This Curse On Our House

by Sonny13

Faith has battles in her bones and nothing left to lose; a dangerous combination, but perfect for a hunter. But she's got demons out for her blood, convinced she can break some kind of curse, and they call her the Child of War - whatever that means. Things might be a little easier if Dean Winchester wasn't so damn frustrating. Dean/OC

25. Dreaming Out Loud

Dreaming Out Loud

They were on a job in Ohio when they got the call.

There were reports of people dying in a small town – all of them having claimed to have seen a dead loved one the night before they'd died. Faith and Toby were in town posing as FBI, and that morning they were at one of the victim's houses, speaking with her widower, when Faith's phone began to vibrate in her pocket.

She glanced down discretely, frowning when she saw Dean's name flash across the screen.

"I'm so sorry," she said to Mr. Clarke, a distraught widower and their biggest lead. "It's the head office. I've got to take this."

Toby was already redirecting the man's attention as Faith left the house. She stepped out onto the porch, shivering in the icy winter air, and made sure the door was shut securely behind her before she answered the call.

"Somebody had better be dying, Winchester," she warned, leaning against the Clarkes' porch railing and glancing down at the dead garden below. "I'm in the middle of a job."

She was expecting a barb in response – something sarcastic and sharp – but instead Dean just said, in a voice thick with seriousness, "Faith, something's happened… It's Bobby."

Two ice-cold hands wrapped themselves around her thudding heart. "Where?"

"Pittsburgh," he said grimly. "St. Michael's Teaching Hospital."

She did the calculations. "I'm only three hours out," she said, pulling back the phone long enough to glance at the time. "I can be there by noon."

Dean paused. "I just wanted to let you know, I don't expect you to drop everything—"

"It's Bobby."

She imagined Dean nodding. "Okay," he said. "See you soon."

"Dean?"

He didn't hang up, but he didn't say anything, either. Faith wet her lips and pressed on.

"He's going to be okay, isn't he?"

A beat. "We're not sure," he said quietly. "Just get here as soon as you can."

He hung up then, and Faith stared at the phone for a long minute once the call was over, heart racing with mingling panic and fear, worry for Bobby like a steel fist against her sternum.

Eventually Toby came out onto the porch and Faith quickly shoved her phone back into her pocket, pretending like she hadn't been staring at it like an idiot. "Who was that?" he asked, leading the way down the front stairs, towards where their car was parked out on the curb.

"Dean," she told him. Toby raised his brows suggestively, but Faith ignored him. "He said Bobby's down."

Toby's steps faltered. "Is he-?"

"He's alive. But it's not looking good."

"Where?"

"Pittsburgh."

Stopping at their car, Toby at her looked over the roof. "You should go."

"The case—" she said, even though she'd already decided.

"Go," he insisted. "I'll handle it and meet you there when it's done."

Faith breathed a sigh of relief, climbing into the meagre warmth of the car. It was only a few minutes to the motel, where she hastily changed from her FBI getup into something more casual. She left Toby with a hug and a promise to call once she knew what was happening with Bobby. The car rental place was only two blocks away from the motel, and she arrived with her duffel thrown over one shoulder, handing Freya Lovecraft's driver's license and credit card over with a wide, confident smile.

Barely twenty minutes later she was on the road. It took her just over two hours to reach Pittsburgh, both because the traffic had been light, and she hadn't exactly kept to the speed limit.

The hospital Bobby was in wasn't huge, the parking lot even smaller, but she managed to find a space towards the back of the lot. She left her things in the car, apart from her usual weapons and her phone, which she tucked into her pocket.

Dean hadn't told her Bobby's room number, so she went straight for the reception desk. "Hi, my name's Faith. I'm looking for—"

"Sweetheart, over here!" called Dean, obnoxiously loud where he was stood next to a nearby vending machine.

The tight smile on her lips became a little more real. "Never mind," she told the young woman behind the desk, who eyed Dean with curious appreciation.

When Faith reached Dean, he threaded a strong arm around her waist, tucking her into his side like it was the most natural thing in the world. He ducked forwards, pressing a surprisingly gentle kiss to her cheek. Her smile wavered in surprise, but he whispered, "They're only letting family in," into her ear, and she managed to bring it back in full force.

She pulled away from Dean just far enough to press her hands against the firm slope of his sternum. "Is he okay?"

"Come on," said Dean, eyes tightening as he used the arm around her waist to gently guide her deeper into the hospital. "He's in a coma," he explained, arm staying where it was, almost an afterthought. Faith said nothing about it.

"Was he on a hunt?"

"We don't know for sure, but probably."

"Why is he in a coma?"

Dean shook his head. "The doctors can't work out what's wrong. By all accounts he just … went to sleep and didn't wake up. The maid found him like this in bed at the motel he was staying at."

Faith's insides twisted painfully. "When do they think he'll wake up?"

"They aren't sure," Dean said, lips pressed into a firm line.

They reached his room and Faith gasped at the sight of Bobby laid in the hospital bed, still as death. Wires and tubes were snaking out of him, attached to all manner of scary-looking machines. Faith slipped out of Dean's warm arms, moving across the cold room to Bobby. She took his hand, hating how limp it felt in hers.

"Hey, old man," she murmured as if he could hear. "What in the hell happened to you?"

He didn't answer, and she realised some part of her had been expecting him to. Faith glanced down at their hands and wondered, for one horrible moment, if she had the power to wake him from his coma. She'd never shown any affinity for healing before, but now she knew the truth of what she was, who knew what she was truly capable of?

There came a gentle knock on the door and Faith stood straight, spinning to face the newcomer with her back rigid, ready for action.

"Oh, hello," said the innocent doctor, looking at her in surprise. "Er, I'm afraid only family can—"

"Hey Doc," said Dean, stepping into his line of view and wrapping an arm around Faith's waist again. "It's okay, this is my wife."

Something zinged in Faith's chest, though she ignored it, holding out a hand to the doctor. "Oh," he said, suddenly a great deal more welcoming. "Nice to meet you, Mrs. Snyderson."

"What's wrong with him?" she asked, looking nervously down at Bobby. The doctor walked over to his bed, picking up Bobby's chart and reading through it absently.

"As I was telling your husband, all our tests are telling us is that he's completely and entirely healthy."

"Healthy?" she echoed scathingly. "He's in a coma."

The doctor looked uncomfortable, and Dean's hand tightened on her hip. "We're doing all we can, Ma'am," the doctor assured her. "But without knowing what's causing this, we can't treat it."

"Can't you just treat him for whatever it might be?" she pressed.

The doctor was shaking his head before she was even done. "If we give him medicine for the wrong thing, it could only make things worse. The best course of action for now is to wait and see if there's any change."

"And if there isn't?"

"We're not there yet," he said, a sympathetic smile on his face. "I'll leave you be. Please don't hesitate to call a nurse if you have any further questions."

He left the room. Faith slumped against Dean; not caring how weak it made her seem. She needed a moment, and damn if she wasn't going to take it. Dean didn't hold her to him, but he didn't push her away, either. For a long minute, neither of them said anything, staring down at Bobby, each lost in their own storm of worry.

Finally, Faith stood upright, taking her weight off Dean. She ran her hands through her dark hair.

"If he was here on a job, maybe it has something to do with this," she said, all the while sure Dean had already thought of it. But she couldn't just do nothing.

Dean nodded, confirming her theory. "Sam's talking to the cops now, getting the name and room number of the motel he was staying in."

Just as he finished speaking, Sam strode into the room, hanging up a call on his cell. "Faith," he greeted her in surprise. Apparently, he hadn't been expecting her. "What're you doing here?"

She glanced curiously at Dean. "Dean didn't tell you he called me?"

Sam turned a glare onto Dean. "He didn't," he said in a we're gonna be talking about this later sort of a tone.

"I figured someone should be here to sit with him while we're working the job," Dean shrugged.

Faith spun to glare at him. "What?" she hissed. "I'm not sitting here at Bobby's bedside while you go off to actually do something."

"Yes, you are," said Dean. "He shouldn't be left alone."

"He's in a goddamn coma, Winchester," she snapped back. "He's not going anywhere."

Sam snorted a laugh from where he was still stood near the door, and Dean turned a glare of his own onto his brother. "If he wakes up—"

"The hospital will call you," said Faith, voice hard and uncompromising. "Dean, if you think I'm sitting by his bedside like some godforsaken damsel, you've got another thing coming."

Faith watched as Dean's jaw clicked with frustration, but instead of snapping back, he took a deep breath and said, calmly, "We'll call to keep you in the loop. For now, we're just checking out his motel room. No reason to think it'll go beyond that."

Faith opened her mouth to argue, but he spoke over her.

"I'm not asking you to do this 'cause I think you're a damsel, Bueller. I'm asking you because Bobby cares about you, and he should have someone here, just … just in case."

Faith stared into his vivid green eyes, trying to find anger or resentment within herself. Instead, all she found was quiet acceptance. Dean was right – someone should stay with Bobby. Nobody wanted to say it, but he might not wake up at all, and if that was the case, she knew they'd all rather somebody be with him. Just in case.

"Okay," she said reluctantly.

Dean exhaled with relief. For a moment he looked like he might reach for her, but he saved them all the awkwardness and settled for smiling tightly. "Thanks."

"Call me," was all she said in reply.

Dean's smile turned cheeky, but Sam was dragging him from the room before he could make whatever wisecrack comment sat ready on his tongue, and Faith was left alone with the sleeping Bobby. Sighing to herself, Faith fingered the grip of her gun where it was tucked into the back of her pants, reassuring herself that she was ready for whatever may come.

Then she left for the nearest cup of coffee she could find.

