AN: Hey friends! So this is the last chapter of What It Takes, but I plan on writing a collection of one-shots that will continue right where this story left off, for those who want to continue reading my take on these characters. Thanks to everyone who stuck by this story from Do You Recall until the end.

The chapter title is by Journey.

What It Takes

X: After the Fall

It got worse.

Few people who remembered Elena Hayes actually took notice of her return to Hill City. It was a small town that for the most part kept to itself. Quiet but busy, there wasn't much that stirred the pot.

But those who remembered her quickly noticed the obvious change in her appearance, as well as the man who occasionally accompanied her around town (though those times were few). Her neighbors were quiet people; Frank and Lisette, an elderly couple, still lived nearly a quarter a mile down the road, putting Elena's house at the edge of town and quite literally on the outskirts. There was a younger married couple that moved into a house the same distance beside, but she hadn't met them.

In a way, maybe that was better.

The first thing Elena did was clean the house, despite the chemicals that almost made her sick. Dean didn't even reprimand her though, which both surprised and didn't surprise her. In the week following their arrival, he slept. Really slept, longer than she thought he was capable of. But she realized it was his body undergoing a forced shut down from what it endured, physically and emotionally.

When he was awake, and continued to be in the weeks following, he drank more than he ate. She couldn't bring herself to say anything. Not then, and not when he started burying himself in what used to be her father's office until the early hours of the morning, reading ancient books from the trunk of the Impala under lamplight.

That was another thing, the Impala.

She traded with the Camaro for the garage, and Dean covered her with a tarp, only taking what he needed from the trunk.

It wasn't until after the first month of bills rolled in that Elena realized the life insurance from both her parents wasn't going to cover the expenses forever. Not after everything this baby was going to need, and continue to need once she was born. They still hadn't even started.

But she was loath to bring finance up to Dean. She didn't want to pressure him to get a job and integrate with society so soon. As it was now, he was getting used to just doing chores around the house, doing some laundry and mowing the lawn. Val came by occasionally, usually with Matt. Elena explained, not without difficulty, in briefest terms to Val what had happened for them to move back (without any of the supernatural or Apocalypse-related elements), more or less permanently as Matt and Dean kicked a soccer ball back and forth in the backyard.

"I'm sorry, I…can't even imagine," Val said, shaking her head minutely.

To think of that man that had seemed…decent. A gentle giant to be sure…they had only met once and he was gone. She hadn't even had one conversation solely with Sam Winchester, and she hoped the asshole that hit him driving drunk remembered his guilt for the rest of his life.

Val didn't really know Dean all that well either, but she could see the change in her friend's boyfriend. His overall demeanor was closed off, almost blank if it weren't for the empty smiles and polite inserts at all the appropriate times. Like he was going through the motions but nothing was going on behind his eyes.

Hints of the man she had met before came out in sparks, like when Elena brought him and Matt some fresh lemonade, and Dean thanked her softly when their hands brushed, their eyes meeting briefly with something unspoken passing between them. Or when, after Matt had been talking at him for an hour, said something that brought an unexpected smile to Dean's face. Small, Val observed, but genuine.

So he wasn't all right. Neither was Elena for that matter. The woman's hands shook occasionally, always fidgeting with something, and she was too pale. But for now, from what Val could see, it was enough that what was between her and Dean when they looked at each other wasn't just them going through the motions.

And it just wasn't Val's place to bring any of that up.

"Mom had a nervous breakdown," she said, visibly surprising Elena.

"What happened?" she asked.

"It came out at Matt's birthday last month that Dad had been sleeping with girlfriend number five before the divorce papers were even served. Mom ripped him a new asshole," Val took a long sip of lemonade, "And shoved cake down the hussy's dress."

Elena winced.

"Restraining order?" she asked.

"Restraining order." Val nodded affirmatively. "And an institution to fix whatever wires crossed upstairs."

"Jesus…I'm sorry," Elena said, shaking her head. Val shrugged dispassionately.

"Mattie's with me now," she said. "Mom's getting help…that's all that matters."

When Val left, the bit of life that had been breathed into the house was sucked out again, leaving the couple where they were before. They ate meals together, watched movies, slept beside each other, but talked minimally. Dean drank. Elena cleaned and worried.

