Title: Some Things Can't Be Undone
Author:
borgmama1of5Summary: 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
apieceofcakeDisclaimer: 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.htmlPart Two:
http://borgmama1of5.livejournal.com/58750.html The shadow made Cassie look up, she hadn’t heard footsteps. It wasn’t anywhere near the end of her shift, Dean knew that, so why was he here? More research? But then she was arrested by the fierce look on his face. She hadn’t seen that expression on him before. It made her think of what a condemned man on the gallows might look like. Nothing to lose.
As soon as he saw her looking at him, the reckless expression disappeared. Still serious, yes, but he was almost beseeching her to understand something …
“Dean?”
“Cassie, we have to talk.”
“I don’t get off till nine again tonight.”
“I know, and that will be too late. I won’t be here then. We’ve gotta talk now … please. Can … Is there someone else who can watch for … unauthorized library patrons,” his lips quirked at that, “for just a few minutes?”
“Well, I can call Anne away from shelving, I guess.”
He nodded.
Cassie could see the blatant curiosity as Anne came to the counter, but she just said ‘sure’ when Cassie asked her to take over for a short while.
“Let’s go in here.” Dean took Cassie’s arm and guided her to the room where he’d been engrossed in research the other day. He shut the door.
“Okay, I know this is going to sound … unbelievable. Just hear me out before you say anything, okay?”
That look of abandonment of his better judgment was back on his face. It scared her. Before she could react he continued.
“What my dad and I do is, we hunt evil things. Like supernatural things, ghosts, werewolves, monsters, not … human things.”
She couldn’t help it. Cassie backed away.
“Please, you have to understand. I know these things aren’t supposed to exist, okay, but they do. My mom, my mom was killed by a demon. In a fire, in my brother’s nursery. The demon put her on the ceiling and burned her. Ever since, that’s all my dad has done, hunt the sons of bitches that can hurt other innocent people because no one believes they exist. And that’s what he trained me and my brother to do, too.”
He was insane.
He must have read her face.
“I know it’s hard to believe, and I wouldn’t tell you like this except we’re leaving tonight. That research I’ve been doing, I figured out the ghosts responsible for the deaths around Wilson Hall for the last hundred years, and we have to salt and burn them tonight and then we’ve gotta go. But I couldn’t just leave, have you think I just disappeared on you. Not when … not when I’ve never felt like this about anybody.” His last words were a whisper.
It was too much to absorb.
“You’re leaving tonight?”
“Yes.”
“And you want me to believe it’s because you’re off hunting monsters?”
“I’m sure Dad has an idea for the next hunt … but we have to leave tonight because after we dig up the graves, well, we just can’t risk staying around in case the cops figure it out. If it wasn’t so many of ’em it wouldn’t be such a big deal, Dad would still want to go but I’d push to stay a little longer … but this time it’s just too much of a chance.”
“You’re digging up graves tonight?”
“Yeah, I …”
“Stop.” Cassie held up her hands. “You’re telling me that you hunt things that don’t exist - ghosts and demons and vampires - and that you are digging up graves tonight and then leaving.”
She closed her eyes, unable to look at his face. Because when she looked in his eyes she could almost believe his bizarre story. And it couldn’t possibly be true. She’d been right, she didn’t want to know what he really did. Because this had to be a made-up story to hide something worse, right?
“Cassie, please believe me.”
She couldn’t. There was no way he was going to walk into her life and turn the entire way the world is upside-down.
“I have nothing more to say to you, Dean Winchester.” A flare of pride that her voice came out steady in spite of what she was feeling.
“Cassie …”
His voice broke as he said her name and he moved toward her. Self-preservation kicked in - if he touched her she would never be able to let him go. She took another step away from him.
“Please just go. It’s my own fault I let myself fall for you, you don’t have to make up a story to let me down easy. I get it, I do. The sex was great. A fun little fling for both of us. And you’re leaving tonight so it’s over. So just go.”
And then, she knew it was cowardly, but she couldn’t stay in this little room with him for a second longer, so Cassie turned and walked out.
He’d been an idiot.