It was several hours before she heard from the guys, and when she did, it was in the form of Dean walking through the door, looking a little tired but no worse for wear. "What happened to my phone call?" she demanded, watching as he sat in the chair on the opposite side of Bobby's bed.

"Nothin' to report," he shrugged, "Figured it could wait until now."

She decided against getting mad, he looked weary enough as it was. "Here," she said, holding out the fresh coffee she'd only just bought – her third of the day. "Looks like you need it more than I do."

Dean hesitated, then took the cup and let out a low moan at the taste. The sound of it did funny things to her insides, making them twist and roil and writhe, but on the outside she only leant back in her chair and tossed the magazine she'd been flipping through onto the bedside table.

"What'd you find?"

Dean quickly filled her in on everything he and Sam had found, starting from the case board hidden in Bobby's motel room, and ending with Dean's interview with one of the dead doctor's test subjects. "Sam's still researching the stuff we found on his board, and until he comes up with something, we're at a dead end."

Faith nodded, folding her hands over her stomach, her feet braced on the bottom bars of Bobby's bed. Her back was beginning to hurt from being sat in this chair for so many hours, but she wasn't going to complain. It was a small price to pay to make sure Bobby had company.

For a long minute she and Dean sat in peaceful silence, the only sound in the room the steady beating of Bobby's heart monitor, a reminder that he was alive. And that if it was the last thing either of them did, he'd stay that way.

"Sammy and I, when we were kids, we used to love spending time with Bobby," Dean began in a quiet voice. When she looked up, she found his eyes were faraway. "Y'know, he was the first person to ever play catch with me? I'd seen kids play catch on TV, but I'd never actually played before myself." His lips twitched, but it wasn't a happy smile. "Learning how to shoot a double-barrel shotgun – that was what my dad considered quality time. And don't get me wrong, I liked it. I liked feeling capable and grown-up. But sometimes I wonder…."

Faith wasn't sure what to say, staring at Dean with her heart heavy as lead. He looked washed out in the fluorescent lights, and more tired than she'd expected, like some weight rested on his shoulders. She wondered what it was; what weighed on him enough to make him suddenly look so … small.

"Bobby will be okay," she heard herself say.

Dean's eyes refocused on her. "You think?" his voice was rough as the Impala's tyres over gravel.

Her mouth felt dry when as nodded and said, "Whatever this is, we're gonna beat it. I'm not gonna let anyone else be taken from me."

Her eyes drifted back to Bobby, and as she distractedly pulled up his blankets, bunching them up near his shoulders, she felt the weight of Dean's eyes linger on her face. But she didn't look up – felt physically unable to – fussing instead over Bobby, who remained unresponsive.

"How is he?" came a voice from the doorway, and they started in surprise, turning to find Sam stood there, looking into the room with a frown. In his hand was a file full of loose-leaf paper and hope gripped Faith that maybe he'd found something that would actually be of use.

"No change," said Dean tersely. "What you got?"

Sam walked into the room, moving to the wheeled-table at the end of Bobby's bed. Faith and Dean climbed to their feet at the same time, meeting him there. Faith's palms were itching with the need for an explanation; some plan of action that they could actually act out, instead of just sitting and waiting.

"Well, considering what you told me about the doc's experiments, Bobby's wall is starting to make a hell of a lot more sense," sighed Sam, cracking open the file he held and sifting through the papers, handing some to Dean and the rest to Faith. "This plant, Silene capensis, is also known as African Dream Root. It's been used by shaman and medicine men for centuries."

"Let me guess," drawled Dean. "They dose up, bust out the didgeridoos, start kicking around the hackey."

Sam huffed a quiet laugh, but Faith actually knew the answer.

"No, it's used for dream-walking," she said, memory flitting back over the books she'd spent months poring over at Bobby's house, that first Summer of hunting. Toby had wanted her to have a comprehensive foundation in not only monster lore, but botanical- and magical lore, too.

She'd found those particular books rather dull, but it seemed their paranoia had paid off.

"Yeah," said Sam, sounding surprised. She looked up to find Sam and Dean staring at her in question.

"Toby made me read a book about botany's applications in magic – y'know, gillyweed, vervain, mistletoe – and this was in it," she explained with a shrug. "African Dream Root is used to travel through other people's dreams, originally used by shamans in South Africa, as a way to combat demonic possession. The theory was that if you weren't sure if someone was possessed, their dreams would tell you the truth. It was basically a trial, or a lie detector. It's pretty cool stuff, actually. Apart from the, uh, coma."

Sam returned his attention to the papers he'd collected while Dean stared at her another moment, lost in thought. She caught his eye and raised her brow, which was enough to get him to look away.

"Well, dream-walking is just the tip of the iceberg," said Sam, oblivious to their silent exchange.

"What do you mean?" asked Dean.

"I mean, this Dream Root is some serious mojo. You take enough of it, with practice, you can become a regular Freddy Krueger. You can control anything. You could turn bad dreams good; you could turn good dreams bad."

"And, if you're really powerful," said Faith peering down at Bobby, who lay still and unresponsive as ever, "kill people within their own heads."

Sam and Dean said nothing, all three staring at Bobby grimly.

Finally, Sam broke the silence. "So, let's say this doc was testing this stuff on his patients, Tim Leary-style—"

Dean was nodding, "Somebody gets pissed at him, decides to give him a little dream visit, he goes nighty-night."

"But what about Bobby?" Sam asked. "I mean, if the killer came after him, how come he's still alive?"

"That's the question, isn't it?" Faith mused, putting the papers back down on the table and stretching her back until it popped.

"Well, how are we meant to find our homicidal sandman?" asked Dean. "It could be anyone who knew the doctor, had access to his dream shrooms."

Sam cocked his head. "Maybe one of his test subjects or something?"

"Possible. But his research was pretty sketchy. I mean… I don't know how many subjects he had, or who all of them were."

Sam snorted softly, and Dean looked up at him with raised brows. "What?"

"In any other case, we'd be calling Bobby and asking him for help right now," Sam said wryly.

Dean stood straight, like he'd been struck by lightning. "You know what? You're right. Let's talk to him."

Sam blinked, staring at Dean like he'd gone insane. "Sure, have at it," he said, gesturing to Bobby, laid in the middle of the room, silent. "I think you might find the conversation a bit one-sided."

Dean shook his head. "Not if we're tripping on some Dream Root."

Faith gaped. "You've gotta be shittin' me."

"Nope," said Dean, borderline cheerful.

"You wanna go dream-walking inside Bobby's head?" Sam checked.

"Yeah. Why not? Maybe he could help."

"We have no idea what's crawling around in there."

"Well, how bad could it be?"

"Bad."

"Dude, it's Bobby."

Sam was silent for the length of a few heartbeats, then he sighed and nodded his head. "Yeah, you're right. One problem though. We're fresh out of African Dream Root, so unless you know someone who can score some…"

"Crap."

"What?"

"Bela."

"Bela? Crap." They almost spat her name. "You're actually suggesting we ask her a favour?" Sam asked, incredulous.

Dean shuddered. "I'm feeling dirty just thinking about it, but yeah."

Faith looked between the two of them, head tilted back to see their faces, being that they were such giants. "Who the hell is Bela?"

Dean sighed. "Trouble."

"Oh, good," she said slyly, "I love me a little trouble."

Dean's expression dropped into something flat and stern. "No."

She shifted back to look at him properly. "No, what?"

"No, you can't do magic shrooms with us."

"Screw you, Dean," she snapped. "I have just as much of a right to help as you do."

"Someone needs to watch B—"

"Bobby is fine!" she raised her voice maybe a little too high, and a passing nurse cut her a sharp look through the open door. Faith cleared her throat and tried again. "I'm not sitting here on sentry duty again. I'm coming with you."

Dean wanted to argue – she could see it in the set of his shoulders, the hard line of his lips – but Sam stepped in before he could piss her off any more than he already had. "The more people the better, Dean," he said mildly. "We have no idea what's going on inside Bobby's head. We could use the backup."

Dean reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose, and Faith narrowed her eyes at his dramatics. "All right, fine," he muttered. "You can come."

"Gee, thanks for your permission."

Sam shoved Dean out of the room before he could put his foot in it. Faith took a moment to blow a quick kiss to a comatose Bobby before following them out into the day.

---

She left her car at the hospital and just grabbed her bag, hopping into the Impala to head back to the boys' motel room. The room was on the smaller side, but Faith had stayed in much worse. She put her duffel bag on one of the beds, kicking off her shoes and wandering over to the minibar, setting about making herself some tea.

Sam sat at the table, preparing to get stuck back into his research, looking for anything that might cure Bobby. As Dean stepped into the hall to make his call to this Bela woman, Faith stepped out onto the balcony to call Toby.

"How's Bobby?" Toby greeted her.

"Alive, but still comatose," she told him, leaning against the railing overlooking the city street, staring up at the sky, which had at some point gone dark. "We've got some leads. We're working them down now."

"So, it's a job he was working?"

"Looks like."

She explained about the African Dream Root and their plan to get some to use on Bobby for answers. Toby was worried, of course, but he didn't try to dictate what she could and couldn't do – she loved that about him. As he spoke her eyes flickered to Dean through the glass door. He was back in the room, shifting through Sam's research with keen eyes.

"Faith?" Toby asked.

"Hm?"

"You okay?"

"Yeah," she insisted. "I'm fine. Just tired and … kinda hungry."

"Have you eaten today?" She frowned, thinking back. But her silence was all the answer Toby needed. "Dammit Faith, we've talked about this."

"I was distracted! Bobby's in a coma!"

"No excuse. Go get something to eat. Now."

"Yes, Dad."

"Go."

"How's the case?" she pressed stubbornly.

