Author's notes: Yeah, I know, I know. It took me like ages to update it :P I'm sorry, guys, really but my new job is killing me, in all possible senses. But anyway, here it is and I hope you'll enjoy it.

I really appreciate all support and comments and everything :)

Some of you will hate me for the ending. Feel free to express it! lol

Chapter 7

The lock was so easy to pick that Dean was almost sorry for the man who actually relied on it to protect him. Even amateur could get inside within five seconds, save alone someone who had been doing it for years. It wasn't even funny.

He looked around one last time to make sure he wasn't spotted and then let himself into the small hallway, closed the door carefully behind his back and paused, listening. Yeah, the host wasn't at home, he knew it, but it never hurt to be cautious all the same, and if he was actually right, it was a necessity. Only God knew what was waiting for him somewhere in this house.

Dean peeked out the window one more time. Speaking from experience, he knew that the neighbors could be freaking sneaky and immeasurably curious, especially in quiet suburbs where all strangers were potentially dangerous and thus suspicious, and least of all he needed to scram from the police right now. But the curtains didn't move and the sirens didn't howl in the distance, and Dean heaved a relieved sigh. He turned around and observed narrow corridor.

So, where do we start now? Basement? Attic?

Dean smelled it long before he saw it, the scent he knew as long as he could remember himself. Wax candles. For him, they associated either with rituals or the abandoned houses without electricity, depending, and caused all sorts of both pleasant and unpleasant memories. In this particular case he was going to stick to the first variant since this place definitely didn't belong on the list of their usual squat residences.

In the living room, he swung open double doors of the wooden cup-board and whistled softly to himself at the sight of the altar inside. Several midsection shelves were removed to make more space. A circle drawn in chalk on the lower shelf was surrounded by said candles and bowls with what looked very much like blood. Turfs of dried herbs were lying nearby, and so were the hex bags, one in each of the corners. The scent of warm melting wax was still lingering in the air as though someone had just blew out the candles, and for some reason Dean wasn't really surprised to discover it even if he knew that the house owner hadn't been home for a little while. He picked up a small metal box that was places in the middle of the circle and opened the lid.

"Nice," hemmed to himself observing the contents that consisted of dried wood, a white piece that probably was a bone (human?) and a pile of dirt (probably from the graveyard as some rituals required), somewhat pleased that he wasn't wrong after all, but the fact itself didn't make things better. Besides, he still had a couple of questions left, but Dean was sure that old photo albums and a travel down the memory lane would be enough to satisfy his curiosity.

But he'd get back to it later. Now he needed…

***

"A hospital?" Sam's brows shot up in disbelief, the insanity of the idea making him all but laugh when Bela stopped the car and killed the engine. "You seriously think he came here on the will of his own? Believe me, no fever would've ever made Dean do that."

Bela slammed the door close. "No, you idiot." She rolled her eyes when Sam got out, too. "I think he saw something – or someone – here yesterday. Your brother is not exactly Einstein, see. It probably took him several hours to figure out what it was. I don't know, for God's sake! He was weird, okay?"

"Oh, I don't know, Bela." He drawled with a great deal of doubt. "Dean and hospitals, it's just…" impossible he trailed off, shrugging.

"If I'm wrong, we can always get back to your plan. Remind me please what it was, exactly?" She asked and batted eyelashes at him for good measure, waiting for an answer.

Sam gave her a glare and pursed his lips tight hating her inwardly for being so damn right. So yeah, he didn't have much to offer. In certain situations he thought he knew Dean better than himself, whereas on the other times he couldn't even begin to imagine what his brother could possibly be up to. The problem was, he could be up to absolutely anything!

Sam exhaled loudly through his nose but followed Bela wordlessly. Pulled out his cell phone – no missed calls! – and dialed Dean's number again, but all he heard was a polite voice telling him that the phone was switched off or out of the network service area. Like he didn't know it! Bela was watching him expectedly, he could see it from the corner of his eye, but she didn't ask anything. Perhaps, his snapping his phone close on a frustrated grunt when Dean's voice told him to leave a voice message was an answer she found satisfying.

Inside, they took the lift to the third floor and stopped in the middle of the hallway watching the patients, doctors, nurses and visitors were walking past them, chatting and looking rather frantic. Most of them.

"So, what now?" Sam looked curiously around; he fought to imagine Dean somewhere here but failed miserably. His brother could make a split second decision and rush into a fight but he was so not a hospital person.

"Now…" Bela scanned the hall thoughtfully chewing at her lower lip, and then smiled widely. "Now we can use some of your sweet-boy charm for help". Her eyes flickered towards the nurse at the registration desk.

***

The time was nearing four in the afternoon, but there, under the trees, it seemed to be a lot darker than that. Felt like the sun had been long down already. Or maybe the winter was just taking in and shortening the days the best way possible claiming on every single ray of light.

