Chapter 22

Dean wondered what time it was – wanted to turn his head to check the bedside clock – but his body felt completely incapable of movement. A bone-deep weariness seemed to hold him pinned where he lay. He heard water running from the bathroom sink and then footsteps passing the foot of the bed.

"What time is it?" The words came out a garbled mess, but Dean hadn't actually opened his eyes yet, so he missed the amused look that Sam shot him.

"The hell did you just say, man?"

"Time – what time…" Dean raised up slightly. Against every objection that his body and brain screamed at him, he propped himself on one elbow and pried open one eye. The clock read 6:30 – a.m. or p.m.? He flopped back onto the bed. For a moment it seemed that he would fall asleep again, but then he realized that he was starving – must be p.m. He sat all the way up and opened both eyes.

Sam was now sitting at the small motel table grinning at him.

"Hey, Sleeping Beauty. You actually awake for real this time?"

"This time?"

"Yeah, you've woken up about four times over the past two hours, but you keep falling back to sleep," Sam explained.

"No I haven't," Dean said, obstinately, fighting the urge to lay back down.

"Whatever. I bet you're starving. Get your lazy ass up, and I'll get you something."

Dean was just getting out of the shower when he heard the motel door open and looked out of the bathroom to see Sam returning carrying a bag of food and – God bless him – a takeout cup of coffee. He quickly roughed his hair with the towel and threw on his clothes. Ten minutes later, Dean reclined back in the little chair with a contented sigh and stretched his legs out in front of him, the cup of coffee cradled in his hands and his stomach pleasantly full of cheeseburger and fries.

The events of the past several hours were gradually coming back to him. The combined police forces of Oneida and three surrounding towns, along with the National Park Service, had been required to transport bodies and survivors away from Devil's Den. Kayle McClanahan had been the first person to be pulled up the cliff in a rescue stretcher and taken down the trail on a four-wheeler. No one could understand how a human that had been in perfect, rosy health just that morning could possibly look like she did, but that was just one of the many things from the night that most of the participants couldn't quite comprehend. Elizabeth was the next to be pulled up in a sling and transported out to receive first-aid treatment for her cuts and abrasions. She and Kayle had left in the same ambulance, so Elizabeth had been able to assure the EMTs that Kayle was simply delirious when she spoke of shape shifters and zombies.

The two tattooed freaks responsible for all the kidnappings and horrific murders were known to the FBI, according to Agents Medlocke and Van Zant, but that didn't make the bloodshed any more understandable. Chief Hutchison had seemed too stunned to manage an investigation, so the Chief Ranger from the park service had taken statements. Per the statement he recorded, Dean and Kayle had followed up a hunch and been captured first, Sam and Elizabeth had gone to look for them and encountered one of the assailants on the trail. A struggle had ensued, and the assailant had ended up stabbed to death. But the other assailant had gotten the jump on Agent Medlocke once they had entered Devil's Den, managing to get the agent's gun which the assailant then used to shoot two of the victims at point-blank range, before Agent Van Zant was able to overpower and stab him.

It was at about that point in the retelling that Sam saw Dean slump against the rock wall of the alcove and nearly slide to the ground. Sam decided that the local investigation was over.

"Alright, guys. My partner needs medical attention," he said in his most authoritative FBI voice. "I want him taken out of here immediately. All of the evidence gathered here is part of an ongoing federal investigation, so everything is going to be sent to our field office. I'll coordinate that information with the Oneida Police Department tomorrow." And he had marched Dean out and managed to hold him up until they could get him into the rescue stretcher. Dean had allowed himself to be taken to the ER and given two units of blood, but had refused to be admitted to the hospital.

"So here you are, a solid fourteen hours of sleep, give or take, and a cheeseburger under your belt. How are you feeling?" Sam asked.

"Not bad, considering. Thanks for the grub, and the coffee," Dean lifted his cup and nodded to Sam in a pseudo toast. "Has anyone talked to Kayle?"

"Yeah, actually Elizabeth's been at the hospital today with her. Kayle's awake and alert, apparently. Elizabeth's given her the basics on what shape shifters and ghouls and djinn are, and what happened to her. Sounds like she's doing okay. Seems like Kayle is pretty strong," Sam said.

"Good, good. What else did I miss today?" Dean asked.