He sighed. "No breakthroughs yet. I've emailed a friend back in London who might be able to pull the victims' phone records. That should tell me something worthwhile."

"I can come back…"

"You're needed there," he said. "I can handle this on my own."

Now she was the one to sigh. "All right. But promise to call if you need help?"

"Promise. Now go eat, before I call Winchester myself to make sure you do."

"I hate you."

"Goodnight."

He hung up and Faith laughed, looking down at her phone and shaking her head, thinking about how ridiculous he was. Stepping back into the room was like sliding into a warm bath, and Faith let out a quiet sigh of relief, trying to rub warmth back into her frozen hands.

"How's the boyfriend?" Dean asked from the couch with just a hint of sour.

"We're partners."

Dean scoffed. "Doesn't seem that way to me."

"Sam, will you tell him he's being ridiculous?"

"M-hm," hummed Sam, practically falling asleep on his laptop.

Faith rolled her eyes and turned back to Dean. "I'm starved – gonna go get some takeout for dinner. I'm thinking pizza?"

Dean immediately put down the file in his hands. "I'll come with you."

"I can handle a pizza run."

"Not with a demonic cult hanging out for your head on a plate, you can't," he said, swiping up his keys and making a beeline for the door. "Sammy, we'll be back soon."

"M'kay," Sam mumbled, clearly uncaring. Dean glanced back at his brother, shaking his head once before opening the door and impatiently waving Faith through.

She shrugged into her jacket, pinning him with a glare as she passed. He shot back a cheesy smile, and she rolled her eyes again. "Kid's tuckered out," Dean began conversationally as they made their way down to the parking lot. The air was even colder than before, and Faith quickly zipped up her leather jacket, tucking her hands as far into the sleeves as she could get them.

"You've been working a lot?" she asked, doing her best to be amicable.

Dean opened his mouth to answer, then seemed to reconsider, shutting it again. After a moment, he said, "He's working on a … personal project."

He unlocked the Impala, and Faith slid into the passenger seat, immediately holding her hands out to the vents when he started the engine. "A personal project?"

"It's stupid," said Dean dismissively, but there was a sort of pain in his eyes that made her doubt that was true. But it was clear he didn't want to talk about that, so Faith spared him. That was what friends did, wasn't it? Didn't push when they knew something was too hard to speak of? Even if their curiosity burnt a hole through the centre of their chest?

The nearest pizza place was a small family joint on the corner of a busy intersection. Dean made a perfect parallel park that she refused to be impressed by, and they climbed back out into the January gloom.

The pizza place smelt like fresh dough and garlic, and Faith was drawn into its heat with a smile. The guy behind the counter was cute – about Faith's age, maybe a little younger – with pearly white teeth when he smiled and pretty black Italian hair that fell over his forehead.

"Hi," he greeted them, eyes practically glowing as they took in Faith, who thought she looked rather lacklustre in her usual hunting getup, but the cute pizza guy seemed to like it, raking his eyes up and down her body, but not in a way that made her want to slap him.

She flashed him the smile she knew showed off her dimples, and he seemed suitably charmed.

"Uh…what can I do for you?"

Faith widened her smile and looked up at him from under her lashes. She opened her mouth to speak, but Dean shocked her by pushing her aside, jolting his shoulder against hers. He slapped some cash down on the counter and pinned the poor guy with a glare. "We'll grab a large three-cheese pizza."

The guy jolted, gulping nervously under Dean's glower, and quickly counted out the money. Dean frostily told him to keep the change, and he squeaked out a thank you before escaping back into the kitchen, where Dean couldn't put the fear of God into him anymore.

"You're so grouchy," she muttered, rolling her eyes and turning to look at their small herb garden – a nice touch to a family store like this. "Who pissed in your cheerios this morning?"

"You wanted a pizza; I ordered a pizza."

She stared at him incredulously. Dean seemed to finally realise he was being an asshole and forced himself to take a deep breath. "Are you okay?" she asked, not wanting to pry, but also sensing he maybe needed to get something off his chest.

Dean pinched the bridge of his nose again, then looked up, a great deal calmer than before. "I'm just worried about Bobby."

"Why? We'll get the Dream Root off this Bela woman, and then we'll…" she trailed off at the hopeless look on his face. Dismay stabbed through her like a blade. "Bela said no?"

"If you knew her, you'd be less surprised."

Faith ran a hand through her hair. "What're we gonna do?"

Dean sighed. "I don't know."

"Maybe Toby knows someone," said Faith, scrambling desperately for a solution to the problem. "He's got all sorts of connections in the hunting community. Surely someone can get it for him."

Dean nodded, jaw tight, but when Faith called Toby, it rang out twice before she finally just left a message asking him to call her back ASAP. She frowned down at her phone, gathering all the worry in her chest, scrunching it into a ball and tossing it into the recesses of her mind, where hopefully it wouldn't bother her.

"Worried about him?" Dean asked, seeming to read her mind.

"He can handle himself," she said, sounding more confident than she felt. She pocketed her phone and leant against the wall next to Dean. Their height difference was suddenly striking – only a handful of inches, but it had never been more obvious.

"What's the deal with the two of you, anyway?" Dean asked. Faith looked up from the menu she'd been half-heartedly scanning in an attempt to look busy.

"The deal?"

"Well, you're hunting partners…" he trailed off. She met his eyes and shook her head once. Dean remained unconvinced. "You're telling me there's nothing going on between the two of you?"

"He's my best friend," she shrugged. Dean stared. "Men and women can just be friends, y'know?"

He snorted. "Not in my experience."

Faith couldn't tell him the truth – that Toby was a queer man and therefore had about as much sexual interest in her as she did with a cactus. But that was Toby's business to divulge; and lord knew she had plenty of her own secrets to guard.

She wasn't sure how Dean would react, anyway. With news of Toby's sexuality, he'd probably be awkward, but ultimately accepting. When it came to her own secret – her origins – well, was there even a slight chance he'd be half as lenient? She imagined herself on the business end of one of Dean's guns and decided then and there that she'd never have to find out.

What did it matter, anyway, that she was a demigod? It didn't affect Dean's life. She wasn't a threat, and her abilities were so mild that they barely gave her an advantage, either. She was just as useless as before, except now she had to live with the knowledge that she was god-spawn. And since that made her feel like something cooked up in a lab, she tried not to think of it too much.

"Hunting isn't exactly the healthiest environment for a relationship," she said instead. "I mean, blood and guts and vampire fangs don't exactly make for a romantic evening out."

Dean scoffed once. "Agree to disagree."

She didn't want to keep talking about Toby – Dean clearly had some sort of grudge against him, and Faith wasn't about to get in the middle of whatever one-sided pissing match he had going on.

Thankfully, before she was forced to come up with an alternative topic, the worker behind the counter called out, "Uh, large triple-cheese?"

Dean didn't move, so Faith grabbed the box from him instead, tossing him a grateful smile. Back in the Impala, Dean turned the music up just loud enough that it made conversation impossible. Faith rolled her eyes, but internally she was confused.

What had she said that had made Dean clam up like a goddamn vault? She went back over everything, but she couldn't for the life of her figure out what she'd said. She knew Dean was emotionally constipated – not that she was one to talk, but then again, was there a hunter who wasn't? But the fact he was sulking like a child?

Neither of them said anything as they got out of the car and climbed the stairs to their fourth-floor motel room. When they walked in, they found Sam passed out cold on top of his laptop.

As Dean sat down on the couch, Faith took a step towards Sam. "Should I-?"

"Nah, let the kid sleep," said Dean, opening the lid of the pizza box and happily grabbing a hot slice. "It's been a long few days."

Faith went to the room's mini fridge, grabbing two of the beers she knew would be there and handing one to Dean. The couch cushion beside him was empty, and she took it, making sure to keep her weight away from him as she grabbed a slice of her own.

A few minutes passed in tense silence. As they ate, Faith pulled out her phone and began half-heartedly checking her messages, while Dean shuffled pointlessly through the papers covering the coffee table. Faith started out refusing to be the one to break the quiet, but as the minutes wore on, she began to grow stubborn in the other direction.

"This is ridiculous," she blurted just as they were moving onto their second and third pieces of pizza, respectfully.

Dean glanced up, surprise in his eyes. "What is?"

"This," she said again, as if it would make things any clearer. "Can we at least pretend to get along? For the sake of my sanity?"

Dean shifted uncomfortably, and Faith got the feeling he didn't like it when people addressed things head-on. Usually she didn't either, but the effect of the last few days was that she didn't feel like beating around the bush. Bobby was lying in a hospital bed, lost to a coma; she and Toby were working separate jobs; and she was still dealing with that terrible revelation from Dolos. Subtle wasn't something she had any more patience for.

When Dean looked over at her, he seemed to read the exhaustion in her eyes. Something in him melted. "Ceasefire?" he offered quietly.

She didn't bother to hide her weary sigh of relief. "Ceasefire," she agreed. "What are you working on now?"

"Trying to decipher this doctor's notes," said Dean, frowning down at the printouts he held. "Why do you think doctors always have such shitty handwriting?" he wondered. Faith didn't have a good answer. Dean thrust a handful of papers in her direction. "Give me a hand?"

An olive branch – small though it was – and one that she intended to take. With one hand she sifted through the printouts in her lap, the other holding the neck of her beer, taking sips at random. Every now and then, they'd speak quietly, proposing theories that neither were particularly thrilled by, or half-heartedly coming up with ideas now that Bela had refused to bring them any Dream Root.

The clock ticked on in the corner, and it was almost … nice to just spend time with Dean. For the first time maybe ever, there was no tension sizzling between them. They were calm and things were easy. Faith thought that she could almost get used to it.