She thought they were getting better when, after fabricated credentials came in the mail for a "Nathan Dean Whitman" from "Robert Singer," Dean got a job for a mechanic Elena's father had known well. Jim Murphy was an older man, climbing up in his late sixties, but was still plenty sharp and had a knack for what he did, as well as knowing who to hire. He gave Dean the job after finding out he was the owner of the '67 Impala he'd seen pass through town on the way to Jack Hayes' old place.

For a while, Dean was better. He had something to put his all into, working with his hands and distracting himself from the research she knew he was doing when he thought she was asleep. Not that she had anything wrong with him trying to find a way to help Sam. Of course she didn't. In fact, she'd stayed up plenty of nights with her laptop and a couple of those books herself.

But she was seeing him start to go down the same path Sam had two years before.

She saw it in his eyes, dull and tired from the nightmares that wouldn't let either of them sleep. In the long days that dragged when he was gone, even more when he stayed out late. There was a bar maybe five minutes from the house, and it was five minutes plus another few hours he was willing to spend until he stumbled into the house, past where she laid on the couch waiting, and to their shared bed. But she also knew the very last thing he wanted to do was talk about anything remotely close to what happened at Stull Cemetery.

So on a Saturday night while alphabetizing the DVD rack, she improvised.

"I'll be back," Dean said to her, car keys in hand. He'd been driving her dad's truck ever since he put Baby in the garage. He hadn't even touched her Camaro.

"Dean," she stopped him before he could get to the door. He looked back at her. Elena looked down at the movie in her hands and found a short burst of inspiration.

"Want to watch Tommy Boy with me?"

Maybe he saw the hope in her eyes, but when he blinked he seemed to falter slightly.

"Uh…sure. When I get back, okay?"

She inwardly deflated.

"Oh…okay." They both knew that by the time he got back, Dean wouldn't even remember they had this conversation.

She bit her lip and chanced glancing up at him. Surprisingly, he was still standing there, outwardly blank. Though the shift in his eyes told her he was considering his options.

Then he left.

Elena simmered for five hours, worried and frustrated at the same time. She always worried when he did this. Worked up as much as he could while drunk, he could make some very reckless and very stupid decisions, especially if he was thinking about Sam.

If, she thought humorlessly. Like there was an "if" about it. Not that she was doing much better than him.

She breathed a sigh of relief when the lock giggled in the front door for half a minute before it opened. Dean set the keys on the kitchen counter and sat heavily at the table, just staring at the empty chair in front of him. This was what she hated the most—when she realized he'd stopped pretending everything was okay, and she had no idea what the fuck to do.

But she went to him anyway. Her hand kneaded the knots between his neck and shoulder blades while the other used the table as support. He grunted when she found a particularly tight area.

"You need to stop," she told him quietly, finding her courage. "You're burning out."

He removed her hand from his neck and stood, moving to the sink to splash some water on his face. He let it drip down as his hands found either side of the sink.

"Dean," she pressed. Still, he stared down into an empty sink, where water swirled down the drain. Down the rabbit hole, snapped up into the Cage with his baby brother.

"Maybe I deserve it," he murmured, his words only slightly slurred.

Elena stared at his back and blinked away the burn of sad and frustrated tears.

"Dean," she pleaded, feeling more helpless now than she had two years ago. Sam wouldn't want this for him. "I can't watch you do this to yourself, not like…not like S—"

"Don't," Dean snapped gruffly, slamming his palms on the edges of the sink before turning around. His green eyes were glassy and red with grief and anger. But then he stopped.

Dean only hadn't wanted to hear…that name out loud. But he hadn't wanted to scare her.

He saw her flinch, step back the slightest bit. For a fraction of a second he saw fear in her eyes, for the first time directly caused by him. Like he was some angry drunk.

Maybe I am, came from a deep corner of his mind, the part that was still coherent.

Shock rooted Dean in place. Until his feet were moving and he was grabbing the keys again, disgust with himself prompting him to head for the door. A hand grabbed the sleeve of his jacket and he stopped, surprised.

"Dean, stop," she said, worry and nerves making her voice shake, "You're drunk."

"I can drive."

