Author's notes: Some final scenes are rated T (yeah, in bold); nothing special but just for safety. So, you're warned :))

Other than that, it is sort of a song-chappie. Yeah, I know – again :) Couldn't help myself, really. The song seemed too fitting to the situation to ignore it. Besides, I like it generally.

Okay, go on now :))

Chapter 8

"Thanks, Bobby," Dean hung up and put the phone onto the table. He rubbed at his eyes, looked at the book in his lap almost with disgust and shut it close.

"What?" Sam lifted his head from the monitor of his laptop.

"Nothing!" Dean exclaimed melodramatically.

"At all?"

"Uh-huh. Silence! No one says anything. Can you imagine it?"

"Hardly."

"Which is really bad for us," Dean continued. "It means they are getting prepared for something so big that no friggin' leaks are allowed."

"Meaning, we don't know what to start with," Sam winced and glared at the screen with unmistakable disappointment.

Nothing.

Practically, they could only keep holy water supplies and Ruby's knife close at hand, and hope they'd be lucky enough to have a chance to use them. Anything else was utterly useless.

"Exactly."

"You think it can be a trap?"

"Of course it is a trap, dude! It is always a trap. Bobby thinks they want our guards down before, you know, attacking or something."

Dean buried his face in his hands; ran his fingers through his hair and sighed heavily. It came out like the weight of the whole world's well-being was on his shoulders only. This waiting of something indefinite yet inevitable was getting on his nerves, leaving him restless, sleepless. Uneasy and anxious for no reason, too. And being stuck in this motel room one on one, Sam aside, with his thoughts – and what was that? Memories? Gee, great! – was nearly making him climb up the walls.

"So friggin' sick of being a part of this bloody game," he confessed, although it was hard to say if he was talking to Sam or to himself. "Never belonged to myself even for one goddamned minute of my life. Even my death was a part of this game. And now I'm back… and everything's the same! What's the point?" Looked up at his brother. "No, seriously, what's the point of this all, Sammy? I… I don't know. I'm not sure I can continue it like this." And… determination.

"Days of our lives," Sam muttered. "But maybe that's it, Dean? Maybe that's the point?"

"What do you mean?"

"Maybe you were meant to be back to change it all? What if, you know, no one but you can handle it?" And, okay, maybe that was pushing it just a bit. Didn't sound inspirational, Sam knew it. But Dean always was good with duty and responsibility stuff. Or had been, some older version of his brother.

"Back to super-hero theories?" Dean grinned sourly. "Hell is a terrible place. I mean I guess so," he added quickly foreseeing the questions that might follow. "But some things in life… losing people we love, losing battles one after another with even more coming… they are not much better." A pause. "I can't keep on losing, Sammy," in a whoosh of breath. "Not this time. I can't keep on losing people I care about. Don't want to put living for later because there would probably be no later. Guess, it takes one to die to realize something like that."

Sam held his eyes for a while, considering.

"Why don't you just call her?"

"Who?" Dean frowned although they both knew that he understood.

"Bela."

Being said out loud, the name made Dean immobile for a moment. He smirked then, completely humorlessly, and got to his feet. "I don't know what you're talking about, dude. Gonna go and grab something to eat, what d'you say? I'm starving!" The last announcement was made on the widest smile ever, like he couldn't care less about anything else in the world.

"Sure," Sam nodded knowing that it was not so much about the food as about escaping for a while.

"Preferences?"

"Something edible would be fine," he scoffed.

"Got ya! Where's my wallet?"

Dean looked around the room and spotted brown leather on the bedside table, a folder and a book rested on top of it, beside empty plastic glass. Grumbling something about freaking junk under his breath, he pulled the wallet from under the pile… and dropped the folder to the floor. It swung open, several sheets of paper and a copy of a newspaper article fell out of it and flew all over the worn out carpet.

Cursing through clenched teeth, Dean knelt between the beds and started gathering it all. He was about to put the folder back to where it was lying before when his eyes spotted a familiar name in the article, quite accidentally.