The hour grew later, and still neither suggested going to bed. Faith wasn't sure if it was because they were steadfast and loyal to Bobby, or whether it was simply that they just weren't having a terrible time. There was something relaxing about doing nothing with Dean, and she wondered suddenly why they hadn't just been friends all along.

At some point, conversation strayed from the case and the doctor's illegible notes.

"I was forced to see a shrink, once," Faith confessed, her lips loosened by the beer. Or at least, that was her excuse.

Dean looked up, surprised. "You were?"

"Got into a fight as a kid," she said it like it happened to everyone.

"Did you win?"

Faith was surprised by her own laughter. "Yeah," she said quietly, grinning into the rim of her bottle. "That was sort of the whole issue, though. I won too well. Put the other guy in hospital. Only reason I got out of going to juvie was 'cause it was technically self-defence, and I was roughed up myself. Managed to talk my way into a mandatory shrink visit instead."

"Yeah?" Dean leant back in the sofa like an eager kid preparing for story time. "How'd it go?"

"Oh, he was a total jerk," she scoffed. "Went off on some bullshit about 'misplaced rage' and 'abandonment issues'. Wanted me to go on some drugs to mellow me out."

"Did you?"

"Nah. Luckily enough, I ended up leaving for a new foster house a week later and my case got lost in the shuffle."

"That happen a lot?"

"Sometimes," she shrugged, throwing back some more beer. "The system's a goddamn sieve. It's all-too easy for kids like me to slip through the cracks."

"Seemed to work in your favour," he pointed out.

This time, her smile was bitter. "Yeah," she agreed. "That time it did."

They sat for a few moments in quiet, the tick of the clock the only sound filling the room. Faith thought sharing time was over, but then Dean surprised her again. "You ever wonder what might have happened if things had been different, growing up? If one thing or another had never happened, where you'd be now?"

Faith snorted with wry laughter. "When I was a kid? All the time," she said, shaking her head at the direction of her own thoughts. "If only my mom hadn't died. If only my dad hadn't bailed. If only my foster parents weren't meth dealers." She shrugged again. "I don't wonder so much anymore. Wondering can't change anything, and by now, I can barely imagine any other life."

Dean traced a finger around the lip of his beer bottle, and Faith found herself strangely entranced by the simple motion. "Sometimes I'll be lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, and I'll just wonder … what would have happened if the demon had never killed Mom? If she was still around? Would we still have gotten into hunting? Would dad still be alive? Would Sammy be normal?"

"Sam is normal," she said reflexively.

Dean cast her a Look and said nothing. Somehow, she knew exactly how to translate the askance glance.

Sam's my brother and I love him unconditionally, but come on, you know the kind of fucked up shit that follows us around. And how much of it's because of his whole 'psychic' thing.

Faith had to nod. "Point taken."

Dean paused, and she could all but feel whatever he wanted to say as it burned on his lips. "You ever deal with a djinn?"

She wasn't sure what she'd been expecting, but that hadn't been it. "A djinn?" she echoed. "Uh, not personally, but I've read enough about them. Why?"

Dean cleared his throat, suddenly not seeming able to meet her eyes. "One got the better of me a few months ago – only just before that whole thing with the Devil's Gate."

"You're kidding," she mockingly gasped. "Something got the better of the Dean Winchester? Someone, alert the media."

Dean rolled his eyes and ploughed ahead. "Anyway," he said, "their MO is to string you up, feed on your life force, and put you into some virtual reality. They grant your deepest wish; make it a world you don't even consider wanting to leave. That way, you stay strung up like meat while they drain the life out of you."

Faith thought she could see where he was going with this. "So, the djinn granted your deepest wish."

"Mom was alive," he said, a wistful look on his face. "She was still living at our old place in Kansas. Sam was still at college, engaged to Jessica. I was dating" – he stopped talking suddenly, as if the words had been choked from him, green eyes darting quickly to her then away again – "I was happy."

Faith cocked her head. "What made you realise it wasn't real?"

Dean shrugged, picking at the label on his beer bottle. "Lotta things, I guess."

Faith said nothing, and the silence seemed to press him to answer more honestly.

"I s'pose I just figured out nothin' in life ever works out that perfect," he muttered, more bitter than she'd expected. "If something seems too good to be true, then it probably is."

Another person might have chided him for his dark outlook, but Faith realised, suddenly, that she understood him. Because she was the same; sceptical of the good things in life, because they always came with a price she couldn't afford.

Faith looked at him – the sky outside pitch black and the only light hitting his face the lamp on the far side of the room. He looked sad, she realised, and found herself wanting to comfort him – but she didn't have the words. How could she reassure him there was good in the world when she barely even believed it herself?

"Y'know, I think life is what we make it," she said before she could stop to think about it.

Dean looked up, frowning, and she felt compelled to press on.

"I agree that if something's too good to be true, then it probably is, and that the world's not exactly overflowing with goodwill. But I've always believed that if you want something in life, then you've gotta make it happen with your own two hands. Maybe the good things are like that. They only happen if we create them."

She said it all in one breath without realising it, and quickly sucked in some air, trying to make it seem casual. Dean was staring at her now, a tiny little V between his brows. His mouth wasn't smiling but his eyes were, a hint of a crinkle in the corners that suggested crows' feet may have been in his future. Something about the thought endeared him to her more.

"What?" she asked self-consciously, stifling the urge to wipe at her face.

"Nothin'," he said, looking away and smiling at nothing. "Just … reminds me of something you said – in the djinn's dream world, I mean."

That made her blink. "I was in your dream world?"

Dean went back to picking at his beer label. "Yeah," he muttered. He didn't say anything more, and she felt compelled to fill the silence.

"Well, I guess that was when you knew for sure you weren't in some perfect utopia," she said slyly. For a moment he didn't speak, still staring at nothing. Faith felt her heart stutter, and threw back more beer to wet her dry mouth.

"It was actually better," Dean said so suddenly that she nearly choked on her mouthful. She swallowed clumsily and turned to stare at him. He was smiling at her again – using not his lips, but just his eyes. She didn't know what to say, and at her bewildered silence his eyes seemed to sparkle. "It was better, because you were in it," he said, as if they were the kind of people who made such declarations to each other. As if this was a totally normal conversation for them to be having. A ripping sound filled the quiet air as Dean tore some more at the beer label. "Made it harder to leave, actually."

Faith had just about enough awareness to keep herself from gaping like an idiot, but that was all.

She didn't know what to say, and her entire body felt frozen, locked into place. She stared at him, trying to fit what he was saying into some context that made sense. The quiet stretched on, until the only sound in the room was the muffled tearing of beer label and the distant ticking of the clock that proclaimed it to be nearing two in the morning.

Was it possible that Dean didn't loathe her quite as much as she'd led herself to believe? That maybe that unspoken something that sizzled between them wasn't entirely fuelled by frustration and hatred alone? That maybe there was just the smallest chance that he was as attracted to her as she was to him?

She knew she had to say something – anything – but before she could put her galloping thoughts into any sort of comprehensible order, Sam suddenly made a – well, an odd noise.

Both Faith and Dean's heads snapped towards him. He was still passed out cold, sleeping over his laptop and using his arms as a poor substitute for a pillow. A beat passed, and then he made the sound again. And, well – yup – that was definitely a moan.

Laughter bubbled up in Faith's chest and she slapped a hand over her mouth to stifle it. Dean turned to look at her, the smile no longer only in his eyes. Hearing her muffled giggling, he wagged his eyebrows suggestively. Faith spluttered with more laughter.

Whatever tension had hovered between them before, it was gone now, broken unknowingly by Sam. She would have to buy him a donut or something in thanks. At the very least, it meant she wouldn't have to think about anything until tomorrow, at the earliest. Which was good news because she was bushed.

When Sam gave another loud, needy sort of moan, Dean took pity and called, "Sam."

Sam didn't react other than to moan even louder, and Dean rolled his eyes at Faith, for a brief moment sharing in the joke. Something dangerously warm swelled in her chest, and she bit down on her knuckle to hold back any hysterical giggle that might bubble free as a result.

"Sam!" Dean called louder, and Sam sat up with a gasp and a cough.

Faith picked up the beer she'd at some point put down on the floor, taking a calm sip and watching Sam orientate himself to the conscious, unsexy world around him. Dean chuckled, too.

"Dude, you were out," he laughed, picking up another batch of print-outs as if working was all they'd been doing this whole time. "And making some serious happy noises."

Sam couldn't have looked more uncomfortable if he'd tried, and when his eyes flickered over to Faith, she slashed him a wicked grin that made his cheeks flush bright pink.

"Who were you dreaming about?" Dean pressed mercilessly.

Sam coughed, uncomfortable. "What? No one. Nothing."

"C'mon, you can tell me. Angelina Jolie?"

"No."

Dean paused. "Oh God, not Faith," he hissed in an offended voice, and Faith very nearly spit out her beer. "C'mon, Sammy, the woman's sat five feet away from you. That's just creepy."

Sam's face was completely aflame, and once Faith's surprise had faded, her wickedness dialled up to eleven. She smirked at him suggestively, the rim of her beer bottle pressed to her full bottom lip. "Was it a schoolgirl fantasy? I've always loved wearing those tiny little skirts."

Neither Sam nor Dean seemed to know how to respond to that, torn between uncomfortable and turned on. Her smirk widened as Dean's eyes seemed to go just a little bit glassy. And she certainly didn't clench her thighs when his pink tongue darted out to wet his lips.

"Ugh," said Sam, settling on playful disgust. Faith was silently filled with gratitude for the diversion, turning to grin at him.

"C'mon," pressed Dean, although his voice was a touch raspier than usual. "Tell me who you were dreaming about."