Dean was walking slowly holding his gun up, each step as quiet as possible in the woods full of dry leaves and cracking branches. Even his breath was shallow lest it draw someone's attention. His eyes darted from side to side as he listened intensely but the forest stayed silent and somewhat grey, shadows and fog swallowing everything around. His hand flexed on the weapon, finger on the trigger and ready to pull. It was too quiet for Dean's taste. Too quiet for comfort.

He span around when the owl hooted in the distance feeling that his heart jumped up to his throat and started beating like twice faster than it should. Dean swallowed hard and felt a wish to giggle a tad hysterically. His own jumpiness was amusing and unnerving at the same time.

It was just a ghost for God's sake! It would hardly… well, it could harm him. The stitches on his right hand were a hell of a proof, but it wasn't invincible or something. And he could… he thought he could think out a way to get rid of it.

He reached the spot where Ron Jenkins, or whatever the poor guy's name was, had been killed not more than a couple of days ago and stopped. Dried blood had no longer been seen in the eerie dusk and only yellow tape was standing out against the grayish shades of his surroundings. That Dean was grateful for. The place was giving him creeps without extra unpleasant views. He turned around peering at the trees so hard that his eyes began to hurt, and maybe even stopped breathing for a while but the only thing that he heard was another hoot somewhere far away.

The fog was everywhere around him now, thicker near the ground. To Dean it looked like he was standing in the knee-deep layer of cotton as if the clouds suddenly fell from the sky and covered the earth. In the back of his mind he wondered absently – not having any idea of why would he be thinking about such things at all – if he could actually grab a handful of it had he dared to let go of the gun and bend down to touch it. He didn't do it though. Feeling its coolness through his jeans was enough.

The whole situation reminded him of another horror movie. And why couldn't he work in the candy shop for once? Or in a beer factory? Or wait, in the strip bar? That would be rewarding at least, in a way. And yeah, too good to be true.

"Come on, I know you're here somewhere," Dean muttered. "You're not going to make me wait till dawn, are you?"

"Sorry, should have shown up earlier." Dean whirled around at the sound of the voice behind his back. "But you were so funny crawling here like that."

Dean smirked to himself and aimed his shotgun right at the speaker's chest. Past experience proved that it could be useless but he was up to giving it another try.

Saw a teen boy – or more his silhouette – standing under the tree, his voice was calm and sure. Well, not that he expected anyone else… Dean gave him a long studying look down the barrel of the gun trying to make out the details as best he could, given the circumstances. He was tall and fit. Mark was right about his hair – he resembled a character from "Pleasantville". Personally, Dean would also add a word or two about his clothes. Unfortunately, it hardly was good time to discuss fashion.

"Up for some rock salt?"

The boy returned the look, his expression somewhat amused.

"I wouldn't do it, if I were you."

And maybe it was just Dean's imagination, but he definitely heard some sarcasm behind the phrase. And maybe threat, too.

"Or what? You will summon something else? Another pet?" Dean chuckled. "Gabe, right? Gabe Wilson? Saw you yesterday at the hospital. You didn't look good, what with being in coma and on medical ventilation apparatus."

"It's just a body."

"You mean you're better off without it? You're so optimistic, dude!"

"It's old and insane," Gabe snorted.

"Don't be so hard on yourself." And then, "But if you do insist that you're insane, I won't try to reassure you. Promise!"

The boy scoffed. "Who of us sold a soul?"

Dean froze feeling something cold and nauseant forming in the pit of his stomach, like every other time he was reminded of the deal. "How--?"

"It is written on your face."

"In a good handwriting, I hope? I wouldn't want to give anyone wrong idea."

"It's funny to see how you try to help the others, Dean, when you're so far from helping yourself," there was mock pity in Gabe's voice that set Dean's teeth on edge. "Instead of coming to the surface, you only seem to sink deeper and deeper, making one bad decision after another. Like, you know, trying to get out of the quick sand. It only swallows you faster when you struggle."

Okay, what else is new? Like he didn't know it all along! Please! It was annoying though to have one nasty ghost rub it in his face.

Speaking of the ghosts… "Okay, so tell me, dude, what was all this small show about?" Dean pointedly ignored Gabe's comment. It wasn't any of his business after all. Wiggled his gun to enunciate his point. "Needed a hobby? Try poker next time. Kinda relaxin'."

The boy's gaze sharpened and he pursed his lips into a thin line for a moment before speaking again. "You have no idea what it feels like to be an outcast only because you told the truth but no one believed you."

"Oh, humor me!" Dean rolled his eyes.

"I saw this thing out there and I knew that it was real but everyone thought I was nuts."

