Chapter 3: Till Kingdom Come
I would like to apologize in advance is that chapter is tediously long and if the ending seems abrupt- I've tried to force the season finale, including my own writing and tid bits, into the mix. I just wanted to get everything done and over with so I can move on to uncharted territory. So apologies if this just takes forever to end. Also, anything that has happened in the following chapters are ideas of my own creation, especially those considering the Darkness. If you wish to use this version of them, as we still do not know what it does until the next season starts, please ask my permission before using it :)
I sincerely hope you'll enjoy this chapter.
~Sandor
The room was bathed in a pale light as the sun began its assent. A form lay quietly snoring, blissfully ignorant of the man who stood at the foot of her bed. He regarded her with a disbelieving gaze. Although the man had suspected she had come to town two nights ago, although the familiar truck hadn't moved, he refused to allow himself the luxury of believing she was there.
She left them with the clear intent never to return; to cut all ties and remain on the 'normal' side of this insane world. Because of that, he had to see her; he had to know if she was real, that the Mark wasn't playing tricks with his rage-filled mind.
She hadn't aged a day since he last saw her, he noted. Or at least very little, unlike himself. Every time he gazed at his reflection in the mirror he saw heavy bags under his eyes and cheeks that had become gaunt. His ordeal had aged him greatly despite his immortality.
Perhaps this was why Cain, himself, appeared old: all the stress from his 300 year remission—resisting the Mark's urges—and all the killing had altered what must have been youthful features. Cain was a young man with a family when he murdered Abel.
The man approached the woman's bedside like a predator stalking its prey—quietly. He reached out to touch her cheek with his large hang and brushed aside a strand of hair. His fingers lingered, allowing himself a moment to memorize all of the things that made her, her. Something told him that it would be the last time he saw her.
She sniffled and clucked her tongue softly while she rolled over, her long tangles falling from her face as she rested on her back. "Dean," she said softly, her voice barely a whisper.
Thankfully, she never woke. It was time to take his leave. With one last look, he disappeared with the rising of the sun.
The days since Dean had come into her life got better as well as worse. Trent had finally acknowledged the end of their relationship but the relentless teasing and verbal abuse from him and his team mates never stopped. Just that day, the only day since Dean came into her life that he wasn't there, Trent had cornered her. Threats were whispered into her ears like a lover's promise while she was pushed against the wall, every attempt to leave as hopeless as the next.
And she was terrified. Oh, was she terrified.
With every word that fell from his wormy lips, the bigger she felt his arousal get—pressing against the inner side of her thigh. And she had cried, wondering when the nightmare would end. The young woman worried if Trent would stop there, wondered if he would push further, wondered if he would force her to do something she was not willing to do.
Of course, he had to have found her. He had to find her in the one place at the school where she felt safe, where he could never find her. And of course Dean wasn't there to help. She had survived so long without him, running from and fighting against Trent whenever he got into one of his many moods. But with Dean, she let her guard down. With Dean, she didn't have to worry about running away because the look in Trent's eyes whenever he saw him was fear. Dean must have done something to scare him, something that was never uttered to Jeyne. But now she was done fighting and she wanted this entire thing to end. If this was going to be the rest of her life, she wanted nothing to do with living.
When Trent seemed like he would never let up, feeling her in intimate ways that made her sick, she kneed him in the groin, punched him in the gut and hit him in the throat, like Dean had shown her, and ran like hell. Tears streamed down her face and the autumn air whipped her hair this way and that.
She didn't bother going to the school officials—no one did anything about it before and they wouldn't do anything about it now. They didn't want to ruin his potential as a sportsman. Instead, she ran straight to her apartment complex where she slammed the door to her room and barricaded herself inside. There she hugged her knees to her chest as she lay on the ground, tears streaming endlessly from her eyes and down her cheeks, creating small puddles on the ground.
When her mother got home, she tried to coax her out of her room but refused to talk to her—to talk to anyone. The only person she would bother with was the Winchester boy, as her mother liked to call him. Dean was the only one who understood her, the only one who stood up for her and gave a damn when no else would—not even her parents. At least Mrs. Ramsay was grateful he could be there for her, especially when she lacked the conviction to.
Mrs. Ramsay waited in the hallway for what felt like forever, waiting for the Winchester family to come home. And as soon as she spotted Dean rounding the corner with his younger brother, she approached them quickly. "Mrs. Ramsay," he said when she saw the distress on her face. "What's wrong?" he turned to Sam, giving him the keys to their apartment, "Sam, go do your homework. Will you be okay alone for a few hours?"
He snatched the keys from Dean and continued to the next door. "I'm not a baby anymore, Dean. I'll be fine."
Dean sighed and turned to his friend's mother. "She's been in there for hours, crying, and she won't talk to anyone but you. I hate to ask but can you go see her? She's not doing good. I think it's regarding that Trent boy from school."
"Sonuvabitch," Dean muttered. He shook his head and apologized when he saw the cross look he got from Sandra. "Yeah, I'll be over. Let me just get a few things."
"Thank you," Sandra said with a smile.
When a knock came to her door, she feebly uttered, "Go away..." when she believed it was her mother.
"I have pie," came a familiar voice. "Your favourite: Lemon meringue, right? God how to do you eat this stuff. It's not even real pie!"
Jeyne got to her feet and slowly opened the door. Her eyes were blotchy and red from crying. Dean had to do everything in his power not to find Trent and beat the shit out of him. Instead, he set an armful of Zeppelin albums and the two boxes of pie on the floor. He slowly opened the door and entered the room, taking Jeyne awkwardly into his arms. They hadn't hugged before and he wasn't exactly sure what to do to comfort a girl. Food and music did the trick for him after a hard day of hunting. But abuse, this was unchartered territory for him. Winchesters didn't do normal problems, only problems with supernatural undertones. But he breathed a quiet sigh of relief when after a moment of hesitation she hugged him back, wrapping her arms tightly around his waist and crying into the crook of his neck.
He returned her embrace in kind and stood there for a long while, letting her cry it out. Dean remained silent, not knowing what to say in times like these, and it seemed to do the both of them just fine.
When Jeyne finally calmed down enough to talk, she invited him into her room where they sat on her bed and ate pie. She told Dean about what happened and he did his best to keep his anger at bay—for her sake.
