Some Things Can't Be Undone--2/3--SPN fic

[borgmama1of5]

Title: Some Things Can't Be Undone
Author:borgmama1of5
Summary: The story of Dean and Cassie that Sam never learned.
Wordcount: 15,900
Genre/pairing: Het--Dean/Cassie
Spoilers: None
Rating: R
Beta: sandymg  who made this so much better with her contributions
Art: The two amazing banners graciously made by apieceofcake
Disclaimer: Playing in the Supernatural sandbox, not mine, no profit. Just love.
A/N: This was posted about a year ago on ff.net, but the fantastic banners made by  apieceofcake  made me want to share it again.




Part One: http://borgmama1of5.livejournal.com/58503.html

Dean figured he’d have four days - four days before Dad got back from Texas. Four days of library research and four nights of exploring just how far he and Cassie could go …

Something about her was throwing him. She sure wasn’t the first girl he’d screwed in a crappy motel room, although he didn’t usually cuddle and fall asleep after … But it was bothering him just how trashy the room really was. Knew she’d noticed in the morning, and reflected it on him.

And that was closer to the problem. Yeah, occasionally he had to handle ‘morning after’ regrets, which was why he tried not to stick around for breakfast. But even if the chick felt a little Puritanical guilt he could coax ’em out of it because, let’s face it, fucking was supposed to feel good, and how could feeling good be a bad thing? Especially because Dean Winchester knew how to make a girl feel really good. Leaning back in the library chair, he smirked. His own personal ‘art form.’

Dean checked his watch. Cassie’d be coming in shortly. Library was only open a few hours on Sunday. He yawned and dragged a hand through his hair. He really better find something on those names from Dad. Wondered again if he should ask Cassie for help, but no, he wasn’t going to. She had nothing to do with his ‘real’ life. Yeah, mistake. She was different. Smart, focused, had a plan for her future.

Hell, he knew his future, too. He’ll be hunting at his dad’s side until … Until what? Dad retires? Kills the thing that killed Mom? Till Dad’s a hair too slow and Dean’s not fast enough and it’s over for one of them? Or both?

If Sam came back they could watch out for Dad together, have each other’s back …

Damn, his head was so messed up today. Sitting in here was pointless. Might as well go check out the suspicious dorm room.

Cassie wouldn’t miss him anyway.

“Oh, Dean’s been upstairs since opening.” Anne was perkily helpful answering Cassie’s question. Like she suspected that it was more than a casual inquiry. Like there was a blinking sign over her head that said, “Slept with him!” Unless it was saying worse, “Falling for him!”

“I’m just going to check on what he’s doing.”

That got her a Cheshire Cat grin. Okay, Anne was definitely thinking too much. “Sure, Cassie.”

“He’s not there.” Cassie swooped back down the stairs and waited for Anne to clarify.

“I didn’t see him leave …”

Snort. If he didn’t want you to see him then you wouldn’t, Cassie thought. Not Anne’s fault. Not her job to keep track of the unauthorized patron in the restricted stacks. Nobody’s job. He wasn’t supposed to be there. And he wasn’t. That was good, what she wanted, right?

She locked the door behind her at four o’clock, and there he was. Serious. His face made her chest hurt. It was so much easier to dismiss him when he was obnoxiously flirting.

Cassie spoke first. “No research today? All done?”

He completely ignored her neutral gambit.

“I feel like I owe you some kind of apology. And I’m damned if I can figure out what for. So whatever I did wrong, I’m sorry. Not sorry for last night, though.” With the last words his chin came up and Cassie quailed at the openness in his eyes.

She couldn’t breathe. Whatever else he was, he was honest. And if she were honest too, she wanted him. Again.

Cassie very deliberately ignored all the warning bells clamoring in her head and reached up to kiss him.

It was definitely reciprocal at first - Dean’s hands moved to her shoulders and he pulled her close to him - and then mid-kiss he drew his tongue back and stepped apart, though still gripping her shoulders tightly.

“I thought I’m a mistake,” he said hoarsely.

“I … I don’t honestly know,” Cassie admitted. “Maybe … maybe you are, but … maybe that doesn’t matter …”

Now his hands dropped to his sides and his eyes went dark and shuttered. “You have to decide. Your life. Your choice. Let me know if you want to see me again. But I don’t expect you will.”