Dean slammed the Impala door, turned the music up full volume, and tore out of the parking lot like the Gates of Hell had opened and the devil was after him with all his troops. There’s a reason we don’t talk about it, he could hear his dad’s voice castigating him. And a reason we don’t get involved, he berated himself.
Never again, he promised. One-night stands, love ’em and leave ’em, only way it can ever be. So that’s how it will be.
***
Dean wished Mary Robert’s ghost had put up a fight that would have given him some satisfaction, but one rock salt blast was all it took to dispel her long enough to finish the job on her remains.
He obviously wasn’t covering his distress because his dad asked twice if Dean was okay.
“Yeah. Sure.”
Dad cocked his head and stared at him. “You set with the plan for tonight?”
“Three graves at Cucklor, call to check in, two at Zion, while you clear Higgins and Hanning, then we meet at Simms for the rest.”
“You’ve got everything packed so we can take off from the cemetery? I picked up a lead on a case near Tulsa, and that’s far enough from here in case there’s any fallout.”
Dean didn’t answer, just gave a nod and headed back to the car.
A solo salt-and-burn was always tricky. It required being hyper aware of the sound of something coming at your back, dropping the shovel and grabbing the sawed-off before it could reach you. Dean made it through the first two excavations but got caught at the third. Frederick Jefferson was not happy about being dug up. Dean was just slow enough that the ghost flung him away from the grave before Dean could get the shotgun. It was pure luck that Dean hit the ground instead of a headstone. Still knocked the wind from him, but dirt was definitely softer than marble.
When Jefferson came at him again, Dean had a fistful of salt from his pocket ready, and then scrambled back to the shovel. Digging with one hand was a bitch but Jefferson didn’t back off and it was pretty much ‘shovel, shovel, shoot, shovel’ until he threw the lighter on the gasoline-soaked bones.
Damn. He hoped the ghosts at Zion would be easier. And that the ones his dad had to handle wouldn’t figure out what was happening until they were burning.
At the car he called, got voicemail, but John called back within a few minutes to say he’d finished his first three and had just arrived at Hanning.
The second ghost at Zion threw Dean into a tree, and it was grimly satisfying to torch that sucker.
Two-thirty in the morning found the two of them tackling the first of the seven graves at Simms. The routine was a relief, one digging, one watching. And the Simms’ spirits were not happy. However it was going smoothly until the next-to-last one. Fenton Simms called upon his old man for help, and suddenly Dean found himself flying through the air even as his dad was shooting in the other direction.
“Dad!”
John whirled and shot as Dean’s luck ran out and he hit one of those super-sized monuments with his whole left side.
Shit, ouch, and fuck combined into one explosive sound.
“Dean!”
He dimly heard the shotgun go off again. Couldn’t leave Dad alone. Blood was dripping in his left eye, but Dean staggered upright and headed back toward the noise.
“Down!”
He dropped, rock pellets sprayed over his head. Getting up without putting weight on his left arm was tricky, but suddenly his dad was there, helping him up.
“How bad you hurt?”
“Banged into a tombstone with m’ head and left arm … ’M all right, let’s just get this finished.”
“I’ll dig, can you handle the gun?”
“Yeah.” Dean swiped at the blood on his face, then wiped his hand on his jeans. This was what he did. For a fleeting second he wondered if Cassie would believe if she was here now, but there was no time for that, the Simms were both back.
Two shots, a quick reload.
“Got it! Just hold ’em off another minute, Dean!”
Last one. The judge was in a mausoleum, so they wouldn’t have to dig. But they still had to move fast.
Simms came at them twice while John was getting the lock open. Dean was ready both times, but then a wave of dizziness hit him and he had to lean against the building for support.
“Dean?”
With that one-word question Dean knew his dad wanted to know if he could count on Dean to continue watching his back. Dean straightened in answer. No way was this bastard getting past him.
“Go, Dad.”
Dean backed in behind John, feeling his way carefully on the uneven floor. Now that they were in the crypt, however, Simms attacked from John’s other side and it was Dean’s turn to yell, “Get down!” and fire.
“I’ve got it.” John tugged at the casket on the shelf, with a grunt pulling it to crash on the stone floor. John was emptying the gas can over the mess as Dean turned and took Simms out one more time. Then the match flamed, a whoosh, and his dad was shoving Dean out the entrance.
