AN: Hey guys, sorry this update took a little longer. Things are getting crazier for me at the end of this school year coming up, and so is DYR from here on out. Thanks so much for those who reviewed/favorited/followed! You guys are awesome.
Do You Recall
XXIII: Castles Burning
Two and a half weeks made a difference.
They'd passed through three states since leaving Nebraska and were going on their third case upon entering the state of Wyoming. Since that less than haunted house in the middle of nowhere, they'd dealt with magicians gone rogue and one seriously pissed off spirit haunting one of the brothers' old high schools.
Elena stared out the backseat window as "Now Entering Greybull, Wyoming" flew by. Sam found the case this time: multiple cases of people effectively cheating death, and all feeling like they were being blessed with a second chance at life. The three hunters took on the challenge like usual, but like it had been for the past weeks, things were strained.
As a rule, they didn't talk about that morning under the bridge.
It went unspoken but was understood. For Elena, it was mostly because she didn't know how to go about it if she did try and bring it up. She knew Dean was hurting, and he still felt indescribable guilt. But she didn't know how to make him understand what she had come to realize about him.
Despite their job, what it had done to them—to him, the fact that he was being tormented by his actions proved he was still human, capable of coming back to himself. Maybe not completely, but maybe enough that he could stop trying to push away the people closest to him.
She might not have understood the scope of what he was going through, but it didn't mean she cared about him any less than before.
As it was, Dean was avoiding her. Not explicitly, but she could tell. He wouldn't do more than hold her hand in front of Sam, or anything in public for that matter. And when they were alone, few and far between that was, holding her was the most he initiated. He seemed to want the contact every now and then, but held back.
Elena refused to push him. She'd learned her lesson in that, and now knew when he needed the space.
It'll pass, she thought. But a bitter, less secure part of her was spotting the recurring theme, and dully wondered whether things had really changed.
And Sam. Sam had been acting strange ever since dealing with the magicians in Sioux City, Iowa, taking phone calls in the middle of the night, white lies here and there that he thought Dean and Elena wouldn't pick up on.
So they worked.
It was all they could do. Without knowing what the seals of the Apocalypse were, or where Lilith was, they had no real way of trying to stop it until the angels (or Ruby) tipped them off, or if an opportunity presented itself. Though it didn't seem like the angels knew what they were doing either, and they hadn't heard from Ruby at all since Anna.
The motel they were staying in was craptastic as ever, and when Sam came with news of a cancer patient walking out of hospice completely cured, and now going out with his wife for his twentieth anniversary, it was high time to figure out what the hell was going on. No one looked to have made a demon deal either.
Usually they got all fidgety, gave themselves away with the guilt of doing something they know they shouldn't have. None of them looked to be lying.
And no one seemed to be dying either. The last one was Cole Griffith ten days ago, as published in the Greybull Gazette.
"I dunno, maybe it's what the people say it is," said Dean. Sam scoffed.
"Miracles? In our experience, when do miracles just happen?"
"Well, there's no deals, no skeevy faith healers. I mean, these souls just ain't getting dragged into the light."
"…Maybe because there's no one around to carry 'em," Sam suggested.
"How's that?" Elena asked.
"Well, grim reapers, that's what they do, right?" he pointed out. "Schlep souls. So if Death ain't in town…"
"Then nobody's dying," Dean finished. Sam shrugged. "So what, the local reapers' are on strike? Playing the back nine? I don't know, Sam."
"Well, then let's talk to somebody who might."
Both Dean and Elena gave him a strange look.
"Come again?" Dean asked.
"The kid," said Sam.
"The kid's a doornail."
"Exactly. Look, if he's the last person to die around here, then maybe he's seen something," said Sam. "We should talk to him."
Dean huffed a laugh.
"I love how matter of fact you are about that," he said, sipping his coffee. "Strange lives."
"At this point, is there anything normal?" Elena asked, quirking a brow. After a moment of consideration, Dean nodded.
"Touché."
The trip to the cemetery was a complete bust.
Not only did they not get a chance to try out the spell, but they'd been found by Alastair, who ended up tossing Dean and Elena like frisbees. Now Dean had a concussion, and he wouldn't take the painkillers Elena was trying to give him because he "didn't want to be all loopy" afterwards.
Despite the mild bruising, she was all right. Only because she'd fallen on him.