"The medical examiner from Winfield is handling all the bodies. I suggested that would be preferable since the medical examiner here was part of the investigation. I just didn't want Elizabeth to have to deal with it all. I know it's one more person involved, but Elizabeth knows the guy, so she can direct him if she needs to."

"It's okay, I get it," Dean said. "We had a small army last night anyway, so I don't think one more person is going to hurt."

"That's what I thought, too. And then I gave the Oneida Police the address to send all the files to. So that's probably a half-dozen more boxes for that storage container."

"Sounds like you've got it pretty tied up," Dean said, nodding approvingly. "So..?"

"So…what?"

"Are you going to see Dr. Ogle again before we leave?"

"Well, yeah, actually," Sam stumbled just a bit over the words. "I'm taking her to dinner. I expected you'd still be resting."

"Hell, no, I'm good. I could eat again." Dean laughed at the look on Sam's face. "You idiot – I'm just kidding. You go play doctor, Sammy. I'm going back to bed."

They settled on picking up food from the Chinese restaurant, and a bottle of wine, and taking it to Elizabeth's house to avoid the curiosity of the locals. As they ate, their discussion flowed over a wide range of topics, and Sam was somewhat relieved to find that he was still capable of carrying on a conversation with an educated woman. Nothing was said, though, about the ordeal that had actually brought them together.

When they had finished eating, they carried their wineglasses to the couch, and Elizabeth found a movie on TV. It was something neither of them cared about, but it was a good excuse for her to lean back against him as they watched. When Sam put his arm around her, Elizabeth reached up and twined her fingers with his. And for several minutes they sat like that – both of them ostensibly watching TV – Sam enjoying his view of her body as she leaned her head back on his shoulder, and Elizabeth marveling at the solidness of the chest behind her. They had just caught the last bits of the movie, and when it ended Elizabeth switched the TV off. She turned to face Sam, and her smile made his stomach clench. He cleared his throat and moved away just a bit to pick up the bottle of wine.

"Did you want to talk about it?" Sam asked as he refilled Elizabeth's wineglass, then emptied the rest of the bottle into his own. "Any of it?" Elizabeth's smile faded, and Sam could have kicked himself for bringing the subject up. She stared at the glass in her hands, swirling the contents a little, obviously considering the question very seriously.

"I think Kayle is going to need someone to talk to," she said. "And I'll be the only one she'll have. I don't know how long it will take, but I think we'll be able to work through it."

Then she set her wine down on the coffee table, and reached over for Sam's glass, setting it aside also. She took both of his hands into hers, rubbing her thumbs lightly over the scraped and bruised knuckles, then turning his hands over and continuing to rub across the palms and fingers.

"That feels really nice, Dr. Ogle," he said, and she laughed at him. She started to pull her hands away, but he caught them in his own and brought them up to his mouth, kissing the fingertips. Elizabeth stood up and drew Sam to his feet. He rose, pressing her hands against his chest and leaning down slightly to inhale the delicious scent from her hair. "Are you sure about this?"

"I'm very sure, Sam," Elizabeth said softly, looking up into his face. She turned to lead him to the bedroom, but something made him pull her to a stop. Elizabeth turned back to him, puzzled at first and then embarrassed.

"I'm sorry, if you don't want…" she stammered, a flush rising to her face, making her that much more beautiful. She wet her lips anxiously, and his eyes were drawn instantly to her mouth. He was so engrossed that it took him several seconds to realize that she feared he might be uninterested.

"Oh god, I didn't mean that at all," he said. He dropped his hands to her waist and pulled her towards him. "You can't even imagine how much I want…" his voice trailed off as he kissed her briefly and then buried his face in the crook of her neck. Elizabeth smiled.

"I think I can imagine a little," she said, her voice low, her hips pressing against his body. Sam made a sound somewhere between a moan and a laugh. Reaching up, Elizabeth spread open the collar of his flannel shirt and leaned into him, kissing just above his collarbone, her tongue exploring the warm indention at the base of his throat. And Sam melted into her, his body curling to hers, his hands drawing her closer.

"You know what kind of life I have, Elizabeth. I just mean, I can't be…" Sam whispered the words to her, and his lips grazed the tender skin behind her ear. She shivered, her breath catching in her throat, and his hands unconsciously clutched her more tightly. Elizabeth clung to his broad shoulders as he pulled her against his body, her head tilting back as his mouth traced the pulse in her neck. But she could feel that he was still holding himself in check, hesitating.