"Fuck off, Dean," Sam muttered.

Dean chuckled huskily and held up his hands in surrender. "Fair enough. By the way, I called Bela."

Sam shifted in his seat. "Bela? Yeah? She— What'd she … you know, say? She gonna … help us?"

"Shockingly, no, which puts us back to square one. We've been trying to decipher the doctor's notes. Unfortunately, he has worse handwriting than you do."

Sam said nothing about the subtle dig.

"Faith and I've been slaving away all night, while you've been napping. Now that you're awake, Sleeping Beauty, you gonna come help us with this stuff?"
Sam nodded, clearing his throat once. "Yeah. Uh, just … give me a sec."

Dean rolled his eyes and went back to his work, while Faith flashed Sam a knowing smirk and stood to put her empty beer in the trash. She was just bent at the sink, putting the bottle next to the little bin in the space designated for recycling, when there came a knock at the door.

Faith's fingers twitched towards her gun, only to realise belatedly that she wasn't wearing it. She looked over at Dean, who cast both she and Sam a wary look before walking on silent feet over to the door. He hesitated only a beat before cracking it open an inch, only to lean back with an irritated roll of his eyes and let the door swing fully open.

"Bela," Dean drawled, already full of annoyance and she hadn't even opened her mouth yet. "As I live and breathe."

Faith took a step forwards, interested in meeting the woman the Winchesters seemed to so despise.

The woman who sauntered into the room was about as tall as Faith, with perfectly tanned skin and hazel eyes which sparkled with mischief. She was beautiful in an abrasive sort of way – the kind you couldn't help but notice – and her eyes danced over the room like a judge at an interior design contest, finding it lacking.

"You called me. Remember?" she asked in a curt English accent.

Dean remained unimpressed. "I remember you turning me down."

Her smile was potent, like a poison. "Well, I'm just full of surprises."

She took her sweet time putting down her bag, then stepped towards Faith with a perfectly manicured hand outstretched.

"You must be Faith Bueller. The whole community's buzzing about you," she said sweetly. Faith reluctantly took the woman's hand, finding it cool and smooth. Bela smiled prettily. "Nice to put a face to the name."

"People talk about me?" Faith grimaced just at the idea.

Bela's laugh was a tinkling sort of thing, like wind chimes. "Well, I'd hardly call them people."

Faith wasn't sure what to say to that, so she said nothing, instead reaching for another beer. She had a feeling she was going to need it.

"Cut to the chase, Bela," said Dean, voice edged with iron. "What are you doing here?"

Rolling her eyes in a delicate sort of way, Bela reached into her bag, pulling out a decently sized jar of something that looked like hardened wheat. "I brought you your African Dream Root," she said, passing him the jar. Dean took it gingerly, like he half expected it to explode upon contact with his skin. "Nasty stuff, and not easy to come by."

"Why the sudden change of heart?"

"What? I can't do you a little favour every now and again?" Bela asked as she took off the trench coat she was wearing, placing it down beside her bag.

"No. You can't." Bela rolled her eyes, tossing a companionable look at Faith, as though they were old friends, all too used to the brothers' antics. "Come on," snapped Dean. "I wanna know what the strings are before you attach them."

Bela huffed. "You said this was for Bobby Singer, right? Well, I'm doing it for him. Not you."

"Bobby? Why?"

"He saved my life once. In Flagstaff," Bela said with only a tiny pause. Dean cast a glance at Sam, who only shrugged, then at Faith, who frowned and shook her head in answer to his unspoken question. They couldn't trust her. Bela huffed again, this time impatiently. "I screwed up and he saved me, okay? You satisfied?"

Dean pursed his lips. "Maybe."

Faith set down her beer and crossed the room, taking the jar from Dean and unscrewing the lid. She sniffed the contents, then made a face. It smelled like dried parsley mixed with a rotted animal carcass. Certainly seemed like the real thing, but that wasn't saying much.

"So," began Bela eagerly, "when do we go on this little magical mystery tour?"

Dean snatched the Dream Root back from Faith, casting her an exasperated look, and screwed the lid back on. "Oh, you're not going anywhere," he told Bela sternly. "I don't trust you enough to let you in my car, much less Bobby's head. No offence."

"None taken," muttered Bela, though Faith sincerely doubted that was true. Bela didn't seem the type not to hold grudges.

Dean put the Dream Root into the room's safe, built into the side of the walk-in closet. Faith eyed Bela, taking a moment to appreciate the way her sea-green sweater clung to her form. If Faith didn't know what a conniving con artist Bela was, she might even be tempted to flirt.

When Dean reappeared, he met Bela's eye and gestured to the door impatiently. She let out a sound of affront. "It's 2 a.m.," she hissed. "Where am I supposed to go?"

Dean remained utterly unconcerned. "Get a room. They got the Magic Fingers, a little Casa Erotica on pay-per-view. You'll love it."

Bela gasped. "You…"

Apparently, she was in too much of a tizzy to even land on an insult. She snatched up her bag and coat, storming from the room. Faith calmly watched her go, unable to help but wonder if there was more to the little act that she was putting on than Faith could see.

Sam shot to his feet like someone had zapped him. "Nice, er, seeing you … Bela…" he called after her awkwardly. She ignored him entirely, slamming the door shut in her wake. The silence it left them in seemed to ring.

Faith turned accusingly to Sam. "Nice seeing you?"

He made a face and slowly sat back down. Dean shook his head and didn't comment. "Well, she's right about one thing," he said bracingly. "It's two a.m. and I dunno about either of us, but Sammy here could use his beauty sleep."

Sam made another face but didn't bother defending himself.

"Shouldn't we use the Dream Root now?" said Faith quickly. "I mean, who knows how long Bobby has—"

"Bueller, we're operating on virtually no sleep here," said Dean. "We're no use to Bobby if we're not in fightin' shape."

"You want me to sleep?" she asked, incredulous. "Dean, Bobby could die at any moment—"

"And he'd rather that happen than you risk your neck on a fight you ain't fit to win," Dean snapped. Immediately, Faith knew their ceasefire was over with. She switched gears in her head, putting aside the words and stories and hungry glances she'd spared Dean in the quiet of their ceasefire, replacing them with the sour words and hurled insults she armed herself with on most days it came to Dean Winchester. "I'm serious, Bueller. First thing in the morning, we're gonna save Bobby. Once we sleep."

Faith didn't argue. She knew it would be pointless. Dean was almost as stubborn as her.

"Fine," she said sharply, wielding the word like a weapon. "But I get the bed."

Dean scowled at her. "Fine."

"Fine."

"Ugh," groaned Sam, stretching until his back popped. "I'm gonna take a quick shower."

While Sam disappeared into the bathroom, Faith slipped into the closet to change into her pyjamas, silently cursing Dean's name as she did. She re-emerged wearing nothing but boy shorts and the oversize tee-shirt she typically wore to bed.

"Jesus," Dean muttered as she wandered back into sight. "Would you put some clothes on?"

"Prude," she sniped without missing a beat.

To her relief, he'd grabbed some bedding from the linen closet and had done up the couch, making it fit for sleep. Faith dropped her bag onto the floor and crawled onto the bed. It took her a moment to crawl beneath the covers, then once she had, she happily burrowed in amongst the pillows.

Dean muttered something too low for her to hear – though she was sure it was scathing – and Faith smirked smugly into her pillowcase. Sam returned from his shower, damp but looking significantly less wired than he had before. He snorted at the sight of Dean's broad form squished onto the two-person couch.

"Yeah, yeah," Dean muttered. "Laugh it up, Sasquatch. Next time, you're it."

They went to sleep without any more banter, Faith honestly surprised she managed to drift off at all. Her worry for Bobby was strong, but her exhaustion was just that little bit stronger.

She dreamt of running down a long hallway, at the end of which stood a figure with broad shoulders and slightly bowed legs. But no matter how fast or how hard she ran, Faith couldn't reach the figure. She doubted she ever would.

That morning, the three of them ate a lightning-fast breakfast, then Sam used the research he'd compiled as a recipe to brew the African Dream Root. It took him about an hour, and Faith's leg jiggled the entire time, until Dean snapped at her to stop, and she responded by throwing a TV remote at his head.

"Would you two cut it out?" asked Sam, finally reappearing, now carrying three of the motel room's fancy glass mugs, each full of a pale, frothing liquid that didn't smell at all like what she'd caught a whiff of the night before. This was closer to something earthy, like fresh soil or coffee beans, if coffee beans smelled bad.

Faith took her cup, resisting the innate urge to blow on it like a latte.

Dean sat on the edge of her bed, Sam on the edge of his. That left Faith on her bed, sat on Dean's right, her legs crossed underneath her, holding the warm drink in careful hands. The three of them sat there a moment, letting the weight of what they were about to attempt to sink in.

"Uh, so should we dim the lights and synch up Wizard of Oz to Dark Side of the Moon?" Dean wondered wryly.

Faith snorted once in appreciation, but Sam only looked up, befuddled. "Why?"

Dean looked mildly disappointed. "What did you do during college?" he wondered. Sam just shrugged and Faith swallowed back a comment along the lines of 'sweet summer child'.

With a huff, Dean lifted the drink to his lips. "Wait, wait," said Sam, stopping him before the liquid could touch his lips. "Can't forget this."

Sam pulled a small envelope from his pocket, pulling out a pinch of something and putting it first in Faith's outstretched hand, then in Dean's. Faith grimaced but still sprinkled the hair into her cup. There were worse things to ingest.

"What the hell is that?" Dean demanded.

Sam looked up. "Bobby's hair," he said, as someone else might say, 'duh'.

Dean looked like he was going to be sick. "We have to drink Bobby's hair?"