With bitterness in his voice Dean turned and headed toward the street. His back was stiff and proud, his hands clenched in fists.

This was it. Let him walk away and she was safe. Keep the memory of last night locked away and let it fade until it never happened. That would be the smart thing. But would it be the right thing? Suddenly, Cassie was angry. She hadn’t asked him to waltz into her life and complicate it, and it wasn’t fair of him to leave it completely up to her. If he wanted to be with her then say so.

He did say it, whispered in her mind.

Not really, she responded. And she was running after him, grabbed his arm.

He froze mid-step. She didn’t give him time to say anything, just blurted out her words with deadly intensity.

“You came into my library and … you … you came on to me! And last night was … okay, dammit, I’ve never had a night like that before. So now you don’t get to walk away without telling me your feelings!”

Dean actually took a step back from her. She moved with him. His glibness was gone.

“What the hell do you want from me? I am what I am. Not safe and solid boyfriend material by your standards. So, I’m leaving you to figure out what you want. Without me to confuse you,” he hissed.

“That’s a copout and you know it!”

“I don’t see any other options. ’S not up to me what you do!”

“Do you care?”

His steel gaze wavered, then he looked down.

“Yeah. I do.” It was a whisper. “It probably is a bad idea. I have no idea what to do. But, God, you’re beautiful … and amazing …” he bit his lip, “and I want to be with you.”

“So we’re in agreement that this is a bad idea.” Cassie kept her voice as soft as his and put her hand out.

“Yeah.” He started to pull away but Cassie kept her grasp on his arm.

“And we’re going to do it anyway.” She pressed her lips back to his and this time he didn’t pull away.

***

“Look. No offense, okay? But, I am not going back to that motel room.”

Bodies tangled together in the passenger seat, and having just slid his fingers against the satiny skin under her lacy bra, Dean said the first thing that popped into his mind.

“There’s plenty of room in the back seat.”

“What kind of a girl do you think I am?” Cassie pulled her lips away from his throat.

“A horny one.”

Dean could see the struggle between Cassie wanting to be angry and wanting to laugh. He nudged with what he hoped would take her in the second direction.

“Hey, if we’re going with making a mistake, might as well do it right.”

She did laugh. “You’re bad.” She resumed running her tongue along the tendons of his neck. Her deliberateness was intoxicating. He wanted he wanted …

“My dorm.”

“Mmmm?”

“I have a private room. No one cares.”

“You sure?”

“Now.” Cassie gave him a little push toward the steering wheel. His groan as he pulled away was only half-joking, but she nestled right up to him and set her hand on the inside of his thigh. Dean drove as fast as he thought he could get away with.

In retrospect, their first night proved to have been only a prologue. They took turns shivering each other to climax, lips, hands, tongues fully enraptured in simultaneous exploration and pleasuring.

Finally both were satiated and Dean drifted to sleep with Cassie’s breath ghosting against his chest and her name still lingering on his lips as he inhaled the unique spicy fragrance of her hair.

Waking up was disorienting. The pillow under his head was plush and lightly fragrant, a pristine white ceiling loomed above him, a male voice near his head was talking about Donald Rumsfeld and Afghanistan. Dean realized simultaneously he was alone in bed but that the sheets surrounding him were still warm.

“Good morning, Mr. Sunshine.”

Dean squinted his eyes at the clock radio. Six-fifteen?

“Here.” His jeans and shirt landed next to his head.

“Why the fuck are you up so early?”

“I’ve got a life to live.” Dean must have winced at Cassie’s words because she sat down on the edge of the mattress and planted a kiss on his jaw. “I go running every morning and then I have an early class on Mondays and Wednesdays. So I have to get going, and you,” another kiss, this time on his earlobe, “have to leave.”

“I could just wait for you here.”

“Uh-uh. Without a student I.D. you can’t be in the building without me.”

“Seriously? We still wrangling over the stupid I.D.?”

“There is a limit to how many rules I will break for you, Dean Winchester.” There was an edge to the tease in Cassie’s voice. Wasn’t worth pushing, he couldn’t stay here all day anyway.

“A’ right. We’ll just have to see about tonight, then. ’Cause my backseat can be pretty cozy.”