At first, Jeyne had been apprehensive about listening to Led Zeppelin—it was one of Trent's favourite bands. And though Dean knew he was most likely digging himself into an early grave, he insisted that they listened to a few of his favourite songs together. After a brief moment of contemplation, she nodded slowly, trust for Dean in her eyes. They listen to The Rain Song, Black Dog, Bron-Y-Aur Stomp and Hot Dog, to which they both danced to, Misty Mountain Hop, Stairway to Heaven, and Ramble On. Jeyne found a new love in music, and something else to share with the one person who she could easily call her best friend.
That night they stayed up late, uttering things they would never have told anyone else. However, there were two secrets that would remain silent, and one of them was the secret life he led: The life where things that go bump in the night were real.
When Jeyne woke up, a ghost of someone's touch lingered on her cheek. Perhaps it was a trick of the mind; Dean had waltzed through her dreams.
She stared at the grey ceiling through tired eyes, willing herself to sleep. It was still quite early in the morning and she couldn't figure what had drawn her from her slumber. Maybe she didn't want to see Dean anymore and waking herself was her only subconscious solution.
As her green eyes slowly drooped, a deep rumbling filled her ears. This drew her attention, although her sleep addled mind could not understand why. The revving of an engine snapped her eyes open and she flew from her bed. Someone was stealing her truck.
Jeyne fell briefly to the ground, stumbling and falling several times, before quickly scrambling to her feet. She hopped across the room, pulling on her boots, and threw open the door. As she panted, eyes darting back and forth, a confused expression drew its way onto her face: The truck was where the left it two days ago—parked in front of her room. She retreated to her room after doing a once over; Jeyne was clad in a large white t-shirt (which must have once belonged to Dean), her panties and work boots. Anyone catching a glimpse of her in her scarce attire would assume she ran from the room after finding herself in bed with a stranger.
After slamming the door shut behind her, angry that her senses are beginning to fail her, she pressed her back against the wood of the door and held her head in her hands. Jeyne ran a hand through her messy hair in a frustrated gesture. After taking a moment to regain her bearings, she kicked off her boots and wandered to her bed, wanting nothing but to return to oblivion.
It was as her head hit the pillow that she smelled it: A whiff of cologne tried desperately to linger in the air just a moment longer, wanting nothing but to be discovered. At least my nose won't fail me, she said to herself. Quietly, Jeyne removed the hunting knife from beneath her pillow and began the short search of her rented room.
Jeyne first checked under her bed, where she found nothing. No hex bags, spells or any kind of rune. Nothing but a few dust bunnies. Her feet were quiet as they met the floor as she swept swiftly across the room. The small bathroom was just a few steps in front of her. Behind the shower curtain was nothing of interest, just a few droplets that remained from her last shower. She searched high and low, emptying all of the drawers belonging to the dresser and bedside table. Jeyne ripped the room apart, searching every crevice, every nook and cranny in a paranoid frenzy only to stand in the middle of a disaster area with nothing to show for it.
After reassembling her room, Jeyne took the time to secure her room. She salter the window sill and door, painted a devil's trap under the floor mat and decorated her room with runes painted with invisible ink.
Once she was confident her room was safe, she collapsed on the bed, now wide awake. Green eyes stared unseeing at the ceiling. Memories and faces dances across her vision. Most of them were of Dean Winchester. The man had plagued her every waking moment, and her dreams, it would seem, since she listened to Sam's message. But now she was back in the states, having driven though some towns where they worked cases, thoughts of Dean filled her head. The hallucination only made things worse. And if she was honest with herself, she didn't check herself into a motel to contemplate hallucination Dean's plea, she was there to forget him. To drink so much she forgot why she was there and to go home, where everything was safe and sane.
But where was home?
Was home her house, or was home wherever the Winchesters, Sam, and the Impala went? Was it alone in the quite part of town next to the Devil's Punch Bowl, which served as a constant reminder of what evil was out there or was it with friends, saving people and hunting things... with someone who always had your back? Where did she feel more alive? Where did she feel she could have a life? At 'home' or on the road?
Jeyne shook her head and rolled onto her side, her hand sliding under her pillow where it hit the knife. She pulled it from its hiding place and propped herself upon on an elbow to contemplate it. Her gaze found the pickup parked outside of her room and then turned it back to the knife in her hand. The knife was the first one she bought—with Sam and Dean's help, of course. She had always felt alive with Sam and Dean. In that moment, it was as if her mind had already been made; that the answer had been there all along. Once you're a hunter, you're always a hunter. And the leave she had taken was only a vacation, something that was seldom taken with the boys.
Jeyne retrieved the sheath from her bedside table and place the knife in it. She was a hunter and she belonged with her family, with her boys. However, she could not allow herself to return to Sam and Cas until her head was clear. Some coffee and a good walk would fix that. Jeyne dressed, sliding the hunting knife into her pants, covering with her shirt, before setting out into the day light.
Sam slammed his laptop shut. He ran a hand though his hair in frustration and heaved a heavy sigh. Dean removed the GPS tracker from his car, the one Sam believed he had been discreet in placing. After spending countless hours the past two days cleaning the bunker with Cas, he had but one wish that had been for one thing to go right; to be able to find Dean.
Sam slammed his fist on the table top, cracking the glass covering the map. He drew in a ragged breath and hung his head. His life seemed to be nothing but a mess since Jess. One tragedy after another. As Sam reflected on his life, he would give anything to start again from the beginning of University, when things were a lot less insane and the world seemingly smaller than it felt today. Not nearly as much evil and an abundance of innocence and good... at least, that was the view he had had of the world back then. Evil always there, lurking in the shadows, but innumerable good surmounting it at every turn.
The Winchester shook his head and silently prayed that he hadn't broken his laptop as he opened it. After a moment of thanks, he turned on his laptop to check on one last thing: The LoJack he set up for the Impala. There were two emails in his inbox. One was from the LoJack website and the email sent from Charlie, one he did not yet have the courage to open. He hovered over Charlie's last email for a moment before deciding to open the notification sent from LoJack: The Impala had been removed. There was a moment of anger before he clicked on the email sent from Charlie. Inside contained a downloadable file—the decrypted codex for the Book of the Damned.
A shaky sigh escaped his lips as he stared at the words and file on the screen—forgetting his anger and worry—the devastating memory of Charlie's loss still heavy and on the forefront of his mind. "Thanks, Charlie," he said softly into the void. "We couldn't have done this without you." He clicked the download button and brought his laptop with him to the armory, previous notes on the codex were tucked under his arm.