"How the hell else are you meant to control whose dream you're hijacking?" Faith drawled.

Dean cast a look over his shoulder. "The attitude is unappreciated."

"She's right," said Sam, sensing a squabble coming and hurrying to get ahead of it. "To know you're in the right dream, you've gotta … drink some of their uh, some of their … body."

"Well," muttered Dean, "I guess the hair of the dog is better than other parts of the body." He finally sprinkled the hair into his drink like an adult, then lifted his reeking cup into the air. "Bottoms up," he said weakly. Grimacing at the thought of what they were about to do, Faith wearily clanked her cup against theirs, then threw back the liquid within before she could wig herself out too much.

It tasted absolutely awful, but again, Faith had most definitely drunk worse things. And this wasn't a dare, or a decision she'd made while high. This was to save Bobby. And if it meant saving Bobby, she'd do just about anything.

Smacking her lips in disgust, Faith grimaced down into the now-empty cup. The drink seemed to burn its way down her oesophagus, and she pressed a hand over her sternum as if it would soothe the ache.

A moment passed, then another, and nothing seemed to happen. Faith expected more – maybe they'd lose consciousness, or there would be some sort of moving sensation as her consciousness was transferred to Bobby's mind. But there was nothing. She looked warily at the boys.

"Feel anything?" Dean voiced her question aloud.

"No," Sam shook his head. "You feel anything?"

"Nope. Faith?"

Faith shook her head, still grimacing at the awful taste it had left in her mouth, tongue coated with a thin film of unpleasantness.

"Something should have happened, right?" she asked, glancing around the room, looking for proof it was real. Was it true you couldn't read in dreams? She'd heard that somewhere before, hadn't she? What about having extra fingers?
"Maybe we got some bad swag," Dean mused.

Faith opened her mouth to suggest that maybe Bela had found yet another way to screw them over, but before she had the chance, a deafening crack tore through the motel room, followed by the dull roar of heavy rainfall. Thunder continued to boom and rage, which was strange, considering the sky had been clear not two minutes ago.

"When did it start raining?" Sam wondered as Dean climbed to his feet and padded slowly over to the window. He pulled aside the curtains, only to reveal the rain wasn't falling down – it was falling up, leaking out of the ground into the sky. Faith felt like a ghost in her own body as she numbly followed Dean, stopping beside him, eyes following the droplets of water as it trailed impossibly upwards along the glass.

"When did it start raining upside down?" Dean murmured.

"Boys," muttered Faith, realisation prickling at the back of her neck. "I think we may be dreaming."

As she turned to look at Sam the whole room shifted and blurred, like the colours and furnishings of the motel were melting, transforming into a different room altogether.

They were stood in a house that looked like a set piece from That 70's Show. Floral wallpaper lined the room, the furniture was wooden and well-polished, and a wall of pretty glass figurines stood across from Faith. Despite the strangeness of the moment, Faith couldn't help but find the room oddly familiar. Like seeing a picture of someone you knew now as they were as a kid.

"Okay, I don't know what's weirder," Dean began warily, "the fact that we're in Bobby's head, or that he's dreaming of Better Homes and Garden."

"Wait a sec," said Sam. "Imagine the place without the paint job. More cluttered, dusty, books all over the place…"

Faith looked more closely at the house, the shape of the windows and the placement of the staircase. It suddenly occurred to her why it all seemed so hauntingly familiar. "It's Bobby's place," she realised, reaching out to tentatively run her fingertips along the nearest stretch of flowery wallpaper.

She half expected it to feel like smoke under her touch, there but not really, except it felt shockingly real. Her heart skipped a beat as she pressed her splayed hand to the wall. It was sturdy and firm. Had a dream ever felt so real?

"Bobby?" Dean whisper-yelled, seemingly conscious of the fact they were guests in Bobby's head. And who knew what sort of things were roaming around up here with them? Something told Faith that his terrible choice in wallpaper was the least of their concerns.

Sam wanted to go outside to search for Bobby, and though Dean was reluctant, he saw the wisdom in splitting up. The sooner they found Bobby, the sooner they could wake him up and all get the hell out of dodge.

As the door clicked shut behind Sam, Faith and Dean searched the redecorated Bobby's house. They didn't speak, making their way through the house with quiet steps and hand gestures to communicate. Faith was the first to hear the mumbles from the cupboard, and she got Dean attention, pointing at the closed door. They hesitantly approached the door, finding long scratches down the length of the wood.

"Bobby?" Dean called through the door.

There was a beat, then a voice that belonged to Bobby, but sounded uncharacteristically scared, whispered, "Who's out there?"

Faith and Dean exchanged a wary look. "Bobby, is that you?" Faith asked.

"Faith?" Bobby hissed.

"Yeah, it's me and Dean. Open up."

Bobby reluctantly creaked open the door, not even bothering to look at them but instead peering over their shoulders as if waiting for something to jump out from behind them. "How in the hell did you find me?" Bobby whispered.

"We got our hands on some of that Dream Root stuff," Dean explained. "Sam's here too. He's just outside."

Bobby finally looked at him. "Dream Root? What?"

Dean frowned. "Dr. Gregg, the experiments?"

Bobby scowled at him, but they would have had to have been blind not to see how terrified he was. "What the hell are you talking about?"

The lights flickered, and Faith reached for the gun at her waistband, only to find it wasn't there. Apparently, guns didn't make the trip to dreamland. Unfair.

"Bobby, what's going on?" she asked.

Bobby's expression twisted with pain. "She's coming!"

Dean grabbed him by the shoulder. "Okay, you know this is a dream, don't you?"

Bobby shook him off. "What are you, crazy?"

"It's a dream, Bobby! None of this is real!" Dean insisted, gripping his arm.

The door across the way swung open to reveal a pretty older woman wearing a white dress covered in bloodstains from open wounds leaking from her neck. Bobby gasped like someone had lanced through him and pointed at her. "Does that look made-up?"

She began to walk towards them, blank-faced and menacing, and Dean automatically shifted in front of both Faith and a trembling Bobby. "Bobby, who is that?"

"She's… She's my wife," Bobby rasped, the terrible truth bleeding from his voice.

"Your wife?" Faith blurted, staring at the broken woman in horror.

"Why Bobby?" the woman snarled, pacing towards the three of them, forcing them further backwards into the depths of the kitchen. "Why did you do this to me?"

Bobby choked. "I'd rather have died myself than hurt you."

"But you did hurt me. You shoved that knife into me. Again, and again. You watched me bleed. Watched me die…"

Bobby let out a strangled noise Faith had never heard before, and she reached out, wrapping her fingers around Bobby's wrist and holding fast, a steady and unyielding presence. Dean turned to Bobby too but made sure to keep the threat in the corner of his eye.

"Bobby, she's not real," he said.

"How could you?" the spectre cried.

"You were possessed, baby," Bobby whispered. "You were rabid. And I didn't know what I know now. I didn't know how to save you."

"You're lying!" screamed the memory of his wife. "You wanted me dead! If you'd loved me, you would've found a way!"

Bobby's knees gave out, and Dean had to catch him before he crashed to the floor. "I'm sorry!"

Faith watched as the woman began to race towards them and gasped, pushing hard on Dean's shoulder, forcing him and Bobby over the threshold into the sitting room and turning to slide the doors shut in the spectre's face. It wasn't over, though, and the woman threw herself on the shut doors, wailing like a banshee. It was all Faith could do to hold the doors shut.

"A little help, Dean?" she grunted.

Somehow, Dean understood exactly what she was asking help for and whirled around on Bobby without a moment's hesitation. "I'm telling you, all of it. Your house, your wife, it's a nightmare!"

"I killed her," Bobby cried, not listening.

"Bobby! This is your dream. And you can wake up. I mean, hell, you can do anything!"

"Just leave me alone. Let her kill me already."

The spectre gave the doors a particularly strong bash and Faith wondered whether she could get lasting bruises in this dreamscape. "Dean!" Faith cried, wincing as she struggled to hold those stupid, fake doors closed.

"Look at me, Bobby!" Dean snapped behind her. "You gotta snap out of this now! You're not gonna die. I'm not gonna let you die. You're like a father to me. You gotta believe me, please."

There was a large beat of quiet, then Bobby murmured, "I'm dreaming?"

"No shit, Bobby!" Faith shouted over her shoulder, all her weight now against the doors. "Now do something about it! Take control!"

Abruptly, the banging from the other side of the doors disappeared. Faith nearly collapsed at the sudden lack of pressure, but Dean caught her. She rushed to steady herself. Together they opened the doors to find the other room empty, Bobby's wife's memory blown away like smoke.

Bobby's teary eyes widened. "I don't believe it…" he breathed.

Dean's hand lingered on Faith's waist as he muttered, "Believe it. Now would you please wake up?"

The sensation of waking up from the dream root was almost familiar – like when you're just drifting off to asleep at night, but flinch awake with the sudden sensation of falling. Faith flew up from the motel bed she'd been sprawled across, Dean at her side as Sam on the bed to her left, both breathing just as heavily.

As her heart began to slow, she turned to look at the boys, "Did that just…?"

Dean nodded, but Sam wasn't as confident. "What happened?" he asked. "I think I ran into our puppeteer. I'd have been toast if I hadn't woken up when I did."

Faith and Dean shared a look. "We need to go check on Bobby before we do anything," Faith said. "Sam, tell us on the way?"

In the car, Sam explained what had happened on his end, and when he was done, they explained what they'd seen with Bobby. And by the time they reached the hospital, it was to find Bobby awake and alert. Faith didn't even hesitate to throw her arms around his shoulders, pulling him into a hug that made the nurses tut and grumble.

