Well, I didn't intend for such a long stretch of time in between chapters. But, the combination of the outline giving me trouble, my health acting up and work kicking my ass have led to an unfortunate delay. Hopefully, the next couple of chapters were worth the wait. I just have do some more minor edits to the next one and I'll post it soon too. Anyway, an important note: this chapter has a pretty rough patch. Please head to the end note for content warnings! I don't want to give any specifics up front, but it's important to be prepared for that particular bit and, if it's something you can't read about for whatever reason or just can't stomach, I want you to have a heads up. Please be careful and stay safe!
On the evening before her and Sam's departure, Eileen starts having flu symptoms. Despite a killer headache and barely enough energy to stand, she seems determined to go. Sam tries to convince her not to, but he doesn't have much success. When the cough sets in, Jo puts her foot down in her Nurse No-nonsense style. Dean almost fails to hide his laugh upon seeing the pout on the other woman's face.
"I'll go with Sam," Jo says. "And he won't be alone anyway. He's also got Jesse and Cesar as backup." She pauses a second, frowning. "Well, we're their backup. It's gonna be fine."
Dean isn't all that happy that Jo's the one to leave with Sam. He understands, though, that the other two hunters need two more participants added to their team for the nest to be taken care of. Eileen is, unfortunately, not in any shape to go after a bunch of vamps. And, Dean knows, neither is he. Jo is the only one who can accompany Sam.
"Don't worry, Eileen," Dean says, draping the blanket he'd fetched over her hunched frame. "I'm working on something else that'll need testing and I promise to give it to you and Sam to try out. You'll have first dibs."
"You swear?" she asks, voice sounding nasally due to her stuffy nose.
"Cross my heart," he says. "And I'll also keep you company while these two," he points to Sam and Jo, who are packing up, "are out there. I'll even make you some chicken noodle soup, so you'll be back in monster-fighting shape in no time."
The last sentence gets him a tired smile. Dean returns it, then heads back to the kitchen to see if the cup of tea he'd made her earlier is good to drink. He spots Jo adding Brutus' leash and harness to their equipment, which means they're taking the dog along as well. Smart move. That makes him worry slightly less.
Busying himself with nursing Eileen back to health is a good distraction. He's happy he's able to do that now, help someone else for a change, instead of being on the receiving end of others' aid. It feels good. He tries not to think of himself as having been a burden the past couple of months, because the others hadn't seen it that way. But he can't help but feel relieved that he's more self-sufficient now. He still uses the cane, even though there are days when he barely needs it. It's only more necessary when he's very tired in the evenings and, without fail, at night when he gets up to take a leak. The bad days are a bit more rare. The cane, the hand-holds in the shower and the special stool in there too still get plenty of use. It would be stupid to stop relying on them, when the loss of balance and the numbness are unpredictable.
So Dean makes Eileen tea and soup, gives her cold medicine and cough syrup, and makes sure she has plenty of tissues on hand. His mother-hen attitude seems to amuse her. He tries not to be too overbearing, because that would be annoying. She seems to be grateful for both the care and the restraint he shows.
In between rounds of making sure Eileen eats and drinks enough, Dean looks through the Harvelle family journals. And there's a lot of information in them. Jo's family had been pretty prolific hunters. They'd gone after everything that went bump in the night, and then some. No exceptions. Nothing was scary enough to keep them away from the hunt. They'd been truly formidable.
Surprisingly, Dean finds the very first mention of a demon with yellow eyes in the oldest journal of the bunch. He hadn't looked through it before, because he'd had no use for something written in the later half of the 1700s at the time. He'd only skimmed it to see the date, then put it back in the box. The journal had belonged to one Rosemary Harvelle who, according to great-grandpa Rudolph, had been his mother. She'd been a hunter in her own right, then married Rudolph's father. Before, she'd apparently specialized in hunting witches. Not only that, but she seems to have dedicated her life to it. Dean is impressed by the knowledge she'd accumulated in the course of her career and by her determination to follow her calling, despite the general disregard for female hunters at the time. And this is only one of her journals. Who knows how much more information she'd written down in those before or after.
"That's probably where Jo got the stubbornness gene from," Dean mutters, as he turns another page in the journal.