Before leaving to pay his respects to Charlie, Cas gave Sa, a recipe for Witch-Killing bullets. It had been simple enough to make, really: Remove the tops of the bullets, inject the open cartridge with two drops of Witch-Killing Brew with a syringe and seal it carefully with a small torch and copper wiring. They had been crafting these whenever time permitted. Production was increased over the last few days with Dean gone AWOL. Something big was coming their way and they to be prepared for what storm was coming, once the Mark of Cain was removed from Deans' arm.
As the youngest Winchester set out to his task, the book's encryption now printing, his mind wandered to Jeyne. It had been days since she last had any contact with him. The text she sent and the disabling of her CPS tracker said she didn't want to be found. Whether or not it was so she could ponder the situation or because she didn't want to be followed on her way back to Canada was a mystery.
Sam understood what he said was completely insane—he wasn't the same person he was when they met. So many things happened to him over the years—losing Jess being one of the many paramounts of his fall to insanity, including Lucifer's possession of his body, a year and a half without his soul and then the battle he suffered to reforge the fragmented pieces of his soul; this was all followed by the near-death experience in attempt to forever close the gates of hell. He had accepted the prospect of his death with open arms—let it be known that this occurred more than once. He was supposed to die and the fact he's lived on, that he's been brought back numerous time from the dead, each time taking a piece with him, has twisted his mind, his sanity, into a form of himself that even he could barely recognize and frightened to fully acknowledge.
He was insane and he knew that. Crazy people do crazy things, especially when it comes down to family. If Jeyne was the one with the Mark, Sam would do everything he could to save her... even if that mean unleashing something horribly evil on the world. Sam was fully aware something big would be coming their way once the Mark was gone. If only he knew what it was... Would the gates to open? Would it release Lucifer? Or was it something worse, far darker, and more sinister and possibly the worst enemy the world has ever seen?
A case of bullets lay open on the desk and he placed give upright in a wooden case. One after the other had their tips removed, oil injected, and resealed. Tip removed, oil injected and bullet resealed. Tip removed, oil injected and bullet resealed. Tip removed, oil injected and bullet resealed. Tip removed, oil injected and bullet resealed. The repetition the task offered numbed his mind and distracted him from the turmoil possessing his head.
Tip removed, oil injected and bullet resealed.
Tip removed, oil injected and bullet resealed.
Tip removed, oil injected and bullet resealed.
Sam continued his task, having completed 3 sets when the door to the bunker opened and closed in the distance.
Castiel heaved a heavy sigh as he descended the stairs into the bunker. His blue eyes were dulled due to lack of sleep—though with his returned Grace he wasn't in desperate need of it—and large purple bags had formed under his eyes. The angel had spent the better part of the night in search of the eldest Winchester and returning to Sam with nothing to show for his efforts. As he crossed the entrance hall, Cas took note of the cracked table surface and fixed it with a snap of his fingers. It told him Sam was no closer to finding Dean than he was. The celestial being closed his eyes a moment and let his senses search for Samuel. It took only a moment to discern his location and he quickly made his way to the armory. There, Castiel found Sam creating some Holy Bullets, focused on finishing his task.
Though Cas already knew the answer, he asked Sam, "Anything" as he took his place in front of the human.
Sam looked briefly up from the task set before him before answering, "Twelve voicemails, LoJack on the Impala clearly disabled... So, a big heaping scoop of nothing." The man grabbed a hammer and the bullet fragment that had been previously removed, and looked at Castiel, clear impatience in his voice. "We need Rowena to hold up her end of the bargain—now." Sam hammered the bullet tip back into place with one stroke, effectively sealing it.
Castiel sighed and took a few short steps away.
"What?" Sam said, unintentionally sounding impatient.
"Nothing," he sighed again. "It-it's just if she removes the Mark using the Book of the Damned... what of the consequences?"
"What are what?" Sam said, his face expressionless.
"Dean said—" Castiel started.
"Dean guessed!" Sam interrupted, frustration and exasperation clear in his voice. Cas was clearly taken aback, giving Sam a pointed look. Sam took a moment to gather himself, taking a deep breath in before continuing. "Cas, what are we supposed to do, huh? Just sit on our asses? Do nothing?"
"No. We find Dean."
"And then what?!" Sam said, angry. "The only thing that stopped Cain was death. Do you want to kill Dean because I don't. And the only way I know how to save my brother is to cure the Mark. And yes, I know there'll be consequences," he continued earnestly, Castiel rolling his eyes, "but not you and not dean, not even Jeyne, nobody can tell me what those consequences are. So I'm not gonna let my brother d-destroy himself on a guess!"
Cas looked down and away from Sam. When his eyes finally met Sam's, the Winchester insistently utters, "We save Dean."
The angel wanted nothing but to save Dean. He has spent nigh on a year seeking out answers; any clue that could lead him to a cure. Even if Sam was right, even if the Book of the Damned was a last resort, he didn't have to like it—he loathed the idea. And up until the very moment when Rowena casts her spell, Castiel will keep searching for an alternative.
There had to be another way. "There is always another way, Castiel," Jeyne's figure appeared before him, leaning against the desk against which Sam sat, her face beaten and bloodied. A memory from D-Day. "Always."
It was around four in the afternoon when Jeyne finally found herself standing on the road beside the Motel. Her jacket had been removed and was tied around her waist; a coffee from a local cafe was in her hand. The Ramsay had taken her time walking around the town of Superior, stopping often to wander through the small shops, sobering herself with aimless wandering to prepare for the coming insanity she would plunge herself into. Removing the Mark of Cain with the Book of the Damned was complete and utter insanity, after all.
She took a deep breath, wiping the sweat from her brow, and walked towards her room. Every step she took was carefully counted, keeping her mind distracted from the impeding doom. She would pack her belongings, making notes of everything in her room, including one to wash the walls before leaving. It would be nice to protect any unsuspecting citizens but could attract unwanted attention from any powerful and knowledgeable supernatural being or that of law enforcement—especially with murder cases involves. The last thing anyone wanted was to have an innocent bystander seem like a psychopath, or be killed in relation to her paranoia.
There was already blood on her hands, blood she could never wash from her hands. There was no need for any more, especially if could be avoided.