"And you decided to make it real for them," Dean finished for him. "How cute! Granting wishes like a fucking fairy god-mother? Awesome! Picked up random dead guy and made him your tool to kill people. What were you saying about being sane again?"

Gabe's fists balled. "They had to believe instead of making me town's weirdo."

"Yeah, and I see that it worked just fine." Dean chuckled. "You've been killing innocent people for the whole forty years, and now – what a surprise! – you're still a freak. And it never occurred to you, like maybe a couple decades ago, that you're probably doing something friggin' wrong, no? Now that's what I call stubborn stupidity. No offence!" And he flashed his best and charming smile.

"You know that it's real, what's out there." It wasn't a question.

"Absolutely! And the last thing I want in this world is to make everyone know it, too. Believe me, they're much happier without it." And added as an afterthought. "But on the other hand, why would you ever care about someone's happiness, right?"

"And you care about it just a little too much for someone who has so little time left," Gabe scoffed obviously knowing which spot to hit to make it hurt most.

"Well, not all of us are dicks, see," Dean informed him. "And believe me or not, but I'm going to end this shit." He still had no idea – how, but really, had he ever failed so far?

"Good luck," the boy let out short laugh, and then the earth began to tremble under someone's heavy footsteps.

Feeling that the hair began to rise on the back of his head, Dean turned around already knowing what he was going to see there and hating himself for always being right when it came to such things. Strangely, the horseman looked even bigger this time, like it… like it grew somehow. Or maybe it was danger that Dean could feel with every single cell of his body that was making the damn thing look scarier. Polished like a mirror sword winked at him teasingly, and he swallowed hard as the goose-bumps ran down his spine when he thought of the easiness with which it would cut right through him. Absently, Dean noted that with the sky all covered with thick clouds and the whole forest being consumed by the fog, the horse's eyes were glowing a lot brighter than he remembered. He could barely tear his gaze away from them.

"Holy crap," he breathed out taking a small step back. Now that was something he didn't expect when he was heading to talk to Gabe Wilson's and maybe try to reason with him. "Dude, don't you have anything else to do? How're you doing that?" The last question was addressed to Gabe even though Dean didn't dare to look away from the horseman.

"Not a big deal."

"Fine. I see you're a sneaky powerful bastard. Now tell your friend that it's not safe to play with the sharp objects." Mesmerized, Dean watched the ghost clenching and unclenching his hand on the hilt as if getting ready for a strike.

Gabe chuckled. "I think the two of you are not finished yet."

"Only because I shot him once?! Come on! I know it didn't exactly tickle, but…"

Dean cocked his gun and shot first the headless figure and then its pet; the load hit them in turns, flew right through them and grazed the truck of the tree. But just like before, it didn't change anything. Apparently, messing a little with the altar at Gabe's house wasn't enough to break the spell – not that he seriously hoped. The ghost didn't disappear either. It wasn't even harmed, not even a little. Dean felt desperate panic growing inside of him. He was seriously screwed this time and he knew it.

"Hell, why are you doing all of this? All the people you killed... you didn't even know them. Hell, they didn't even know you existed!"

"Exactly," Gabe shrugged, or so it seemed to Dean when he saw slight movement out of the corner of his eye.

And it was like a command that the horseman was waiting to attack. Soundlessly – except for the dull thump of his landing – the horse jumped forward before Dean had time to blink, sharp sword up and ready. Dean barely managed to duck before he joined the "Headless Club".

"Son of a bitch," cursing, he fell to the ground and rolled away and behind the thick trunk of the nearest tree. Plan B?

***

Bela never saw Sam working before. Well, maybe except for "Mizzz Chase" case when he definitely wasn't at his best trying to avoid Gert's not so subtle groping. He was grumbling and grimacing all the way through. Bela knew that he hated her then, for offering it in the first place.

In the hospital, though, it was an entirely different story. It was almost entertaining to watch him play his role. Shy smile, two cute dimples, low confiding voice and confused expression were all it took to charm young nurse and manipulate her away from the reception desk to show him something – Bela missed entirely what it was, exactly – so that she could take a look at the records in the computer. Gee, hadn't she known any better – and had she been someone else – she's probably come to a verge of buying it herself, Bela decided as she was scrolling down the list of the third floor patients.

She shook her head thinking that she had to give them that – the Winchesters were actually pretty good when it came to acting and pretending. Poor girl had no chances against Sam…

"Look, Bela, I know…" Sam began with a great deal of uncertainty as the car turned around the corner, and cut off when she slowed down near the neat old house where Bela – damn prophet – said Dean most likely would be. He looked out the window and then at her. "You've gotta be kidding me."

***

She hit the brakes, the car jerked forward in protest and then stopped, and at the same time they heard two load shots, definitely coming somewhere from the depths of the woods, one after another followed by the low voices. Bela killed the engine; the headlights died as well and the darkness swallowed them.