But Rosemary hadn't known the demon's name and had survived the encounter by the skin of her teeth. Also, there's no mention of any other member of the family having come across this particular demon before. So there's no knowing if she'd been the first to bump into the Prince of Hell. She's definitely not the last.
A couple of days later, Eileen starts feeling better. With nothing else to do while she recovers, she begins helping Dean with his research. They put together a timeline of encounters with Yellow Eyes, spanning the past couple of centuries, noted down in each of Jo's ancestors' journals. There seem to have been quite a few, from Rosemary's near miss all the way to Bill's last hunt. Considering the Harvelle family's origins at the time of the first crusade—maybe before, even—it's possible that the demon had had an interest in this particular bloodline for some reason. Just like he'd had an interest in Dean's own.
"Are you sure this was Azazel and not one of the others?" Eileen asks him once they've finished their project.
Dean thinks about it a bit. None of the Harvelles had known anything about him beyond the fact that he'd been a demon. But, considering there'd been four of them, the Yellow Eyes Jo's ancestors—even Bill, later on—had encountered could have been one of the others.
"I don't think it was Dagon," he says. "Every time they ran across him, he was in a male meat suit. When we met Dagon, she was in a woman's body. I've noticed that most demons tend to stick to the gender they were when they were still human."
"Yeah, they do tend to do that, you're right. If they find one they particularly like, they even hold on."
"Or even have the body rebuilt like Abaddon did." Dean sifts through his memories of the other two Princes. "Ramiel was a recluse, retired to a human life almost. Wanted to be left alone so he could go fishing. Asmodeus could have been the one to hold a grudge against a hunter family. Maybe he was after something they had."
"You said he killed Bill's parents," Eileen says. Her eyes scan the timeline again. "And he was also responsible for Bill's death. He could have been after some artifact the Harvelles had in their possession from the time of the Crusades."
"If it's that, none of them mention it in any of their journals."
"Do you think it's possible that Bill had more of his family's possessions stashed in a different location?" Eileen closes the last of Bill's notebooks and puts it back in the box. "Most hunters whose families have done this sort of thing for as long as his own has, used to put things in several places. Mainly to keep everything from falling into the wrong hands all at once."
"Oh, I'm sure he did," Dean says. "Especially since there seem to be some gaps between those we have here. There have to be more of them somewhere." He pauses, scratching at his chin as he thinks. "The problem is that Jo doesn't know where those stashes are. She's planning on having another look through one she's sure was Ellen's, since she'll pass through the town it's in on the way to Kentucky. But her mom didn't tell her that Bill even had lock-ups in the first place."
"She probably planned to tell Jo later and later never came."
"That's also possible."
Dean has a hunch that, unless they get lucky and find that Ellen had written that information down somewhere, they'll never find out what Yellow Eyes had been after. Nor which of the Princes it'd been that had hounded the Harvelles for so long.
In the end, with there being nowhere else to look, they conclude the research into that particular subject. Dean busies himself with scanning some of the lore Bobby had made copies of. They're not even a quarter of the way through on that project. With the amount of information in the old hunter's lock-ups—which are quite a few—and the wealth of knowledge in the Men of Letters bunker, they have a long way to go. What they have on hand now barely scratches the surface.
Sam and Jo had called them several times while driving across the country. They'd left late that day, some time in the afternoon and had stopped in Peoria, Illinois, for the night. The last time they'd spoken had been the day of their arrival in Kentucky, when they'd all agreed to keep radio silence until after ganking the vamps. Jo's idea, it seems. No distractions from the hunt, unless it's an emergency or too much time has passed. None of the others had objected and Eileen seems cool with it so far. Dean is internally freaking out. He hates not knowing what's going on.
On day two of radio silence, Dean is even more antsy. He tries not to show it, but he can't switch off his paranoid mind. Keeping busy also seems to lose its effectiveness and he finds that he's checking his phone more and more often. What if something happens, and he finds out too late? After all, he himself had been killed on a vamp hunt. Or what if the Colt doesn't work? With the distance separating them being so great, he won't even be able to help.
"You know they'll be fine, right?"
Eileen's voice nearly makes him jump out of his skin. He hadn't realized that he'd picked up his phone again. They've been sorting through a box of Bobby's case files which, according to the dates, are from the very beginning of his hunting career. Dean's thoughts, though, are somewhere else. He puts the phone back on the table and turns to face her.