Cassie ran a fingertip lightly down his bare chest. “We’ll just see about that,” she murmured. The assumption they’d be seeing each other again that night hung between them for a second. The promise in Cassie’s voice brought his cock to attention and he snaked a finger up the leg of her running shorts hoping to distract her.

She was, however, made of stronger stuff and slid away from him. “Not kidding, Dean. You have to go now.” But she took the sting out of her words by adding, “I’ll see you at the library later, right?”

***

Figures he’d get a break when he least expected, and from a completely lame-ass source. Buried on the bottom of a bookshelf in a corner, the title Haunted Ohio made Dean pause and slide the book out because it was hardly restricted and most likely just misshelved. Among its dubious records of paranormal activities was a lengthy article about Judge John Simms and his unpleasant proclivity to order death by hanging for both freed slaves and supposed witches, both of which Simms hated. The author then continued in dramatic detail about the sightings of the ghosts of his victims, and damned if several of the surnames on his dad’s list didn’t match up with the names on Simms’ hit list.

Dean collected all the pertinent information and briefly considered tossing the book in his backpack but that would be shabby repayment of Cassie’s trust, so he tucked it back where he found it.

Now that he had an inkling of what else he was looking for, newspaper records would probably be the most help.

It was too early for Cassie to have come in yet, but her coworkers were behind the counter as usual. Rowan and the other one who never seemed to meet his eyes.

“So, if I want to check the Athens newspaper archives for some names for, say, the last one hundred or so years, will you have the records here or do I go to the newspaper offices?”

Rowan leaned on the marble top, pretty much inviting him to look down her cleavage. Which he did while she pondered his question. “I don’t think we have that far back … Anne? Do you know?”

Anne’s pointy little face hid under frizzy red bangs, and she sucked on her lip. “Cassie would know for sure just how far back,” she said finally. “We do have some of the really old newspapers on microfiche. But it’s another restricted section,” she added.

Dean simply flashed his most innocent smile and Anne caved, mumbling, “I guess Cassie’d say okay,” and led him to the files.

So now he had a shit pile of dates and facts to go with the names on his dad’s list. Had to be a pattern in there somewhere … Dean ran a hand over his face, what the fuck time was it now, anyway?

There was a light tap on the door to his cubicle. He turned to see Cassie looking through the glass panel and he nodded her in.

“Coming up for air?” she asked.

“Um, yeah …” Real snappy response, he thought. He wanted to let the research go, wanted to just drink in the beautiful woman standing there, get close and smell her ever-so-slightly exotic scent, sweep his fingers over her glossy brown skin, taste the fierceness of her warm mouth …

“Earth to Dean! Are you all there?” Cassie snapped her fingers at him.

He rubbed his eyes, buying time to pull himself together. It would be so easy … so satisfying … to just let this happen …

“Do you work till closing tonight?”

“Yes, a couple more hours. You’ve been in here since noon, Anne said. Must be really fascinating to keep you here all that time without taking a break to eat.”

Now that it had been mentioned, naturally the feeling of being famished attacked him. But the dribbles of facts about John Simms and Mary Roberts and David Tischman and a dozen more were swirling around his brain and he needed to do something with them … or with Cassie … he couldn’t handle the mash-up in his head between phantoms and the real person next to him …

“I’m gonna go … grab something to eat, okay?”

“Sure.”

Dean really thought he could walk past her without pausing but Cassie put a hand on his chest to stop him and opened her mouth invitingly and there was no way to resist. Though her eyes were puzzled when he pulled away after just brushing his tongue to hers. “Back soon,” he muttered as he put some space between them and headed for the library exit.

He hadn’t meant to return to the motel room with his burger, but the weight of the case was pulling at him. While he could stare at words just as well at the library as here, he knew that his focus would be divided, wanting to stare just as hard at his …

What, exactly? He couldn’t presume to call Cassie his girlfriend … Winchesters didn’t do girlfriends. He amended that. He didn’t know if his dad had a girlfriend before Mom. Certainly none after. And Dean hadn’t ever called one of his flings by that title, even if a few high school girls had wanted to consider themselves such … but Sam, well who knew, maybe Sam had hooked himself up with a steady girl by now. That’d be normal for a college kid, wouldn’t it?

Stop it, he ordered himself. There’s a case to be solved before anyone else gets hurt. Dad left him with the pieces, he just had to put the puzzle together.

