Chapter Seven
Back in the chair, his legs once again stretched out and propped up on the bed, Dean watched Jane through hooded eyes as she drifted to sleep, her body half curled up in an awkward angle in the corner of the room as she leaned against the wall for support, Sam's jacket draped over her hunched up form. The tension slowly left her body though remains of it lingered; even in sleep she was not truly relaxed. He wondered what it was that haunted her. Whatever it was it didn't just haunt her dreams. He had a feeling it haunted her waking moments also.
He knew what that was like and because he could relate to that he felt a glimmer of a connection to her and it unsettled him a little to feel something like that for someone like her. She was so damaged, so broken in fact. Was that what was in store for him? Being drunk, drugged up and his sanity half gone? He hoped not. And yet that was a path he could end up doing down, just like Jane had.
That's what Hell did to a man, it made you want to forget, made you want to not feel. Only thing was he did.
He could run from it, hide from it, bury it so deep he could pretend that everything was okay but none of that could ever make it completely go away. And Jane? What was it that had done that to her? What was it that made her want to forget? Not the thing that had killed Amy, he was certain of that. No, what haunted her was something much worse, something that had her locked in her own private hell.
The sound of his cell phone ringing pulled him out of thoughts and his hand was on it before the first few bars of Smoke on the Water had barely begun. Sam's name lit across the screen and he flipped it open.
"You better be ringing to tell me you're on your way back with pie." Not wanting to wake the sleeping woman, Dean kept his voice low, the sound of it coming out gruff as tiredness crept it.
On the other end of the phone Sam smiled, use as he was to brother's grumpiness when he was bored, even more so when you threw lack of sleep into the mix.
Patience was not something that came easily to Dean.
As the streets of Virtue faded behind him, his cell phone in one hand, the solid feel of the steering wheel underneath the other, Sam carried on with what he had been about to say. "Sorry to disappoint but right now I'm on my way to see a Doctor Landon."
Dean rubbed his thumb and index finger across the bridge of nose a couple of times in an effort to force the tiredness back, trying to focus his mind on what Sam was saying. "And you're seeing him because…?"
"Because he's been treating Jane for the past two years."
Sliding his hand down over his face, Dean looked over at Jane's sleeping form. "And that's useful to us how?"
At the faint tone of disinterest in Dean's voice Sam chose to ignore it. "I'm hoping he might have some insight into what it is Jane's afraid of."
Getting up out of the chair Dean headed towards the fridge taking a bottle of water out. "And why's that?"
"It's something the sheriff said."
Dean paused with the bottle hovering near his mouth. "Oh?"
"Yeah, he seems to think that Amy wasn't the intended target and I'm beginning to think he might be right. What if Jane's been running from something all this time?"
Dean took a swig from the bottle before he spoke again. "You mean like a demon or something?"
"Yeah."
"It's a possibility. But why would something be hunting her?"
"That's what I'm hoping to find out. Just sit tight and keep an eye on her. Make sure she stays safe because if we're right she's in a hell of lot more trouble than we first realized."
SN*SN*SN
Flicking his phone shut Dean let the conversation he had with Sam sink in.
"Was that Sam?"
At the sound of Jane's voice, quiet and tentative Dean slipped his phone into his back jean pocket and turned around.
Without Sam's jacket she seemed frail and vulnerable. Hair in a messy disarray, the uneven blond strands haphazardly sticking out, slim arms bare, the tell tale pattern of tiny goosebumps visible on them, the dried blood splatters that had soaked through her t-shirt standing out even more so in the daylight. And then there was that scar. Somehow in the daylight it seemed more brutal, reminding one of the violence that must have been involved to cause it.
In his brief hesitation before he answered her query she quietly studied him with nervous caution. "Yeah. He's gonna be awhile.
"Oh…" Her gaze shifted then, breaking the brief moment of eye contact to stare at the ground, the movement only increasing the awkwardness that was between them.