"I can't help it," he says.
He does his best to sign along with his words. In the past few months, he's made an effort to get better at it, but he's still not as good at it as Sam is. And, unlike Jo, his rudimentary knowledge of ASL had been even rustier to begin with. But, ever since Eileen had become a part of their family, he'd wanted to be as accommodating as possible. And it'll also be useful when they're on a hunt.
"It's not the same situation. There's four of them and a huge dog that's been trained to track and fight monsters. You and Sam didn't have any back-up when you went against that nest."
"I know that." He takes a deep breath, slowly exhaling before he continues. "I just can't switch that part of my brain off. Can't stop thinking... what if...?"
"Which one of them are you more worried about?"
Her question takes him by surprize. Eileen's expression doesn't give anything away. It's neutral, like she's merely curious. But there's a glint in her eyes that Dean can't read.
"Honestly, both of them," he says, letting loose a short, mirthless laugh. "Heck, I'm worried about everyone on that hunt. I've met Jesse and Cesar before, and hunted with them. I don't want them to get hurt either."
"If Jo and I could take out an entire pack of ghouls with only Brutus for back-up, so can a whole team of hunters gank a bunch of vamps."
"I bet the two of you were badass. Shame I couldn't be there to see it."
"I'm sure you'd have loved to see Jo in action again." Eileen smiles and that glint reappears in her eyes. "That's why you're so attracted to her, isn't it?"
Dean's first instinct is to deny it. But when he sees the earnest look on Eileen's face, he figures there's no point. Might as well come clean to someone. He trusts her. He may not be ready to tell Sam what he's feeling when it comes to Jo, but he knows that Eileen will listen and understand. Sam will too. Dean's sure that his brother already knows something's up. It's obvious that both had figured out Dean's attraction to Jo and his desire to be close to her. He's infinitely grateful that neither of them have pushed him on the matter.
"Among other things," he says. "She is a very good hunter, a perfect shot, wicked with a knife and has a killer right hook." He pauses, smiling as he thinks about his next words. "She's also sexy. What's there not to like?"
"So why haven't you made a move yet?"
"To tell you the truth, I'm scared."
"Of what?"
"Of screwing it up." Dean picks up his phone and fiddles with it for a moment, then puts it back on the table. "Our… friendship has a complicated history behind it. It was always some variation—" he struggles with his signing at this point, and Eileen grabs his hands and stills them on top of the file in front of him on the table "—some variation of wrong place, wrong time. We had a falling out because of what happened to her dad. Then, crap started to go sideways and I didn't want her to get caught in the crossfire. I was trying to avoid repeating my father's mistake."
"Sam told me about that." Eileen's expression turns sympathetic. "Jo did too. You know that that wasn't your fault, right?"
"Yeah, Jo keeps telling me that."
"Maybe you should listen to her."
"Well, last time I took a chance and dragged her along on a dangerous mission," he goes on, "I got both her and her mother killed."
"You know that's not the truth."
"For the longest time, that's how I saw it. And after that, all I had left, until a few months ago, were what ifs and regrets."
"But you have a chance now." Eileen's hands squeeze his own gently. "You can try all the things you were denied before."
"I know." Dean sighs and returns her grip just as lightly. "Although, messing up isn't the only reason I'm afraid of jumping in head-first. It's that I'm scared Jo might not be interested in anything other than my friendship. Not anymore."
"She was before?"
"I think so. I'm not sure, but I think, at first, it was a crush. It's what it seemed like, at the time. Of course, she wasn't the only one. For me, it was a case of attraction at first punch." That makes Eileen laugh. Dean smiles as he continues. "Jo was a spitfire back then, despite her lack of hunting experience. Did you know that she snuck off from home to join me and Sam on a hunt?"
"Yeah, she told me the story."
"It was her first real hunt and she was determined to prove herself. I guess that's another thing we had in common, being young and fighting to be taken seriously." He sighs as he remembers the words they'd said to each other that day. "I wanted to convince her to not get into hunting, to do something else. Maybe go to school like her mom wanted. My thought was that if she stayed out of this life, she'd be safe."
"No hunter's kid has ever been safe," Eileen says.
