impala.

"I can't believe we made it out of there," Dean commented. Sam's reply was a huff of a laugh. Elena remained quiet.

"Again," Sam added. The two took long drags of their beers.

"I know both of your heard him," said Dean. His tone took on more weight, prompting Elena to finally look over at him with thinly veiled interest.

"Who?" Sam asked. Dean looked over at him knowingly.

"Alastair. What he said, about how I had 'promise.'"

"I heard him."

"You're not curious?"

"Dean, I'm damn curious. But you're not talking about Hell," Sam said honestly. "And I'm not pushing."

Elena looked down at the bottle in her hands.

It was a short while before Dean continued, but eventually he let his beer rest on his thigh.

"It wasn't four months, you know."

Confusion was etched on Sam's face.

"What?" he asked.

"It was four months up here, but down there…I don't know. Time's different. It was more like forty years." Sam stilled, and had to shake his head while Elena stiffened next to him.

"My God…" he trailed. He didn't have anything to say, because nothing would make it better or easier for his brother.

"They uh…they sliced and carved, and tore me in ways that you…" Dean had to pause, shake his head and find the words to explain what he'd been through. "'Til there was nothing left."

He inhaled deeply as memory after memory played in his mind.

"Then suddenly, I would be whole again. Like magic. Just so they could start again all over."

Elena felt her heart drop into her stomach, though the rest of her felt hollow. And after what Sam said, the guilt was hard to ignore. It was eating at her along with that emptiness.

This was what she'd been waiting for, what she'd asked for. She'd wanted the truth.

"And Alastair, at the end of every day, every one…he would come and make me an offer," said Dean, now earning both his listener's stares. "To take me off the rack if I put souls on. If I started the torturing."

Dean's mouth quirked in a self-deprecating smile as he said, "And every day, I told him to stick it where the sun shines."

And then the smile was gone.

"For thirty years I told him that." He bit his lip, and his eyes turned glassy. "And then I couldn't anymore, Sammy…I couldn't."

He swallowed past the lump forming in his throat.

"And I got off that rack. God help me, I got right off, and started ripping 'em apart…I lost count of how many souls." The confession was met with silence, but didn't fall on deaf ears by any means. Tears began to fall down his cheeks, and while she hid on her side next to a bleary-eyed Sam, Elena's shoulders silently shook.

"Th-The things that I did to them…" Dean shook his head. He couldn't speak anymore, and couldn't bear looking at them in the eyes and seeing their disgust either. So he closed his in a vain attempt to shut away the tears that kept coming.

"Dean," Sam said, a little shakily. "You…you held out for thirty years…that's more than anyone could've."

"How I feel," Dean grated out, wiping at his eyes. "This…inside me, it's…I wish I couldn't feel anything, Sammy. I wish I couldn't feel a damn thing."

His sobs wracked his body, beginning to shake the car even. His beer was warming in his hands but his insides felt cold, everything inside dust. They'd been turned outside a thousand times until he was bloody and raw. But no amount of torture would ever justify what he did to hundreds of souls himself. People. Guilty people in Hell, but people.

Dean's eyes shot open and met Elena's. She was crying as heavily as he was. But shakily her small hands grasped his left that didn't hold a bottle; held it tight and traced over his knuckles with her fingers. To his shock, she stepped close to him, between his open legs, and clasped his hand to her chest. She closed the remaining space between them until her forehead rested against his chest, just over his pounding heart.

When her tears began to stain his shirt, he let his cheek fall against her hair.

"'M sorry," she said weakly, sniffling. Guilt, shame, remorse—words like that didn't cover what she felt. But it was enough to make her feel sick.

Dean squeezed his eyes shut.

"Don't, Lena," he choked.

Against his will, her weeping reminded him of the ones who cried softly, begged for the pain to end…for him to stop. She held a hand that had butchered people the same way he had been.

So he pushed her away gently, but firmly. Dean slipped his hand out of hers and saw the fresh hurt on her face. He shook his head, tears still falling.

I'm worse than a murderer.

"Don't."

She stared at him for a long moment, and he knew she didn't understand.

"Why?" Her voice broke along with something inside him.

"I can't." Elena shook her head.

"You could," she said, with more tears, "if you let yourself. If…if you let me."

Dean was all too aware of Sam watching him. But he realized not everything he'd said to her before was misdirected.

"I can't," he said. She was too forgiving. "Because you won't understand. And in the end…I can't let you."

Her jaw clenched in anger and frustration, and she glared at him.

"It's the same shit over and over."

Dean looked away from her.

"Why won't you let me try?" she asked. After a moment, he looked up and met her gaze.

"I'm not draggin' you down with me." He shook his head. "Not in this."

It was enough to have Sam holding onto him. In some (a lot) of ways, he was keeping Dean afloat just enough to get through the string of near-death experiences that was their lives. For her sake, he'd rather not get used to depending on her.

He ended up losing people like that, one way or another.

By the way she was looking at him, it looked to be now. And that was fine by him, as long as she walked away.

"I don't want you to," said Dean.

Elena paused, incredulous at first.

But her stare slowly turned blank, and she nodded.

Then she wiped at her face and turned around, got in her car and left.

"Where do you wanna go?" Dean asked the next morning while throwing a button-down shirt over a plain black shirt. There was a map he'd placed in front of Sam, but he didn't look all too interested eating the last crumbs of a Chex Mix bag.

"Come on, Sammy. The road's awaitin'," Dean encouraged, slapping his brother on the back. Sam wasn't as amused. Finally Dean sat down across from him at the table, arms crossed on its plastic surface.

"All right, what?"