Jeyne shook her head to clear it of all thoughts as she placed the keys into her pocket. Visions of days gone past flashed before her eyes; things she didn't want to see again; things that should remain locked away. A room filled with dispatched demons. Eyes glazed over: unseeing. The Rising and Falling. Black eyes, yellow eyes, red eyes, white eyes. Good and evil, the line between the two in constant flux, and some times barely visible. She saw Lucifer, Michael and Gabriel; Death, Pestilence, War and Famine; Dean, Sam and john, and Bobby—all bloodied and broken—standing before her. Each one stood as a remind of all the horrors of the past and those yet to come.
She clutched her head and clenched her eyes shut, willing the horrible visions to vanish. When she opened her eyes again, no one but Dean remained. At least in the end she had him. "Why don't you get yourself some pie?" he said with a goofy smirk. "Pie is the solution to all your problems."
Jeyne simply smiled and nodded. She couldn't bring herself to say anything, nor did she want to. The young woman looked down a moment, placing a few things into her duffel, and she looked up Dean was gone. After she finished packing her belongings, she removed the bedding (one less thing for the busy maids to do), she crossed the parking lot where she threw the bag into the cab of her truck, then proceeded to the office.
Inside of the small, warmly decorated room, was a small display with slices of pie, each one individually wrapped or whole, waiting to be cut. As Jeyne counted the money she owed, she looked up at the clerk. "I'll take two slices of the lemon meringue, if you don't mind."
The comely young man smiled and cut her a handsome slice from the whole pie, which he then carefully wrapped in a cardboard box and handed it to her. A warm and hopeful smile was etched on his face. "Thanks," she said smiling in kind, as she put down an extra 10 dollar bill. "Keep the change."
"Have a good one," the clerk said with a blush creeping up his neck.
Jeyne smirked and retreated to her truck, pie in hand. The door to the cab closed with a thud and she put the keys in the ignition. The cab was cooling off as the sun began its descent. It roared to life and she dug into the generous helping of pie. As soon as the first bite touched her tongue, a frenzy of pictures flashed before her eyes; all of them included Dean, pie and sitting of the hood of the Impala. The pie slipped from her hands and plopped into the box. Jeyne had been so blond, so terribly blind. It all made sense now, the pieces finally settling into place: the rumbling sound she heard that morning bad been Dean's Impala leaving the motel; the cologne had been his—which mean he had been in her room—and self the fool for not realizing it sooner. And somehow, though she had no explanation for it, hallucination Dean wasn't really a hallucination after all. Somehow he had really been there, in her cab, on the side of the road. It would have taken a lot of psychic power to project himself like that, a power Dean did not possess, at least without the Mark's influence.
Without a second though, Jeyne picked up her phone and dialed Sam's number. It rang three times before an answer came at the other end. "Agent Carter," he said calmly, meaning he hadn't checked his caller ID. He was working a case.
"Dean's in Superior, Nebraska," Jeyne said quickly.
"Jeyne? Wait, how did you know what?" Sam said quietly. "And why didn't you tell me this sooner?" he said, clearly angry.
"I only realized he had been here about two seconds ago, numb nuts!" Jeyne hissed. "Nice to know how much faith you have in me, Samuel. If I had known his whereabouts sooner, you know would have been the first person to know."
Sam heaved an audible sigh. "Sorry, Jeyne. Been a long day. I just want to find my brother."
"I know," Jeyne said. "I do, too. Just finish up what you're doing wherever you're at and activate my GPS tracker. Not sure what the motel address is and there's no time to waste—I'll leave the tracker on my room. I'm going to check a few placed around town. Maybe I can find one of Dean's aliases at some one of the motels. You can meet me at my room after that."
"Sure. I'm just tracking a lead—Rudy called earlier. He's dead."
"How?"
"Dean, from what the Sheriff tells me."
There was a short pause. "Be careful, Sammy."
"You too, Jeyne."
Jeyne returned to the office, asked to rent the same room, and placed the tracker on her bed. She turned to her truck and tore out of the gravel parking lot like a bat out of hell. Dean was still in town. She could feel it in her bones.
Dean waited until Jeyne had passed his hiding place before he turned on the Impala and drove down the road with the intent on returning to his room. Judging by her speed, Dean knew Jeyne had finally put all the pieces of his puzzle together. She knew he had been there. He wanted her to know that had been there; wanted her to be motivated to team up with Sam and go on a wild goose chase to find him. But they never would, he wouldn't let them. The Mark may have filled him with pure rage and the fierce need to kill but he retained enough of himself to not want to hurt those her cared for the most.
He parked the Impala across from his room, in plain sight. Jeyne would come back and when she did she would see his car. Dean knew she could come looking for him, but he would be long gone. There was a lot of ground to cover and barely enough time to do it. She could not find him. He was on a missing and she was the only person who could deter him.
Dean quickly crossed the threshold of his room and strode towards the washroom. Blood caked his hands and it was adamant that he scrub himself clean.
The water flowing across his ran scorching hot from the tap. Blood ran down the drain, leaving long elegant tails as they entered oblivion. However, after the blood was gone, he kept scrubbing his hands. There was still blood there, blood no one else but him could see. And he scrubbed hard and faster and with fury. Pictures of all the faces that he died by his hand or died because or for him flashed past his eyes. Bobby, John, Charlie, Rudy, Ellen, Jo, Gabriel. So many faces. So many dead faces. Too many to count. They ran in an endless loop, each one taking place of his own reflection in the mirror. Over and over and around and around they went until it was too much; until the anger and the sorrow and the regret all boiled relentlessly to the surface and he punched the mirror, creating a spider web pattern of broken shards. And when he finally looked at his reflection, all he could see was a thousand fragments of himself... because that's all he was.
A broken man.
Dean stormed into the bedroom where she grabbed the TV and smashed it. He turned over the dresser and bed. He destroyed everything that was in reach because that was all he had ever been good at: taking away everything that is good in the world. The lives he had saved didn't bring the lives that truly mattered to him. Everyone that he loves died or will die.
And as Dean looked about the chaos he created in his room, he knew what he had to do. He would do anything to remove the Mark, even if he had to come face to face Death for the last time.
Jeyne slammed the door to the cab. There was still no sign of Dean. She had checked every single motel in this bloody town and still he was nowhere to be found. She slammed the flat of her hands on the steering wheel and let out a frustrated grunt. Though there was still one last place to check, what were the chances that he was still there? He clearly didn't want to be found.
With doubt spreading through her heart, Jeyne turned on the truck and sped to her last destination. There was no telling what she would find when she got there. But she hoped it was him. By God, she hoped he was there. What she wouldn't give to see him again... the real him.
