Bobby Singer: Early 40's

Dean Winchester: 26 years-old

Jasmine Rhodes: 23 years-old.

Castiel: Angel of Thursday

Puzzle Piece:

OVER AND AGAIN

Dean, he, he couldn't take this, not again, not after everything that had happened. He couldn't loose Jaz, not again, but Dean wasn't sure if he could bring Jaz back again. He crawled over to where Jaz lay face down on the ground, carefully turning him over and pulling him into his lap. For the first time he saw what had caused Jaz's death; just like last time there was so much blood, too much blood. Through the torn gap in his shirt, Dean could just make out four parallel gashes; four very deep, very fatal gashes.

He tore his gaze away, feeling sick to his stomach and his heart shattering as he looked at Jaz's face. His hazel brown eyes were open wide, staring blankly at the canopy above; his usually tan skin was turning pale and cool. Dean hugged Jaz's still lax body to his chest, burying his face in Jaz's neck. He let the tears flow freely, not caring; no one was around anyway, he had nothing to hide.

This was the third time that Jaz had died; the first time that Jaz's heart stopped was on his first Hunt when he was sixteen, the second when Sam had stabbed him and his bled out, and now because of a Hunt that Dean had wanted to go on.

Dean started to rock back and forth, clutching Jaz closer to him. His mind was blank and frantic, so much so that he didn't noticed as Jaz got lighter, smaller, the lengthening of hair and the sealing of wounds, the development of breasts and the lack of manhood. Not until Jasmine jerked in his grasp with a huge gasp that nearly cracked her ribs. Dean froze, sure that he had imagined the move, but when Jasmine shifted uncomfortably in grasp he finally loosened his grip.

"Jaz . . .?" he said faintly as he looked once again into Jasmine alive hazel brown eyes. "You're— you're alive." he whispered in shock, yet to notice that Jasmine was a women again.

Jasmine gave him an awkward smile. "Hi,"

Dean could only look down at her. "You're you again," he finally said, surprised. "A girl, I mean."

"Yes," Jasmine sighed struggling to sit up, Dean helped her.

"H-how?" Dean asked her, so confused and happy at the same time.

Jasmine just shrugged as she shifted in Dean's lap, trying to get comfortable. She wasn't sure what she was supposed tell Dean, still not sure herself whether what she had dreamed was real or not or the fact that she had died now and before. She still wasn't comfortable with that fact, and that Dean would sell his soul—so Jasmine decided that she would not bring it up with him until she was sure what the Angle-guy had said.

"Did you get the last Werewolf?" Jasmine asked, trying to twist in Dean's lap to look over his shoulder, but Dean prevented her from doing so.

He felt a small shiver travel down his spin as he relived what had happened between the Werewolf and Jasmine. "It's dead," he confirmed.

Jasmine let out a breath she didn't know that she was holding. She wrapped an arm around Dean's neck and pulled him close, burring his face in her neck. Tears—ones of relief this time—wetted her neck and soaked into the collar of her shirt. Her other hand tenderly feeling the four raised scars that were at an angle across her chest—just like the one that was on her abdomen.

SUPERNATURAL - PP - PAGE BREAK

Jasmine looked at herself in the bathroom mirror; standing on a step-stool naked so that she could see all of herself. Finally, after they got out of the park and back to Bobby's, Jasmine had a hard time even going to the bathroom—Dean having a really hard and complicated time letting her out of her sight. But finally, she had done and she was sure that she had been in here a long time—just looking at herself. Curse Bobby for having no body-length mirrors in the house.

She looked the same, relatively the same as she did when she was 22—except maybe a little more seasoned. More scars than she had before. More memories than she had before. Her hair was long and straight again. Her hands smaller and so were her feet—she was smaller in general. Her lips were lush, her nose still heart-shaped, her brows were thin and sculptured. her buttocks was still firm, enough so the bounce a nickel off of it. Her breasts were still perky and a fitted double B-cup.

The same.

The only thing that was different was the fact that between her breasts were four thin, white, smooth scars that crossed her tan skin at an angle. The contrast between the white of the now new scars and the tan of her skin was big. And noticing that, she noticed the gruesome difference between the scars that were healed by an Angel, and the scar healed by the crossroads Demon. The former were again smooth and hardly noticeable, while the latter was jagged and puckered.