"Maybe we should head back to Sioux Falls."

"Why? There's plenty of monsters out there that need ganking."

"Dean…don't you think you should at least call her?" Sam asked. The mildly pleasant look on Dean's face vanished.

"No, I don't."

"Just to make sure she got to Bobby's okay, at least."

"You can call her if you want." Dean got up and got the bag of beef jerky from his bag.

"Dean—"

"Sam," he shook his head. "It's better this way."

Sam had tried to hash this out with Dean before, but as per usual, getting something like this out of him took a lot of patience, especially when it was fresh. He knew Dean felt the absence as much as he did—no Dunkin' Donuts on the counter to wake them up in the morning, no fights for the shower (or at least, not as much), no complaints about how rank the boys' dirty laundry was getting and no extra pair of hands to help get them patched up after a hunt.

Sam even kind of missed her iPod blasting from the bathroom.

"What makes you so sure?" he asked.

But Dean only glared at him, and went back to looking at the map.

Her steps were slow and heavy crossing the threshold of a house she hadn't lived in for roughly a year. Elena closed and locked the door behind her, dropped her bag, and eased herself onto the floor. She let out a shaking breath that ended in a sob.

Reaching into her pocket, she fished out her phone and dialed.

"Hello?"

"Bobby," she sniffed.

"…What's the matter?" She choked on a laugh.

"A lot."

"Where are you?"

"My house."

"Are you hurt?"

"No," she shook her head, even if he couldn't see it.

"I'll be there in a few hours."

"Where are you?"

"…I was in Vegas…long story."

She smiled a little.

"Okay…thanks, Bobby."

Sam and Dean pulled up to Singer Salvage Yard a day later, tired and in need of showers. Bobby let them in with a peculiar look as they stepped past him into the living room.

"I know, we're a little ripe," said Dean. "We've been driving a while and ganked a few vamps."

"I'll say," the older hunter drawled. "You know where everything is."

A subtle hint that they should take care of that before he broke out Elena's stash of candles, something he would never admit knowing about. Or maybe just some Febreeze.

"Thanks, Bobby," Sam said, and made his way to the bathroom with his duffel.

"Thanks for letting us crash," said Dean, taking a seat on the couch.

"It's fine," Bobby said, his eyes roaming the old walls of the living room. "I should just retire and turn the place into a bed and breakfast."

Dean smiled a little, but it faded as he realized something, or rather, who was missing. He was both relieved and…well, not disappointed, but if she wasn't here then she was probably working a job. Maybe alone.

"Elena…she hunting?"

"Went back home…for a little while, at least," said Bobby. "Needs to catch her breath."

Again, despite himself, Dean was relieved. He paused, but eventually asked if Bobby had talked to her. In turn, Bobby leaned against his desk and crossed his arms.

"Yeah. Yesterday."

Dean nodded, then a little hesitantly,

"She okay?"

Bobby sighed and fixed Dean with a pointed look.

"What do you think?"

Dean looked up at the frown on the other hunter's face.

"Her knee, or…"

"You already know what. So why are you askin'?" Dean blanked, taken aback by Bobby's bluntness. Inwardly though, he supposed he should be used to it by now.

"I don't—"

"Oh, let's just cut the bullshit, huh?"

Bobby's stare was unamused, and unyielding. It didn't take long for Dean to get the hint.

"She's better off, Bobby," he said quietly, and looked down at the ground. He prayed Sam hurried up in the bathroom.

"Not sure she thinks of it that way." Finally Dean grew frustrated and sighed, running a hand over his face.

"What is this, Doctor Phil?" he said peevishly. "My turn in the damn chair—"

"She called me the other night cryin' at one in the morning," Bobby snapped. "I only seen this girl cry a handful of times, and never over somethin' petty—"

Bobby's momentum was cut off by one of the landline phones ringing. Before going to answer it, he stood up and looked Dean square in the eyes.

"I understand Dean…I do."

He shook his head as Dean bowed his.

"You think about what the hell it is you want," said Bobby. "Be right and miserable, or go fuckin' talk to my niece."

Elena spent the better part of two days sleeping off the week she'd had. She called the electrical company so she could turn on the air conditioning and the lights in the house. Along with opening all the windows to clear out that musty smell, she called the city to turn her water back on, relying on the now smaller reserve of funds from both her father's retirement pension and her mother's life insurance to pay for what would probably be a small bill for the end of the month.

She didn't know how long she would be here, but she knew after Bobby left her house the day before that the Winchesters were on their way to his place; they'd called him not long before he left.

On the brighter side, she could listen to her records again. Her father's turntable still sat proudly next to a long shelf of books in the living room. The sound of her favorite record crackling as it spun was warm and familiar, wrapping around her like a blanket as she did menial chores around the house.

But considering there was really only canned food and a bag of rice in her pantry, she went to the grocery store, and for the first time in a while didn't buy Chex Mix or Twinkies. Though she did end up buying a Snickers bar and a Twix, even if it reminded her of the lipstick she still hadn't replaced.

She turned off the cable on her TV a long time ago, but there was nothing wrong with the DVD player. Still in the sweatpants and tank top she'd slept in, Elena picked a movie at random and settled on the couch with a basket of clothes and began folding. It was almost too mundane. She thought of washing Sam's putrid socks, and the memory somewhat made her feel better.

The knock at the door startled her a little. She hastily paused the movie and turned off the TV, moved the basket of clothes off the sofa and to the side, and grabbed the gun under one of the cushions before going to the door.

She glanced down and kicked back the corner of the small rug by the door, nodding in approval at the Devil's Trap that was still spray painted there. She smoothed the rug into place and opened the door.