Seeing her like this Dean found it hard to reconcile this woman with the woman from earlier. At the cemetery she had been feisty, fighting him off with everything she had, even showing some skill in the process though exhaustion and panic had gotten the better of her in the end. And just a little over an hour ago she had him pinned to the wall, showing a wild ruthlessness that had made him think twice about taking her on. Now though she was like some beaten down thing who had not an ounce of fight left.
He was use to all kinds of women. Hell he liked women, he liked them a lot and on the whole he was good at dealing with them; flirting got him pretty far - most of the time, and when that didn't work he could always put his 'game face' on. The one that said I'm in charge, I know what I'm doing, trust me.
Right now though he wished that Sam was here. He'd know what to say to her, the right words to use.
He on the other hand, had no idea what to say. Vulnerable people only reminded him of how much was at stake, how much there was to lose if he got it wrong, so instead he said the first thing that leaped into his head. "You hungry?"
Jane shook her head no in reply.
The sigh escaped without Dean realizing it and hearing it he knew that his frustration with the whole situation was beginning to show. Recognizing this he decided it was time to be derisive and take control. "Yeah, well I am," he said, going over to a duffel bag on the floor. Quickly searching through it he pulled out a large container of salt.
As Dean scattered salt along the windowsills he could feel Jane's eyes upon him as he worked. He sensed her curiosity and from the corner of his eye saw her move to one of the windows, gently touching the line of salt with her fingertips.
"It's to stop monsters," she said as he sprinkled a thick row of salt in front of the doorway.
Almost finished with the preparations Dean looked up from his bent over position, a tinge of surprise on his face at the confidence he heard in her voice, like she knew that what she had said was an indisputable fact.
"Yeah… it is."
He paused, studying her with curiosity, wondering just how much she really knew of the world that lived hidden all around them. "What do you know about monsters?"
Jane stared down at the salt line for a few seconds longer, then with a blink she turned away, glancing over in Dean's direction. "They do bad things."
Dean gave a half amused snort at her understatement. "Yeah, that's one way of looking at it."
Finished he placed the salt back in the duffle bag, giving Jane a thoughtful look. How was it that she could make him feel protective and wary at the same time. He knew he should question her further, push her a little more for answers; it made sense to do so but the idea of doing that didn't feel right. He knew, better than some, that there were some things you couldn't talk about and as much as he wanted to know what it was she was hiding he was reluctant to make an issue out of it. That air of fragility, of vulnerability made him realize that she could snap and fall and break into a million little pieces at any moment. He was not going to be the one who finally did that to her.
"Look there's a convenience store just down the road. I'm going to go and get us some breakfast. The salt should keep most things out. If anyone knocks on the door don't answer it. Okay?"
Jane replied with a nod.
"Good. I'll be back in about 15 minutes." Dean paused as he picked up the room key, another thought occurring to him. Going through his bag again he pulled out a clean shirt and held it out to her. "You might wanna change into something that's a little less 'Look at me I'm a raging serial killer'."
SN*SN*SN
Alone, Jane held the soft fabric of Dean's shirt in her hand.
For a moment she didn't know what to do. Everything around her was changing leaving nothing familiar to hold on to. It was both unsettling and confusing and neither feeling felt good.
It was so strange being here, spending this much time with people, especially with these two men and yet now that they were both gone it felt odder still.
Sam and Dean. They were so different to each other and at the same time so similar, it was easy to see that they were brothers. It was there in their body language, in the things they said and in the things they didn't. She could tell that they were concerned and afraid - for her and of her; she was a mystery to them and that bothered them. She would've told them that it bothered her also but words don't come easily. Not to her.
She has spent so much of her life hiding, keeping herself distance from others that the art of socializing has been forgotten, that's if she ever had it to begin with. She didn't know. There was this life and the life before, both interlinked with the unknown and there was a lot that was unknown.
Before is one big unknown, a collection of fragments, a mixture of memories and feelings.