He wanted to drive until that look on her face disappeared from his mind, along with the look on his brother's face as he said goodbye.

"It's okay…it's okay, Dean…I've got him."

"Stop it," she demanded through tears that fell when she blinked. Her firmness took him off guard again, even if her actions told the contrary. "Come on."

Despite himself, he let her lead him by the hand to the couch and he sat heavily.

She cradled his limp hand in hers, entwined their fingers and brought them to her lips. Tender touches that finally succeeded in drawing his eyes to her face. Tears streamed down her cheeks as her wet eyes caught his still red-rimmed ones.

"I'd never hurt you," he choked. She nodded.

"I know, honey."

It was the first time she'd called him that. They'd joked in the past about cheesy couples that ended every sentence with nauseating pet names. They had never needed to assure each other that they would never be one of those couples, the ones that needed to say "I love you" at the end of every conversation. Neither of them were capable of that.

But hearing her say that like it was nothing, like she'd always been saying it…

Well.

It had a weirdly calming effect.

They sat in silence for a couple minutes, rain pattering against the roof and windows in the background.

"I'm sorry," he said at last, because he didn't know what else he could say.

"It's okay."

"It's not."

She met his stare, and slowly nodded in agreement.

"I won't ask you to tell me…anything…not until you can."

He hesitated, then nodded. Really, he didn't think that day would ever come.

"But Dean…I miss him too."

And that was the damn honest truth, because it wasn't the same and none of this felt right. Being in this house, not washing three sets of laundry and making three cups of coffee and hearing his snores at night, whether in the next bed over or down the hall of a motel room or Bobby's house.

Dean's grip in her hands tightened as his jaw clenched.

"I…I can't do this without you," she confessed. It pierced what was left of his heart. But he shook his head.

"You don't need me."

Because that was all he was good for. People who needed him. A good soldier for his dad, a father to his brother, a hunter to take care of the monsters under the bed. Now he wasn't even that anymore, because he'd made a goddamn promise—the last one he'd made to Sam about an apple-pie life.

Elena's voice broke him out of his thoughts.

"I want you to stay."

Her trembling sigh was accompanied by more tears that slid down her face and neck. Dean watched her struggle for the words that wanted so desperately to escape.

"Not to change diapers or mow the lawn, just to be here…with me."

He laughed; a hollow sound that made both of them feel worse.

"…Right." His voice was just as empty. Elena stared at him hard, and when calling his name didn't get his attention, she grasped his chin and turned his face toward hers.

"Look at me," she implored. His brows furrowed a little, but his gaze remained averted. This time, she demanded.

"You look at me, damn it."

At the edge in her voice, his eyes flicked to hers, caught every flicker of emotion on her face down to the tremble of her lower lip. She inhaled deeply through her nose, gathering herself.

"You…are the only one I can't lie to," she said, "when I lie to myself."

His mouth dropped open, the slightest bit.

"So when I say I want you here—so I can take care of you and you take care of me," her voice shook, but she resolved to finish, even if it drove him away. "It's because, I do. So if you want to stay…then stay."

The weight of her words fell on him like an anvil, and suddenly it was hard to breathe.

Because no one had ever wanted him, just for him. Just to be there—not as their soldier or their savior or their surrogate father. He hated himself more just for thinking it.

He hated feeling lost. He hated that he couldn't just pull himself together and keep moving, that she was seeing him like this. And he couldn't voice what his gut was telling him.

But he hadn't needed to promise Sam to know, if he was going to stay somewhere…well maybe he wouldn't have chosen here; this house full of a family past that hurt Elena more than it did any good. But Dean was selfish enough that he'd only seriously considered going on alone for about five minutes.

To keep her safe, he would've run as far as he needed to. But his attempts in the past had never worked for long either.

"Do…do you even want to be here?" Elena asked, uncertainty making her frown, while her body leaned away from him subconsciously. His head hung, with his gaze locked on their hands.

"I don't deserve it," he choked out, his hold on her hands tightening reflexively. He felt her squeeze back, and his eyes widened when she rested her forehead against his.

"Yeah, you do, Dean," she said. He could tell it was through tears. "Just tell me the truth...do you want to stay?"