He frowned; got up from the floor and lowered himself onto the edge of the bed, eyes peering intensely at the text.

"What is this?" He asked Sam while going through the documents.

"What?" Sam snapped his head up.

It took him less than a moment to recognize the green cover. Bela's file.

"This!" Dean poked into the folder. "Damn it, Sammy, what the hell is this?" And without waiting for an answer as it didn't matter much, "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Bela would probably kill me if I did… and then I thought you knew."

"How?!" Dean bellowed.

"I thought she told you." Now it was Sam's turn to frown.

"Well, she didn't!" And then, with annoyance, "Apparently, this little fact somehow slipped her mind."

"What was that sweet moment between the two of you about then?"

Dean glowered at him but ignored the question as if he didn't hear it at all.

"Is this true?"

His fingers flipped through the papers catching bits of information here and there, blood hammering in his ears so hard that he was seeing spots. The images flashing before his eyes and a violently flopping stomach didn't let him concentrate well enough to read thoroughly. It wasn't about money. The voice was so clear in his head, he even thought for a moment or two that Bela was here in the room, saying these words to him again.

"Guess so," Sam agreed slowly.

"But… but it is said here that Bela's father was reported for child abuse," Dean raised his head and looked expectedly at Sam.

"Well, if the police reports are not lying…" he trailed off.

"By his daughter," in a low voice. It wasn't about money. Bloody hell! "It means by…"

Sam nodded and shrugged somewhat indefinitely, like why ask if you know the answer? "They never started a case in the absence of evidences though," he added.

"Or they didn't want to see them." Angrily, Sam noted, although he didn't understand if it referred to the inoperative police, or Bela not saying a word, or Dean's own blindness. "Son of a… I've got to talk to her!"

He was on his feet before he even knew it. Threw the folder onto the bed not giving a damn about the papers that fell out again and grabbed his jacket from the chair.

"Dean, wait! How about…" but he was out of the room before Sam finished the phrase, "… the phone?" He watched the door for a while. "I guess it's too late to remind you to grab ketchup… since the whole food thing is no longer valid." And then into the air. "Good luck."

***

Bela Talbot had things to do.

She had two orders – for an ancient amulet and for a spell book. Besides, she had a client lined up for a supposedly cursed jewelry set which she was keeping locked in her safe and luckily found untouched.

Things to organize, meetings to arrange.

Strange how easy it was to get back to her old life style. Bela didn't know whether she should be happy or sad about the fact that none of her contacts – at least none of those who she talked to so far – noticed her absence. On the one hand, the loneliness from realization that one day she might disappear forever and no one would notice became overwhelming, consuming her, paralyzing her with fear and panic. Whereas on the other… funny, but she was almost glad that everything turned out like that. It saved her a lot of time and nerves explaining how it happened that she died and got back to life again, and proving that she was human. She wasn't in touch for several weeks? Fine, she simply didn't have required items to sell or wasn't looking for one thing or another. Everyone was okay with that.

Bela knew that sooner or later the rumors would start to spread; especially now that Dean was back, too. She got used to staying in the shadow – blind, deaf and invisible, just as her business required – but the same could hardly be said about the legendary Winchesters. Although she refused to think about how to deal with gossips until they actually became a matter of her concern. Chances were, her miraculous resurrection would stay unnoticed. It was too optimistic, and she knew it, but going on like this was easier.

Speaking of the Winchesters… It had been a week, and she hadn't talked to any of them ever since she got back home. Not that she expected Dean to call or something. She only supposed that he would. Maybe. He didn't though. Must have been head over heels in another exciting case, Bela guessed somewhat contemptuously, pretending that her heart wasn't jumping up to her throat every time she heard her phone ringing. She wanted to make a call herself but couldn't find a reason. Wanted to call without a reason then. Twice. But both times instead of pushing the dial button she was putting her phone away and moving on to her other activities.