He ended up writing out a piece of paper for every name, every location, and every date and started to lay them out on the bedspread in groups. Rudimentary line-ups at first, putting the dates in sequence, then matching up the names by date of death, then by where they were buried, then shifting the scraps around …There was something there, just out of focus …

Crap! It was after one a.m. How could he have been caught up in this for four hours? God, Cassie was gonna be pissed and how the fuck would he ever explain this?

He took a minute to place some books over the papers on the bed so opening the motel door wouldn’t cause them to flutter out of place, then gunned the Impala over to Cassie’s building.

Of course it was locked. Being after hours and all. He could pick the lock easily enough … but that didn’t seem like the best idea, to showcase his breaking-and-entering skills for a girl he was trying to … impress.

Dean rested his back against the brick wall and then slid down to sit on the concrete walkway. He’d screwed this up big time. Why did it matter? Dad was gonna be back in two, three days max, and Dean was pretty sure some grave digging was gonna be happening regardless of what else was going on with this pentagram thing, and then they would leave. And that would be it, right?

’Cause what else could there possibly be?

A few ambitious students started straggling out as the sun was rising, most either clutching coffee or heading off in running shoes. Dean thought about standing up but it was just too damn much work. His body had settled into comfortably stiff against the wall and getting up would be a bitch, so he allowed himself to return to the light doze he’d been in most of the night.

“Dean?”

He was standing before he hit completely conscious when he heard the confused incredulous angry sound of his name.

“Um, good morning?”

“Where the hell were you last night?” Cassie didn’t yell, rather her voice was quietly freezing.

“Sitting here for most of it.” Dean tried to deflect the frostiness with a grin.

Pretty much knew it wouldn’t distract her.

“I don’t know what game you’re playing, Dean, but I’m not some … some booty call for your convenience. So just leave me alone, okay?”

Words of explanation tumbled futilely through his brain and none of them seemed worth uttering in the face of Cassie’s icy stare. “I’m …” sorry, he was about to say, but he was sorry for so much more than missing last night and it was too much.

“Screw you,” came out tiredly instead, and with that Dean turned and walked away.

Screw you. Cassie couldn’t believe he had the audacity to say that to her. He’d been the one …

“Don’t you dare walk away from me, Dean Winchester! Or are you a coward? Ashamed to look me in the face?”

Half the students in the vicinity were looking uncomfortable, the rest were clearly interested in the diversion of an early morning lovers’ quarrel. Oh, God, she was making a scene … over a guy she’s known less than … a week.

But she’d gotten Dean’s attention, he reversed his stride. And he also noticed the attention they were attracting.

“If you want to do this right now, in front of an audience, I will. You’re the one with an image to keep up, not me.”

Damn him anyway. She didn’t have an image. Just dignity. Nonetheless, she came closer and lowered her voice. “Where were you last night?”

He looked surprised at her switch to calmness. Cassie wasn’t sure he was going to answer. And what the hell was with her sudden … possessiveness? Why did it matter that he hadn’t come back to the library? Who cares what he did last night. Except, she did.

He rubbed the back of his neck. “I got caught up with the … work I’m doing. The research. Trying to put it together. Before I knew, it was late.” His head tilted toward her dorm building. “Doors were locked.”

She studied him. His story made sense. Why hadn’t he just explained? Why’d he get all pissy? “You could have just said that.”

“You coulda been less of a bitch about it.”

Her temper flared again. “Me? I’m not the one who keeps walking away. If you didn’t want to see me, then why sit all night outside my dorm?”

Dean took in her proud, haughty look. She so had him. Truth is he had no good reason for camping out in front of her building like a stalker. He had no good reason for her at all. This case needed solving. And he needed to leave.

“Like you said. It’s a mistake.” He took one step further away from her. “Bye, Cassie.”

Her hand caught his jacket sleeve. “Don’t do this.” Her voice took on a soft rasp, like sand flickering through his fingers.

“Do what?” he asked, fighting the urge to touch those curls again. He shoved his hands in his pockets.

“I … don’t know. Hide. Run. Disappear inside yourself.”

“ ’S that what I do?” his lip twisted up crookedly. Where did she get off psychoanalyzing him? “And what do you do?” She looked puzzled. “What do you do when you don’t like what-”

“When I don’t like what?”