"You're so fucking stubborn," she muttered, and just handed him the cup of water.
"You should be nice to me," he groaned and sat on the edge of the bed, then downed the cup. "Used me as a damn trampoline. I'm in pain."
"You're in pain because you won't take the damn pills, so you're gunna stay in pain until you sleep it off," she retorted, but her glare had little heat. Knowing this, he grinned innocently at her.
"Come on," Elena sighed, and sat behind him on the bed.
"You're making me move?"
"Just come on. Lay back."
Elena guided him back by his shoulders and eased against the pillows until Dean relaxed against her with his head pillowed by her stomach. She'd taken off her jacket, so he was comfortable against the warm cotton of her shirt over the softness of her body. He let her take the ice pack from him and press lightly on his forehead.
Dean closed his eyes when soft fingers stroked his cheek, then ran slowly through his hair. His eyes opened again when he involuntarily made a noise of pleasure. He couldn't remember the last time he blushed, but he felt his face burning when she glanced down at him with a smile.
He covered it with a small grin, "I finally got the hot nurse."
The corner of Elena's mouth twitched upward at that. It was just too bad he wasn't in much of a state to do anything about it.
"Sorry for falling on you," she said quietly.
"I guess I just have that effect on women," he said cheekily. Elena only raised a brow, her smile turning into a small smirk at the cheesy joke. He definitely had a concussion.
"Yeah. Sure." Her fingers continued running through his hair, but avoided the tender spot at the back of his head. They smoothed out the wrinkles in his brow and stroked along his jaw line clenched with pain, forcing him to relax that much more.
"You're all tensed up. Let yourself breathe," Elena said, ghosting her hand down, only stopping below his ribs. "From here, all the way up…"
Her hand drifted back up, passing over his chest, and back up to his cheek.
"To here," she finished, then laid her hand, cool from the ice pack, against his forehead.
Dean breathed deep a few times through his nose and let it out slow each time. That combined with her ministrations helped ease the pressure in his skull.
"Tell me your secret," he groaned. It already hurt less. She'd never done this before, but it made him realize he'd missed…this. Being comfortable with her, that is.
She had a natural ability to relax him, make him feel like nothing was wrong, even when a ton of shit outside of this room was.
"I've done yoga a couple times," she admitted. His eyes were closed, so he didn't see her smile. "Decent stress relief besides pounding the shit out of something."
"No kidding."
Dean could feel himself drifting off, though his mouth twitched at the soft kiss he felt on his hairline. Like this, he could probably just manage to doze off for a while.
And then Sam was back, unlocking the door and stepping through it and jingling the keys in his hand, until he noticed them and immediately paused. He sheepishly put the keys in his pocket and shut the door more quietly. But the damage was done.
"How're you doing?" he asked Dean, maybe louder than he should have.
"I'm in pain, that's how I'm doing," he sighed. "Think I've got a concussion."
"You want some aspirin?"
"No thanks, House."
"He doesn't want to get all 'loopy.'" Elena's tone was both teasing and long-suffering. Sam grinned. Reluctantly, Dean sat up.
Break time was over.
Though disappointed, Elena sat up with him and kept her hand between his shoulder blades.
"Demons?" she said.
"Looks like," Sam replied. "So much for miracles."
"So what the hell happened with Alastair again?" Dean asked.
"I told you. He tried to fling me or whatever, and it didn't work. So he bailed." Sam walked over to the counter where the coffee machine sat.
"How come he couldn't fling you? He did a good job of it last time," Dean remarked, a dubious glint in his eye. Sam looked back at him with a shrug.
"Got no idea."
"Sam, do me a favor," Dean said tiredly. "You're gunna keep your little secrets and I can't really stop you, but…just don't treat me like an idiot, okay?"
Sam had the grace to look taken aback.
"What? Dean, I'm not keeping secrets."
Neither of the other two hunters was amused.
"Mhm," said Dean. Sam still looked a bit wounded. "Whatever. So did you go back and Q&A the dead kid?"
"Didn't have to. Bobby called."
And they were back to (somewhat) normal. Or at least, the way things had been for the past few weeks. Sam explained that the reapers were most likely being kidnapped. By demons, in order to break one of the sixty-six seals. A reaper had to be killed under the solstice moon—tomorrow night.
"How in the hell do you ice a reaper? You can't kill Death," said Dean.