The wheels of the truck turned round and round and brought her to her destination. As she drove past the buildings and towards the driveway, she spotted a black car. She slowed down and reversed to confirm it was the Impala. And there it was, clear as day, parked in front of the room directly next to hers. Dean had been there the entire time. He had been there and she was too drunk and self-absorbed to see what had been there all along.
The tires squealed as she tore into the parking lot, parking with a sudden halt behind the Impala. She grabbed her gun and did a quick once over of the classic car before moving to the motel room door. Her knuckled wrapped quickly on the door. "Dean? Dean, it's Jeyne. Let me in." Her voice was even. When there was no answer, she furrowed her eyebrows. "Dean?" Still, there was no answer. Perhaps this is a trap, she thought. What if the Mark has taken hold of Dean? What if he's no longer the man you believe him to be? Jeyne swallowed past a lump in her throated and reached for the doorknob. She found the door was unlocked, which she found strange.
She entered the room, anyway.
What she found before her was a chaos: it was as if a tornado had gone through the room, destroying everything he touched. Shattered glass and wood was strewn across the room and for a moment she believed there had been a fight; that someone attacked Dean. That was until she saw a note and a pair of keys on the bed.
Cautiously, gun in front of her, she looked down at the note. Dean's unmistakable chicken scratch was on it. She swallowed past another lump and read what was on the paper.
She's all yours, Huntress.
She felt her knees go weak. A shaking hand rose to her lips to stifle a sob. He had promised her the Impala a long time ago, when he said he would die... or would soon die. There was one thing she dreaded more than being alone, without anyone to have her back, and that was a world without Dean Winchester. Getting a hold of herself, Jeyne took the phone out of her pocket and clicked Sam's name in the recent call list.
"He was here... Dean was here, Sam," she said softly, allowing herself to let go of hope, to expect the worst. "He was here and now he's gone. He's dead or he's going to be dead."
"Jeyne, where are you?" Sam's voice was urgent.
"Why does it matter?" she mumbled, tears beginning to stream down her face.
"Dean can't die—the Mark won't let him. It's impossible."
"Cain died," she said pointedly. "He passed the Mark on to someone else, even while retaining it, Dean was able to kill Cain. With the first blade. What if he passes the Mark on to someone else? What if he talks Cas into giving him the blade? He could die, Sam. What if he already succeeded?"
"He isn't dead yet. Just tell me where you are and we'll figure this out."
"Activate the tracking device and you'll find me in the room to the right." Jeyne hung up the phone with a robotic motion.
What a strange feeling, to feel hopeless. It's like floating through nothingness without a purpose, without knowing which way is up or down, and not caring. There's nothing but endless darkness to accompany you; darkness surrounding you, consuming you and spreading through your heart, taking over every feathery soft memory that would have once brought one happiness in times of darkness. They don't matter anymore, those memories. It's like feeling their relevance is completely obsolete now that loved ones are gone, or that they will soon be gone, and there's nothing anyone can do about it.
The light cannot be turned on. The light can never be turned on.
And that's what Jeyne felt as the world around her began to fade into nothing. The bed fell away from underneath her, the walls falling away and floor disappearing to reveal an endless expanse of nothing. Nothing but darkness and emptiness. A place where hope could never exist; will never exist. This feeling, it was unlike anything she felt before. It was tenfold the amount of despair and hopelessness she felt on the day Dean was dragged to hell. But there was a way to bring him back, at least if he was in hell. With the Mark of Cain there was no way to tell where he would go. Would he go to purgatory when he died? Would he travel to its darkest and most dangerous recesses where only the pure evil of heart and soul went, even if it wasn't their origin? A place so dark and distorted that any normal soul of purgatory could never survive? She would never survive a trip to purgatory, not to place so deep in the forest, where the tree tops are so closely knit together that light would never befall the creatures living underneath.
Or would he go to a place far darker, far worse than purgatory and hell combined? A place where light could never exist and the very idea of hope and life were extinguished the very moment they are conjured, never to come to fruition. A place where darkness is the ruler of all things, something that was born of mindless evil and destruction. A place where you cannot escape once you have been dragged into, kicking and screaming. A place where you become one with the darkness.
If that is where he was going, Dean would be lost forever.
Jeyne slowly drew herself back to reality, attempting to push the dark thoughts from her mind. She wondered what madness had befallen her, to have lost such hope. The damage to the room was new, 'fresh'. It didn't mean that he was yet dead. And all of a sudden, she felt ashamed of herself as she wiped away her tears. She had never been so quick to give up, to be hopeless. She was sharp of mind, clever and there was always a solution.
There was always a way.
Jeyne took a moment to take a deep breath. She closed her grey eyes and breathed in through her nose and exhaled through her mouth, opening her eyes as she did so. With a new found determination in the form of a small flame growing slowly bigger and brighter, she rose from the bed with the keys to the Impala in hand and exited the room. Jeyne glanced Sam's truck pulling into the parking lot and making a b-line for her position.
Sam ejected himself from the truck and ran towards the Impala. Jeyne was already in the classic car, the engine roared to life. Her hands were glued to the wheel. Her long slender fingers flexed as she took in the feel of the leather beneath them, relishing the moment despite the urgency of the situation. "Jeyne, what do you think you're doing?" Sam said urgently.
"Going to find Dean," she replied, her gazed fixed on the treeline across the street.
Sam pushed an exasperated sigh and shrugged his shoulders in an annoyance. "And how exactly do plan on finding him? Dean's made it clear that he doesn't want to be found and if he's left the Impala, it's likely he isn't coming back. He hasn't left a trail, nothing."
Jeyne turned her gaze and stared at Sam, glaring daggers at him. "I don't have a plan, Sam. For the first time in forever, I don't know what I am doing. But feeling as hopeless as I did a few minutes ago, that's something I never want to feel again. It scared the shit out of me. I... I didn't want to live anymore, not without Dean... Doing nothing about it isn't going to help him and I can't do nothing for another day. So are you getting the car or not?"
The Winchester stood beside the Impala; his eyebrows knitted, nostrils flaring and his Adam's apple bobbing up and down. He clenched his fist and his lips were drawn in a straight line. Without a word, he strode to the passenger seat and climbed in.
"So, driving into the unknown and hoping for the best is your plan?" he said calmly, though it was apparent he was none-too-happy about it.
