Chapter 2: Crawl Backwards
The look in Sam's eyes was emotionless. Jeyne knew from the moment she laid eyes on him that this wasn't Sam... not truly; not wholly.
The 50's Chevy pickup slowly increased in speed as it flew down the quiet and near deserted highway. Its driver's mind was blank, eyes teary, and sensations numbed. The only thing that kept her grounded was the sound of the engine: Its rumbling sounded much like that of the Impala's.
It brought back many memories of Dean. Much of the time spent sleeping in back of the classic car or on Dean's shoulder, when Sam had been unable to accompany them; the sound of classic rock played softly from the radio, or softly hummed by Dean, and the sure rumble of the Impala, surrounding them like a security blanket.
Jeyne wiped the tears angrily from her eyes and focused on the road. She tried to forget her pain and the emptiness that seemed to have filled Sam. It hadn't been like soulless Sam—it was a pained Sam, a hurt Sam... a shadow of a man she had once known. He was incomplete without Dean, and acted much like his soulless version would have—not conscious of the consequences of his actions, only doing what he wanted, what he thought was best.
He had reeked of desperation.
"Of course he's desperate!" a familiar voice filled her ears. "He's trying to save someone who he knows doesn't want to be saved."
The woman shrieked when she turned her head to see Dean sitting beside her in the cab. She quickly slammed on the breaks and swerved to the gravel shoulder of the road where she came to a miraculously safe stop. She opened the door to her truck and, in a panic, nearly fell as she scrambled from the cab; leaving the door open in her hurry to escape.
"I'm not going anywhere, sweetheart," he said matter-of-factly. "So why you running?"
Jeyne took a few long strides before she fell to her knees, clutching her head. "He's not real," she quietly assured herself.
He scoffed. "You're saying that like I can't hear you. Just because this is happening in your head doesn't mean it ain't real."
Though she knew better than to acknowledge him, talking to any form of Dean was better than feeling completely alone. It was Dean she thought of while she drove, effectively keeping her sane... but it had been since he had gone to hell that she hallucinated him. "We both know Dean doesn't have any psychic mojo, so this isn't real."
"What if I really am the real deal, just gone all douche bag of hell, again?"
"If anything Sam says is true, only death could bring him back as a good ol' black eyes. 'Sides, can't smell a lick of sulfur on you." Jeyne remained where she was on the ground, her eyes slammed shut.
"Ok. You got me," hallucination Dean admitted. "But you must be desperate if you've got me rattling around your head."
"I didn't exactly ask for this," she said bitterly. "Five years and you'd think I'd be fine."
"I'm no expert but you're not exactly looking like a bucket of sunshine. More like seven shots of tequila and an ass whoopin'."
"Yes, let's remind me that you aren't real and that I'm dealing with a personal crisis—as well as a mental meltdown," she hissed. "Now let's drop the matter, I'll stop thinking about you, and you can just piss off. I need to get home, preferably in one piece."
There was a brief moment of silence where Jeyne believe she had banished the Winchester from her mind. "Where is that, exactly?" Dean reproached. "All by yourself in that house in Canada? I don't think so."
Jeyne rose quickly to her, facing Dean; her features were contorted in anger. "That house has been the only place I've been able to call home my entire life!—"
"What a load of bull crap!" Dean yelled.
"And what makes you the expert of my feelings?"
"Have you forgotten already? I'm inside your head, I'm a part of you. I know things that you refuse to admit."
"Like what, Houdini?" she hissed.
"The last time you really felt at home was with me and Sammy, driving in the Impala going God knows where doing God knows what," he said earnestly. "A wise man once told me family don't end in blood. But it doesn't start there, either. Family cares about you—not what you can do for them. Family is there through the good, bad; all of it! They got your back... even when it hurts. That's family. That's what home is. Not some building with four walls and a roof. Home is where the family is. That sound like the place you've got?"
Jeyne stared at Dean with teary eyes. "Well, I can't go home. One Winchester is AWOL and the other has lost his goddamned mind—same with our angel buddy, Clarence."
"Of course Sammy's lost it a little! He's searched high and low for a cure and the only thing he's got could mean life or death for a lot of people. Sam tries to save the innocents, not slaughter them!" Dean said as he took a step towards Jeyne. "He's losing his brother and the only solution he has is the worst possible scenario: A spell that has ten kinds of crazy written all over it and a powerful bitch witch to cast it. But as long as he has me around he's sane, no matter how messed up it gets. We work better as a team. It's either he tries his hardest to help me with everything he's got and succeed or he's going to go insane trying to save me for God knows how many times this has been."