"I don't know. Maybe demons can," said Sam. "Where the hell are the angels, for that matter? We could use their help for once."
"Looks like we're on our own," said Elena, "if they can't find it within their busy schedules to float down."
"What are we going to do, just jump in and save the friendly neighborhood reaper?" Sam asked.
"If you've got a better idea I'm all ears," said Dean.
"Dean, reapers are invisible. The only people that can see them are the dead and the dying."
The older Winchester nodded and pressed the ice pack back to his head.
"Well, if the only ones that can see 'em are ghosts…then we become ghosts."
Sam and Elena looked at him with similar expressions of incredulity.
"You do have a concussion," Sam concluded.
"Sounds crazy, I know."
"It is crazy," said Sam. And after a beat,
"…How do we do it?"
Pamela Barnes was less than enthusiastic about their plan, basically calling it thirty-one flavors of bat-shit insane. Astral projection was fucking hard, even for a psychic as good as she was. It was basically ripping their souls from their bodies so they could stroll through the Spirit World.
She wasn't surprised it was Dean who thought of it.
"You don't know what you're doing," Pam shook her head.
"Yeah, but you do," Dean smiled.
"Yeah, I do. And you know what? I'm tired of getting dragged into your angels and demons crap."
"Well look, I'd love to be kicking back with a cold one watching Judge Judy too."
"Nice," she said. "Blind jokes?"
"You know what I mean," Dean said. She turned away from him and sat down on the edge of one of the beds. "We're talking the end of the world, here. Okay? No more tasseled leather pants, no more Ramones CDs, no more nothin'…we need your help."
Eventually she sighed.
"Fine."
They closed the curtains and lit a few candles while Pam leaned against the motel dresser with her arms crossed. The picture of disapproval.
"Tell me something, geniuses," she drawled. "Even if you do break into the veil and you find the reaper, how're you gunna save it?"
"With style and class," Dean retorted. Elena gave him a sideways look at his heavy sarcasm.
"It's a fair question," she said tartly. He might've convinced her to stay with Pam, but it didn't stop her from being the least bit worried. They didn't have a real plan. This in and of itself was pushing the envelope more than usual, let alone going into a world where they'd be relatively powerless.
"You're gunna be two walking pieces of fog," Pam pointed out. "You can't touch or move anything. You'll be defenseless, Hot Shot."
"I seem to recall a bunch of ghosts beating the crap out of us," said Sam.
"Yeah, and they had plenty of time to practice."
"Then I guess we've gotta start crammin'," said Dean.
"Wow," Pam drawled. "A couple of heroes…all right. Lie down. Close your eyes."
She patted the bed in front of her, and the brothers each picked a bed. On his way over to one, Dean stopped in front of Elena, hesitating almost awkwardly.
"Be careful," she said. He nodded, and debated with himself for a moment. He settled with kissing her on the cheek.
"You too. Keep that gun on you," he said. She almost smiled.
The spell took mere moments to work, as Pam spoke aloud to them and they didn't reply. Their bodies didn't even move an inch. It was unnerving to Elena, knowing they were technically dead even though they only looked asleep.
"All right, so, I'm assuming you're somewhere over the rainbow," said Pam. "Remember I have to bring you back."
She stood up and walked over to Sam's body.
"I'll whisper the incantation in your ear."
What Elena heard was, "You have got a great ass."
Pam walked back to her chair and Elena gave the older woman a knowing look.
"Some incantation," she remarked. Pam smirked.
"Gotta live life, kid."
It was a lot of waiting.
And it wasn't like they could play cards, or do much of anything besides sit there.
"So," Pamela said finally. "Things haven't really slowed down for you guys, have they?"
"For a little while, they did," said Elena. And then the daydream shattered.
"It was nice."
"I'll bet."
Silence.
And then,
"You got laid, didn't you?"
Elena spluttered. Pam was smirking.
"How the fuck do you know?"
"I didn't, until you said that."
Elena was silent. Pam laughed.
"So how is Dean, really? He seems a bit off his game."
Elena sighed.
"It's complicated."
"When isn't it?"
"Fair enough," said Elena. "…He's got a lot to deal with."
"And you?" Pamela asked.
"What about me?"
"How are things between the two of you?" A teasing smile grew on her lips. "Besides the obvious."
Elena shook her head in amusement.
"Not too much of that actually, to be honest…I don't think he regrets us exactly," she said, "But I think his guilt is weighing him down."