"Dean," Sam breathed out turning paler by the second. He pushed open the passenger door and rushed outside not bothering to close it.

Bela caught up with him two seconds later which wasn't easy assuming that Sam's legs were like twice longer than hers, saw him pull out the gun, a mixture of panic, fear and determination crossing his face, and frowned to herself.

He must have heard her footsteps behind his back because he suddenly turned around before going deeper into the forest and mouthed, "Stay here."

"What?" Bela hissed. "No!"

"Yes!" He snapped. "Who knows what's in there?"

"Exactly, Sam! Why would I trust you to deal…"

He didn't wait for her to finish, just turned on his heels and started to run into the shadows where distant rustling – as if someone was making their way right through the bushes – was coming from. Cursing under her breath, Bela followed him doing her best to stay close and blocking all the thoughts about Dean being… well, in trouble out of her mind.

"Stay out!" Sam growled through clenched teeth when he saw her out of the corner of his eye.

She didn't dignify him with any kind of an answer, only glared at him darkly promising all horrors of hell with her eyes. The bad thing was, it had been a little too dark for him to appreciate it but she was sure he felt it just fine. At least he didn't say anything else.

"Where are they? Can you hear anything?" He asked suddenly in a whisper barely slowing his pace.

Bela fought overwhelming fear rising inside of her when she realized that the whole forest seemed to die out all of a sudden, and felt cold hand clench her stomach. She swallowed past the nauseating feeling turning her head from side to side – as if the picture looked any different! And then they both jumped, literary, when another loud shot broke through the silence and spooked the birds, if panicked flapping of wings that followed it was any indication. And then someone began to laugh, and the sounds seemed to be coming from everywhere around them.

Sam rushed ahead to where the shot came from, dark determination on his face, and teeth clenched tight.

When Bela reached him – practically stumbled into him – he was standing still and aiming at something that she couldn't see over his broad shoulders. He barely noticed her appearance, all too focused on whatever there was before him. Sighing with annoyance – and why would he be so damn big?! – Bela chanced a glance around him… and froze.

Dean was lying on the ground with his gun up while something big and black was mounting above him. It took her a moment to realize that it was a man in black cloak and… bloody hell, without a head! Her eyes grew bigger and she gasped quietly when she spotted long sword glinting in almost complete darkness.

"Dean," Sam muttered.

"You stay away from me, son of a bitch!" Dean growled at the figure. "Get out of here, Sam!" Barked then, and after that he pulled the trigger deafening the three of them for a little while.

It didn't do any good though, the sword came up again, and now that Dean was all but sprawled on the frozen ground, there was no chance for the horseman to miss.

"Like hell," Sam muttered and fired too, several times.

As for Bela, she could only stare at the surreal picture with shock and disbelief. At Dean. At… at… at what she had already seen in the past. Tried to wrap her mind around the whole situation but failed miserably. Felt she was all but glued to the place, horrified and unable to move. The fact that neither of the Winchesters caused any trouble to that creature with their weapons was blood-chilling. What did they all get themselves into? She swallowed hard fighting to… snap out of this state or something, and then suddenly noticed a boy standing to the left from them barely visible in deep shadow. Frowned, wondering who he was and what the hell he was doing there, not even sure he was real or something. He was so out of place that…

He turned and Bela felt his eyes on her. She couldn't see his face clearly, leave alone the expression but she could have sworn that he smiled and there was something very creepy about it. If the situation could possibly get any creepier, which she wasn't all that sure of. Bela shivered despite herself. Spotted dark silhouette of the horse standing near the tree and huffing impatiently. The eerie glow of red eyes was almost paralyzing.

"Don't… you… dare…" Sam was saying meanwhile punctuating his words with gunshots but at some point Bela just stopped hearing them, or paying attention. Didn't notice he was making his way forward, too. "Leave… my… brother… alone!"

And with the last shot the spirit suddenly made a step back, stumbled…

Bela was watching it not even trying to understand what the hell was going on. She didn't quite get it why the spirit began to fall backwards, why the horse was hitting the ground nervously with the hoof and jerking its head up and down.

And then the boy opened his mouth and began to scream in anger and desperation, and before the Headless Horseman reached the ground, they both disappeared. Or better – three of them, horse assumed.

Surprised, Dean jerked upwards and blinked. Fought a wish to rub at his eyes to make sure that it was real. Turned to Sam and finally howled himself up to his feet. Shook some leaves off of his pants and jacket and then peered at Sam again.

"Dude, how did you do that?" His jaw dropped a little as he swept the clearing with his arm, gun still clenched tight in his hand.

"I…" Sam started. Paused and swallowed, but before he could continue – not that he could actually day anything decent – Bela's cell phone started to ring.