"I know that now. I was young and naive then, still thought there might be a way out for some. Never thought that I'd be one of those, though."
"With some luck, you'll prove yourself wrong some day. And I also think you're wrong about Jo not wanting you anymore. Do you really believe that, if she didn't, she'd have accepted to sleep in the same bed as you?"
"It's not like we're doing anything else there."
"It's not like I could hear it."
"Sam would. You think he wouldn't tell you?" Dean lets out a short laugh, suddenly reminded of the day he and Sam had dismantled the other bed. "Besides, we sleep with the door open. You can suspect us of doing the horizontal tango when we close it."
Eileen starts laughing and Dean joins her. It's a relief to have someone who can joke about things, but can also be serious when required. He loves this chance he has to talk to Eileen, just the two of them. It's like having a sister.
It takes them a few minutes to calm down. When their laughter has subsided, Eileen studies his face intently and Dean realizes that, ever since grabbing his hands to still them on the tabletop, she'd relied on lip reading for the rest of the conversation. He feels guilty. As he thinks of the signs he needs to apologize, Eileen's expression changes from pensive to scrutinizing.
"What makes you think she wouldn't be attracted to you anymore?" she asks, before Dean has time to say anything else.
All his other thoughts screech to a halt. Why would he think that? Well, he realizes, it boils down to plain old insecurity, to that feeling he's always had of being inadequate.
"What if she believes I'm too old now?" is what he ends up saying.
At his answer, Eileen snorts and shakes her head.
"Have you ever seen the way women look at you?"
"What way?" He's a little puzzled now. It's not like he's had time to notice that. And he hasn't even had an interest lately. "I haven't really paid attention the past couple of years."
"The few times we've been out and about, there have been several ladies that have given you the kinds of looks that could only be interpreted one way; as them wanting nothing more than to eat you alive."
"Does Jo do that?" he asks, swallowing thickly as his throat suddenly goes dry.
"How old was Jo when she died?" Eileen counters instead, avoiding an answer to his own question.
"I think she was about twenty-four." He does a mental calculation quickly, then nods. "Yeah, twenty-four. Why?"
"It means, chronologically, and only taking into account the years that've passed topside, she's thirty-five now. Same as me. And that means you two are only six years apart. That's not a big age gap."
"So you don't think I'm a cradle robber?" he jokes.
"You probably would seem like one, if Jo still looked like she did in her mid-twenties." The serious look on her face melts away and is replaced by an impish grin. A few seconds later, her expression becomes thoughtful again, as she continues. "But the spell used to restore her body was obviously modified in order to make it look like she'd survived that day, and then aged naturally."
Faced with all the facts, Dean realizes that Eileen is right. Being too old for Jo is the one thing he doesn't have to worry about. He doesn't even know why he'd thought that in the first place. It's not like Jo had been a teenager when they'd first met. She'd been young, true, but she'd been a fully grown woman.
"What if you're right and we do start something, but then I end up disappointing her?" He looks down at his hands for a moment, then returns his gaze to Eileen so she can see his face as he goes on. "What if I don't measure up?"
"Let her be the judge of that," Eileen says. "Dean, you are a good man. I know you're scared, but you need to stop doubting yourself. Take the leap. Don't let your fears hold you back like you did before. And use this chance you've been given, because not many people are so lucky as to have one. We are a rare breed."
"Has anyone ever told you that you're a wise woman?"
"Not lately, but thanks."
"I guess I'm stressed out by the whole situation and being stuck on the sidelines is driving me nuts." He lifts one hand to rub at his eyes, then runs it down his face. "And I can't think clearly knowing that the Jailer"—it's what they'd started calling that damn demon, in lieu of a name—"could get to Jo anytime. Even though I know she's not alone and that she has the Colt with her, I'm still terrified."
"I am too," she says, "especially since we don't know his name. If we did, we could figure out how to deal with him. Also, the fact that Chuck was the one who put him in charge of Jo's imprisonment makes my skin crawl." She closes the file in front of her and gives Dean's hand another light squeeze. "So I get what you're going through. But, we can't let fear and worry consume us, or we'll forget how to live."
"Carpe diem, right?" He also closes the file he'd been perusing. "I told Jo basically the same things when she was having doubts about this all being real. Guess I needed a kick in the pants myself to get the message. Thanks, Eileen."
