A/N: So far I have being trying to make this as cannon as possible (it is plausible that all the time spent with Tasha happened between actual episodes) but Dean comes back in Part 3 and, although he's still rescued from Hell by Cas, I will have to go just a little bit AU at times in this part to suit my story. Please note that although this is set in very early season 4, it may have spoilers for all of season 4.

P A R T 3

CHAPTER 22

End of September 2008 (after 'In the Beginning' and right after 'Metamorphosis')

Dean has been back for 2 weeks.

"Still no answer?"

"Nope."

"You sure you got the right number?"

"Yes, Dean, I'm sure. At least, that's the number she was using when I saw her in July."

Dean's hand rose from the steering wheel in a light wave of dismissal, his unsuccessful attempt to convince Sam it didn't bother him that they still couldn't get a hold of Tasha after a full week of trying. "Probably for the best anyways," he shrugged.

Sam gave him a reproachful look. "She needs to know you're back, Dean."

"I know, I know," Dean admitted. "You already won that argument, remember? I agreed to get in touch with her."

Sam huffed slightly but other than that managed to hide his frustration. Dean hadn't wanted to contact Tasha at all when he'd first come back. When Sam had explained that she had found out about the deal and that she still thought he was in Hell, Dean quickly agreed to get a hold of her to put her mind at ease, but he had insisted that they wait until they found out what had yanked him out and made sure this was permanent. Upon the discovery of angels and seals and the impending Apocalypse, he had almost backtracked to refusing to contact her again. Sam couldn't understand his brother's hesitation but had argued his way to a phone call for Tasha's heart's sake.

"I thought you would have been all over trying to find her," Sam challenged, not sure where Dean's continued reluctance was coming from. "I mean, you don't have an expiration date hanging over your head any more," he pointed out. "There's nothing to stop you two from being together now."

Dean winced at his brother's words, unsure of how to respond. How could he explain to Sam that the mere thought of seeing Tasha again terrified him? If he'd been unworthy of her before, he sure as Hell didn't deserve her now. Not after he had spent a decade throwing souls on the rack and ripping into them with both unbridled rage and sadistic enjoyment. He could barely look his brother or Bobby in the eye and was terrified Tasha would see right through him, see him for the monster he had become. The carefully constructed façade Dean had spent most of his life building up to protect his shamefully vulnerable heart had simply slipped away whenever he had been around her. It had been unnerving at first but it had been one of the reasons he had fallen for her so hard. Because she had seen the real Dean Winchester and had never judged him. She had figured him out and hadn't run screaming away from both him and his fucked up life like she should have. But would she still feel that way if she knew? How could she?

As much as he wanted to see her face again, not to mention hear her laugh and touch her skin and, God willing, kiss those lips again, he thought it would be best for her if he stayed out of her life. He didn't want to drag her into the new shitstorm the Winchesters had been thrown in the middle of. The end of the world – the freakin' Apocalypse! It just didn't get any worse or any more dangerous than that. She was safest as far away from Dean Winchester as she could get. Angels and demons and locked seals and fucking Lucifer himself trying to come topside … no, he didn't want her anywhere near this mess.

"I agreed to let her know I'm back, Sam," Dean explained. "But I just don't think a reunion is exactly in her best interest." He held his little brother's gaze. "Think about it. Apocalypse, remember?"

Sam pursed his lips. His brother did have a valid point. He hadn't allowed himself to think of the slim, brown-haired hunter much since she had headed off to Tallahassee to hunt a wraith two months ago and he had shifted his focus to killing Lillith. He had changed his number not long after they had parted ways in Illinois and hadn't contacted her since. Ruby had practically been living with him twenty-four seven by the time Dean and Bobby had shown up at his motel room door. But since that moment, since having his brother walk back into his life, he found himself wanting to see Tasha again also. A large part of that, he admitted, was in hope that she could help Dean.

Sam was incredibly relieved to have Dean back, to no longer have to live with the knowledge his brother was suffering unthinkable torture in Hell, but Dean was clearly hanging on by a thread, his time downstairs still tearing at his soul. Sam couldn't help but think that Tasha's presence could only help his brother get through this; that rekindling the love they had shared could somehow help make him whole again. He desperately hoped she could heal Dean because it was becoming clear that Sam wasn't enough. Dean was a mess but he wasn't talking. And now with the exposed truth that Sam had been fed demon blood as a baby and could now exorcize demons with his mind, there just seemed to be a giant, insurmountable wall between them. A wall of distrust, shame, fear, and secrets.

"So, what, she just gets a quick courtesy call to tell her you're back and then you hang up?" Sam said, his voice skeptical. "She's gonna want to see you. You know that."

Dean shrugged. "Maybe when this is over," he said and Sam couldn't help think how tired his brother sounded.

"Over?" he questioned. "Dean, this just started. We're no closer to finding Lillith now than we were before you went to Hell. The angels haven't told you anything so far except that they have 'plans for you'." The last words were said with more than a hint of sarcasm. Sam's blind belief that angels were all good had begun to crumble when Castiel had ratted him out, leading Dean right to the address where Sam had been exorcizing a demon with his powers. The arguments that had followed had not been pretty and tensions were still high between the brothers.