It took her a moment to identify the sound, and then she dug it from the pocket of her coat and stared at unfamiliar number on the screen for a long moment. From the corner of her eye saw that Sam rushed to help Dean… with whatever, and finally decided that answering wouldn't hurt.

"I'm okay," Dean growled in a low voice shoving Sam's supportive hand away from himself. "Bloody hell, Sammy, give me some air, would ya?" Not that he could blame his brother for being… a good brother, but come on! It was a little too much. He wasn't handicapped or something. He didn't want to be treated any differently than when he wasn't counting his days, for God's sake!

Unwillingly, Sam stepped back. They both turned and looked at Bela who hung up, raised her head and returned the glance.

"It's from the hospital," she explained before any questions followed. "Gabe Wilson died."

***

Dean tucked his gun back into the waistband of his jeans as he and Sam walked out of the house and into the porch. The sky was low and grey, not really surprising this early in the morning, and chilly air smelled like snow. Well, right about time.

They were back to Gabe Wilson's house. To make sure… well, just to take a look. Again.

"You okay, man?" Sam asked him with pointed disinterest – like he could probably ask about Miami weather forecast on their way to Montana – for like tenth time in the past five minutes, which, Dean knew, meant a great deal of worry.

"Yeah, sure. I'm fine." He nodded distractedly. The truth was, he wasn't even lying here. He actually felt good and oddly alive – which, okay, could be a result of adrenaline still rushing through his veins. Even with his throat being uncomfortably sore. It felt like work and hunting was his source of life force.

They both stopped when they spotted Bela standing on the driveway and leaning against the Impala's hood. Arms folded on her chest, she was peering at something at her feet as the wind kept tearing at her hair. And obviously, it was the last thing she cared about. She heard them coming and looked up.

"Um… you know what, Dean? I think I should go and take care of the altar." Sam offered lightly. Cleared his throat when two seconds passed but no reaction came from Dean.

"What?"

"We don't want anyone to start asking the questions, right?"

"Uh… yeah, right."

Sam followed his bother's gaze and sighed not at all sure that Dean heard a word of what he had just said. It didn't look like they still were in the same universe.

"'Kay, man. I'll be right back." And yeah, Dean surely missed that part.

With pretended easiness, like he was just having a walk in the park, Dean came down several steps and approached his car trying to look at anything but Bela, all of a sudden interested beyond measure in the Impala's small side mirrors. He almost hated himself for it, and for what he was going to do.

There was a stripe of clotted blood on his temple that he got somewhere along the way, and Bela felt her palms itching with the wish to touch him, make sure he was okay. But something about him kept her from doing it; the wall that he put between them was thick as The Great Wall of China and cold as ice. And he was avoiding her eyes, too. Never a good sign. So, instead she unfolded her arms, tucked her hands into the pockets of her coat and looked up the driveway and at the house.

"So, this is it, then?" She asked nonchalantly.

"Kinda."

"No real Headless Horseman? What a shame!"

"Who knows?" Dean shrugged. "He might still be somewhere out there. Or maybe not. We'll keep an eye on the area, see if it is still active."

Bela nodded conceding his point. Not that there was much to say.

"What are you going to do now?" Asked in a light voice and with sincere curiosity as if he actually could answer – go to see the beauties of Grand Canyon.

Dean stole a quick glance in her direction but she wasn't looking his way. For a moment she kept her eyes on the frozen ground, and then turned to study the empty street, her features calm, chin tipped high.

"Move on to something new," he chuckled a bit ruefully. "These sons of bitches are always there, ya'know." Like… like there was some other meaning to the words.

Yeah, she knew, and he knew it, too. Tried not to sound too apologetic… because he actually was, and it seriously sucked. Whatever she wanted to hear, it was obvious that he wasn't going to say it. Not that he thought she actually believed he would.

Dean cleared his throat then. "What about you?"

Bela turned her head around and met his eyes for the first time since… morning? Hell, was it really this close in the past? Felt like last week, at the very least. Gave him her best smile, all teeth and pure charm. "Move on to something else," she repeated his words. "There is always something else out there. Speaking of which…" She reached into her purse and pulled out plain white envelope, handed it to Dean and said when his brows arched in silent huh? "Your four grand. Like I promised."

"Oh…"

Oh, right. As shocking as it was, but he totally forgot about this part of their deal. Taking money from her felt wrong now, and at some point Dean even contemplated refusing but then decided that it would look strange… she'd get the false impression… He'd look like… like… Yeah, like a fool. Obviously, Bela didn't have any problem with dealing with work and personal issues simultaneously. Besides, his car needed fuel, spare parts, repair… He needed to pay for the motel rooms and cheap fast-food and whatever else they could need to pay for in cash. So what if the feeling of self-disgust was almost overwhelming? He got used to living with it a long time ago.