All that she knows for sure is that in that life there was fear and pain.
She has not thought of that life in a very long time and she has no wish to do so now. Those missing parts of her were gone. There were things one could choose to remember and there were things one could choose to forget; she knew what choice she preferred.
Heading into the bathroom she avoided looking into the mirror and instead pulled a towel off one of the rails and draped it over, covering it up. She's never looked into a mirror, barely seen her face and though this might seem strange to others to her it was nothing. She knew that the scar was there, knew what it represented and that was enough. The scar was a reminder, a warning and Jane had perfected the art of avoiding it; she didn't need the reminder that told her never to trust anyone.
With the mirror covered she relaxed and stripped off, turning the shower on once she was undressed. In less than a minute hot water came out in a steady strong beat, steam quickly filling the room. Climbing in she flinched as the water touched her skin, the color of it changing to a warm pink. Scrubbing herself with soap the pink color intensified as the water warmed her further through.
She scrubbed her hair with the same intensity as if the very action could keep the feelings from overwhelming her. Rinsing her hair she held her hands over her face as she tried to gather her thoughts, concentrating on the rhythmic sound of the water as it rained down on her head. Holding onto what composure she could muster she stepped out of the shower and dried herself off.
Dressed she reached for her blood splattered t-shirt, her hand trembling as a flash of memory came unbidden A memory of snow and blood and flesh…
Startled she shook her hand, squeezing it open and closed over and over, waiting for the shiver of fear to pass. With a deep breath she grabbed the shirt, clasping it firmly in her hand.
She had forgotten what the nightmares were like, how they left her with a sense of dread. The pills she had taken all these years had managed to keep them at bay most of the time but it has been more than 36 hours since she had taken any of her medication and it was now all rushing back. Yet with the nightmares and feeling of dread was a sense of certainty.
She knew things. Knew things she shouldn't know. And though she knew she should be afraid of what this meant she wasn't. Nor was she afraid of Sam and Dean or of the fact that monsters exist. That she thinks she can cope with.
No what she was afraid of was something else, something that had been with her from the beginning of this life, from the moment she had opened her eyes and found she didn't know her name much less anything else.
She feared the nightmares, the flashes of memory that reminded her of the unknown, especially the unknown parts of herself.
Who was she, what was she capable of it, who was the man who haunted her dreams. There were so many questions and yet she was afraid of the answers; perhaps it was better not to know.
SN*SN*SN
Placing the food and drink on the table Dean handed a Jane a bacon and egg wrap, noticing the damp hair and the gray Henley she was now wearing. The shirt sat loosely on her body but it was still better than the blood splattered t-shirt from before. "You need to eat something."
Her hand trembled as she reached for the wrap and their eyes briefly met, both of them knowing what the tremble meant but unwilling to talk about it. The tremble only made Dean wonder again what it was that had driven her so close to the edge. Unpacking the rest of the food Dean took one of the coffee's and made himself comfortable. For the next few minutes they ate and drank in silence.
"You think I'm crazy."
Jane's voice broke through the quiet causing Dean to look her way, unsure of how to answer.
At his silence Jane carried on, calm acceptance on her face. "It's okay. Everyone else thinks that too."
"Yeah, well don't believe everything everyone tells you," said Dean, "Half the people I know are a little crazy and the other half just pretend their not. When you live in the world that we do, normal, sane rules don't apply."
Jane stared ahead, lost in thought before she spoke again. "They said monsters didn't exist. That it was all in my head." She paused, letting the silence filter in. "But they were wrong."
Dean saw that haunted look in her eyes and felt, for the first time, that here was someone who could understand the demons that haunted him, perhaps in a way that no one else could and in that moment he gave her a small barely-there smile, wanting her to know that she wasn't alone with the nightmares that haunted her.
"Yeah, they were."
SN*SN*SN
Songs:
Smoke on the Water (performed by Deep Purple)