And the remembrance of that, led her to think about the fact that Dean had sold his soul in order to save her, and that she had a Guardian Angel. Did Dean really love her that much, as to sell his soul and bring her back to life. While when Dean had died she was completely lost and broken. Even though she was glad that she wasn't dead or anything, she was pissed that Dean had sacrificed his soul and his life, even though she was already dead.

She stepped off the stool and quickly slipped on her old clothes—thanking God that she had kept them instead of throwing them away. She gave herself a once over before she left the bathroom in search of Dean. They really needed to chat.

Jasmine found Dean in the living room. He was sitting eagled on the couch, an arm flung over the arm rest, a socked foot up on the coffee table and his head lain across the back of the couch. Jasmine sat in the chair that was next to it, biting the inside of her cheek as contemplated what to say—hating herself for not making a real plan first.

"Jasmine," Dean said, causing Jasmine to jump slightly. "Why are you staring?"

She watched as he slowly raised his head to look at her, and it was then that she realized there was no beating around the bush on this subject. So she jumped in head first, hoping the whole while that Dean wouldn't freak out.

"Can you tell me what happened a year ago?" she asked, and at his raised brow she clarified. "After Sam stabbed me,"

Dean's eyes flickered for a second, and Jasmine saw his Adams apple bob. "You know what happened."

Jasmine shook her head. "I don't actually. There was Sam stabbing me and then there was me waking up. I don't know the in between." she told Dean.

"That's because you were unconscious." he was still avoiding.

"When I woke up, that wound was healed." Jasmine said with slight frustration. "I may not be a doctor, but I'm also not stupid! It would take at least three weeks for a wound like that to heal, and there was no way I was out for that long."

Dean gave her a hard stare. "It does and you were."

"No!" Jasmine growled back. "I was dead—and you sold your god-damned soul!" with the intensity she was on her feet, looking down at Dean as he looked up at her with wide eyes and a pale face.

"What—what are you talking about?" He stammered out, getting to his own feet.

"You know what I'm talking about, Dean Winchester. And don't even try to deny it!" she threatened him.

"No," Dean was sticking to his guns, even though he could see the truth in Jasmine's eyes and because he didn't want to know how broken he had been—and how frightened he still was. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"Bobby!" Jasmine hollered.

"I'm not a part of this!" Bobby shouted back instantly.

"You tell me right now, Bobby." she yelled. "I know you can hear us!"

Her question was answered when she heard the front door slamming.

"Stop trying to lie to me, Dean." she said softly. "You sold your soul and I want to know why."

Dean seemed to sag, all of the energy leaving him as he fell back onto the couch behind him. "Fine, I sold my soul. Are you happy now?"

"Of course not," Jasmine sat down beside him.

"When Sam stabbed you, you did die." he confessed. "And I just lost it. It was either selling my soul to bring you back and gain another week with you. Or kill myself and join you."

"Wait—a week?" Jasmine asked, a slight tremble in voice. "You mean that the whole time that I was broken because I thought that it was my fault that that dog tore you to shreds was stupid on my part, because I couldn't have prevented it any ways? I'm such a fool,"

Dean lifted his head, his expression frozen. "You are not." he told her. "I should have just done the normal thing and killed myself."

Jasmine looked at him. "That's not the normal way, Dean. The normal thing to do if grieve."

"You mean like you did?"

She gave him a hurt expression. "That was uncalled for."

"Sorry." he reached out for her hand.

"No," she squeezed his hand. "I'm sorry."

He gave her a small, twisted smile; leaning forward and kissing her cheek.

"There's something else that I have to tell you."

Dean winced, knowing that there was a big chance that he wasn't going to like what he was about to hear—and he could tell the Jasmine was thinking the same thing—but he stayed silent and gave her a ready nod.

"I have a 'Guardian Angel'." she blurted, figuring that beating around the bush would be useless—and she wasn't even sure there was a bush to beat around at the moment.