"Yeah." He took the envelope, folded it twice… and paused to give Bela a suspicious look. "I don't need to check it, do I?"

"Why, Dean, don't you trust me?" Coy twinkle in her eyes made something twitch painfully in his stomach.

He rolled his eyes if a little theatrically, lest she notice something and finally put the reward in the pocket of his jacket, not quite sure how to move on to what he needed to say. Not even sure he had to. Or could, speaking of that.

Silence fell between them for a moment as they just stood there looking anywhere but at each other, which seriously was rather dumb. The words that Dean had ready and rehearsed in his head felt somewhat wrong and foul in his mouth, and he physically couldn't bring himself to saying them out loud.

Bela saved the moment though. She looped a strand of loose hair that the wind kept throwing in her face around her ear and looked at the house first, probably half-expecting another ghost to appear out of it. Hell if he knew what could possibly be going on inside of that head of hers. She dropped her eyes then.

"Look, I'm not leaving until tomorrow," she began matter-of-factly. A little too matter-of-factly maybe… Dean could only see the outline of her profile now. "And there's this nice place right across the street from my hotel." Raised her gaze to look him in the eyes. "We could have a cup of coffee." And added with a small smile, "If you don't have a half-hearted murder or something else not less exciting planned for the evening of course."

Her last comment made Dean smile too, totally against his will, even despite the fact that it was a wrong turn of events and that he felt rather stupid over the whole situation. Not to mention that his whole plan was practically falling to shit. Like he was some bloody high school student who couldn't be brave enough to ask out the girl he liked, and then all of a sudden she saved the day and asked him out first. Which, yeah, made so much sense! First they hated each other and fought every damned moment, then they slept together, and then she asked him out for a date. Now what exactly was wrong in all of this again?

"Um… yeah, maybe," he replied evasively.

They both turned back to the sound of the foot-steps and saw Sam coming down the porch stairs, eyes scanning the surrounding area and neighboring houses. When he reached the lower step, he saw them and slowed down, his features and the line of his shoulders relaxing minutely, and he tucked his hands leisurely into the pockets of his jacket.

"Okay then, I'll see you around… maybe," Bela offered lightly and pushed herself off of his car.

"Uh-huh, sure." Looking over the shoulder at his brother was a good excuse, and Dean used it. Why tempt the fate?

"Sam," she waved at him.

"Oh, bye, Bela." Sam nodded curtly and stopped beside Dean.

"Everything clear there?" Dean asked him.

"Sure." Sam waited till she reached the car and got inside, and then turned to give a look to his brother. "Don't you think that watching her walk away over and over again is getting a little old, Dean?"

"Shut up and get in the car."

***

Dean parked the Impala not far from the entrance to Bela's hotel but out of reach of the street-lamps light so that his beauty wasn't too noticeable, and slid out of his seat. Blistering-cold wind greeted him outside making Dean scowl inwardly at how perfectly it reflected his state and mood.

Café that Bela talked about was right across the street, just like she said, and now that the darkness fell and the lights were on, Dean could see her sitting at a small table near the big ceiling-to-floor window with a cup of something before her. He watched her turning her head towards the door every time the visitors were making their way in or out, and his heart clenched. She threw a quick glance at her cell phone lying on the glass surface near the cup. Checked the time perhaps. Or whatever. Looked out the window then. Dean took a small step back and deeper into the shadow, and then walked straight to the hotel doors as soon as she turned away.

Once inside, he crossed the brightly lit foyer and came up to the registration counter behind which young man in illegally expensive suit was sorting the mail, two neat piles of paper and envelopes growing before him. The man looked up when Dean came closer and greeted him with polite smile.

"Evening, sir. How can I help you?"

Dean glanced quickly over his shoulder and out the glass doors. She was still there. "Can I leave a message for a lady from room 314?" On his best smile. Had the receptionist been a girl, he'd probably melt right away.

"Sure," the clerk nodded. Thankfully, without melting.

Dean hesitated for the barest of moments, and then pulled out the envelope and passed it over the counter to the young man, before he changed his mind or something. Sam didn't know about the money and hence he couldn't bug his brother about getting sentimental or whatever. As for Dean, he simply couldn't keep them.

Over the hours several pieces of paper turned into a pocketful of stones and started driving him crazy. He debated sending the whole pile by post right to Bela's apartment in Queens – imagined with rueful amusement her confusion – but it was risky. Four grand weren't a Birthday greeting card after all; it was a fucking helluva lot of money. Maybe nothing for Bela, of course, but still. And although Dean was pretty sure he could think out a couple of other ways to safely return the envelope to her, it was a little too tempting to see her one last time, even from the distance. If a little masochistic too, maybe, but Dean somehow couldn't help it.