Nothing's changed, was the thought that gnawed at her, even if it wasn't altogether true. Maybe the problem was that too much had changed at once before things could settle between them—the music cut off before they could get a rhythm. They'd been on the same one for so long, adapting to…whatever it was they were now, was kind of being a pain in the ass, Dean's fear of commitment aside.
"And stopping him from being open with you," Pamela finished. Elena sighed and nodded.
"Yeah…I thought we were past this. New shit just keeps dumping all over him. Or coming out of him."
"It 'dumps' on you too," Pam reminded. "Don't forget that."
"It falls harder on him though…he shoulders so much he doesn't have to. And Sam…" Elena sighed again.
I don't know what the fuck Sam is doing, she thought dully.
"He isn't exactly making it easier. Neither am I, for that matter."
"What makes you think that?"
"No matter what I do to help, it doesn't seem to make a difference."
Just as she thought she and Dean had worked things out, just when she thought things would be looking up, the Job jacked everything up.
"But you're there for him, right?"
"…I try to," said Elena.
"Then that's enough." Pamela turned toward Elena and laid a hand on her knee. "Doesn't seem like it, but believe me, honey. For now, it will be."
Then she leaned back, crossing her arms.
"It'll slap him in the ass one way or another."
Elena moved to the foot of Dean's bed with the magic knife and her handgun resting on the floor against her hip. Well, technically it wasn't her gun. It was one of Dean's spares. Every time she held on, it was a reminder of her past. But each time, it got a little easier. Holding it, cleaning it, checking the barrels; the last thing she wanted to call it was therapeutic, but in a sick way, maybe it was.
She couldn't remember the last time she'd slept. Really slept. On a real bed, not the Impala's leather cushion. Probably since the night Dean came to see her, standing on her doorstep with apology and regret written all over his face. It was the sincerity and hope buried underneath that convinced her to let him in and tear up her life all over again.
Not that she really minded.
With these thoughts, and her favorite song playing distantly in her mind, and night beginning to fall outside, she felt her eyes getting heavier. Her head leant back against the mattress, and she couldn't remember dreaming.
But when the window crashed open Elena was startled awake. She grabbed hold of her gun and shot the man that came in point blank in the chest, twice. The force of it sent him back against the wall.
"Lena—demon?" Pam exclaimed, sensing the creature. Elena scrambled to her feet as the burly man's eyes flashed pitch black. He wasn't taller than Sam, but was bigger than Dean in build.
"Demon!" she called back, and grunted when it came barreling toward her like a linebacker. The demon grabbed her around the waist and slammed her straight through the bathroom curtains and against the wall. Her head smacked against the tile and the world tilted on its axis, becoming hazy and slow, yet too fast for any coherent thought to pass through her brain but fightback-fightback.
She threw a disoriented punch that caught the demon's jaw, which only slowed him down for a couple seconds. Until he landed three more hits, then a final blow that could've broken her nose, and had her head snapping back into the same tile. This time the large fist connected with an audible crack, knocking her out cold.
And she slumped down into the dirty tub. The demon watched with satisfaction as the curtain fell partially over her unconscious form.
Pam wasted no time in saying the incantation in the closest Winchester's ears, but when she heard the loud crash in the bathroom, she immediately searched for some kind of weapon. She knew the boys had a knife that could kill it, but she didn't have the luxury of time to pad down the floor for it, nor could she go to Elena now.
The crashes stopped, and Pamela could hear him trying to sneak up on her. He might be a demon, but he walked like an elephant.
"I can hear you," she taunted. "What, you afraid of a skirt?"
And then he grabbed her. She managed to catch him in the jaw and kick him back a couple steps, but the demon dragged her back, picking her up and throwing her on the dresser. She could hear the candles rolling off and was glad none of them singed her, but it did no use.
White-hot pain flared between her ribbed, cutting upward into her lung, she was sure. It was a knife, razor sharp, and now stained with the blood oozing from her midsection.
"Pamela!" she heard Sam call her name, and she was relieved when the painful grip in her hair was gone. She heard some kind of struggling.
But then it was over, and Sam was beside her telling her she needed a doctor when all she needed was a goddamn drink to calm her nerves.
"I'm not gunna die," she said aloud to him, "Not here."
"Pam, you need to go to a hospital."