"Removing the Mark of Cain with dark magic can only lead to horrible things, Dean. You wouldn't want that. You would rather sacrifice yourself for the sake of the entire world before you would let Sam do something this drastic."
"Sam may be a little bat shit crazy right now but you and I know that he wouldn't be doing this unless there wasn't some other way. I may not want this but maybe I am corrupted by the Mark. Maybe the Mark has clouded my judgement, made me power hungry and careless with what good deeds I can do. Maybe this isn't what I would normally want... but something that I need. You don't know it but maybe I just want this damned thing off of me, no matter what the cost; to have it stop poisoning me and hurting those that I love most... Sam, Cas... you. You gotta do something, Jeyne."
"You... you wouldn't want this..."
"For what love you still have for me, if there's even any of it left, help Sam help me. He knows what he's doing, even if it seems a little nuts to you. Save my brother... save me and my soul, baby girl," he pleaded.
Every last fibre of her being told the Ramsay girl to say no. This was wrong and she should keep on heading home; back to where she had built a normal life and was safe from everything she left behind... But was it really home? Was four walls, a roof, some doors and some land to call her own, really what she wanted and needed and was familiar? Or was home with someone to laugh with and joke with; with someone who would always had her back? Everything last part of her told her to refuse what her hallucination—one that felt so real, was more vibrant than others she had had—and forget everything and return to her new life. Everything but her heart. "I don't know, Dean," she whispered.
"Stop for the night and sleep on it, at least," he insisted. "Promise me you'll do this and I'll disappear. The next time you see me I'll be real."
After a moment's hesitation, she replied. "Fine. There's a motel a half hour behind me, but I'm not promising anything beyond that."
Dean smirked and approached her, kissing Jeyne's worried forehead. "Thanks, Huntress."
Jeyne closed her eyes and sighed. When she looked up to say goodbye, he was gone.
The emptiness that followed was nearly unbearable. A sob was choked from her throat and she wrapped her arms around her waist. Up until that moment she had suppressed all, or most, memories of Dean and all their adventures. They came back to her in that moment. The pain of his disappearance, even if it was but a very vivid hallucination, was felt deeply.
It had been as if he was really there. Dean's form felt so different than other version her mind had conjured. The kiss felt real; the breath on her skin, the warmth radiation from his body; his touch. His presence was so very similar to the real thing that Jeyne could have convinced herself that he had, in fact, been there.
She slapped a hand over her mouth as a sob escaped her, desperate and raw, though no one was there to see her break down or hear her cries of anguish. Shaky limbs brought her to the truck, where she dragged herself into the driver's seat. Jeyne slammed the palms of her hands onto the steering wheel. She screamed out her pain until her throat felt raw and her lungs were screaming for a reprieve. Her fists pounded against the steering wheel until her knuckles split. Jeyne was losing her mind to her grief.
The reality of the situation was almost too much to deal with. Dean needed her help and there was no way she could—no legitimate, sane way.
Jeyne rested her head on the wheel and sobbed until she had cried herself dry. The pieces of her sanity were slowly drawn together and she drove herself to the motel a few miles back, just as she had promised, to rest for the night. It's the least she could do for Dean.
The pickup purred down the road. It was twilight and the phone was one of the only things lighting up the night. A red dot on the screen marked his destination; the blue showed his position on the map.
His eyes were filled of determination. He would make her see the light. This was the only way. It was a hard fact to accept, even for himself, but there was nothing he wouldn't do to save his brother. He would search the ends of the Earth until there was nothing left to find. But if Sam was going to get through this, if this spell would indeed have biblical consequences, he needed everyone on board; everyone he loves together to ride it out. To deal with the consequences—together.
Truth to told, there were many times when Sam would have used her help. Putting the pieces of his soul back together, the leviathans... finding a cure for the Mark of Cain, to name a few. He was a grown man and he could handle these sort of things on his own, but there were often times where he wish he hadn't. Dean wasn't always helpful, and ever though he loved both his brother and Castiel deeply, Jeyne had always offered an open mind, a fresh perspective, and had been a good friend from the start—even for Dean.
Sam had later found out Jeyne and Dean had met in high school. The specifics of the encounters had been left out but he suspected it had no supernatural undertones—that she was one of the sane, grounded people in his life. This was before she joined the after Jess's death.