The clerk took the envelope from his hand, looked at it without actual interest – probably decided that it was barely possible to hide something really dangerous in it – and then put it into the cell with the number "314" above it. Dean nodded to himself, practically feeling that he began to breathe easier.

"I'll pass it right away," the man promised to him. "Anything else?"

"Uh…р no. Thanks, dude."

"My pleasure, sir."

Dean shook his head. Damn, it sucked when people talked like that. And yet it made him feel somewhat better. Proved once again that he didn't belong in her world. It was foolish to believe even for one goddamned moment that he was anything that Bela needed. Besides, he was dying. He had only several months left to make sure that Sam was ready to deal with his fucking life on his own and without looking back when Dean's clock made the final beat.

He walked out into the street and took a deep breath filling his lungs with the air that was so cold that it hurt. Absently, he wondered how much time it would take for his lungs to cover with ice crust. Compared to it, his blood felt oddly hot, his heart pumping it for all it was worth.

In café the waitress came up to Bela's table and probably asked or offered something. Bela shook her head in response. Dean couldn't see it but it wasn't hard to imagine small smile on her lips. Oh hell, he was so not getting anywhere like this!

He returned to his car and slid in, paused for a moment, his fingers on the key to start the ignition but then he reached for his cell phone instead cursing himself for being damn idiot. It wasn't a good idea and he knew it. The fact that he didn't show up was a hell of a hint but…

Scrolled down the quick dial list and pushed the dial button. Saw her all but jump at the thrill of her phone and swallowed hard fighting the urge to disconnect before she picked up. Should have also switched the phone off for good measure, be a fucking chicken and flee. And maybe do his best to hide far enough so that she wouldn't find him easily…

Tempting.

"Hey," Dean said in a soft voice in reply to Bela's greeting. "Um, look, Bobby called." Lame. If she wasn't stupid, and he knew that she wasn't, she'd guess he was lying. Not that he thought Bela was going to actually check it. Keep the voice level and busy. Hell, he could still imagine her hearing Sorry, sweetheart, but it is the best excuse that I found to dump you. "There's one angry spirit torturing a family in Oklahoma. Kinda urgent. Sam and I had to hit the road right away to get there until someone got hurt." Except for myself, of course, but who the hell cares? "Can't make it, sorry."

There was a pause on the line, so long that Dean even checked if she'd hung up. No, the timer on the screen was still blinking.

"Can't make it where?" She asked in the end with genuine curiosity and confusion.

Okay, so she wasn't going to make it easy. He hoped they'd go past it quicker.

"Well, coffee…" He began still not sure if he should be apologetic or defensive to get out of this crap with as much dignity as possible. Not that he had any left.

"Oh, that," she interrupted him, to Dean's endless surprise. "Never mind, Dean, really. I totally forgot about it myself. And anyway, I wouldn't be able to come either." And added, before he had time to say a word – while he was spluttering, more like it (what an undignified word!). "My plans changed as well, see. One of my clients called. I am going back to New-York today, heading to the airport now actually. Should have called you perhaps but…" She trailed off. "Let's say, you're lucky you caught me before I had to switch off the phone."

Dean's fingers clenched around his phone so hard that he might as well break it had he applied a little more strength. Eyes pinned to her, he caught his breath for a moment and then let it out slowly and quietly lest she hear it.

He'd got to give her that, Dean thought with dismay. She was brilliant. No wonder she was good at what she was doing for living, no matter how much the thought irritated him. All these tricks and lies. If only he really was miles away and couldn't see her sitting in the bloody café and staring at one point somewhere before her, he would have actually believed that she was driving to the airport this very moment, suitcases packed and palms itching in anticipation of money. Wished it was true. It would still hurt perhaps, but in another, less torturing way.

"Oh," was all he could say, and even that wasn't easy. "Um… okay. I mean, good." Hell, what else could he possibly say?

Another long pause followed. Or maybe it just seemed longer than it was because every damned second lasted forever.

"Oh, well," Bela spoke first, voice bright and… and like nothing happened. "Have to go now. Would talk more, but my plane won't wait." She sounded so genuinely excited that for a moment Dean thought that the woman he was looking at through the windshield of his car wasn't Bela… until she turned again. There was no way he could ever take her for someone else. "Good luck with the hunt," she added then, softer and just a little too caring for the game.

"Good luck with your dirty business," he echoed lightly, or so he hoped. Thought about hanging up, but then she suddenly called him.

"Dean…"

His heart sank and he stopped breathing. Tell me it was a joke, he thought with desperate hope. Ask me to come. Say… hell, something. Anything.

"Yeah?"

"Goodbye."