"He is busy with saving the world," Bela informed her cat once. "Besides, if he wanted to talk, he'd call. He has my number." Her cat's ears twitched, which she took as agreement with both statements and willed herself to stop thinking about Dean. If he doesn't care, why would I bother?

…There was blood, a lot of blood. And darkness, so thick that it was impossible to say where was up and down, if there was up or down. Everything looked the same. And there were screams of numerous of suffering souls. And there was fire, or maybe it was the agonizing pain that made everything red and glowing. She didn't know that for sure, nor did she care.

She was only grasping for the moments of slightest relief between endless hours of torturing, or maybe they were days, or weeks. Time did not exist there; one moment could last for eternity.

And he was there, almost always. Even if she couldn't see him – through the darkness or through the pain – Bela knew that he was somewhere nearby, could feel it, which was even worse. She was pleading him, begging him to stop, over and over again. It never helped, like it never helped when they were both alive. Past the pain she could only hear him laughing, telling her that he was waiting for her to come, that he always knew she'd show up sooner or later because it was what she deserved, and everything was starting again. Just like then…

"Bela," the voice came to her through the thick layer of pain and desperation.

"No!" She screamed out loud. "Don't touch me!" And quieter, pleading, "Please, don't…" and opened her eyes breathing heavily.

Another dream, she realized. The relief rushed through her. It wasn't real. Not anymore. She was home, it was safe. She observed the ceiling of her living room and breathed in the scent of her leather couch almost with pleasure. But then… if it wasn't a dream anymore, if she was awake, why the touch to her shoulders felt so real?

Bela sat upright on a rush, panic forming within her even before she processed terrible possibilities in her mind.

"Hey, easy!" The voice was quiet and soothing. And so damn familiar. "It's okay. It's me." A hand brushed hair from her face; rough fingers ran gently down her cheek.

"Dean?" She finally focused her eyes on him and frowned in confusion. "What are you doing here?" Held back the question about how since it wasn't a problem for Dean to get wherever he felt like getting. Her security system was a lousy barrier.

Still dreaming?

Bela looked around her living room. The last thing she remembered was pouring a cup of chamomile tea for herself and settling in the couch in order to go through some papers. Her cat joined her right away, purring softly and… and she must have dozed off soon after that, she decided, which was hours ago by the looks of it. It was dark outside now, and someone turned on the reading lamp. Probably Dean as she didn't remember doing it herself.

"Was driving by," Dean replied on a nonchalant shrug. "Decided to check on how you're doing." Another shrug.

Oh! O-okay…

"Driving from where to where?" Bela tilted her head and batted eyelashes innocently at him, all pure curiosity and expectation. She knew – approximately – where the Winchesters were, or could be, and wherever Dean might need to drive, it definitely wasn't through Queens. Unless, of course, he had the crappiest sense of navigation ever. Assumption that he might get lost amused her.

He ignored her question though… and was that blush? Well, maybe just a trick of dim light.

"What was that about?" He asked instead.

"What?" Bela blinked at him. Shook her head. "Nothing, just a bad dream." I hope. And then she giggled – couldn't help it, really, and rumpled his wet hair with her fingers. "What happened to you? Did you fall in a pool?"

"It friggin' rains outside!" Dean announced somewhat defensively and anything but pouted like some five-year old.

And as in confirmation of his words white lightning broke through the pitch-black sky like some extremely long flash of photo camera. And then another followed right after the first one accompanied by deafening thunder that seemed to make the whole building tremble. Someone's car alarm turned on and howled loudly for a couple of seconds somewhere in the street. Bela's cat jumped down from the armchair he was occupying, tail puffed, and hurried to crawl under it.

"Your parking lot was filled up, too," Dean added, a mixture of complaint and accusation in his voice, as if all these cars down there were all hers and she occupied all vacant spaces out of wish to piss him off. "Had to leave my baby almost two blocks down the street and walk here in the pouring rain."

"And it was a challenge of a century for you, Dean," she hemmed. "Should have called first," pointed out reproachfully then. "I'd save you a place."