Sam and Jeyne had met at Stanford. She was studying in the Mechanical Engineering program and had been close friends with Jess. After Sam had asked her our (her being Jeyne) she insisted she wasn't girlfriend material. He had been disappointed and discouraged but after meeting Jess things had fallen into place. Things just clicked and life started to look up for him.
After Jess' death and all hell broke loose, he resented Jeyne for the happiness she inadvertently stole from him. It would have been easier to have been with Jeyne than it had been dealing with the pain of the memory his late girlfriend left behind.
They had since spoke about this. Spoken being a huge understatement. It had been a full-on yelling match. And everything, in the end, was forgiven and forgotten.
Sam thought about his friend as he drove down the deserted highway. The sun had set an hour ago and he was an hour behind Jeyne. At least that was what the GPS had said when he last glanced at it. As he quickly checked the screen to see where Jeyne was headed, the red dot had disappeared. Panic slowly started to make its way up his throat and was forced to pull over to the gravel shoulder.
As he scrolled the map in attempt to find Jeyne's location, a text message lit up the screen. "Sorry, Sam. I need to fall off the grid. Don't come looking for me unless you have my say so."
Sam swore loudly and slammed the flat of his free hand on the steering wheel. He wanted nothing more than to talk but he knew when she needed to be alone. That message meant she was thinking. Perhaps Cas had been right after all: she did need time to come to her sense.
As the truck pulled onto the highway, heading back in the direction from which he came, Sam allowed himself a small glimmer of hope.
If she was going to think, the last thing she needed as a Winchester knocking down her door in the middle of the night. Jeyne had yanked the GPS tracker from the wheel housing and deactivated it. "Sorry, Sammy," she said quietly to herself after sending him a quick text message.
Jeyne had pulled up the motel a few moments earlier, having seen it on the road through outskirts of Superior, Nebraska before she hallucinated Dean. It wasn't easy to miss, either. A huge red neon sign on the top of the building read MOTEL. On the same complex was a "COLD BEER & WINE STORE", something she was grateful to see. A nice bottle of cheap wine would help her unwind and think this crap show through.
The air was heavy and foggy when she exited the store, a bottle of wine in each hand. She tugged her jacket closely to her body to cover her exposed skin that the breeze nipped at viciously. Goosebumps raised across her body as a gale of wind whipped around her. A chill shook her right down to the bone. It had nothing to do with the cold wind. Something felt wrong, something changed and it worried her. She rushed to her room and slammed the door shut behind her, engaging the deadbolt before sitting onto the bed.
The room was sparsely furnished: A dressed upon which sat an old box TV was centered against the wall in front of her double bed. A single night stand stood at the bed's right hand side, a single lamp stood there. An old, faded picture hung above the bed, nailed into the cheap wood panelling. Shabby chic... That was a polite way of describing it.
Jeyne sat on the edge of her bed and removed her boots clumsily from her feet. Her flannel shirt soon followed along with her jeans. Clad in only an undershirt, panties and socks, she removed the portable speakers from her bang and plugged her phone into the docking system. After turning on some Zeppelin, she uncorked her wine and danced and drank her inhibitions away. Screw the end of the world and the fucking Winchesters—nothing mattered to her in that moment than forgetting it all and letting loose.
She danced her cares away, something she hadn't done in a long time. And it felt good—great, even. She danced from Black Dog to Bron-Y-Aur Stomp to Ramble On. Eventually, someone banged on the wall behind her bed and shouted. "Turn it down, jack ass. Some of us are trying to sleep!"
Rolling her eyes, she turned off her music. "Hakuna your tatas, buddy," she slurred, her happy drunken stupor turning into a sad one. Why did Douchepants McGee have to ruin her fun? "Won't happen again."
"Night," the male voice said curtly.
Jeyne collapsed onto her bed, laying on her stomach. Her right arm and leg dangled from the edge of the bed. She quickly turned off the light and rolled onto her back, staring blankly at the darkness above her head. Something about the stranger's voice had been familiar to her. So familiar... but where had she heard it? The question nagged at her: the soft rumble sounded like home, a place where she could easily slip into and fall asleep peacefully, safely.
For reasons that escaped her, she raised her hand and knocked on the wall, using the rhythm she once tapped when trying to get her neighbour's attention in the adjacent apartment. Who was it that lived there again? Someone important, she knew that. But who? The question ate away at her conscious mind; consumed it so much that she didn't that her knocking was answered by a continuation of her pattern, the beginnings of Pour Some Sugar On Me.