She gripped his collar both to make him listen, and to support herself.
"Make me a drink, Grumpy."
He ignored her, damn him, and tried leading her to his vacant bed. But instead she went to Dean and recited the incantation to wake him.
"Where's Elena?" Sam asked sharply, a note of panic in his voice.
"Oh God." The words fell from Pam's mouth without thinking. "Check the bathroom. Now!"
Dean gasped for air, waking with a start. The first thing he noticed was the broken window, then Pamela sitting on the other bed with her hand over a wound that was staining her hands.
"What happened?" he asked quickly.
"Dean!" Sam called. The sense of urgency in Sam's tone made Dean reluctantly leave Pamela and head to the bathroom. What he saw made his breath catch and his lungs constrict.
Sam half knelt with Elena limp in his arms as her legs hung off the sides of the tub. Dean rushed to them and quickly took in the state of the bathroom. There was a scuffed and chipped tile on the wall with a few hairline cracks smeared with red, and at the bottom of the tub was a pool of blood beginning to run down the drain.
"I've got her," Dean said, only semi-aware of the tremor in his voice. Sam carefully slid her into his brother's arms and gently tucked a hand under to shift her head onto Dean's shoulder. His hand came away bloody.
Both stared at it blankly.
"Help Pam," Dean commanded, snapping them both out of it. Sam left him to hurry into the other room, while Dean made sure Elena was fully in his grasp before carrying her out to his now empty bed so he could assess the damage. He laid her down and turned on the bedside lamp. She looked pale, with blood streaming from her nose and matting her hair.
He wiped what he could away and checked her heart rate. Something plummeted into his stomach like a stone at feeling how slow it was. With the pillowcase beginning to stain crimson, he eased his hand behind her head in a vain attempt to stop it, wrapping his other arm around her shoulders.
"Both of you need a hospital, now," he said to Pam.
"I'm not going to a goddamn hospital," she said. "You two take her."
"We're not leaving you alone," Sam said, shaking his head.
"That's the problem with you Winchesters," she said, shifting painfully. It was starting to get increasingly hard for her to breathe. "You never leave me the fuck alone."
"Pam, I'm so sorry," he trailed.
"Stop," she said, and took off her sunglasses.
"You don't deserve this."
"Goddamn right I don't," she said shakily, glancing at each of them. "I told you I didn't want anything to do with this…tell that bastard Bobby Singer to go to hell for…ever introducing me to you two in the first place. Now go take that poor girl to a hospital before you kill her too."
She was satisfied to see them both flinch. Dean immediately continued scooping Elena up and carried her to the Impala, leaving the front door wide open in his haste. Pam then shifted her attention to Sam and gave him a hard look.
"Come here," she beckoned him close to her. He was confused, but came close enough so she could grab his shoulder and speak quietly into this ear.
"I know what you did to that demon," she said, crying softly. "I can feel what's inside of you…"
Her breath was hot against his ear as her voice shook.
"If you think you have good intentions, think again."
When Dean came back into the room, Pamela was dead. Sam was sitting on the bed, a tortured look on his face.
"Sam," he called. His brother looked up, wide-eyed. "I need to take Elena. She's still losing blood."
Sam's brows furrowed, but after a moment of indecision he said, "You go, I'll take care of Pam. Meet you there later."
Dean nodded. He hated to leave Pamela like that. He really did. The pain and guilt was eating at him. But he grabbed his stuff and ran the few feet outside the room to the Impala, where he could see Elena shifting in the backseat.
"No, no, no, don't move," he said, stilling her hand that was trying to grab hold of the seat for leverage, even though she couldn't lift her body up.
"Dean?" she asked, eyes unfocused.
"Yeah, Lena, you're hurt." He laid her arm back down. "I'm taking you to the hospital."
"…'ospital?"
Looks like he wasn't the only one with a concussion. He slid into the driver's seat and pulled out of the parking lot. The GPS on his phone said the nearest Emergency Room was six minutes away, fifteen to twenty with the current traffic. At this time there shouldn't have been any, but apparently there was an accident on the road blocking traffic.
Fuck it all.
"You're okay," he said in calming tones. "You're gunna be okay."
She was still losing blood. The towel he put under her head was half soaked. From the rearview mirror he could see her blinking lazily up at him. Her eyelids were slowly drooping closed.