"Didn't want to ruin a surprise!" Dean beamed at her, all self-satisfaction and happiness at once, looking like he was a Christmas gift in the flesh, and apparently sincerely believing in it.

He pretended he didn't notice how quickly she changed the subject from that bad dream of hers or whatever it was. Tried to erase from his mind the way she was screaming in her sleep… It nearly made Dean send to hell all common sense together with the security system and just break the bloody door off, feverishly trying to come up with how to fight with whatever could be behind it, images of Bela being tortured – for real – before his eyes… Never would have imagined he could be so scared for her. Thank God, the lock gave in before he actually did something absurd.

"Well, it worked," Bela assured him seriously on a nod. "You scared hell out of me," almost literary, she tacked on and laughed at he mock-hurt expression. "Whatever. Come on, take this off!" She started pulling his soaked jacket off his shoulders.

"What? Missed me that much, sweetheart?" Dean wiggled his eyebrows but gave in to her manipulations nonetheless.

Bela looked skeptically down her nose at him. "In your dreams!" On a snort. "But we have to dry you up somehow. I don't want to baby-sit you if you get pneumonia or something else nasty." And for good measure, "Besides, no way I'm letting you damage my furniture with your wet clothes."

"So not convincing!" Dean singsonged after her when she left to the bathroom holding his jacket in outstretched arms with such expression like it was a dead rat, and not a piece of cotton and leather. "Not that I'd let you take care of me anyway." Loud enough so she'd hear. And swallowed the line about not really minding such outcome.

"You alone?" She asked on return, gave Dean a studying once-over and tossed a towel at him. "Where's Sam?"

"Working," he caught the towel effortlessly and hung it around his neck. And without specifications it even wasn't a lie.

"Oh, God!" Bela rolled her eyes trying to look irritated but didn't manage to resist a smile. "Give me that!" She snatched the towel from him and threw it over his head. "No, seriously, Dean, why did you come?" Casually, like she didn't care much, and yet anything but caught her breath in anticipation of an answer. Not an idle curiosity, she realized with surprise. She needed to know. "Need some help?"

There was something about him – the way he looked at her perhaps, like she was somebody else – that didn't let her buy this little friendly visit lie. She tried to recall what could possibly cause such effect but nothing specific came to her mind.

"Ouch!" He grimaced – well, she supposed that he did; people usually do when they sound like this – at the subtle movements of her fingers all over his scalp. "Is that a beheading? What did I do to you?" And then, answering her question, "Not all of us are that materialistic, Bela, see." Finally, Dean managed to dodge away from her hands and dive from under the towel. "Damn, I can do it myself!" He scowled at her. She was gentle, despite what he was saying, and she knew it, and he knew that she knew, and… and he didn't know how to react. His whole plan was totally fucked up as everything was going not the way he expected, and quick thinking didn't seem to be working one way or another as well.

"You needed a place to stay?" She guessed then, folded her arms on the chest. "I can recommend you a nice motel some ten minutes from here. No rats, or so they say. Never checked it myself."

"Cute! Your hospitality is killing, you know that?" He cocked his head as if expecting her to appreciate his discovery, and moved on when Bela only arched her brows expressively at him, "So, how does you little dirty business go?"

"Perfect!" Loftily. "And how is saving the world going?"

"Even better," he assured her.

Bela was halfway through forming a decent answer – or sarcastic shot back, if you please – in her head when another lightning flashed outside, so bright that it seemed almost blinding. The lights in her apartment blinked once and went out plunging the room into darkness.

Dean reached for his gun on an instant, all senses on within a moment and working to their fullest. First thing that came to his mind was – demons.

"It's okay," Bela put her hand on his arm. "It's just the weather. Happens sometimes." She looked around, considering. The phone was probably out, too. Her security system switched to emergency generator though. One thing not to worry about.

"Nice," Dean muttered through chattering teeth. Yeah, staying around in wet clothes sucked. But then… To hell with everything! Her hand remained on his arm!