Jeyne sighed as she put the car into drive and pulled out of the motel's parking lot. "Yep." Sam gave her a pointed look and then focused on the road ahead. "Look, I know you don't like it but it's the only plan I've got."
After a moment of silence, all Sam could muster was, "Yah," and the silence relapsed.
For the first time in a long time, if there had ever been a time, the silence between Sam and Jeyne was an uncomfortable one; tense and full of urgency and disagreement. The duo had always been able to get along with each other well. There had been more tense moments between herself and Dean or himself and his brother. Never between either of them. Ever. And this time she couldn't split the tension with a quip or a funny remark, and it didn't bode well for her.
Just as the silence became too much, Sam's phone began to ring. His face tensed when he saw Dean's name and number appear on the screen. "Dean?" Jeyne calmly pulled onto the gravel shoulder of the road and killed the engine.
Sam put the phone on speaker. They both listened intently. "I gave it a shot, Sammy." His voice was resigned.
"Listen, whatever you're doing, whatever you've done, please..."
Dean chuckles softly. "Hell, I even works a case. I gave everything I had to beat this thing down."
"I saw... I saw Rudy..."
There was a brief lapse in silence before he said, "Well, then, you saw what I did." Dean sounded ashamed.
"No, that wasn't you."
"Sure as hell felt like me," Dean replied honestly. "Brother, I'm done."
"No, no you're not," Jeyne interrupted Sam before he could reply. Her words were said in earnest.
Everything went silent. Jeyne briefly wondered if Dean had hung up, or if the call had dropped. But then came his voice. "Jeyne..."
"Hey, Dean." Her voice was shaky, a smile on her face.
"Glad to see you finally found my brother."
"Actually, he called me in a few days ago, though I think you already figured that out."
"Then why weren't you with him for two days?"
Jeyne swallowed hard and took a moment to find her words. "Sam told me what happened to you... what you did to Cas, well, that was plain to see... And everything was just hard to hear, especially since I've been gone for so long. I've... I've missed a lot."
"Yeah," he chuckled, "you did... Look, I want to see Sammy alone. You take the Impala and you get as far away as possibly can, you hear me?"
"That's not your choice to make, Dean," she replied firmly.
"Just take the car and go to back to Canada. Please," he begged her quietly. Jeyne exchanged looks with Sam and shook her head no. She would be at Sam's side for whatever was to happen next. "Just do this one last thing for me. Do me this one last favour."
"Fine..." Jeyne feigned her anger and exasperation. "Fine! After everything, you're just going to discard me, just like everyone else I've ever called family." Jeyne pretends to open the car door and slams in closed. She remains silent as Sam continues the conversation in the background. Dean lets out a shaky sigh. "She gone?"
"Yeah... She's just kicking a pile of rocks on the side of the road," Sam replied. "Dean..."
"Grab a pen. It's time to say goodbye."
Jeyne drove the Impala as fast as she could towards the coordinates on the GPS. The address that it lead to was just outside Angel Fire, New Mexico. A place called Jumina's Cafe. Sam sat beside her, searching his contacts for Castiel. Originally, he was going to text him, asking the angel to get Rowena to cast the spell and soon. But a call seemed like a better means of communication. Jeyne insisted upon it.
The phone rang once or twice before Cas picked up. "Sam," he said.
"Hey, Cas. You're on speaker—Jeyne is with me."
"Have you any news of Dean?"
"Yeah. He gave us coordinates to a cafe south of Angel Fire, New Mexico. We're just a few hours away. Haven't stopped all night."
"What can I do to help?" Cas asks, his tone even.
Sam runs a hand through his hair. "Meet with Rowena and Crowley—make sure the spell is ready to cast. Something about meeting up with Dean isn't right."
"Okay. Is there anything else I can do, Sam? Jeyne?"
"No. Just get the spell ready. We should be there within in the hour," Jeyne sighed. "If you don't hear from either of us in an hour and twenty minutes, make sure Rowena casts the spell immediately."
"Be careful."
"You too, Castiel," Jeyne said with a sad smile. "We'll see you soon."
The line went dead as the call was ended. A silence fell on the car. The anger from hours ago was forgotten and was replaced with an uneasy silence. They needed to talk Dean out of what he was going to do if they were going save him. There was no telling if they would succeed.
The hour ticked by slowly, and the sun was getting higher in the sky. It meant that they were getting closer to their destination. And the closer they got, the more nervous they felt. When they finally arrived, pulling onto a gravel driveway of an abandoned and dilapidated Mexican restaurant, tensions were high and nerves were wired. Sam turned to Jeyne and hugged her fiercely. "No matter what happens inside, I'll be right behind you. Always."
Sam could only nod his head in affirmation. "I know," he barely managed to choke out.
They both exited the car and made their way to the only entrance. Jeyne remained quiet and in the shadows, entering quickly behind Sam so as to make it seem like it was only him there. She ducked into darkness of the doorway before anyone in the building could notice.
Sam swallowed hard as he quickly entered the room, his voice full of relief as he said his brother's name. "Dean."
"Sam," Dean said calmly.
Sam quickly looked around the room. "What is this?"
"We need to talk," Dean replied.
"Whatever you are thinking of doing, don't." The youngest Winchester said desperately. There is another way. You don't need to go with him. You don't need to die!"
"Funny you say that," Dean said with a small smirk. "Truth is, when I left, I thought the only way out was my death. Well... I was wrong, Sam: It's yours."
"What? What are you talking about?" Sam said incredulously.
"Well, baby brother, Death has found me a place to stay—a place far away from here. Here's the kicker: it's not even on Earth."
"What? He's gonna... Gonna send you into outer space?!"
"No, well, he didn't say outer space," he replied casually.
"This is madness, Dean!"
An even voice interjected, "Far from it, I'm afraid." Jeyne's suspicions had been confirmed: Dean had summoned Death. She had no liking for the Horseman, but she didn't hate him either. He had a good taste in food, no doubt. However, for this moment, she hated him. And she hated Dean.
"No one's asking you," Sam rebuked.
"Hear him out!" Dean yelled.
Sam rolled his eyes and looked at Death. "Our conundrum is simple, Sam. Your brother cannot be killed, and the Mark cannot be destroyed, not without inciting a far greater evil than any of us have ever known."
"What evil?" Sam said impatiently.
"The Darkness," Dean answered.
"What the hell is that?"
"What does it sound like? Does it sound like a good thing?"
