Rose stirred slightly, and groaned, her body aching from being tied in the chair so long. She was lying on one of the beds, the covers pulled thoughtfully over her, a sickly sweet taste still in her mouth. The groan caught Sam's attention. She opened her eyes and saw him, watching her from the desk. He rose quietly and came over to her bedside, reaching over to the nightstand for the dampened washcloth laying there. Sitting as gently as he could on the bed next to her, he handed her the washcloth and helped her sit up, not saying a word.
Eyeing him intently for ulterior motives she took the washcloth from him and put it to the back of her neck, the coolness of it soothing her. The swelling in her left eye had gone down somewhat and she was able to open it slightly but everything was still a blur. "Bathroom," she said to him in a hoarse voice. He helped her to her feet, still not saying anything, and she leaned on him as he guided her to the bathroom. Pulling away from him, she reached for the door.
"Leave it open," Sam finally spoke to her. She peered up at him, trying to read his expression, but there was none. He shook his head, apologetically. "I'm sorry, but you need to leave it open." His face was expressionless, his jaw set hard, trying not to reveal anything to her, and his words were kind, but firm. She nodded and reached for the sink to steady herself.
Sitting back down at the computer, Sam could hear her wretching from the bathroom. The compassion he hadn't let her see filled his face. He wanted to go in and help her -- he remembered holding Jessica's hair back for her after a night of too much drinking -- but he couldn't bring himself to do it. He heard the flush of the toilet and the shower start up. Knowing Dean would kill him if he let her escape out the window, he turned his chair so he could see into the bathroom. Trying to keep his attention on the computer in front of him, he caught himself looking up, watching her silhouette in the bathroom mirror.
Sitting alone at the bar, Dean downed another shot of whiskey and slammed the glass back on the bar, a little too hard. The bartender eyed him warily and without needing to be asked poured another double shot into Dean's glass. Poor guy's obviously in pain, the bartender thought, just like all the rest. He'd heard all the stories, knew them all too well. It was obviously some broad.
Dean ran through everything that happened earlier, trying to sort it all out. They had gone back to the room and untied Rose, laying her on the bed. "No, no, no, no, no!" he'd said to Sam. "How many people are already dead because of me? Marshall Hall? Dad? I will not have another person die in my place! Not again, Sammy, never again, you hear me?" He looked at Rose, laying there helpless -- and beaten -- by him. Oh God, he thought to himself. He couldn't believe what he'd done, or how the anger in him had taken over so easily. With only 3 months left, he was spinning out of control. He turned to Sam, "Just… just keep an eye on her. Don't let her out of your sight."
The bartender set another drink down in front of him -- a shot of tequila. Dean just glanced at the glass then looked up at the bartender, who shrugged and said, "From the lady over there." Dean smiled over at her, a shy, sad smile. "Thanks, but no thanks. Maybe next time," he said to her, tossing some bills onto the bar and getting up to leave. Walking back to the motel room, he knew what to do. Don't let Rose know what's going on… and keep her away from the crossroads. He shook off the feeling of dread coming over him and smiled before opening the motel room door. No need to let Sammy know how scared he was right now.
Watching Rose intently, Sam didn't hear the sound of the door as Dean entered the room. "Sam-my!" he said upon seeing where Sam was looking, a pleasantly surprised lilt to his voice. "Thinkin' with the downstairs brain for once, there, lil' bro?" Dean laughed.
With shock and embarrassment, Sam shook his head hard against the idea. "No," he replied coldly. "I just..." his voice faltered as he heard the sound of the shower cease. "I was just keeping an eye on her like you told me to!" he hissed in a harsh whisper at his brother, his anger and frustration at being caught watching Rose showed on his face.
"Yeah, ri-ight," Dean grinned back at him.
Rose appeared at the bathroom door, a towel wrapped around her small frame, her arms and legs still somewhat shaky. "My bag?" she started to say.
Dean turned his attention away from Sam and looked at her. "What about it? If you think you're getting any of those weapons back, sweetheart, you're..."
"No," she interrupted him. "I had some clothes in there..." her voice trailed off but she met Dean's stare with her own. She steeled her body against the door frame, not letting him know that was the only thing holding her up.
Dean eyed her up and down, remembering the way she had moved in the strip club. Not taking his eyes off her towel, he reached behind the desk and handed her bag to her. He'd already removed all of her weapons and taken them to the trunk of his car. "Don't get any funny ideas," he said to her, smirking.
Glaring back up at him, not saying a word, she snatched the bag out of his hands and turned her back on him. He turned his back to her too, leaning on the door jam, his boot holding the door open. Noticing his position from over her shoulder, she said sarcastically, "I know, I know. Leave it open." Looking over at Sam, still sitting within view from the desk, she dropped her towel and reached into her bag.