"Oh, don't scare me like that, old man," she muttered, kissing him affectionately on the cheek.

Bobby's cheeks went a rosy-pink colour, and he muttered something about needing a whiskey. She rolled her eyes and negotiated him down to a coffee.

They'd sent Sam off to go look for the culprit at his dorm, hopefully before he could get away, and Faith went to get them coffees while he did, giving Bobby and Dean time to speak alone for a while. It was peak hour, though, and by the time she was pacing back up to the ward with the tray of coffees in hand, Sam was already on his way back from campus.

"So, stoner boy wasn't in his dorm," he told Bobby and Dean what he'd already informed Faith of on the way up in the elevator. "My guess is he's long gone by now."

Bobby shook his head. "He ain't much of a stoner. His name's Jeremy Frost. Full-on genius. Hundred-and-sixty IQ. Which is sayin' some, considering his dad took a baseball bat to his head."

Dean got a distant look in his eye and nodded, and Faith's jaw went tight as she tried not to think about why he seemed to be able to relate to such a statement. Bobby shuffled through the papers spread out on his bedside table, holding one to them as Faith handed the coffees out around the room.

"Here's Father of the Year," Bobby added, pointing to a photocopy of the man's driver's licence. "He died before Jeremy was 10."

Sam curled his lip. "Looks like a real sweetheart."

"Injury gave him Charcot-Wilbrand. He hasn't dreamt since."

"Till he started dosing the dream drug," Dean nodded. "How'd he know how to dig up your worst nightmare and throw it at you?"

"Hey, he was rooting around in my skull," Bobby said defensively. "God knows what he saw in there."

Faith didn't even want to consider what someone might have seen in her head, should they go for a walk around up there. Too many secrets, too much darkness. It was a minefield of bear traps and pitfalls. Even she avoided it when she could.

"How'd he get in there in the first place? Sam asked smartly. "Isn't he supposed to have some of your hair, your DNA, or something?"

"Good question," Faith said, taking a seat on the spare bed next to Dean and sipping her coffee.

Bobby sighed. "Before I knew it was him, he offered me a beer. I drank it," he admitted with a wince. Beside her, Dean flinched. "Dumbest fuckin' thing."

"Oh, I don't know," Dean laughed nervously. "It wasn't that dumb."

Faith lowered her coffee cup to scowl at him. "Tell me you didn't."

It wasn't even a question. Just a sharp command. But Dean only smiled, a strained, awkward grin that she supposed was meant to be charming. And, well, it was only working a little. "I was thirsty?"

"That's great," snapped Sam. "Now he can come after either one of you."

Dean shrugged. "Well, now we just have to find him first."

"As if anything's ever that simple," Faith scoffed.

Bobby sighed. "We better work fast … and coffee up. Because the one thing we cannot do – is fall asleep."

Faith called Toby and let him know she had to stick with the Winchesters a while longer, and though he threatened to charge them for basically stealing his partner away from him, she could tell he wasn't too bothered. Toby was a solitary creature by nature; he didn't mind a chance for some solo time every now and again, even if he was too polite to say so.

And so, she and the Winchesters searched high and low for this Frost fellow, but he'd gone to ground. Faith stuck with them but there was barely any time to talk, let alone be awkward or fight with Dean. They were too busy trying to save his ass.

It took two and a half more days without sleep for Dean to cave. He'd had enough caffeine to kill a small child, and he simply couldn't take it anymore. He pulled the Impala into a covered area of forest and slouched down in the driver's seat.

"All right, that's it. I'm done," he announced, shutting his eyes.

"What are you doing?" Sam demanded.

"Taking myself a long-overdue nap."

"What?! Dean, Jeremy can come after you."

"That's the idea."

Sam spluttered. "Excuse me?"

"You wanna take the fight to him?" Faith asked, leaning over the front seat, resting her chin on her arms. Dean opened a single eye to look at her, and she was for a moment caught by how green it looked up close and personal.

"Exactly. We can't find him, so let him come to me."

"On his own turf?" Sam was incredulous. "Where he's basically a god?"

Dean shrugged. "I can handle it."

Sam paused, then glanced back at Faith. She nodded, and together they reached into Dean's hair, yanking out a small thatch of the sandy blond strands. "Not alone, you can't," muttered Sam.

"Ow!" yelped Dean. "What are you doing?"

"Obviously, we're comin' in with you," said Faith. "Still got the flask of dream root?" she asked Sam. "My flask's empty, so we can split it into there."

Dean's eyes bulged. "Um, no, you're not."

"Why not? At least then it'll be three against one. I like those odds."

Dean's mouth worked up and down for a few moments, struggling to respond. "Because I don't want you digging around in my head. Especially not you!" he finally spluttered, aiming the last part at Faith in something of a snipe.

She kept her face a mask, hiding that it stung. She understood, she supposed. She wouldn't want him in her head, either, but that didn't make it any easier to hear. She wanted him to be able to trust her; even though she wasn't particularly worthy of that trust.

"Too bad," snapped Sam, turning to split the dream root liquid with Faith. They sprinkled Dean's hair into their concoctions and swirled it around to mix it in.

"Wait," said Dean, and they looked up, impatient.

"Just – can you," he stalled, frustrated as he avoided their eyes. "Look – dreams are just subconscious things, yeah? I can't control them."

"We get it Dean, okay?" said Sam. "We're doing this to save your life, y'know?"

Dean only sighed and slid back down in his seat, eyes sliding shut. Faith lifted her flask in a mock toast to Sam before they threw back their drinks with a grimace.

She sat back and shut her eyes. The world spun around her, and it seemed only moments before she was blinking her eyes open, still laid in the backseat of the Impala. Sam and Dean were just coming to in the front, and she yawned, leaning back over the seat.

"What are we still doing here?" Dean mumbled.

"Does it really surprise anyone that Dean dreams of his car?" she asked. Dean cast her a dark look but otherwise nobody replied.

There was a crunching in the leaves outside the Impala and their attention slid away. "There's someone out there," whispered Sam, and slowly, the three of them climbed from the Impala. They couldn't see anyone, but of course, that didn't mean nobody was there.

They began to creep further away from the car, searching for signs of activity.

In the distance, a familiar guitar riff began to play. It came from seemingly nowhere and everywhere all at once. Faith recognised the song immediately. "Is that…?" she began, turning to Dean, but she couldn't finish, voice torn from her throat.

There, in the middle of the woods, was a small motel room interior. It was nondescript, the kind of room she'd stayed in a hundred times over. There was a bed, a desk, an ugly carpet, and a tiny TV. Curiously, though, there was also a record player.

And Faith watched as a perfect copy of herself walked into that little recreated motel room. She was dressed in nothing but a man's flannel, buttoned-up for modesty, and a pair of socks, and they watched as this figure of Faith adjusted the vinyl, making it just a little louder, then began to sensually sway her hips to the song, humming quietly along.

This copy of herself, this sliver of Dean's subconscious, caught sight of the real Dean and smiled, a low, mischievous thing, and held out a hand for him to take, all while that song – that goddamned song – played over the invisible speakers.

"Dance with me?" the dream figure of herself asked Dean, her eyes wide and deep and full of a nameless something that twisted the real Faith's insides into knots.

Wild horses
Couldn't drag me away
Wild, wild horses
Couldn't drag me away

I know I've dreamed you
A sin and a lie
I have my freedom
But I don't have much time

Dean turned his head towards the real her, wincing. He couldn't meet her eye, and she could imagine the embarrassment he must be feeling – though all she could feel was confusion as her pulse beat loud in her ears. This was what he dreamed about? She didn't understand.

Faith has been broken
Tears must be cried
Let's do some living
After we die

Wild horses
Couldn't drag me away
Wild, wild horses
We'll ride them some day…

The constructed image of her smiled so softly, so tenderly, a face she hadn't made in over a year now. A face reserved for someone who was long since dead. "C'mon, Dean," that version of her cooed, still smiling. "What, now you're suddenly shy?"

Dean made a strangled noise, and fake Faith frowned, opening her mouth to speak, but Dean quickly waved his arm at her, and both she and the whole motel scene disappeared in a burst of smoke. Wild Horses by The Rolling Stones didn't disappear instantly, but instead it faded slowly away, like a breeze rolling off across the horizon.

Then finally, that was gone too, and Faith, Dean and Sam were left in a silence so awkward it threatened to choke them. Dean didn't seem able to look at her, while all Faith could do was stare at him. Sam looked like he was contemplating just letting Dean die, after all, for putting him in this situation.

Faith could barely breathe. "Dean…"

"There he is!" shouted Sam, and they all spun to see Jeremy sprinting in the other direction. As one, they ran. The woods were thicker than they looked, and it was dark, no moonlight getting in through the canopy. Faith lost track of Sam and Dean so quickly, it frightened her. Within mere moments, she was alone in the woods of Dean's mind.

She stumbled out into a clearing, panting like she'd run a marathon. She wanted to keep running, and running, and running until she was far away from all of this. Everything looked real, but she had to remember she was still in Dean's head. There was no escaping him – not here.

"Dean!" she shouted because the only way out, apparently, was through. "Sam?!"

There was no reply, but she thought she could hear Wild Horses playing again, just faintly, in the distance. Her stomach twisted and her hands clenched into fists so tight they hurt. She took a breath and started to run again, shoving her way through the trees like a bulldozer, her mind laser-focused on finding Dean.

She would find him. This was his mind, after all. He literally couldn't be far.

"Dean!" she shouted again, pushing herself faster.

If anything happened to him, she'd never forgive herself. She didn't think about his dream, or how it made her feel. Now wasn't the time. She needed to pay attention. She needed to find Dean.