"Elena!" he said, louder and harsher than he'd intended. But it had the desired effect as her eyes opened wide. "Stay awake for me, babe. Don't fall asleep."
"Dean…" Her voice was so weak, he barely heard it. He glanced at her through the mirror, seeing her trying so hard to keep her eyes open.
"We're almost there, just hold on," he said, and pressed the accelerator. …If you're really up there, damn it…you better not let her fucking die.
Dean heard her small pained sounds and didn't even bother looking at how fast he was going. He would've ran all the stoplights too, if not for the traffic on one of the crossing streets blocking the flow of the main road.
"Damn it!" he shouted and smacked the steering wheel in pure frustration.
Please…
"Dean."
He jumped in his seat at the male voice, just managing to keep his foot on the brake, and looked over at Castiel.
"What the hell, man? Fucking with my life once today ain't enough for you?" he exclaimed.
"Pull over," said the angel.
"What?"
"It will be easier to keep from prying eyes away from the road."
Dean gave him an incredulous look.
"Like hell I am! She's hurt, no thanks to you 'sending us in' to deal with your shit!"
"I suggest you pull over."
Dean glared at him, but after precious seconds listening to Elena's labored breathing (and the red traffic light not getting any greener), he pulled the car over the boundary of where pavement met dirt and drove farther off to the side, to make it seem like they were stopping to fix a tire or something. Castiel immediately appeared in the backseat, sitting on the edge by Elena's legs.
"What're you going to do?" Dean demanded. Castiel didn't answer, merely touched her forehead, and in due time pulled away.
Dean watched her intently—watched the color return to her face, which relaxed from its pained expression. He brushed her cheek with his fingers and felt the warmth there.
"She will be all right now," the angel said, and left the car. He appeared a couple yards away. Dean studied her face a little longer, then stepped out of the car. He didn't close the door, just stood by it and stepped out enough to address the angel.
"Why?" he asked.
"The hospital wouldn't have been able to help her in time."
That made Dean falter.
"How the hell do you know that?"
Cas only gave him a slightly pitying look. Dean's frown deepened.
If that was true, then he would've failed her. Like they failed Pamela.
"Why would you care?" he asked. For all the angel claimed to "sympathize" with Dean's plight and try to help him, it had always been with the Apocalypse in sight. Elena had nothing to do with his supposed holy mission. As far as the angels were concerned, she and Pamela were (or would have been) casualties of war. That's if they were even worth thinking about, if Junkless' thoughts of humanity were anything to go by.
Still, Castiel turned to him with something of a smile on his face, and said,
"Some prayers can be answered, Dean."
She woke to a room she didn't recognize. It was dark outside the window, but two lamps lit up the motel room. She'd seen enough to know what kind of place this was. It wasn't the one they'd been in before, though. And she didn't see anyone. Not until Dean, sleeping next to her on the bed. He was still fully clothed, minus shoes, but definitely snoozing as both of them lay over the covers.
Elena smiled and sleepily reached out for him, stroking his cheek that was prickly with stubble. His green eyes slid open and found hers. A soft smile touched his lips as he grasped her hand and kissed her palm.
"Where are we?" she asked. Her voice rasped with that sleepy look he'd grown fond of.
"Still in Wyoming," he said. "Town called Basin."
He'd wanted her to sleep more comfortably than in the backseat of a car, and this was the closest town—only ten minutes out from Greybull.
"Okay…what happened?"
Dean's expression faded.
"What do you remember?" he asked. She thought about it, her hand moving to his chest while his hold slid to her wrist.
"Well…pretty sure there was a demon," she said slowly. "I got Hulk-smashed into a wall…and it's all a bit fuzzy after that."
Elena smiled weakly. He didn't.
"Dean?" she asked when his eyes fell, avoiding hers. So she rolled onto her side toward him and pressed the palm of her hand to his cheek. "What happened?"
After some hesitation, he looked up at her and was tempted to grab her hand again.
"I tried to take you to the hospital." Elena blinked. She hadn't expected that.
"…That bad, huh?" His frown only deepened, so she continued onto her next question.
"You tried to?"
"You lost a lot of blood, and it was taking too long to get there." Dean paused. With effort, he said, "It, uh…it was Cas."
Her brows furrowed in confusion.
"Castiel? What'd he do?"
Dean was silent, watching her through a conflicted, pained gaze. It was worrying her.
"Dean…" she started.