Dean didn't say anything as he stared at her, his expression blank. What was he supposed to say in comment to that any way? Other than believing the fact that Jasmine had lost her mind.

"It's been a long night—" Dean started.

"No."

"You've been through allot—" he continued over her protest.

"It's not like that!"

"After you get some shut eye, we can discuss it in the morning—" he said over her exclaim.

"Dean!" Jasmine shouted, standing up in protest. "Stop thinking that I've gone crazy." she demanded.

"Jasmine." Dean looked up at her, making a calming gesture.

But she wouldn't have it, she shook her head with venom. "This isn't even that far out there." she told him. "Apparently I've died three times in my life, Dean. And I've come back three times over."

Dean shook his head in denial. He wasn't stupid of course, just stubborn. Jasmine had actually died three times, and on two of those occasions he had been there and was unable to prevent it. "Jasmine, this is ridicules."

"Stop playing stupid, Dean. You know better than that." she shook her head slightly. "There was that time on my first Hunt. Remember? The one that you said that I had even died, but here I am because of Castiel. When that Werewolf killed me and I died before I even hit the ground, coming back to like in you arms, because of Castiel. And when Sam stabbed me and I died, he would have fixed that too, but you already sold your soul and the Demon had brought me back."

"Who's this Castiel?" Dean demanded.

"I already told you." she snapped back. "You went to Hell, he brought you back!"

"How can you even think that?" Dean asked. Angels weren't real, Demons were.

"And I'm not crazy. Okay?" she breathed, her eyes squeezed shut in frustration. Why couldn't Dean understand? "After you died, I saw him multiple times."

"In the house?" he was scandalized.

"No. Outside." she gave him the what-the-hell-look. "That's what you're worried about? Whether he was in the house or not?"

"Well, what else am I supposed to worry about?" he asked.

"You're not supposed to worry about anything." she told him sadly. She sat back down beside him. "I just wanted you to know, that's all."

Dean gave her an apologetic look; feeling like a complete ass. And he had been. What good would it do to deny facts that had already been learned or actions and events that had already gone down?

"You are right." Dean told her and Jasmine looked at him with raised brows. "You did die, all of those times. Back in the graveyard I wasn't sure, the way that you looked . . ." he shook his head. "I was sure, but then you gasped and you looked normal; so I thought that it was just my mind freaking out because it was your first Hunt and I didn't know what to expect. And when Sam stabbed you, you were dead before I even got there. I couldn't handle it, I just couldn't cope with you being dead. Then I remembered that one case that Dad had before we found you—about the Crossroad's Demon. I saw a chance, and I took it. I tried to bargain with her, in 10 years I'd give her my soul if she brought you back, but it was denied. So I went down, but each time she said no. Then, with one final, desperate attempt; I said one week." Dean took a breath. "I didn't tell you because I knew how you would react, and I wanted to spend as much time with you that I could before my week was up."

Jasmine looked at him slightly shocked. Even after all of their years together, Dean had never opened up. And she was even more surprised when he kept talking, on a roll now.

"I didn't really know what to think when I woke up in that grave. But when I got to see you again, it really didn't matter what had brought me back, as long as I was with you. And then I wanted everything to go back to normal, to go Hunt like we did before everything went crazy. You didn't want to go, I could see it and you even said so, but I pushed. You found that Hunt and I was so happy that things were going to be normal again that I rushed in. You died . . . again. I didn't know what to do, what I could do to bring you back this time . . . so I figured that I would just off myself or something." he paused.

"Dean . . ." Jasmine said quietly, really shocked now. She reached out, swiping a tear away that had leaked form Dean's emerald hues.

"And then you were alive in my arms. You were you again." he turned to her, his eyes desperate. "You are you, right?"

"Of course I am." she laughed.

"Sorry." he said. "Of course, Everything just crazy . . . I'm crazy."'

Jasmine shook her, a smile playing on her lips. "The I'm crazy too." she told him, crawling into his lap and straddling him. "And do you know what a few crazy people like us get to have?" she asked, twisting her fingers in his short locks.

"No." he shook his head, his hands on her hips.

"We get to have crazy sex." she ducked her head and kissed him fiercely on the lips.