It was over.
Since Dean was pretty sure he didn’t have a concussion - he knew exactly what those felt like - his dad didn’t argue about Dean driving the Impala. And because he was a mess, John agreed to make a stop back at the motel long enough for Dean to wash the blood and dirt off and see if stitches were needed on his forehead.
Fortunately they weren’t.
The sun was just rising. “Ready to go, Dean?”
No. “Dad, listen, I need to finish something before I leave.”
“Not a good idea to stick around, you know that. Plan was to leave from the cemetery, not even stop back here.”
“I know, but this won’t take long, and I have to … have to do this, okay? Look, you go ahead, I’ll catch up with you in Indiana.”
“Dean …”
Dean looked John straight in the face. He didn’t ask his dad for much. He had to have just a little more time. Just this once, Dad.
His dad must have understood the message.
“Be careful. I’ll stop in the first town across the state line on Route 70. How long you gonna be?”
“I’ll be outa here by eight.”
They’d discarded all the notes on the case once it had been recorded in Dad’s journal last night. Dean pulled the two largest scraps out of the trash bucket and smoothed them out. On the back of the smaller paper he wrote:
Cassie-
Leaving with my dad now.
Be safe. There really are bad things out there. I hope you never know about them.
But if you ever need me call this number.
He stopped. Stared at what he’d written. He was leaving, didn’t matter, really.
He finished writing. He’d never written that word before.
Love,
Dean
Then he wrote the number for the cell phone that only Dad and Sam knew, each one of them having a back-up emergency phone whose number was never given to anyone else so it never had to be changed. He folded the bigger paper around his note and taped it closed. It wasn’t until he was done Dean saw the blood smear on the improvised envelope, but there weren’t any other pieces of paper in the garbage big enough to use instead.
Cassie wouldn’t know what it was, anyway.
He waited outside the library until a quarter to eight, when he saw the shy student walk up the stairs to unlock the place. Wish he could think of her name, but …
“Hey.”
The poor kid jumped a foot.
Dean smiled. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”
“Oh, um, yeah, that’s okay …” She was clearly trying to figure out why he was there so early. “Do you need to get in …”
Dean could see exactly when his beat-up appearance registered. “Um, you don’t look so good. Are you hurt? Should I … call somebody?”
He must have grimaced instead of smiled because she recoiled nervously. Dean deliberately put on his reassuring grin. He was a master at keeping his face separated from his feelings, right?
“I’m fine, sweetheart. Just need you to do me a favor. Give this to Cassie when she comes in today, okay?”
“Um, sure. You sure you don’t need like, a doctor or something?”
“Nah, I’m peachy. You have a good day, now, and just be sure to give that to Cassie for me.” She nodded. “Thanks.”
And he walked noiselessly away.
***
She hadn’t been able to sleep at all. And the thought of breakfast - even just coffee - made her feel like vomiting.
She didn’t have any way to get in touch with him.
What if she was wrong? What if there really were things out there that people didn’t know about, and he really did hunt them? She was going to be a journalist, she should be able to track down the truth.
But she thought she already knew. It had been on his face. He knew it was an outlandish story, and if he just wanted to dump her there were a million easier lies to say. He wouldn’t have even had to say anything, just leave.
But he’d trusted her with the truth - the truth as he saw it, anyway - and she had walked away because it scared the shit out of her. Because he scared her.
And it was easier to have him leave.
When Cassie arrived at the library at one o’clock, Anne was waiting right inside the library door nervously fingering a ratty-looking paper.
“D-Dean left this for you.” Anne glanced at Cassie expectantly, like she would open it right there.
“Thanks.”
She put it in her bag, clocked in. When Anne’s eyes finally stopped following Cassie’s every move, Cassie slid it out and stopped into the restroom.
The was a brownish-red streak on one side of the paper. Blood?
The morning news included a brief story about a bizarre string of grave desecrations that had occurred overnight. The police didn’t know if it was theft related or occultist. Theories were flying.
She read the neatly printed note.
Love,
Dean
What had she done? Cassie put her fist in her mouth and sobbed as quietly as she could.