Bela turned to him. "I've got candles and…" she trailed off. And what was she going to say anyway?

He was so close that she could practically feel the heat radiating from his body. She swallowed hard despite herself and fought an urge to step back, or forward, speaking of that. Made an attempt to concentrate on something that wasn't Dean-related, or Dean-in-her-apartment-related, or Dean-being-so-close-that-she-could-hear-him-breathing-related… and failed. Well, okay, no surprise here since the whole idea was simply ridiculous from the start.

His tension was almost tangible, alarm still on – definitely not taking her words about bad weather conditions for granted and prepared to fight if required – but still…

She stayed alone most of time, two buyers and her cat aside, and didn't realize how lonely she was until he broke into her apartment – old habits die hard, see – and literary pulled her out of that nightmare of hers, saved her again, from her inner demons this time.

"Bela…"

The sound of his deep low voice hung in the air sending waves of warmth through her entire body. She couldn't make it though, not just like that. Not a plea, but not a warning, and maybe nothing at all. Mixed signal. But she knew where it was taking them. They both knew.

It didn't matter who of them moved first.

The towel that Dean was holding in the hand fell soundlessly to the wood floor. His lips were on hers, soft and warm, exactly like she remembered them, kissing her slowly, gently; his fingers raking through her hair, framing her face. He tasted like rain, and desperation, and need, and odd bitterness past passion like he accepted inevitable and there was no turning back now, and something else that Bela couldn't decipher. Like it was the last chance or something like that. Something not good. Unspoken sourness.

She gathered the remains of strength she still had somewhere deep inside and pushed herself off Dean. Looked him in the face memorizing the way he looked in the ghostly light of the storm and wishing she could read his thoughts. Pleading for time to stop.

"What is it?" He asked in a barely audible hoarse voice, confused. And maybe panicking a little bit. There still was a chance to retreat and cover his tracks if he misinterpreted something before the whole situation came to a humiliating point, which he couldn't stand to even think about.

Bela ran her fingers through his hair, allowed a small smile at the frown that he didn't manage to hide. "Give me a sec, okay?" She wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her face into his shoulder, taking in small shallow breaths, giving her heart a chance to slow its wild race before it actually jumped out of her chest. His wet t-shirt smelled like leather and cologne, a good one, Bela noted. Soft fabric felt cool to her cheek compared to the warmth of his touch to her face moments ago. Dean sighed into her neck, his hands moving around her back, comforting, soothing. The gesture that nearly left her breathless, made her eyes burn.

She held on to him long enough to collect herself, listening to the thunder and howling of the wind, before pulling back and finding his lips again, scared somewhere in the back of her mind that he might change his mind or… disappear.

He didn't…

Everything was like a slow-motion replay; every movement lasted forever, each moment floated in time. Bela let him pull her shirt off; then willingly helped him to get rid of his and threw it carelessly aside. Her fingers trailed down his shoulders and up his bare chest admiring fine lines and hard muscles, paused on a small scar right below the collarbone. A graze of a bullet was her best guess but she didn't ask. His skin was hot and smooth, and Bela smiled to herself when he caught his breath at her touch, delighted. Caught hers when he pulled her closer looking for her lips again.

There was something about the way he touched her – like she was fragile and precious; like it was never enough – that turned her stomach. The way he whispered the words that had no meaning – all that fear and pain she sensed between the lines – squeezed her heart for the reasons she didn't want to go into. And she was kissing him back, giving as well as taking, wishing to say the things that no words could say, clinging on to him like he was a lifeline. Letting him lead her to the point of no return.

-- If tomorrow never comes

I want you to know right now that I

I'm gonna love you until the day I die

If tomorrow falls asleep,

Can you hold me first?

I'm gonna love you

Like it's the last night on earth…

(Delta Goodrem - "Last night on earth") --

The storm was almost over. No more bursts of thunder, no flashes of lightning. The silence was disturbed only by hammering of heavy raindrops against the windows and rooftops, steady, monotonous and lulling, the way only rain could be.