"Sam," she said quietly, "I'm not asking you to be anything." Elizabeth placed her hands on his face, tilting his head up so that their eyes met. "I just want to give you a good memory, Sam. Something to keep against all of the bad ones."

He groaned low in his throat, a sound of need and longing, and kissed her again. But this time his mouth was as rough and eager as his hands, wanting more and more, allowing himself to drown in her warmth and softness, holding nothing back.

Dean was feeling pretty close to happy. The early spring weather was sunny, he had good tunes on the radio, and Sam was riding shotgun. It was as right as their world ever got. He was still feeling some lingering effects from his capture, but nothing he couldn't manage, certainly nothing that would prevent him from making the drive home to Kansas.

They had set out late that morning, making a stop at the hospital where, just two days ago, Sam had spent several hours. Kayle was going to be spending a couple more days there at least. Her inability to recall the past month of her life was being attributed to short-term memory loss due to trauma. She was doing better physically; but her demeanor, which Elizabeth assured them had been bubbly and flirtatious just as portrayed by the shifter, was still subdued. She had been pleased to see Sam and Dean, though.

The truth was, Kayle remembered every detail of the past month, bound and gagged in a tiny hole, forgotten for days at a time and surrounded constantly by the sounds and smells of evil and death and wanton destruction. Elizabeth had explained about the shifter and the other monsters, but she had been deliberately understated in her delivery. Kayle understood without any embellishment how close she had come to death.

"I know I wouldn't be here without the two of you," she said, her eyes, still hollow and sunken, holding Sam's and Dean's gaze with their intensity. "I owe you my life. Thank you."

"We're just glad you're doing better," Sam said. "We're glad you and Elizabeth have each other." They rose to leave, but Kayle called Dean back.

"So we went on a hike together, huh?" She smiled at him, some light returning to her eyes. "I'm sorry I missed that."

"I am too," Dean said, a smile curling up one corner of his mouth. "Take care of yourself, alright?"

The car ride after that had been mostly quiet. Sam had been wrapped up in his own thoughts. And if those thoughts were about what Dean assumed they were about, then Dean was happy for him. He was just about to suggest a lunch stop when Sam spoke.

"So was it like the last time?"

"Last time?" Dean asked, confused. "Last time what?"

"The djinn world. Was it like the last time?"

It would have been so much easier to lie, to tell Sam that his djinn world was exactly the same as it had been almost ten years ago. But in the end, Dean told him the truth. He told Sam that in the djinn world, this time, the Mark was still on his arm, and the Darkness had not been released. He told him about the bizarre Dark Throne and the spell that was to keep him, Dean, from becoming the murderer that the Mark wanted him to be while at the same time preventing the Darkness from ever being freed. And then Dean told him about what had been required to work the spell.

"So you had to kill me?"

"Yeah…I mean, I had killed you," Dean tried to explain. "Like, in my imaginary world, I was just remembering something that I had already done. Crazy, huh?"

"No…not crazy," Sam said. "Apparently, that's your fondest wish, or deepest desire, or whatever you want to call it right now, for the Darkness to never have been released. I get it." For a long time, neither of them said anything else.

"I'm sorry, man, you know I can't control it, right?" Dean finally broke the silence, his tone apologetic, asking Sam to understand.

"I'm not mad, Dean," Sam said quickly. "I'm not. I'm just thinking. Like the djinn takes what you want, and what you know, and what you think, and mixes everything up, right?

"I guess," Dean answered. "I sure as hell didn't ask to be the expert on this."

"Yeah…" Sam said with a wry laugh. "I know. I just don't get…"

"What? What don't you get?"

"I don't get the part about me being in heaven with Jessica," Sam said. "Does that mean that your idea of a happy ending for me is to go back to where I was before we started hunting together?"

"I don't know. Maybe."

Again, neither of them spoke. Sam broke the silence this time.

"We created this mess together, Dean. We're going to clean it up together." He let that sink in for a bit. "And I don't want to go back. I would give anything for Jessica to have never died. But I don't want to go back."

"Okay, I got it," Dean cleared his throat. "Ready for lunch?"

"Yeah, ready for lunch."