Death removed himself on the stage where he sat. "Even if I remove Dean from the playing field, we're still left with you, loyal, dogged Sam, who I suspect will never rest until his sets his brother free—will never rest until his brother is free of the Mark, which simple cannot happen, lest the Darkness be set free... Then there was that time you stood me up," he added darkly.
Sam's expression dropped as he approached his brother. His shoulders were rolled forward in disappointment. "You traded my life."
"I'm willing to live with this thing forever, as long as I know that I and it will never hurt another living thing," Dean insisted.
Sam shook his head. "This isn't you. This doesn't make any sense." he chuckled.
Dean looked at his brother, stone-faced. "No, this makes perfect sense if you stop thinking about yourself for one damn minute!"
Sam swallowed hard. "It's for the greater good," Dean said calmly. "Once you considered that, this makes all the sense in the world." Sam's breathing increased rapidly as he looked from Death to Dean and back again a few times.
And Jeyne could no longer hold your silence. "Really?" she said, disbelieving, as she emerged from the shadows and took her place quickly beside Sam. "Because this doesn't make a lick of sense to me. Dean sacrificing his brother? Sacrifice himself for the greater good I can see. But Sam? Something crazy has got to be rattling around your head, Dean, for Death to convince you that this is sane."
"Ah, the Vessel. I wondered when you would come out of the shadows, Jeyne," Death said casually.
"God damn it, Jeyne! Why can't you do one thing I ask you?"
"NO!" she yelled. "No, you aren't Trent and you don't get to push me around like that; you don't get to tell me what to do. No one does, but me."
"I wanted you away from here, Jeyne. I didn't want you to see this. I didn't want you to see me like this."
"Well, you don't have a damn say about what I get to see or do or not, Winchester," she hissed.
Dean swallowed hard and turned his attention to Sam. "Remember when we were in that church, making Crowley human, about the closed the Gates of Hell? Well, you sure as hell were ready to die for the greater good then."
"Yeah, and, Dean, you pulled me back.
"And I was wrong. You were right, Sam. You knew that this world would be better without us in it."
"No, no, no, wait a second. You're twisting my words here, Dean."
"Why? Because we-we track evil and kill it?" he said simply, advancing on Sam. "The family business? Is that it? Look at the tape, Sam. Evil tracks us. And it nukes everything in our vicinity – our family, our friends."
"Hello, I'm standing right here," Jeyne attempted, which Dean simply brushed off.
"It's time we put a proper name to what we really are and we deal with it."
"Wait a second. We are not evil," Sam insisted. Dean turned slowly towards him. "Listen... we're far from perfect, but we are good. That thing on your arm is evil, but not you, not me... not Jeyne."
"I let Rudy die." He said this plainly. "How is that not evil? I know what I am, Sam. But who were you when you—when you drove that mane to sell his soul... or when you bullied Charlie into getting herself killed? And to what end? A-a good end? A just end? To remove the Mark no matter what the consequences? Sam, how is that no evil? I have this thing on my arm, and you're willing to let the Darkness into the world."
"You were also willing to summon Death to make sure you could never do any more harm. You summoned me, and by extension Jeyne, because you know we would do anything to protect you. That's no evil, Dean. That's not an evil man. That is a good man crying to be heard, searching for... some other way."
"No, there is no other way, Sam. I'm sorry."
"Bullshit, Dean," Jeyne spat. "There's always another way."
"Jeyne, stay outta this," Dean said calmly, his eyes never leaving Sam's.
Sam clenched his jaw and his fist. And with a grunt, Sam raised his left fist and punched Dean across the face. Jeyne wanted to say something, wanted to do anything make them stop but there was no way out of this. They needed to battle it out. "Good... Good. Fight." Dean said, his voice robotic.
He raised his right fist and returned the punch, a crunching sound was made as it collided with Sam's jaw. They threw punches wildly at each other, to the face, to the chest, deflecting some and others making their mark. The brothers moved so fast it was hard to tell what was going on. Dean eventually managed to land a good punch which sent Sam toppling backwards. He was quick to get back to his feet and when he charged at his brother, Dean was ready to meet him. Dean grabbed SAm by his collar and tossed him to the side like he was a ragdoll. Jeyne could see the anger in his eyes as he approached Sam, the need to kill bubbling dangerously close to the surface.
"Dean, that's enough!" The eldest Winchester ignored her, hell-bound on his task. Sam landed a few punches to Dean's face, but it didn't seem to deter him. While Sam's face was bloodied, Dean's remained normal, like he hadn't begun a fist fight with his brother. Sam was thrown to the ground once again. He grabbed onto the railing, pulled himself up and charged at Dean with his fist out stretched. Dean caught it easily. Jeyne ran towards Dean, taking this opportunity while his focus was on Sam, and punched Dean in the jaw with a loud crunch.
Dean turned his head towards her. "I said, that's enough, Dean Winchester—!" Dean kicked her stomach from the side and sent her flying across the room, her head hitting the bar with a loud thud, knocking her unconscious.
"Jeyne!" Sam yelled. Dean brought his arm down onto Sam's elbow joint, slackening his stance, and punched him across the face, a sickening crunch sounding through the air. Sam fell to the ground. Dean grabbed him by the shirt and repeatedly punched him, each one harder and louder than the last.
"Ok," Sam said feebly from the ground, his hands raised in surrender. "That's enough. Hey, that's enough," he panted. Sam whipped the blood away from his forehead, panting some more, as he tried to get to himself off of the ground. He looked up at his brother, Dean returning his gaze with a cold-blooded stare. "You'll never, ever hear me that you—the real you—is anything but good." Dean's gaze softened as Sam coughed and spat some blood from his mouth. He said the following for Dean's sake, not his own. If this was going to save his brother, then maybe one last sacrifice could be make. One last effort to save his brother. "But you're right. Before you hurt... anyone else," his gazed turned momentarily to Jeyne's limp body and then back to Dean, who had followed his line of sight, "you have to be stopped at any cost. I understand."
Sam spits more blood out and gets to his knees, inhaling and exhaling deeply. He clears his throat. "Do it."
Sam swallows hard. Clears his throat a second time. There are approaching footsteps and Dean turns to see Death behind him, his scythe outstretched to him. "Please. Do me the honor," the horseman says as Dean grabs hold of the object. He marvels at for a second before taking it in his hands and turning towards Sam, ready to reap his soul. Sam looks into Dean's eyes, tears rolling down his bloodied face. He will not look away. "Close your eyes." Dean looks away from him briefly, like he wouldn't be able to kill him while looking him in the eye. "Sammy," his voice wavers, "close your eyes."