The man next door was dumbfounded to say the least. Through all the anger and pain of recent events something good had seemingly come from it. But why was she here, of all placed? He believed she had quit the life and gone to live with the yuppies north of the border. But she was here, Superior, probably stopping for the night even if the bunker was an hour south from where she stopped. Jeyne was a smart cookie: why wasn't she with Sam?
Dean brought his fist down from the wall, suspecting she had likely fallen asleep. He resisted the strong urge to barge into her room and... and do one of many things swirling through his mind. Yell at her, crush her to him, demand answers to the questions she left unanswered after her untimely departure. So many things and yet he couldn't do any of them. He didn't need to hurt someone else he love. But why isn't she with Sammy? He asked himself a second time. The eldest Winchester knew Sam had called her into the game, something he hated him for. The last thing Dean needed was Sam to her, of all people, back into the line of fire.
He let himself stew for a moment until remembered a dream he had a few hours ago. The one where he was with Jeyne on the side of the road. It felt so real to him, like an out of body experience. Her skin had been warm, nothing like a dream. Had everything that happened in that dream really take place? Anything was possible... but he dreaded what that could mean.
It was the first day of her Junior year of high school and the dread and fear that washed over consumed her every thought. She had spent the entire summer ignoring his numerous calls and angry messages. Why she bothered breaking up with him was beyond her—he would continue on as if she hadn't broken it off; as if she was still somehow his girl, his property.
She almost skipped the day, wanting nothing do to with the confrontation that was sure to happen. Her parents reused her and told her to inform them if the 'bastard tried anything funny'. They never seemed to understand that no matter what the promised to do, he would always find a way to torment her, to continue making her life a living hell, in every sense of the word.
Jeyne had dressed herself in some old clothes to hide herself from him, despite knowing everyone would be sporting their best clothes for the start of the school year. Better to hide in plain sight rather tahn stick out like a sore thumb. She sported faded jeans, moccasins, a flannel shirt and an old hooded jean vest. That way she could shelter her face from view, especially since her hair had been done up in a long braid—it wouldn't do much to hide her face.
She stood before the school, planted to the sport as fear coursed through her veins. Trent was going to find her, she felt it in her fut. He always did. And when he did she was in for one hell of a fight, it not worse. Her tongue, which her parents always asked her to mind, would do a good job of that—it was the only part of her that was strong against such a big guy. Her wits and thin stature, which sometimes allowed quick escape, were the only thing on her side.
No one much cared for what happened to her but Jess. And that though combined with her fear made her sick. She quickly ran to a nearby bush and wretched her breakfast. After her stomach was good and empty, she popped a few mints into her mouth and made for the inside of the building, hoping for the best.
The hallways were filled with students of all ages. Some of them looked nervous, the big grade 9 year! Others ran to their friends and embraced each other, squealing with delight. Jess wouldn't be here for her to do like so many other teens. Her trip to California had been extended another month. Her grandmother passed away last week. Jeyne felt more alone than ever. The ever haunting thoughts of Trent did nothing to lighten her mood.
She swallowed hard when the main doors opened and his deep voice boomed across the hall, announcing his entrance. Shit, she thought. I need to get out of here! Jeyne slowly picked up her pace and made her way down the hall, hoping to duck into one of the cross halls before he caught sight of her.
Two steps away from her short reprieve, a large firm hand clasped her shoulder and pushed her harshly against the brick wall. "Hey, babe," he leered. "Did you miss me?"
"Oh so very much, dearest," she replied prettily, her every word dripping with sarcasm.
"That's no way to talk to your beloved, Jeynie," he purred.
"I thought I made it clear that you were nothing but scum when I broke it off, jerk face." She spat in the brute's face.
He grunted as he wiped the saliva from his face, He smiled maliciously and pressed himself against her. "I thought I told you there was no breaking it off"
"Oh, I heard you loud and clear, dickwad. Just chose to ignore you, is all." THWACK! Trent's backhand across her cheek elicited a yelp. A small trail of blood left the corner of her moth.
"Behind your snarky comments, you're nothing but a pathetic excuse for a human being—a weakling not even whose parents give a damn for." He smacked her again, harder this time. She yelped louder and fell to the floor.