"No problem. We all have our moments. Who knows, maybe someday you'll be the one to talk some sense into me."
"I'll be sure to repay the favor, if you ever need it."
Not for the first time, Dean is really grateful that Eileen is a part of their ragtag family. Her logic and calm demeanor have managed to soothe his nerves and put some of his fears to rest. With her level head, she's perfectly suited for Sam. She also has a bit of a wild streak, a good counterbalance to Sam's more rational temperament, which she lets loose at times.
Dean tries not to let his thoughts wander to how Jo seems to be more his match. They'd been very alike in the past and are even more so now, after all the shit they've been through. Maybe he really should take that leap and tell Jo how he feels, no matter how chicken shit scared he is. Having finally confided in someone feels freeing. Perhaps, telling Jo will be what changes things. If Eileen's assessment is true, and he's really hoping it is, then there's no need to be scared. All he has to do is grow is a pair and do it.
After twenty minutes, or so, he and Eileen have put away all the files they'd sorted and scanned. It's almost one in the morning. Yet, Dean can't help but wonder how the hunt is going. Have they already made their move, or are they still scouting the area and making plans? He won't think of the possibility of something having gone wrong.
To keep his mind from concocting any horrific scenarios, he goes to the kitchen to prepare a cup of tea for Eileen. It's some ecological herbal thing Sam had gotten when the weather had taken a turn for the worse. Just in case, he'd said. Dean's the only one who doesn't drink it. The only reason he makes it for Eileen is because she likes it and it seems to help with the flu symptoms. So far, she's been a good patient.
With the cup settled on Eileen's bedside table, Dean returns to the living room just in time to hear the buzzing sound that seems to be coming from Eileen's pocket. At the same moment she scrambles to reach it so she can answer, his own phone lights up on the table. It's a message from Jo—"We're calling now"— which makes his heartbeat pick up speed. In the short seconds it takes Eileen to accept the call, Dean's almost to the point of praying—which he never does—that it's good news. On shaky legs, he approaches Eileen, whose hands seem to be trembling just as badly as his own.
The call connects and Sam's blood-splattered face appears on the screen. But the smile present in his expression eases Dean's apprehension. It means nobody died. Or got hurt.
"Hey guys!" Sam says, signing along to his words for Eileen's benefit. "We just finished clean-up and got back to the motel."
"How'd it go?" Eileen asks.
Right then, Jo appears in the frame. Her hair is all wild. A few streaks of blood smear the small braid she'd made on the right side to keep the hair out of her face. Her eyes are glinting and her grin is triumphant. She seems to radiate satisfaction.
"The gun works," she says, also using signs. "We've killed five vamps with it and dispatched the others the old-fashioned way. Brutus helped us flush them out of where they were hiding and confused them enough so that we had quite the element of surprize."
"That dog of yours is really nifty to have along," comes Cesar's voice from somewhere in the background.
"That he is," Dean says.
Relief, that everything has worked out, hits Dean like a ton of bricks. He has to sit down before his knees give out. Damnit, he hadn't realized that he'd been so wound up. His hands are still trembling, so he squeezes the handle of his cane to keep them still.
Sam seems to have set the phone in such a way that Jesse and Cesar are also visible on the screen. The four of them tell Dean and Eileen about the hunt, each of them chiming in with something. But Dean's not really paying attention to the conversation. He lets Eileen take point on that. Because the only one he can truly focus on is Jo. And all he can think about is the fact that the Colt works.
I did it, he thinks. I fixed it.
Now, they can take out the Jailer if he comes for Jo. No, not if, when. Because Dean believes what she'd said to him weeks ago, that the bastard won't give up easily. They'll have to gank him, if they're to keep her safe.
"Okay, we're all beat." Sam's voice breaks into his thoughts and Dean turns his gaze to his brother's face. "We're gonna clean ourselves up and get some shut-eye. Call you in the morning, okay?"
"Sure," Eileen says. "Good night, everyone!"
A chorus of good night follows, with all of them waving. Dean does as well, but his eyes are drawn from Sam's tired face back to Jo's again. She looks exhausted, yet happy. He can't stop staring at her until the call cuts off. Her expression of joy, at a hunt successfully completed, will be seared into his mind's eye for the next few days.