Rose emerged again a few minutes later, wringing her wet curls with the towel. She was dressed in a black t-shirt and white cotton panties. From his new position on the other bed, Dean looked over and saw the words written on her shirt in rainbow colored lettering, "I Kiss Girls."
"Of course you do," he muttered to himself, still picturing the pole dance from the other night. He stood and started towards her as she sat down on the bed where she'd been laying earlier. Exhaustion filled her body and she looked up at Dean with tired eyes. He was holding her handcuffs in his hand. Glancing over at Sam, it dawned on her that she was alone in a motel with two men who were most likely criminals, and that she was unarmed and powerless.
"Oh..." she breathed in a quiet whisper, "please, no. Please..." She shut her eyes against the thought of what they could do to her.
"I'm not gonna hurt you," Dean said to her, squatting down beside the bed. Rose opened her eyes and looked at him warily, then looked over at Sam, sitting at the desk. He shook his head, his eyes filled with compassion. Dean's voice softened, realizing her fear. "I promise," he said, "We won't hurt you, but we can't take any chances..." he added apologetically, biting his lip, sympathy for her filling his own eyes. He reached over and as gently as he could took her right wrist and snapped the handcuff onto her arm then onto the iron railing of the bedpost. With no strength left to resist, Rose leaned back onto the pillow, soon falling into a deep sleep.
Dean turned to his brother. "Anything?" he asked. Sam was scanning the computer, looking through police records for someone fitting Rose's description. With all her aliases and no ID bearing the name "Rose," all he had to go on were her tattoos, but they were very distinctive – the dragon on her left leg, an ankh with a rose and a blue scorpion on her right calf, what appeared to be a family crest on her left bicep, a barbed wire intermingled with Scottish heather armband on the right, a horned lizard across her stomach and a yellow rose on her left breast. With the exception of the crest, each tattoo appeared to be covering up, or incorporating, some kind of scar. Sam couldn't find anyone matching her description in any of the databases he hacked into and none of her aliases turned up anything either.
"No. Nothing so far. Whoever she is, I don't think she's in the system, Dean," Sam answered.
Dean pulled out his cell phone and started dialing.
"You trying Bobby again?" Sam asked him.
"Yeah," Dean replied, "it's worth a shot."
On the other end of the line, Bobby's voice sounded upset. "I'm sorry, Dean, but it's hard to recognize her from that photo you sent. What'd you do to the poor girl anyway?"
Dean looked over at Rose's black eye and the small butterfly bandage where his ring had cut her face, feeling guilty. "I... I didn't have a choice, Bobby," he said into the phone.
"Well, I've asked around about anyone knowing a hunter fitting her description and no one's ever heard of her," Bobby's voice came over the phone again. "Is there anything else you can tell me?"
Dean's eyes flitted over Rose's body again, noticing the two pendants she wore, standing out against the black t-shirt. One was silver, the other looked like some kind of bone with silver beads on either side of it. "Wait a minute, Bobby," he said, "I think I've got something else." He held the phone up, taking a snapshot of the necklaces, then said, "okay, I'm sending you another photo. Maybe this will help." He waited, holding the phone in anticipation.
Bobby finally answered him. "I'm sorry, Dean. Those are just standard protection talismans. One's African, I think. The other one looks like it may be Creole, but they're not uncommon. And, uh, does her shirt say what I think it says?"
Rose stirred, her arm pulling on the handcuffs in her sleep.
"Wait a minute!" Sam said, standing up and going over to look more closely at her hand. "Here, Dean, see if you can get a picture of her ring." He'd noticed the silver rings on her right hand before but didn't really think anything about them. Her pinky ring was just a plain silver band, but the ring on her thumb almost looked like it had writing on it.
"I'll try," Dean said, then into the phone, "Hey, Bobby, we're sending you one more. Hopefully you can make this out." He put the phone close to Rose's hand and snapped a photo of the ring on her thumb.
Receiving the picture, Bobby said to him, "I'll see if I can make out those markings and get back to you. And, Dean? Handcuffs?"
Dean snapped his phone shut, looking over at Sam. "He's looking into it. Have you ever seen those markings before?"
Sam squatted down and looked at the ring again. "No," he said, "I don't think so. Have you?"
"I don't know," Dean answered, searching his memory. "They look familiar, but I can't place it right now." He pulled out John's journal and opened it. "Maybe there's something in here we've just overlooked," he said. "I swear I've seen that ring before."
Rose stirred again and groaned slightly in her sleep, her face pinched, her eyes darting quickly back and forth behind the lids. She was dreaming.