She shoved aside another fern and tripped through a motel doorway. For a heartbeat she was terrified it was the same one from before, and she was about to live out Dean's dream of her again, but then she looked up and saw it wasn't that motel room – but another one entirely – filled with not a copy of herself, but two Deans.

Faith leapt to her feet, Dean's name on her lips, but before she could even begin to try to work out who the real Dean was, the one on the right waved his hand and Faith flew backwards. Her back hit the wall, and she let out a yelp as she collided with the plaster. Metal chains appeared, locking her in place in a flash of dream-logic, and a little metal mask covered her mouth, preventing her from speaking.

"Here's our girl," said the Dean on the right, but he didn't smile. There was a dark gleam in his green eyes. "Right on time."

Faith tried to shout around her gag, but she couldn't do more than grunt, squirming helplessly in her chains. The Dean on the left stepped towards her. "Let her go!"

"Can't have her getting in the way," said the Dean on the right. The fake one. Dream Dean, Faith named him. "Of course, you have power here, too. Why don't you set her free?"

Dean frowned at Faith hard, concentrating, but nothing happened. Dream Dean laughed haughtily.

"I thought so," he scoffed. "So weak. So unmotivated. I mean, you're going to Hell, and you won't even lift a finger to stop it. Talk about low self-esteem." Faith's eyes flicked between the two Deans in confusion, yanking as hard as she could at her bounds, but apparently her super-strength didn't carry over to other people's dreams. "Then again, I guess it's not much of a life worth saving, now, is it?"

"Wake up, Dean. Come on, wake up," the real Dean muttered to himself.

"Does Faith know about that?" Dream Dean asked, looking faux-innocently at Faith. "The demon deal you made to send yourself to Hell in exchange for Sammy's life?" He tutted with false concern. "Nasty things, demon deals. You didn't even get the full ten years. You only got one single, miserable year. And it's almost up."

Faith's eyes burned – not with sadness, but with a bone-deep fury. She strained so hard against her chains that she began to strain her muscles – whether they be real or imaginary. She wanted to kill Dream Dean – then maybe Real Dean for good measure.

"And you hardly made good use of it, did you, Dean?" Dream Dean asked, pacing around Real Dean casually. "Didn't get to do half the things on your bucket list. You're going to die knowing you have nothing. I mean, nothing outside of Sam. You are nothing. You're as mindless and obedient as an attack dog."

Dean faltered. "That – that's not true…"

"No? What are the things that you want? What are the things that you dream? I mean, your car? That's Dad's. Your favourite leather jacket? Dad's. Your music? Dad's. Do you even have an original thought?"

The real Dean scoffed again, but he was losing traction.

"No. No, all there is, is, 'Watch out for Sammy. Look out for your little brother, boy!' You can still hear your Dad's voice in your head, can't you? Clear as a bell. And he'd have hated Faith, wild as she is. He'd tell you to stay away from her…"

"Just shut up…"

"I mean, think about it…" Dream Dean pressed. "All he ever did is train you, boss you around. But Sam … Sam, he doted on. Sam, he loved."

Anger roared its way through Faith with such fierceness, she thought it would burn her up like a forest fire. She could barely breathe, every breath like hot coals in her lungs. She tried to scream for Dean, at Dean, at the world. But she'd been silenced. She felt the need for violence like air to live.

"I mean it," muttered the real Dean. "I'm getting angry."

"Dad knew who you really were. A good soldier and nothing else. Daddy's blunt little instrument," spat Dream Dean. "Your own father didn't care whether you lived or died. Why should you?"

And finally, the real Dean snapped.

"Son of a bitch!" he shouted, shoving Dream Dean hard into the desk behind him, then picking up a bat, beginning to beat the shit out of his evil double. "My father was an obsessed bastard! All that crap he dumped on me, about protecting Sam! That was his crap. He's the one who couldn't protect his family. He's the one who let Mom die – who wasn't there for Sam. I always was! He wasn't fair! I didn't deserve what he put on me."

He took a step back and lifted a shotgun, which appeared like magic in his hands.

"And I don't deserve to go to Hell!" he roared, firing a round into Dream Dean's chest.

The battered fake fell to the desk, bloody and still. Instantly, the chains holding Faith hostage disappeared, collapsing like they were made from sand, and her shoes hit to the floor. Breathing deep, she stormed to Dean's side, panting hard. She glared down at the dead Dream Dean on the desk, eyes burning with a violence that had nowhere to go.

As she and Dean stared at it, very steadily, her pulse began to slow, the desperate need for violence leeching from her veins. "Is it dead?" she rasped.

Dream Dean's eyes flashed open, and they were inky black from corner to corner – a demon all the way through. It sat up, snarling, and the real Dean's arm shot around Faith, pulling her back a step, automatically protective.

"You can't escape me, Dean," his demonic double sneered viciously. "You're gonna die. And this? This is what you're gonna become!"

Faith simply couldn't hold herself back. She stepped out of Real Dean's hold and threw her fist into the blood-spattered demon's face. She caught it on the jaw and its head flung backwards with more force than it logically should have from someone her size.

Maybe her strength wasn't entirely measured, after all.

The demon slumped on the desk, out cold, and the two real people were left in an echoing, panting quiet. Faith turned to look at Dean, her chest heaving. He reluctantly looked back at her, his eyes vulnerable – and why wouldn't they be? They were literally inside of his head.

She wanted to give him a piece of herself, something to even out the playing field. She wasn't sure what it could be, but she opened her mouth, unsure of what might come spilling out, when suddenly she was dropping off a cliff and lurching upright in the Impala, gasping for air, sweat plastering her hair to her face.

Sam and Dean were in similar positions in the front, and Dean cast a look back at her. "Everyone alright?" he asked gruffly. She merely tossed him a weak thumbs-up before flopping back down on the backseat and breathing deep.

Dean started the car and began driving in what she assumed must have been the direction of their motel room. As they drove, Sam relayed what had happened on his end of the dream – how Frost was gone for good, and Dean and Bobby were free to rest at last.

"What about you guys?" he asked once he was done. "Where'd you go?"

Dean hesitated. "We were just looking for you the whole time," he said. "Guess Frost wanted to divide and conquer. Picked you as the weakest target."

Sam grumbled but accepted the answer – probably too tired to argue. Faith said nothing, listening as Dean called Bobby to inform him of their victory. They agreed to meet at the motel, and then once he was done, she pulled out her own cell to call Toby.

"D'you have any idea what time it is?" her partner complained when he answered.

"Time to pack your bag," she said. "Dean and Bobby are in the clear and I'm hooked to get the hell outta dodge."

"You wanna leave tonight?"

"You like night driving."

"I also like sleep."

She paused, lowered her voice. "Toby, please."

"Okay," he said without any more pressing. She was honestly surprised he'd agreed so quickly, but endlessly grateful. "I'll be ready when you get here."

He was staying nearby, having finished up their last job and been waiting around for her to finish hers. She hung up and lent back in the Impala. "You're taking off already?" Sam asked from the front seat. Dean was silent and rigid in the driver's spot.

"Don't like to sit still," she said tightly. Sam seemed to sense she didn't want to talk and fell quiet.

They got back to the motel an hour later, all three of them a big ball of tension. Sam went immediately to find a food place still open, claiming hunger pains. Faith had left a few of her things in his and Dean's room, so she reluctantly stopped there to grab them, and had turned to the door, only to find Dean in her way, preventing her from leaving.

"We're not gonna talk about it?" he asked gruffly.

Her heart took a step off a canyon. "You're usually fine with that."

"Yeah, well, this is different."

Faith exhaled hard through her nose. "What do you want me to say?"

"Something," he said. "Anything."

But Faith didn't have anything to say. Her head was just a din of noise; no words.

Which to address first? That Dean dreamt about dancing with her, half naked in motel rooms? Or the fact that Dean had made a demon deal and was going to Hell in less than a year?

The need for violence crept up on her again, inching like frost through her veins. Her hands balled into fists and her jaw went taut. Faith wasn't in the mood to talk about feelings or hardly anything so sentimental. She wanted to fucking shoot something.

"I don't think you want me to talk to you right now, Dean," she finally got out around gritted teeth.

He looked frustrated. "Can you just – can you just yell at me, already?"

"Oh, I think you're about to be punished enough," she drawled, and Dean flinched. She felt a sick sort of satisfaction, seeing that. Being the one to crack the whip. She was reminded that violence wasn't always only physical.

"Fine," Dean said, hardening like stone. She watched him detach – saw it happen in his eyes in real time. "You can go, then. Run away with Tobias. See if I care."

"Seemed like you cared plenty in your dreams," she snarled.

Dean's eyes flickered, but he held firm. "Oh, come on, you can't hold a guy's horniness against him," he said, and this time it was Faith who flinched.

Of course, the dream had had nothing at all to do with her, but everything to do with how she looked in panties and a flannel. The song had simply been a good tempo for her to swing her hips to, and the motel room just served the purpose of location.

Hurt swirled like water down a drain, and rage came with it. She bared her teeth, refusing to let him see the wound he'd caused.

"You could only dream, asshole," she snapped, picking up her bag and shoving past him to the door.

"Oh, and I will," he assured her cockily.

"Not for long!" she called merrily, never one to miss out on the last word. She caught a glimpse of Dean's hurt face as she slammed the door on it but refused to feel bad. She let her fury sustain her like a fire, marching to her and Toby's meeting point.

He was ready, as promised, and she forced him swiftly onto the road. He tried to get her to talk, but she feigned sleep. And if maybe a few tears slipped down her hidden face in the darkness of the car, well, nobody had to know.

---

A/N: I hope you guys enjoyed!

Next time: There's an emergency abroad which shakes things up for the foreseeable future. Anything more would be spoilers. ;)