"Oh, Trent," she panted, "are you mommy issues, again? Gotta take it out—ow!" A swift kick to her stomach made her cry out in pain, tears falling from her eyes.
She looked up at him, hey eyes fearful. Yes, she finally allowed herself to show him she was afraid, something she loathed herself for. He saw the weakness there and smirked. He crouched before her and pinched her chin tightly—painfully—between his thumb and forefinger. "That's the girlfriend I know—fearful and weak. Just like a woman should be." He pressed his wormy lips against hers and she gagged when he thrust his tongue into her mouth, though she had tried to keep them closed against his assault.
And as soon as it happened, it was over. There was a loud crunching sound and Trent's looming shadow disappeared. "Hey, douche pants, pick on someone your own size!" Jeyne's eyes flickered up towards the sound of the new voice and saw an unfamiliar face. His dark brown hair was cropped short and bangs styled; his green eyes were filled with anger as he stared at Trent; his noise was pointed and face surprisingly angular, which suited him well. He wore a jean jacket, flannel shirt, dark jeans and brown boots. The young man stood in front of Trent, blocking Jeyne from view. Trent slowly got to his feet, rubbing his jaw.
"And who are you to jump into private affairs?"
"Well," he said, licking his lips, "If you call abusing someone for the whole world to see private, then I'm more than welcome to intervene."
"Who said that this situation needed intervention?"
"The look on her face did." The guy gestured to Jeyne, who Trent barely got a look of.
"Why don't you just walk away, asshole?" Trent hissed. By now, a crowd gathered around the trio.
"That's not your call," the new guy replied calmly.
Trent smiled maliciously. "Well, Jeynie, it looks like someone does care about you, after all? Another weakling like you."
"Hey, Hasselhoff, I'm talkin' to yah!" the boy rebuked.
The brute cracked his knuckles and shook his shoulders. "Yeah, and I told you to stay out of my relationship."
"Not gonna happen, douche bag."
"Don't say you didn't ask for it." As Trent raised his fist, a large hand grasped the balled fist firmly and a deep voice rang clearly through the air.
"You weren't gonna do something stupid, like start a fight, now, were you Mr Abraxas?" It was the high school football coach, and boys' gym teacher.
Trent immediately yanked his fist from the teacher's grasp and turned away from Jeyne and the defender. "No, coach," he said with an eerie calm. He glared daggers at the both of them before turning away and stalking off down the hallway.
"Everyone, go to your classes!" he shouted. "There's nothing to see here." The crowd around them slowly dispersed. The boy in front of her remained standing, blocking her from the view of prying eyes, and did not move until the hall was close to empty. He turned quickly towards Jeyne, as if he had forgotten what he was there to do, and helped her up as she tried to get herself to her feet.
"Hey, whoa. Are you ok?" he said calmly, steadying her as she stood on her feet.
She winced when he steadied her, having but a hand on her ribs where Trent had kicked her. "Honestly?... No, not really." She said breathlessly. "You think you'd get used to what the pain after a while."
"Why are you with that jerk, anyway?" he asked.
"I'm not... At least, I tried not to be," her voice shook slightly. "He doesn't take those things well... Look, you're a nice guy and I am thankful for the save but I'm not gonna tell you my life's story."
He shrugged. "Never asked for it," he said evenly. "Anyway, I don't care what anyone says. No one deserves to get beat."
Tears brimmed her eyes as the pain grew. "Well..." she said, waiting for him to answer with his name."
"Uh, Dean. Dean Winchester," he replied with a goofy smile when he caught her meaning.
"Jeyne. Well, Dean, you're the only person in this entire building who thinks so."
"DEAN!" Jeyne shouted as she rose abruptly from the bed, the dream slowly fading. She was covered in a sheen of sweat. Her breaths came in ragged, short bursts. It had been a memory in the form of a dream, the very first memory she had of Dean. He had been willing to defend a complete stranger when everyone else she knew, well or nor, would have stood by and not done a thing until she left with bruises covering her body and a broken spirit. The amount of courage it had taken to leave seemed all for naught when she saw Trent that day. But Dean had spent his time since that day protecting her, becoming friends, and Jeyne did the same in return.
There wasn't a time she could remember where they didn't have each other's back... "Even when it hurts," she heard Dean's words echoing in her head.
She would take a day or two to wrap her mind around the situation, even if she hated the very idea. But she would return to Kansas. She was going to help Sam help Dean. If hallucination Dean was right, real Dean was in trouble. Deep trouble.