It took him a moment, but Dean eventually slid his hand out of hers and slipped his arms around her, pulling her onto his lap and as close as possible with the swell of her belly.

"Yeah," he whispered raggedly. "I wanna stay."

He felt her shudder and relax against him, and her hands fisted into the back of his shirt. He breathed her in, taking refuge in the crook of her neck and pressing his lips against the skin there as she wept against him.

It's not fair, his thoughts screamed, that they were here. Broken, after everything they'd sacrificed. That he wasn't here, after all the shit he'd gone through for the sake of everyone else but himself. That Sam wasn't here after the war was over, getting a chance at normal.

Sammy.

Dean's hold on Elena tightened a little. Her hands began rubbing up and down his back, reminding him that she was here, even though she was hurting too.

He wouldn't recover. Not from this. But maybe, he could try.

For her, and for Sammy, he could try.

It got better.

Elena found her old baby clothes in the attic that her mom saved, and Val brought a hell of a lot more that she had never even worn (Val had a large family that had more than enough cash to burn when she was born). She also brought a crib, along with several other things that brought Elena to tears, overwhelmed by the generosity. Val just hugged her and smiled.

"It's my gift to the kid," she'd said. "Gotta go big or nothing at all."

Dean and Val spent an entire day redecorating Elena's old room, though they left the light purple color painted on the walls.

Dean met Sid Lawson, a contractor, after fixing the carburetor on the man's Chevy SUV. Liked to talk your ear off, but he was a good guy and tipped Dean well. As it turned out, Sid and his wife Nancy lived next door. Well, a quarter mile to their left, but they were neighbors. He invited Dean and Elena over for dinner and continued to once a week for the next couple of months.

Elena got bigger.

Dean drank less.

They both slept more, unless Annie decided to kick her father awake.

On January 23, Dean held Ann Marie Winchester in his arms and cried for the first time since quitting the Job, the day he thought his world ended. Five months later and it began again, and it was the best early birthday present he'd ever gotten.

He and Elena learned how to change diapers and heat up formula from the nurses and later Val, who had laughed at their attempts before helping them with surprising dexterity.

"Oh, don't look so shocked," she said, grinning. "I've literally been wiping Mattie's ass since he was six months old."

"I think he'd have something to say about that," Elena remarked, amused. Val winked.

"Good thing he's busy playing Nintendo in the living room then."

When five months became a year, Dean still wasn't completely okay. But he was getting as close to it as he could; he could smile and laugh through guilt, but never forgot to look for Sam. When those leads dried out, he took solace in taking care of his daughter, and in kissing his girlfriend that still somehow found the strength to prop him up on bad days.

And then one night after getting a burger with Sid, he heard a scream coming from an alleyway. He hadn't found anything, except claw marks in Frank and Lisette Gleichman's linens the next day, and a yorkie in their shed instead of a monster. It was the sulfur that caught his eye.

He'd had to stow his gun before Sid, who'd been running by, could ask him too many questions.

While putting some of the weapons from Baby's trunk into his duffel bag, he saw Elena standing there with Annie on her hip, and a look on her face that was mix between bemused and concerned.

"I ran into Sid," she said mildly. "…Did you almost shoot a yorkie?"

"…Technically."

"What's going on?" she asked knowingly.

"Nothing," Dean shrugged with a grin. She measured him with a look.

"How come I don't believe you?"

Dean sighed.

"I just, I uh…I've got this spidey sense."

"Is there something here that needs to be…taken care of?" she asked, just veiling her worry.

"Honestly? I thought at first that there was," he said, drawing closer to her. He'd briefly considered telling her about the sulfur, but for all he knew it could be nothing. They'd gone a year without anything remotely supernatural happening in Hill City. "But I'm pretty sure that I got worked up over nothing."

Her brows furrowed.

"Your gut is usually pretty spot on," she said, though she hated the thought of there being a potential threat so close. "You sure?"

He hesitated, until Annie reached out for Dean with chubby fingers. He laid a gentle hand on her head and leaned in to kiss her cheek.

"Tell you what," he said, meeting Elena's eyes. "You've gotta take her to the doctor today, right? Go ahead and do that. Get something to eat, and I'll do one last sweep of the neighborhood…just to make sure."