Dean tugged her closer and Bela scooted against the warmth of his body tracing mindlessly small circles on his chest with her finger, her hand rising and falling in time with his breathing. She outlined the masked amulet – Sam's gift, she knew it; Dean's talisman – which remained unexpectedly cool, even in contact with his skin, and moved up. Traced the scar that she spotted earlier with her fingertip, slowly, cautiously, as if careless touch could make it hurt. Not a bullet. A stab, more like it. Thoughts rather cloudy, she wondered again how it happened, and then covered it with her palm as if her touch could heal.

"Dean?" Called him in a whisper grasping at the bits of her consciousness – still so not ready to fall asleep, lingering this moment of closeness.

"Mm?" His breath tickled the top of her head.

"Promise me that everything is going to be okay."

"What do you mean?" Casually, past tension.

All alert at once, he hoped he managed to cover it. Did his best not to strain himself knowing how sensitive she could be. Looked down at her rested against his chest wishing like hell for one little peek into that pretty head of hers. She couldn't know, could she? Feverishly tried to recall what he might or might not have said. But Bela wasn't looking at him – not a chance to read her face – staring instead at the rain streaming down the window in thin strings.

She shrugged. "Don't know. Everything."

Hell if she knew what she meant, Bela thought. His uneasiness bothered her. He was there and yet so far away, his mind miles from her apartment; from her. She was sleepy and pretty distracted at the moment, true, but not stupid. Could practically feel the clock ticking counting down the time before… what? Only he didn't seem to be keen on sharing. And she didn't know how to voice the questions she had; feared to hear the answers. Added her own unspoken anxiety… and here they were.

Bela found his hand and entwined their fingers, rubbed her cheek against his shoulder.

Don't go, stay with me.

And Dean had a strong feeling that she was sick and tired of being a part somebody's game, too.

He sighed. Stroked her back absently. "I promise, Bela. Everything's going to be perfect." Some day.

He stayed awake for hours after she fell asleep, holding her in his arms, listening to the rain and to Bela's deep breath. And when she murmured his name in her sleep and cuddled surreptitiously even closer into his form, it turned something inside of him, made the whole world look different. Simple truth that had been spoken without a sound.

And maybe he was a coward for not bringing up the things he came to talk about; Dean was not going to deny it. But the truth was that it took him almost a year and a journey to hell and back to break through her shell, and now he didn't want to spook her into shutting up once again. Even thinking about it was unbearable. Thinking about her living in this personal hell of hers for years was even worse. Made Dean wish for a moment that he never knew about it. And then – that her knew from the start.

Not that her confession mattered anyway, he thought; now that he knew the truth at least. If they made it through, which was a matter of incredible luck, he could give her time, wait till she was ready to talk without pushing her to unpleasant conversation. If they didn't… well, that was out of question. And yes, he was even more coward for letting their relationship come this far, making choices was even more difficult now. It was hard when she was barely an acquaintance that got on his nerves. It became nearly impossible now that he… What was the point in keeping lying to himself?

The plan came to his head when Dean was halfway to Queens. Okay, just a hint for a plan, vague something without details. But now he had it fully formed in his mind and he knew what he had to do. Being a step ahead was what mattered now, it meant that they still had a small chance to win.

He almost hated himself for having to leave Bela like this but he made a decision, for both of them. And okay, making decisions was a bitch. Generally! No, seriously, why wouldn't anyone just come out and tell him what was the right thing to do? Following orders was so damn easy! And what if he was wrong? What if it was exactly what they expected him to do? What if…

Dean looked down at her again memorizing soft features and gentle curve of her lips, the weight of her touch; just in case it was the last time.

He got up and dressed quietly. Bent over and kissed her lightly on the forehead fighting a wish to fuck everything and stay. "I'm sorry," he whispered refusing to even start thinking about what she'd feel when she woke up in the morning alone. Wondered if she was going to hate him for the rest of her life, and left without looking back.

To be continued…

Reviews are always appreciated, now that you made it this far anyway :))