Dean blinks, then rubs at his eyes, feeling utterly wiped out all of a sudden. It's like coming out of a fever dream. The fact that he'd managed to fix the Colt, after thinking it'll never be possible, still seems surreal.
"You did it," Eileen says, resting a hand on his shoulder.
"Yeah," he says, turning to look at her. He gives her—what is probably—a tired smile. "Yeah, I did. I can't believe it."
"How about we follow the gang's example and get some sleep. You look dead tired and I'm not feeling much better. So, let's call it a night and we can celebrate tomorrow."
"Yeah, you're right. Nap time sounds good."
They head to their respective rooms, parting in the hallway. This time, Dean signs sleep well to her and gives it his best to wobble into his room without falling on his face. Only with the help of his cane does he make it to the bed.
Not bothering to change into bedclothes, Dean plops down on the mattress and, with a groan, stretches out on his side of it. He's tired enough that he thinks he'll be able to sleep. Out of a force of habit, the door is left open and the bedside lamp on. He sighs, willing his muscles to relax, and closes his eyes. The silence, only broken by the slight sound of his own breathing, lulls him into slumber.
A loud bang pulls him out of his jumbled dreams some time later. Dean startles awake and looks around frantically. At first, he doesn't notice anything amiss. The bedside lamp is still on. But Miracle doesn't seem to be in the room at the moment and, when he turns his gaze towards the door, he sees that it's closed. He realizes that that is what had woken him up, the door banging shut. An intense feeling of dejá vú grips him, reminding him of that night when he and Jo had been attacked in their dreams. He reaches for the gun under his pillow.
At least, he tries to. Unlike on that night, this time he can't move. Dean finds that he's stuck lying on his back with his arms stretched out on either side of his body. He's only able to turn his head.
"Long time, no see, Dean. I bet you missed me."
The voice—feminine—comes from the left, a voice he hasn't heard in years. It shouldn't be possible that she's here. He's afraid to look, but forces himself to turn his head in that direction anyway.
There, leaning against the wall next to the window, is Abaddon, looking just like she had on the day he'd killed her. Abaddon, who is supposed to be dead. The only thing missing is all the blood. It feels like his heart stutters in his chest at the sight of the demon's cruel face. This has to be some twisted dream, just like last time.
"You can't be here," he says, closing his eyes. "You're dead. I killed you."
"So you did," is her answer. "Do you want to try again?"
"Go to Hell!"
"Oh, I'd love to. Maybe I'll take you along for the ride, this time."
Her voice sounds much closer than it'd been a few seconds earlier. Dean opens his eyes. In the time it'd taken for their short exchange, Abaddon had pushed away from the wall and had crossed the distance to the bed. Now, she's standing there, looking down at him. Her knees are a couple of inches away from touching the edge of the mattress. The way she's smiling at him is downright diabolical.
"You're not real," he mutters, struggling not to panic. "It's all in my head."
"Doesn't mean it isn't real."
She bends slightly and grabs his left wrist, moving his arm out of the way and pinning it to the pillow beside his head. Then, she settles a knee on the spot she'd vacated and swings her other leg over him. In this position, she's straddling his hips. As she gets more comfortable—which makes him less so—she moves his other arm too, in a mirror position of his left one. He swallows saliva that feels like glue being forced through a throat that's lined with sandpaper. This is a nightmare. It has to be.
Abaddon then rubs herself against him and Dean has to close his eyes and grit his teeth to keep his body from reacting. It's been a long while since he's… No, not thinking about that! Not when the demon is running her hands up his stomach, chest and throat. Not when she rips his shirt down the middle, exposing his torso. Not when she's dragging her nails over his anti-possession tattoo. His heart begins to pound in his chest. He can't focus. He hates this.
"I did promise I'd peel this thing off and blow smoke up your ass," she says. "But maybe I should have a go at taking that friend of yours for a spin. The blonde one." One of her hands reverses course and starts heading south, lower and lower down his chest, slow as molasses. "That would be fun."
Dean can't breathe for a few seconds. The thought of this bitch possessing Jo…
"If you even try to touch her," he says, "I will rip you to pieces! Even if it's the last thing I do. I'll find a way."