"By yourself?"

"Yeah, Lena. I've got this," he said. "It's probably nothing anyway."

After a moment, she smiled a little through her concern.

"Want me to bring you back something?"

"Whatever you get is good."

"…Okay," Elena sighed, "but, be careful."

"Come on, you know me," he grinned. "I'm always careful."

She could've rolled her eyes.

"Right," she said in amusement. "Call me if…something happens."

He nodded and kissed her, but waited until her Camaro pulled out of the driveway to resume his task of pulling a black trunk from under the shelf of tools. In it he found his dad's journal and started flipping through it, until the lights in the garage started to flicker.

He turned around and a demon was waiting for him, standing there with a Cheshire smile and yellow eyes that had been burned into Dean's memory years ago.

The check-up was routine. Getting Annie's blood work done went as easily as it could've gone, and she got a Winnie the Pooh band-aid for the brief pain of the needle while Elena bounced the baby gently on her knee. And a half hour later when she was sitting in a low-key Mexican restaurant about a mile from home, wiping sauce from Annie's cheeks, Elena still managed to have a quiet thought.

After using baby wipes to clean up at least some of the black bean mush splattered on the high-chair tray, triple checking that the car seat was firmly clicked in place, and brushing back the downy hair on her daughter's head, she had to stop and wonder when the hell she became a mom. Not just a new and somewhat inept mother struggling to figure out what to do with a baby, but an honest to God mom, with actual mom-instincts.

Some were useful, like knowing exactly when a diaper became an atomic bomb. Others were less, like how she'd taken to nagging Dean about his muddy shoes trailing the carpets like her mom used to lecture her father every afternoon without fail.

Elena didn't know when the hunter in her had dulled so much that she hadn't seen the signs, especially when, in retrospect, she should've seen something like this coming. She knew on the drive home that she shouldn't have let Dean convince her that his hunch was nothing, because his hunches were never nothing. And maybe it was her own fault that a hand shot out and grabbed her arm just as she opened the car door.

She was half dragged out of the Camaro and onto hard asphalt, but she was grateful for the leather jacket she decided to wear as she looked up into the raging cold eyes of a Djinn. Her mind registered the man as Djinn in all of three seconds: one to recognize his strength as she vainly tried to break his heavy hold on her shoulders; two to identify the clan markings on his arms and trailing up over his shoulders, neck, and darkly grinning face; and three to remember the silver knife in her boot.

Elena kneed the Djinn hard enough in the ribs to surprise him and aimed a kick to his chest with said boot, sending him reeling back into the Camaro's open door. She quickly yanked out the concealed knife by its handle, but wasn't fast enough to get her feet under her before being shoved into the hard ground again, her head thwacking against the pavement hard enough to make her vision blur. Her reactions were too slow; that was her first mistake.

Her second mistake was taking precious seconds to look up—when her child's cries cut through her own struggle for breath as a large hand closed on her throat.

Her third was swinging blindly. It only nicked the creature's neck, making him hiss in pain and somewhat recoil, but not enough, as he recovered fast enough to push his entire weight into holding her down and grabbing her throat again. His eyes and the tattoos on his body began to glow blue, and the power surged down his arms, making its way to her skin.

And then the weight on her body was gone and she could breathe again. For a short lull in time, Elena's body relaxed as she lay on the ground, and she took notice of the dimming sunset colors bathing the sky and trees in orange-gold.

All too soon reality came rushing forward, and she found herself being eased into a sitting position, then crushed into a familiar hold.

"Dean," she wheezed, both from being in a daze and being physically short of breath. She let the knife in her hand clatter to the ground, while he pulled her tighter against him and kissed her hair, briefly letting out a shuddering sigh.

"You okay?" he asked gruffly. Elena closed her eyes and rested her head against his chest, his steady (if a bit fast) heartbeat calming her. Until she realized that she couldn't hear Annie crying. Immediately Elena looked up, clenching Dean's jacket in alarm.

"Annie—"

"She's okay," he reassured, but helped Elena onto her feet when she insisted on seeing for herself.

She wasn't ready to see Sam Winchester, standing there with Annie in his arms and a small smile on his face.

"Hey, Lena."