"I get that," Dean admitted impatiently. "But until we know what those plans are…" He let the sentence trail off. "I'm poison," he finished quietly. "She's safer on her own."

Sam sighed. "You're not poison, Dean. God chose you, remember? You think the big guy would choose just anyone?"

Dean just rolled his eyes, still not a hundred percent sold on the whole God thing. After what he'd done in the pit to all those screaming souls on the rack, there was no way that God, if He even existed, had selected him of all people to do his bidding and help 'save the world'. That was a load of crap. The angels definitely had an angle.

"She doesn't change her number often," he said, bringing the subject back to Tasha and off him. "She doesn't need to because she never gives it to anyone and you're getting her voicemail message so that's got to still be her number. Why wouldn't she call you back?" He hesitated to even voice what was going through his mind. "What if Diego…"

Sam cut him off. "Don't even think that," he said sharply, though the very same worry had been plaguing him for a couple of days now. "I'm sure she's fine."

"Well I got Bobby searching for any murders that would match what that bastard would do to her if he found her," Dean stated. "Just in case."

"I take it he hasn't found anything?" Sam queried, wondering why he hadn't thought of that himself. If Tasha had been murdered anywhere on the continent, Bobby would find out.

"No." Dean didn't seem particularly comforted and his brow folded into a frown. "Dude, why haven't you checked up on her in two months?" he demanded hotly, taking his worry out on the only available target.

Sam felt a pang of guilt and swallowed before answering. "I wasn't handling things very well," he said uncomfortably. "I mean, you were in Hell and I didn't think you were ever getting out and you were there because of me and … I didn't really have it together just then."

"Okay, I get that," Dean conceded, though his tone was still accusing, "But I asked you to look out for her."

"I was looking out for her!" Sam barked, growing defensive. "When we were in Illinois, Lillith sent a doppelganger after her because she wanted to get to me so I figured she'd be safer out of the picture."

"Woah, woah," Dean raised a hand. "A what? Doppelganger? Lillith? How does Lillith even know who Tasha is?" He took a deep breath, visibly calming himself. "Okay, start at the beginning. What the Hell happened in Illinois?"

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They reached Fresno, California well after midnight and found a cheap motel with an all-night desk and checked in. They were here to investigate a series of strange deaths. Three local men appeared to have been run down though no cars were present. They decided to wait until morning to check out the police reports and morgue.

As was his new habit, Dean didn't take off his shoes or jeans to go to bed. After taking a long, slow drink from his flask, he simply lay down on top of the covers and pulled his jacket up over himself. Sam lay down on the other bed wearily, hoping tonight would be one of the few nights he wouldn't be woken by his brother's violent nightmares.

Dean wasn't talking about Hell and claimed he didn't remember anything at all, but Sam suspected otherwise. He had experienced terrifying nightmares both before and after Jessica had died, but his hadn't even been in the same league as Dean's. They were so bad that Dean was avoiding sleeping until he was practically dropping from exhaustion. Naturally, being Dean, he wouldn't admit to any of it.

Tonight, as it turned out, was no different. It was just past three-thirty when the younger Winchester heard a hoarse cry from the adjacent bed. By the time Sam pulled himself lucid and sat up, Dean was awake, his breath coming in frantic, harsh pants. He turned away from Sam quickly, avoiding eye contact in the dim room and pretending, as always, that nothing had happened and that he didn't realize Sam was awake. Sam debated asking him if he was alright but decided against it, instead slumping back down onto his bed and going along with his brother's ruse.

He awoke for the second time just after dawn and glanced immediately across to find Dean's bed empty. It barely registered on Sam's worry-meter, however, since Dean had been up before him almost every day since he'd returned. Drinking himself to sleep, waking up practically screaming every night, and getting up at the crack of dawn under the pretense of getting their morning coffees; that was the new routine.

Sam dragged himself out of bed and shuffled to the bathroom, flipping open his phone as he did so. He used the rare opportunity of alone-time to try and contact Ruby but, like Tasha, she seemed to be ignoring her phone of late. He took a quick shower to wake himself up and was just buttoning up his shirt when there was a soft knock on the door. Figuring that if Dean had forgotten his key he would have thumped more loudly, he had a strong suspicion it was Ruby. Wanting to avoid an ugly scene, he hurried over to open the door and send her on her way before Dean came back.

His haste caused him to forsake caution in opening the door and he was surprised to find Tasha standing on the porch smiling up at him.

"Hey Sam!" she greeted exuberantly, a wide grin on her face. "Cristo," she added quickly, pausing and narrowing one eye at him. Apparently satisfied with his lack of reaction, she resumed her cheerful greeting, this time stepping in and hugging him tightly.

He returned the hug, a smile slowly wiping the stunned look off his face. He moved backwards into the room as they pulled apart and she followed him in, glancing around with amusement at the particularly tacky decor as she did so. "Everything okay, Sam?" she asked.