"Wait..." Sam reaches into his jacket pocket and removes three pictures. "Take these. And one day, when you find your way back... let these be your guide. And the can help you remember what it was to be good... what it was to love." He carefully places the pictures on the ground. One of them was Dean and Mary. The other with Sam, himself and Mary. The last one two smiling teenagers, one of which looked up at him: It was himself and Jeyne. Jeyne was looking at the side of Dean's head, laughing about some joke he had told, and Dean was looking into the camera; looking up at himself as if years ago this picture was meant to be taken to remind him in this moment what it is to be alive. What it is to have mercy.
Sam looked back up at his brother. "It's for family you most proceed, Dean. To be what you are, to become what you've become is a stain on their memory," Death said smoothly. "Do it. Or I will." Dean looked down sadly at the pictures and at his brother and Jeyne.
Dean exhaled sharply, his features filled with sadness... with humanity. He didn't want to kill Sam... But this was the only way... wasn't it? Sam nodded his head, signalling he was ready. He was going to die by his hands. Could he really go through with this? Could he really hurt one more person before he couldn't hurt anybody else? He raised the scythe. "Forgive me," he said.
Sam nodded, attempting a smile. "Dean, no!" Jeyne cried, having come to her senses. Jeyne screamed as Dean brought down the scythe and with one big swing, lodged it into Death's torso. Death seemed surprised and betrayed. Dean took a step back and Sam look unbelieving at what his brother had done. Dean took shaky breaths in, trying to control the stream of emotions rolling through his body, disbelief the most prominent. And Death turned to ash before their faces.
Dean looked down and towards Sam and then to Jeyne, shock apparent on both of their faces. Dean helped Sam first to his feet. "You okay?"
"Yeah," Sam's Adam's apple bobbed up and down. "I'll live. You?"
"Fantastic."
"Good."
"I think I just killed death..." All Sam could do was nod in response.
"Dean..." Jeyne's voice came out weak. Sam nodded and Dean turned towards her, walking quickly to her side. He bent down and looked her over. She punched him, which he knew he deserved. "You're an asshole, you know that? The biggest dickwad that ever walked the Earth," she said through her tears. "I hate you for it," she sobbed, pulling him close to her and crying into the crook of his neck, clutching his shirt desperately. Dean carefully took her into his arms. "I hate you for being so freaking stupid and blind and for being everything else that you are. Stupid Winchester."
"I'm so sorry, baby girl," he mumbled while he cradled her to his chest, one arm around her waist and the other on the back of her head. They stayed like that for a while, holding each other, Dean glad that he hadn't lost her forever, though he knew there might be an ass-whoopin' later.
After she had calmed herself, which she had willed herself to do, she looked up at Dean and Sam and cleared her throat. "No chick flick moments... Right?"
Despite the tension in the air, they both chuckled. "Let's get the hell outta here," Dean said. He helped Jeyne to her feet, took her hand and led her and Sam towards the stage so they could pack up and get the hell out of Dodge. They were nearly done their rushed packing when thunder rolled loudly above their heads, like it had been coming from the inside of the building. Dean looked to Jeyne and then over to Sam. "That sound right to you?"
Sam and Jeyne stared wide-eyed at each other when a lightning bolt shot down from the sky and through the roof, landing directly on the Mark. It sent Jeyne and Sam flying when it touched Dean's arm, sending a wave of heat through his forearm, like someone was trying to brand him. "Dean!" Jeyne cried as Dean collapsed, clutching his forearm. Small electrical currents ran across The Mark of Cain and it slowly disappeared as Dean watched. He grunted with pain, finding it difficult to breathe, when the electric current shot up from his arm and back through the roof of the restaurant and disappeared.
Dean doubled over, his eyes wide, to catch his breath. The constriction around his ribcage was gone. He looked down disbelieving at the place on his arm where the Mark of Cain should be. It had vanished. He looked at his brother and then at Jeyne, disbelief and relief in his eyes. The darkness that had once been there cleared away to show his green eyes.
Dean grabbed his things, shrugged his coat on and followed Sam as he left the building. Jeyne brought up the rear. "This is good. Dean, this is good." The Winchester brothers walked towards the Impala, Jeyne's hand in Dean's. "The—the Mark is off your arm. Nothing crazy happened."
"You get your baby back," Jeyne added sheepishly.
"Yeah," Dean answered, as Jeyne handed him the keys. "I'm sure everything's perfectly fine," he said sarcastically.
Electric currents began invading the air like small white and red serpents striking in every which way. The trio looked up to see the clouds in the sky begin to turn red. "What the—"
A lightning strike shot through the sky and into the ground, which caused them to jump. Panic began to spread through the three of them. More lightning strike came frantically, hitting the ground and blasting dirt in every way. A strange wail filled the air as the strikes finished. Jeyne swallowed hard and clutched Dean's hand. "You were saying, Sam?"
There was an eerie calm and wind whipped around them. "What did Death call this?"
Dean looked out onto the horizon, waiting for something to happen. "The Darkness."
A rumbling began. It started off slowly and calmly and in built into a frenzy, a crescendo, and black clouds, very much resembling the true form of a demon, shot up from the ground. It passed over their heads, an unearthly screech filling the air. They looked in shock around them as more and more of the black smoke erupted from the ground like volcanoes, throwing debris into the air. They zoomed across the sky to gather in a nearby field to merge as one, a frenzy of swirling smoke that looked very much like a black swirling vortex of terror. As it began to expand like a shockwave coming from a nuclear explosion, Dean spun around. "Get in the car!"
"Yeah," Sam and Jeyne replied, running for the car.
"Let's go, let's go!"
Jeyne dove for the back seat and the boys slammed their doors closed behind them. They each locked their door and Dean shoved the key into the ignition, the Impala roaring to life. He threw the car into reverse, floored it only to realize he we stuck in the mud. He alternated from drive to reverse to no avail. The Darkness traveling at top speed towards the car. Sam and Jeyne watched on in terror. "Dean..." Sam said urgently.
And just as the Darkness swarmed their car, roaring and full of malevolence, Jeyne yelled, "DEAN!" before the sound of their screeches drowned out her voice and the Impala was plunged into complete darkness.