A/N: Wow, just wow, guys. You are all so awesome! And because I opened my email to find a mega-ton of emails and messages for PM, here is the next chapter -I was seriously motivated if you can't tell.


The Great Pretender

"I've got to head back home."

Sam groaned, raising his head off the pillow. "Bobby can take care of himself, Jane."

"Obviously. It's you I worry about."

"So why are you leaving me again?"

She grinned, watching as he sat up in the destroyed bed and wondered how long it had been since the last time he had woken up without a hangover. "Because, you're a big boy, Sam." She bent down to zip up her boots before straightening, wriggling a bit. "This chair really is uncomfortable."

He snorted, swinging his legs out of the bed. "Yeah it is." Sam place his bare feet on the floor and stretched, raising his arms over his head, fists balling. "Dean was lucky, you know?"

She hesitated, wondering at the wistful tone his voice had taken. "What do you mean?"

He was quiet for a long moment, staring at the wall. "You. He was lucky to have you."

"Oh, Sam, I-"

"I had a normal life, for a while, I don't know if he ever told you that."

Dean had told her a little about Sam and said normal life, very little. So she remained quiet.

"I was going to become a lawyer, marry Jess… and instead, I got the hunter life and Dean gets the wife and part-time home life." With a groan, Sam pushed himself up off the less then stellar mattress, reaching down to tug his sweats up onto his hips. "Dean, of all people… No offense meant, but… he was a love 'em and leave 'em guy, one nighters, you know the type, right?"

"Gee Sammy, thanks ever so much." She said dryly, trying hard not to let the bite show.

"Sorry Jane, I'm just trying to explain. Guess I'm not doing such a good job of it."

She arched an eyebrow, letting him know she agreed.

"What I mean, is… that, Dean has always had a sort of type, and you weren't what fell into it. He lucked out."

"Or I just drew the short end of the stick." Jane stood up, looking over the floor to make sure she had grabbed everything of hers. They had had it out last night, about his drinking and ignoring Bobby, which as Sam had admitted, wasn't likely to end soon. Then they had gotten into it about Dean and finding a way to bring him back. That was the one they had really butted heads over. "Sam, you know why I'm leaving."

"Yeah, I know."

"That, and you are a bed and blanket hog."

"I told you the chair was uncomfortable."

"You know, most men would be chivalrous and take the floor, let the lady have the bed instead of passing out in it and making her attempt sleeping in a murderous chair."

He had the sense to look somewhat guilty. "Like I said last night, I'm a dick."

She walked away from him, going to the table to double check her stuff. Money, wallet, gun, bullets, bag of personal effects. The only thing holding her back was herself, and hoping she might make Sam see some reason. Given what she knew of the Winchesters, that wasn't likely to happen. She heard Sam moving around, heard him disappearing into the bathroom, heard his snort as he took in the empty liquor bottles lining the bathroom sink.

"Really Jane?" He called from behind the closed door.

"Hurry, I'm leaving soon."


"How is he?"

"He was sober when I left him, but I doubt that'll last." Jane wasn't surprised that Bobby was already hounding her about Sam. She had just literally walked through the door, she hadn't even taken off her jacket, yet. Though she did drop her bag down at the foot of the steps. "We had it out."

"About Dean?"

"Bobby, even if he managed to somehow bring Dean back, Dean wouldn't come back the same. What's dead should stay dead."

Bobby stared at her, his eyes unreadable.

She felt guilty for saying it, but she felt it was true. She had seen what happened when people came back. It had a cause and effect motion that spiraled out of control and hurt everyone in its path. Like her for instance. "I don't think he can, he didn't say it, but he was frustrated. It doesn't sound like anyone will deal with him and he's running out of paths to explore."

"Fight with him?"

"Like he was my own flesh and blood brother. Mind you, if I actually had a brother who spoke to me the way Sam does, I'd of kicked his damn teeth down his throat."

"He's grieving Jane, don't take it personal." Bobby led the way into the kitchen to get them both a beer.

"I try not to." She sighed, dropping down at the table. "He's not the only one hurting, Bobby. There's you, and me, but we're dealing, we're handling it."

"Sure we are, Jane."

She glared at him. "Don't think I missed the sarcasm."

He held up his hands in a surrendering gesture. "Just sayin'."

She sniffed, taking a long drink from the bottle he slid to her. She was dealing.

She was.


Sam, what if you find a way to bring him back? What then? What's the cost? What will happen and where will it end? You said yourself no demon will deal with you, so where does that leave you? A spell? Sure, let's resurrect him and see how that goes, he'll come back a damn zombie.

Last night, Sam had hated Jane. He had never wanted to throttle someone as badly as he had her, because she was right. She was right. She was saying everything he had already told himself but never spoken out loud. She had ripped him up and down, and in turn, he had torn her down the best he could. Lashing out at her for being right. Lashing out at her for still being there when he did it. He could see under her carefully made make-up that she had circles under her eyes, that she had lost weight on her already wiry frame, she wasn't holding up as well as she pretended. But she had still come for him, because she cared, and he hated her for it. Or had.

He was halfway to drunk, like he had told her he would be, trying to pretend that sometime around four in the morning she had given up the battle with the chair and climbed into bed with him. She had slept with her back to him, and he knew she had been awake when he had rolled towards her, burying his face between her shoulder blades and shook with the force of keeping himself from breaking down, or crying, or something. But she hadn't said anything, she had just laid there until they both fell into a fitful sleep.

Rage. He felt rage on top of the grief, maybe even overpowering it. The sense of failing, of guilt, was fading and he needed to do something. His nostrils flared as he reached for his shotgun. He needed to do something.

A knock at the door had him up and ready. Maybe something had come to him.

"Proof."

It was Ruby, in what –from the paper she held out said- a coma patient's body. "You grabbed a coma patient?"

She huffed at him.


September, 2008

It had been over 2 years since Jane had met up with Dean Winchester again. Two years since discovering she had married him in 1999, in some little haunted town in Mexico. It had been only four months since he had died.

Jane had hoped that as time went by, it would hurt a little less. But it didn't. For the life of her she could not understand why it had to hurt so bad. She had known it was coming, felt almost resigned to it, accepted it… so why the intense hole in the chest?

She was seriously considering finding a way to cut out her heart.


He had lied to Bobby. It wasn't anything major, but it was still a lie, or maybe just an omission. He remembered the Hellhounds all right, boy did he. But he also remembered hearing her screaming, trying to get to him. He remembered her fighting for him.

Somehow, it wasn't surprising that Sam had taken off. It seemed so… Sam. It was surprising that Jane remained here, still living with Bobby, still hunting… it was not the life he wanted for her but he couldn't imagine her living any other way either.

After going through the 'I'm still me' spiel with Bobby and having a somewhat awkward conversation, he had come upstairs. Bobby had said she was probably sleeping and sure enough, she was. He stood over the bed, staring down at her and felt the corner of his mouth tugging upwards. She was wearing one of his shirts.

Carefully, he shed the clothes he had "borrowed" and eased himself under the blanket. She didn't even flicker an eyelash. Holding his breath, he then reached out, ignoring the way his fingers were trembling and caressed her cheek.

Jane moved then, her face scrunching a little as her lips parted, a soft sigh escaping her.

His hand trailed down her neck, her side, and came to a rest on her hip. She instantly curled into him, burying her face in his chest. Within moments, he felt her trembling and looked down at the top of her head, feeling wetness on his bare skin a second later.

"Dean…"