“Nothing. I’m goin’. See you around.” But he didn’t move.

She looked like she suddenly figured something out. “You don’t know what to do about this any more than I do.”

This. Whatever the fuck this was. He was kissing her before he could formulate the thought that there was no place for this in his life.

“Are you coming to the library today?”

No. He was done there, had what he needed.

“I’ll be there when you get out.”

Several cups of strong diner coffee later, Dean was back staring at the puzzle on the motel bed. It wasn’t helping that his mind kept floating back to feeling Cassie pressed against him … Fuck. This was getting him nowhere. He grabbed the list of names and decided to just go to the cemeteries. Find a grave for one of these people, see if that gave him an inspiration. Might as well start with Judge Simms, seeing as he had a cemetery with his name on it.

Most people would laugh at the idea that one graveyard was different than another, but Dean knew that each one was unique. His impressions were affected considerably by whether he was visiting by day or night, but even so, he had come across a place or two that seemed almost peaceful - well-tended, with simple grave markers, stately trees screening visitors from the outside traffic - although that last bit was also valuable whenever they were planning a salt ’n’ burn in a less serene burial ground.

Some cemeteries felt watchful. Sometimes when Dean would cross over a fence he’d get a picture in his mind’s eye of something hibernating, one eye slit open just enough to see who had entered. There would be a mix of old ornate tombstones with smooth rectangular slabs flush to the grass, lots of angels looming over the grounds like they were waiting for someone to vanquish a spirit that was resisting moving on. Sometimes those jobs were easy, sometimes they got nasty.

And then there were places that the only word for them was ‘malevolent.’ Full of massive old monuments and mausoleums, plots chaotically laid out, whole sections for just one family. Evil waiting to fight. Winchesters always left blood when Dean felt that kind of heaviness.

Simms Cemetery had to be one of those, naturally.

“I’m not here to salt-and-burn today,” he muttered. Appeasing the angry ghosts before they got pissed … right. Someone who didn’t know about supernatural shit would think he was ready for the funny farm.

So, there was the ‘hanging tree’ that had been mentioned in the book. Tree protruding sideways from a rocky area where the ground dropped down abruptly five feet. All senses alert, Dean catfooted closer. Yeah, there were the rope scars marring the trunk.

So where was Judge Simms buried? Prowling among the headstones, Dean stopped when something caught his eye. Amelia Cooper. That name was on his dad’s list. 1925 - 1943, Beloved Daughter of Marshall Cooper and Bertha Simms Cooper. Dean shuffled through his notes. She’d been a freshman at Ohio U, mysterious death in Wilson Hall. He looked at the nearby graves. Eldred Burns, Beloved Son. Matthias Burns. Eleanor Simms Burns.

Randall Worthington. Worthington, there was a Worthington in his notes. Jane Worthington, 1947 - 1965. Yahtzee. Tracking the markers, Worthington looked like a branch of the Simms family, too. And Jane had also died on the university campus. At eighteen.

By the time he finished his survey of Simms Cemetery, Dean found six of his leads were Simms’ descendants. Two of them had been professors, according to his research in the newspaper archives. All died on campus. But the papers hadn’t gone back into family history, which is why the connection hadn’t been obvious.

Judge Simms himself was, of course, buried in an elaborate above-ground crypt. Dean was willing to lay odds that Simms would be toasted before this was over, but he had to pin down the other connections.

Hanning Memorial Cemetery. Definite unfriendly vibe this place, too. Nine names left. The last victim, David Tischman, was buried here. 1976. Dean walked around, searching for more links to present themselves. There it was, another name. Cordelia Roberts. 1863 - 1884. Her mother, Mary Roberts, had been hanged as a witch in 1871. By Judge John Simms.

By the time Dean had been to all five cemeteries he was pretty sure that all the victims were related to the same three families. Simms, first. And then the Roberts family, who were actually buried in three different graveyards. That connection to Simms was plain.

He’d found the last of the names on headstones in Cuckler Cemetery, and they all seemed to tie backwards to the Jefferson family. Now he had to figure out the how the Jeffersons fit in to the picture he was getting.

It only took a couple hours at the county registrar’s office to find the last clue. Frederick Jefferson had been a slave in Georgia who’d come to Ohio after the Civil War. He’d run afoul of John Simms and ended up dangling from a rope on the hanging tree.