"He healed you," he said, which confused her even more. She supposed it made sense that she was healed somehow; no more bruises, no headache she would've definitely had after getting her head bashed in. But it didn't make much sense why Castiel would do it if Dean had been on his way to a hospital.
"He…why?" Finally, Dean's eyes closed as he sighed and pulled her hand away from his face.
"Because I wouldn't have made it in time," he said. "I'm…I'm sorry, Lena."
The weight of his words took time to settle, but after a while, she sat up a little and propped her head up with her hand.
"For what?" she asked. "For saving me?"
"I didn't—"
"Stop," Elena stopped him with a thumb she pressed to his lips sternly, even as her hand came to rest along his jaw line. "You're the one who got me out of there…and it's my own fault anyway. I…I fell asleep on the job. Damn stupid, I know."
She moved her thumb away from his mouth and swept tenderly along his cheek, even if her eyes avoided his in shame. Dean had to shake his head.
You're unbelievable.
He knew he'd been avoiding her. Since Nebraska, he couldn't readily look her in the eyes. Hell, now that she knew everything he figured she would want her space away from him. But her worry—that was real. Her attempt to ease his pain after they were nearly killed in the cemetery, in spite of knowing who Alastair was and how he'd "trained" Dean—that was real.
It was hard for him, coming to terms with that. It wasn't out of pity or obligation.
Despite everything he'd done to push her away, Dean kept coming back because when she wasn't there, it wasn't right. And every time Elena let him back in. Why, he had no fucking clue.
Tonight was his idea, his fault, no matter what she said. And after all that time keeping her at arms length, he'd almost lost her anyway.
So Dean kissed her on impulse, long and slow.
It was like relieving a craving he didn't remember he had.
He pulled her closer and she eagerly followed. Her hands wound into his hair as his snuck under her shirt and splayed on her back. Her legs tangled with his as he partially rolled over her, trapping her under his warmth. Elena could feel his fingers pressing against her skin and holding her to him in a way he hadn't before. Almost like he needed it, maybe (she dared to hope) needed her. She trailed away from his mouth and kissed his cheek, down his neck and toward his ear.
"It's okay," she said softly, and threaded her fingers through his short hair. He didn't answer her, but his lips lingered on the crook of her neck, breathing deeply. Elena could feel his rapid heartbeat and it made her own heart clench. She wished he would stop blaming himself for everything that was either some stupid decision on someone else's part, or something just out of his control.
And then she felt incredibly guilty for adding to his load.
"I'm okay," she added. "Because of you."
Dean let go of the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. It wasn't true, but at least she didn't blame him like Pamela did.
Elena guided his face back to hers and kissed him slowly, until the beat she felt through her skin calmed with her own. Eventually his hold on her eased until they were just lying there, comfortably. The low hum of the air conditioning was all that broke the quiet.
"Dean…what happened with the reaper?" she asked after a while, tilting her head up to see his face. "Did you stop Alastair?"
Shit, he thought. She still didn't know.
And the guilt was back.
"Yeah…the angels have him holed up somewhere."
"Then where's Sam…and Pamela?"
Dean sighed heavily. His hold on her loosened as he partially rolled back to his side. It gave her space to move away if she wanted to.
"Sam…he's taking her to Cheyenne, about five hours out." Elena gave him a puzzled look.
"But…she lives in Illinois." A sense of dread began to creep up her spine the more she watched his face. "…What happened?"
It took him a moment, but no matter how much he hated this, he had to tell her the truth.
"The demon stabbed her, Lena…she wouldn't go to a hospital."
The memory was still raw.
"…Tell that bastard Bobby Singer to go to hell for…ever introducing me to you two in the first place. Now go take that poor girl to a hospital before you kill her too."
"Pam's gone. Her only family left is her grandmother in Cheyenne," he said, and forced himself to watch Elena's wide eyes well up. Her breath caught and her brows furrowed in pain.
And she surprised Dean by reaching for him after squeezing her eyes shut, her arms winding tightly around his chest and under his shoulders. She buried her face into the crook of his neck, and all he could do was hold her just as tight.
Dean kissed her hair, and her cheek, and she wept.
"What the hell are we doing?" she whispered raggedly. It took him a bit to think of an answer.
"Trying to stop the Apocalypse from happening."
She scoffed, and it ended in tears.
"Bang up job we're doing so far."