"But you did kill me once, Dean. Remember? How did that turn out for you again?"
"Like I said, I'll find a way to end you."
"It won't take me long to burn off her tattoo," she continues, ignoring his threat. "Not if I take her by surprize. I'm guessing you know where the ink is on her body?"
Oh, Dean knows. He'd seen it when Jo's shirt had ridden up once, when she'd turned around in her sleep. But there's no way he's telling this black-eyed bitch where to look. He snaps his mouth shut and keeps quiet.
"Once I'm in, I can use her body to have my way with you."
Abaddon rolls her hips again, her intention unmistakable. Dean's heart nearly stops at the mental image those words elicit. That would be just as bad as being possessed himself and used against the others. He's been in that position before. He can't let this monster do that to Jo.
"Maybe it's time I changed meat suits permanently," she says. "As much as I love this body, I think the time has come to change my wardrobe. It'll be like getting an upgrade. And then, I can keep you around to play with. I have to say, we have a lot of catching up to do."
She presses her nails into his chest, just under the tattoo. One of them breaks the skin and the sting makes his whole body jerk. Her other hand continues its trajectory down his chest, then stomach, its destination evident. At the same time, she presses her thighs tighter against his hips, more firmly locking him in place. No matter how hard he tries to struggle to get free, he can't break her hold on him. A tendril of desperation grips him. This can't be happening.
The only silver lining is that his horror at what she intends to do to him has seemingly kept his body from involuntarily reacting in other ways. Dean is sure that Abaddon would be delighted. And he doesn't want to give her the satisfaction. But then, she suddenly leans forward, mouth close to his left ear and hand even lower. Dean gasps and turns his head away from her. He hates this.
"Until she gets back, though, I intend to have some fun with you." She bites his earlobe, making him shiver and not in a pleasant way. "It's going to be like a warm-up to what's next."
Dean's breath has become ragged, heart beating wildly in his chest. It feels like his ribs are going to break from the intensity of it all. This can't be happening.
"Get off me!"
He tries to put all his hatred and disgust into those three words. It's all he can do. There's nothing else, because he's trapped. But the effect is ruined by his panicked breathing. It ends up sounding more like a plea than an order. When Abaddon's hand reaches its destination, she grips him hard. Dean grits his teeth and closes his eyes again. Still, a small whimper escapes him, despite all his efforts. This can't be happening.
"I will make you my bitch, Dean," Abaddon says. "I'll make you wish you were back in the Pit."
"No!"
Air seems harder to come by.
"No."
His voice sounds weak.
"No…"
He almost says please, but he stops himself at the last second.
"I will make you scream and beg like you've never done before," she whispers, squeezing harder.
Pain surges through him like a fire lighting up in his bones and he nearly does let loose a scream. With one last desperate push, he tries sitting up in an attempt to dislodge the demon. But when he manages to do just that, he's so surprized by his success that he doesn't even notice anything else for several seconds. Breathing harshly, he looks around the room. There's no sign of Abaddon anywhere. The door is open and Miracle is staring at him from his bed on the floor. His shirt is, also, not ripped. It's intact and there is no cut on his chest from Abaddon's nails.
Upon realizing that it'd all been a nightmare, Dean feels dizzy. His stomach rebels and he has to take a few deep breaths to keep himself from throwing up. Only when he's sure that he won't puke his guts out does he take a chance at swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. He grabs the gun from under his pillow and tries standing up. But another wave of dizziness sends him right back down on his ass. It feels like he's going to pass out. And, if he doesn't calm down soon, that's exactly what's going to happen. He needs to calm down.
So he focuses on that. Slowly, he breathes in and out. He continues doing so, until he no longer has the sensation of his lungs trying to crawl their way up his throat.
Now that his mind has cleared up a bit, it's obvious that it'd been a nightmare. The open door and Miracle's presence are proof of that. Still, he keeps a firm grip on his gun and reaches for his cane. This time, he's successful in standing up. With slow steps, he makes his way out of the room.
Walking unsteadily, he heads over to the other bedroom to check on Eileen. He wants to make sure that she's safe. Sam had told him, some days ago, that she sometimes has nightmares of her time in Hell, just like the rest of them. If this thing with Abaddon has been another dream attack, like the one he and Jo had been put through, Dean wants to be there for Eileen in case she'd also been a target.