So what he and Dad were up against was like a feud between the Hatfields and the McCoys … and the Smiths. Or rather, the Hatfields and McCoys together fighting against the Smiths. Or Simms, in this case.

So just how many fucking graves were they gonna have to dig up?

***

Cassie hated when her own feelings confused her. Did she want Dean to be waiting for her tonight or not? Not would be so much easier … and yet … When she realized the she was making a mental list of the pros and cons of seeing him again it was time to give herself a stern order to put Dean Winchester out of your mind, girl! And concentrate on the essay due this week.

She wasn’t terribly successful.

Why was she so hung up on the guy, anyway?

Yes, he was goddamn gorgeous. But she’s seen other guys on campus who were equally attractive. Not quite the same way, but come on, he wasn’t the world’s only beautiful guy.

He had the bad-boy thing going on. But she knew better than to fall for that type of guy.

Okay, in bed … well, he had her there. Best sex she’d ever had. Not that she had that much to compare it too, but still … it was clearly important to him that it be as good for her as for him. Unselfish, okay, that was the word she was looking for.

And if he was that unselfish in bed, it had to be part of his whole personality, didn’t it?

But what did she really know about him? His mother had died when he was little, he had a father who travelled, and a brother who was smart enough to get a scholarship to Stanford … she would bet that Dean, while not necessarily schooling-smart, had more than enough real-world smarts to run rings around a lot of guys with college degrees. It was his concentration, she thought. How focused he was when he was researching. Or making love.

Essay. Right. How the Nazi party adapted their propaganda during the course of World War II.

She had no clue what he really did. If she had to guess she’d think it had to include a good deal of physical labor, from the shape he was in, because he was not the kind of guy who worked out in a gym to get those abs and biceps … and scars. When she’d run her hands over him there’d been a lot of little seams and puckers and a few big ones marring that perfect physique.

Why did she think she didn’t really want to know how he got them even though she was terribly curious.

Maybe what he did was criminal. Could he be the kind of person who lived on the wrong side of the law? The thought stopped her cold. His alertness. His stealth. That sense that he was deliberately hiding part of himself behind that breath-taking smirk. The fact that he stayed in a craphole of a motel with no visible means of support. Could just mean limited funds. Could mean something more sinister.

What had she gotten herself into?

Dean shook his head. This was going to be a sonuvabitch to pull off. There were eighteen corpses that had to be torched to be sure the cycle of vengeance was stopped. He still hadn’t worked out the exact details of what powered the whole mess, though it had to be connected to the pentagram of the cemeteries providing energy to the ghosts.

Dean had thought to set the motel alarm clock to go off a half an hour before the library closed so he wouldn’t blow it again. Although part of him wondered why he was doing this - how could he possibly justify seeing Cassie again when he knew nothing could come of it. He couldn’t stay here, and he couldn’t ask her to drop her life and come with him … hell, he really didn’t want her with him, she wasn’t a hunter, wasn’t meant for living on the road. Couldn’t risk her getting hurt.

Why couldn’t he just walk away?

Why wasn’t she just another physically gratifying one-night stand? Why the hell was he emotionally involved?

She was beautiful. So he’d slept with a lot of beautiful girls.

She was smart. Not like he never slept with an intelligent woman, but okay, he didn’t bother with an I.Q. test beforehand. She had strong opinions … but she wasn’t close-minded, she’d let him in the library, after all. She was … complete, he realized. She didn’t need to be taken care of. And yet she’d let her defenses down for him. And he wanted to … to what? Show her she didn’t have to protect herself so hard, that he would do that for her.

Damn, he was so messed up over this …

And he better go now, if he didn’t want to be late again.

Once again Dean materialized as Cassie was locking the library door.

“Hi.”

He was holding a bouquet of flowers, the kind street corner vendors sell, with an almost bashful look on his face. Almost like he’d never given a girl flowers before.

And all her earlier misgivings dissolved like sidewalk chalk in the rain as she reached up and responded with a kiss.

They ended up back in her dorm room. Much as Cassie wanted to talk, to ask him to explain away her nagging thoughts, the heat of being near him was too much. So it wasn’t until much later, lying together in contented exhaustion, she tried one last time.

“So what are you researching next? Something around Athens?”

“Dunno yet. Not quite finished here. But it’s up to m’dad.”