Sam finally found his tongue. "How did you know where to find me?"

She rolled her eyes. "You left me like ten messages, dimwit."

"Yeah, I did," Sam said with mock sternness. "Why didn't you call me back? I was getting worried."

His comment was received with a sharp glare. "Why didn't I call you back?" she accused hotly. "You completely disappear for two months and you're giving me a hard time?"

Sam gave her a sheepish look but didn't offer an explanation.

"Anyway," she continued, "I spent some time in La Pas and hitched a ride back on a Mexican beam trawler headed for Monterey. There was no cell reception on the boat and I just got stateside late last night. That's when I got your messages and figured I was only a few hours away so I drove all night to get here. You sounded like it was urgent and you had me really worried, Sam. What's up? You got word on Lillith?"

"Uh, no," Sam told her, glancing through the open door to see Dean making his way across the motel porch towards the door. "Uh, I called you for a different reason."

Dean strode in with a coffee cup in each hand. "Here's your frickin' girly mocha latte frappe douche-drink Sam…" He went silent when his eyes fell on Tasha, who was standing near the bottom of Sam's bed, a few feet from the taller Winchester.

Sam saw the stunned look on Dean's face and heard the shocked gasp that escaped he girl beside him. He glanced down to see her taking a quick step back towards him, her shoulders tensing with fear.

"It's really him," he said quickly, realizing she was undoubtedly having flashbacks of the Doppelganger in Illinois. "It's really him this time."

She didn't move, her body still taut and ready for a fight. Sam noticed her hand was hovering near the concealed knife at the small of her back.

Dean recovered first, turning at the waist to put the coffees slowly down on the table next to him. "Hi Tash," he breathed, unable to hold back a bit of a smirk. "Look who's back."

Tasha didn't laugh or even hint at a smile. "Did you check everything?" she asked Sam, her voice not much more than a shaky whisper as she hovered nervously next to the towering hunter, eyeing Dean suspiciously.

Dean stayed where he was, grasping the fact that she was scared. Scared was a look he knew too well now, a look he hated having directed at him. His own heart was beating wildly at the unexpected sight of her and the first cognitive thought he managed to string together was 'my God, she's gorgeous' followed by the realization of just how badly he had missed her.

"Yeah," Sam was saying. "Silver, holy water, the whole shebang ... and definitely no hex bag. I swear, it's really him."

"He's right," Dean added. "It's really me, in the fles…" He was cut off because she was already on him, flying across the room to wrap her arms forcefully around his neck. Her whole body was suddenly pressed up against his as she squeezed him, breathing small gasps of wonder and disbelief into his neck.

"Dean," was the only muffled word that escaped her lips as she clung to him.

Dean couldn't stop himself from returning the hold and he closed his eyes, burying his face in her hair and inhaling deep breaths as he struggled to maintain his own composure. He could feel his carefully guarded walls crumbling already as he felt her quivering softness against him and breathed in her familiar, captivating scent. Strawberry shampoo and … Tash. Nothing had ever felt so good. Forty years of pain and torture and he could almost believe the simple act of holding her close could wipe it all away. His pain and guilt and the constant torment his battered soul was putting him through started to subside instantly. He was struck with a fleeting desire to stay like this forever, wrapped up in this blanket of warmth and peace. He could almost feel the grip Hell had on his heart loosening, the constant dull ache subsiding, and the gaping black hole inside him shrinking.

It had been a similar experience for him when he had hugged Bobby and then Sam for the first time after his return. He glanced up now to see his brother looking politely away, giving the two a tiny measure of privacy and he felt a rush of an emotion he had gone so long without. An emotion he had worked so hard to avoid as it inevitably led to pain. An emotion he had given unconditionally to so few throughout his life and one that had always caused him grief and sorrow. Love.

He swallowed and pulled gently away from Tasha. He couldn't afford that emotion now. Even if he could figure out a way to hold the three of them - Sam, Bobby, and Tasha – close and safe forever and eliminate the risk of having his heart shattered, the fact remained that he didn't deserve this. He was poison. A weak, pathetic excuse of a man who probably didn't even have the capacity to love anyone anymore. The things he had done for Alistair … the enjoyment he had reaped from the screams and the desperate pleas… He suppressed a shudder at the dark thought.

He steeled himself as he drew back and his hazel eyes searched out her brown ones. When they found them, glistening with tears that were just now starting to slide down her cheek, he almost caved. He took a deep breath and gave her a restrained smile. "Hey," he said simply in a throaty voice.

She gave a short laugh, wiping the tears from her face with the back of her hand. "Hey," was all she said back, her free hand still resting lightly on his chest.

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A/N: Sorry, I know my 'two week' break turned into a month and sorry this was a short chapter, but I kept procrastinating and decided to post to force my lazy ass into gear *lol*. Hopefully everybody's still interested in the story after my hiatus. I have a lot to pack into this third installment and I really hope you all enjoy it. Please don't forget to let me know what you think by leaving a review – you are loved for it, I promise!