The door to her and Sam's room is half-way open. Eileen had left it that way the past few nights, so that Miracle could jump into bed with her and keep her company. The mutt had done that several times since Sam and Jo had left. It'd helped her rest better, Eileen had admitted. And the open door had put Dean at ease, because it'd meant he would hear if she called for help.
But Eileen is fast asleep. It doesn't even seem like she'd moved much since settling into bed. Miracle dashes past his legs then, jumping onto the bed and claiming Sam's side of it. Eileen stirs a bit, but doesn't wake up. She relaxes a bit more when the dog curls up beside her outstretched arm.
Dean breathes a sigh of relief at witnessing the sight. It looks like he's the only one whose mind is too strung up to let him rest. At least, Dean hopes it's simply a result of his stressed subconscious. There's no way to tell.
Just to be sure, he decides to go outside and check the outer warding. If one of the protection symbols has gotten damaged again, he'll have to repaint it on the inside. He grabs a flashlight and unlocks the door. The gun is still held tight in his left hand. Just in case. He doesn't want to get caught with his pants down, if it really turns out to be a threat.
The symbols painted on the outside of the cabin walls are all intact, though. All of them. Even the ones Sam had added, as an extra precaution, are fine. There's nothing wrong, which means that it'd been a run-of-the-mill nightmare and not a demonic attack, like last time.
Dean goes back inside and locks the door. He checks the devil's trap under the rug there. That is also undamaged. Further proof that it'd only been a bad dream.
"But what if it wasn't just that?" he mutters to himself.
Despite all evidence to the contrary, he can't help but suspect foul play. Is the Jailer strong enough to mentally attack him? Is he powerful enough to bypass all the warding put in place, and to impersonate other demons and make it seem like they're back from the dead? Dean doesn't have the answers because he doesn't know who that demon is in the first place. It's the thing that frustrates him the most.
He's too wound up to return to bed, so he stokes the fire in the living room. This instance had been way too similar to that shared dream. If he goes back to the bedroom and tries to sleep again, he'll dream of even worse things. This one had been quite a doozy as is. A repeat performance will definitely not be restful. And it's better to not get any shut-eye at all, than to have to recover from the horror of memories of being tortured on the rack. Or, worse, memories of his apprenticeship under Alastair.
After he pours himself some booze, Dean plops down in the recliner. Drinking half of it in one go takes the edge off slightly. He downs the rest of it. When he reaches for the bottle again, he realizes that having more than that will impair him and he won't be able to defend himself or Eileen in case of an attack. So he clutches the empty glass with both hands to keep them steady.
Having a mostly clear head, though, results in his mind spinning. And that brings his thoughts to Jo. He has to resist the temptation to call her to ask her if she'd also had a rough night. If she hasn't, and he ends up waking her, he'll feel guilty.
But thoughts of Jo remind him, yet again, that she's that bastard demon's main target. She's the prisoner who'd escaped. The one that's gotten away. The Jailer won't stop trying to hurt her, or worse. The guy needs to be dealt with. Dean won't allow the son of a bitch the satisfaction of hurting Jo again. Especially since the asshole knows exactly what to do to achieve that goal. He's had her in that cell for a very long time, long enough to figure out what Jo is most afraid of.
Then, sitting there and thinking gives him an idea. Dean gets up and goes to his safe to retrieve great-grandpa Rudolph's instruction manual. The man had described, in detail, several ways to build all sorts of weapons. Dean wants to try his hand at making some of those. He'd seen schematics on how to make a demon-killing knife. Maybe he can start with that.
Because, Dean is sure, the Jailer isn't working alone. The more weapons they have at their disposal, the better they'll be able to deal with the demon's minions. If he can't hunt just yet, Dean will build them the means to battle the enemies. He'll give their ragtag group a fighting chance.
Content warning: in this chapter, there is a description of sexual assault. It's not something very graphic, most of it is implied through actions, but the intention is obvious. It boils down to non-consensual groping and the threat of further actions. It begins in the paragraph starting with "She bends slightly and grabs his left wrist…" and ends in the paragraph starting with "Pain surges through him like a fire lighting up in his bones..."