“What about what you want?”

Silence. She looked over and those green eyes were staring at the ceiling like the answer to a mystery was written up there.

“Dean?”

He effectively stopped her questions with another unforgettable kiss and her need for answers vanished under her need for him.

***

As Dean turned into the pothole-ridden motel lot in the morning, his stomach sank. Dad’s truck was parked in the Impala’s spot. Great. Now Dad knew he’d been out all night. Dammit, he was a grown man, so why did knowing his dad was inside waiting make him want to piss like a scared little kid?

Dean opened the room door to find his dad staring at the scraps of paper still lying on the second bed. The air gusting in sent them fluttering but John settled them down automatically.

“Where were you?”
Well, Dad never did beat around the bush.

“Out.” Wasn’t like this was the first time Dean had been out all night. “Didn’t know what time you’d get back here.” Dammit, why did that sound so defensive? Diversion. “So what did you find out in San Antonio?”

“Not a damn thing. Total waste of gas,” John said disgustedly.

“Well, I think I’ve got it, Dad.”

Dean laid out his findings and then continued with his thoughts on how to handle eighteen salt-and-burns in one night. Finished, he waited for his dad to react.

“So, it all stems from Judge Simms? And you don’t think we should start with him?”

“I just think if we get rid of the other ghosts in his family tree first he’ll be weaker when we get to him.”

“Eighteen graves in one night, huh.” John stopped but Dean could hear the rest of the sentence: sure would be easier with Sam to help.

It was true, but there wasn’t anything to be said about that.

“We can do Mary Roberts today, she’s actually buried on what was her family’s farm. And splitting up the graves, it’ll be tricky to do some alone, but I don’t see any other way to get it all done.”

“You did good work here, Dean,” John said gruffly. “I’m going to get some shut-eye, been driving all night. We’ll tackle the first grave late afternoon, do the rest tonight, and be out of here in the morning.”

“Tomorrow morning? We have to leave that soon?”

His dad gave him a look that said ‘what is wrong with you?’ “We don’t want to be hanging around here when the authorities find that many desecrated graves in the morning.”

“We don’t have to do it tonight. You just got in …”

“Do you want to risk someone else’s life? No way to know when the bastards might pick another victim. We wait, someone gets hurt … You want that?”

“No.” Shit. He thought he’d have more time.

Dean sat in the Impala, Foreigner blasting. He wanted to drive somewhere to think but knew it really wouldn’t matter where he drove, his mind would still be stuck with the same problem. He couldn’t just disappear this time. He didn’t want to.

What if? What if he stayed here? There had to be work he could do, auto repair, manual labor, something that would support him. And Cassie could finish school and then move wherever she wanted to work and he could go with her … He’d have to keep a low profile after finishing tonight’s job … he could do that.

But how could he live a normal life knowing about all the evil crap still out there, hurting innocent people? Could he really pretend he was blind to it? Could he just run away from it like Sam did? Leave his dad to hunt alone?

Was there another possibility?

What if he told Cassie what he really did? They’d occasionally had to explain the truth to civilians caught in the middle of a case. Most of ’em didn’t want to believe what they were hearing, but a few understood there was more going on than they’d known, accepted that the Winchesters were protecting them.

Cassie believed truth shouldn’t be hidden … maybe she’d understand? Like when she talked about being a journalist to show people what was really happening around them? Wasn’t this the same thing? Working without notice for the good of everyone?

He wished there was someone he could talk to, tell him if he was about to do the right thing … or something very stupid. He pulled out his phone, pulled up Sam’s number. Stopped. He was pretty sure what his brother would say. Sam wouldn’t hold with hiding the truth from someone who was important to him. Hell, Sam would tell him to grow a pair, say ‘screw you’ to Dad and quit. But Dean couldn’t do that. He couldn’t just abandon Dad like that.

Dean chewed on his lip, hating this uncertain feeling. They didn’t tell civilians about what they did. Dad had drilled that into him growing up. Knew Dad would be angry, wouldn’t understand why Dean had to do this. But if he and Cassie were going to have any kind of a future at all, he had to be honest with her. Because a hunter is who he was. And she’d either accept that … or she wouldn’t.

Dean took a deep breath. He was going to do this.

***

Part Three: http://borgmama1of5.livejournal.com/59098.html