It came out in a whoosh of breath, almost inaudible, and obviously wasn't what she wanted to say first, even he could say that, but this one word literary exploded in his head and made Dean somewhat deaf for a very long moment. She might have as well punched him in the gut…

"Bye," he said back but she had already hung up. The timer wasn't blinking anymore.

Dean tore his gaze off of the small screen and tossed the phone away to the passenger's seat before he… called her again or something. This was getting simply ridiculous! He looked up and saw her sitting still and staring out the window, hands clenched together and lying on the table before her.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, and then started the engine, made a U-turn and winded away, tires squealing on the asphalt, without giving her another glance.

***

It started to snow as soon as they left the confines of a small town leaving it to deal with its mysteries and secrets without their help. Dean watched the snowflakes dancing in the headlights of the Impala, one hand on the steering wheel and his mind miles away.

"We could have stayed in the motel at least until morning," Sam yawned on the passenger's seat.

"No."

Just no, nothing else.

"Dean…"

"Did Bobby call?" Dean interrupted his younger brother, so not up to the chick-flick moment.

"No."

He nodded, "He will. Maybe tomorrow." Sooner or later. Or maybe they would find something on their own first. He didn't really care.

Sam shrugged, "Yeah." Turned to Dean then. "So, this whole story was about the man with mental problems, right?"

"Can you believe it?" Dean chuckled and shook his head. "Like I said, people can be a lot freakier than any demons."

"But why? I don't get it."

"Well, the legend wasn't just the legend, apparently. At the age of sixteen Gabe Wilson saw something in the woods but no one believed him. It was a little more than he could stand, so he cast a spell and summoned his own ghost to prove that he was telling the truth. But it didn't work the way he planned…"

"Because murderous spirit is not what people would willingly want to believe in."

"Exactly! And so he went on and on and on."

Sam nodded but then frowned again causing Dean to smirk to himself. Yeah, his lil bro was overly analytical and always thinking. "But why Halloween, Dean?"

Sure, he wanted to know everything.

"Sorry, Sammy, that question somehow slipped my mind while I was trying to save my sorry ass," Dean snorted. "Dunno, man, really. Perhaps his own encounter happened on Halloween, or maybe he just wanted to make the bloody holiday freakin' creepy."

Sam scoffed. "And the boy…"

"It was him, Gabe Wilson." Dean rubbed at his forehead as if the thought needed physical influence to settle in. "I checked some articles today… and don't you look at me like this! I can do research… when necessary." He rolled his eyes under Sam's rather amused look. "Anyway, I guess that at some point he started losing his mind, he was an old man after all, but his will to keep his scheme working was so strong that he kinda produced his own spiritual clone to carry on his wicked legacy." Paused for a moment as if rewinding his words in his head once again. "Sounds crazy. Like maybe crazier than some other crazy things we had to deal with, but… " He trailed off on a shrug. The truth was, compared to some other stuff this one wasn't so insane.

Sam considered his words for a long moment.

"Well, yeah, but actually there were many cases..."

"I know, Sam! Believe me, I've read about most of them!"

Laughing, Sam nodded. "Right! How could I forget?" And then, in a serious voice, "And when he died it all just stopped."

"Sort of."

Sam settled back into the time-softened leather on the front seat and gave Dean apprehensive look. "You okay?" And added quickly when Dean gave him all but glare. "You weren't so hot just a few hours ago. I mean you were, literary."

"I'm fine." Dean locked his eyes on Sam's for a moment, and repeated, "Swear, man. I'm okay." His gaze shifted to the road ahead. "The job is the best cure," under his breath and addressing to himself more than his brother.

Sam didn't say anything. Didn't push the subject. Just nodded curtly after short hesitation and then rested his head against the window staring sightlessly outside. At least Dean stopped snapping at him every time he was a bit overly concerned. Hell if Dean could blame him. Some part of Sam believed that had they revered the roles, Dean wouldn't be sitting and waiting either. Moreover, Sam was more than sure that had it been him who sold the soul, Dean would kick his ass hard for being so stupid, and then he'd get Devil himself and kick his ass for messing with his brother, too. So what if there was hardly anything they could do?

"You want me to drive, just tell me, okay?"

"Yeah."

Dean gave him a sidelong glance but then just leaned back into his own seat, turned on the heater and raised the volume of the radio letting the beats of classic rock fill his head. Decided to concentrate on the road. Sooner or later they'd come across some gas station, hopefully with the roadside motel nearby. Whatever, just to let them have some rest. And if no, then he'd grab some coffee, probably cold and more or less disgusting, so that he could hold on until the next stop without yawning his tonsils out. They'd find another case – demons rarely took holidays – and move on. That was how it had always been and that was how Dean wanted it to be now – he wanted to live the only life he knew ever since he remembered himself until the very end.

He knew he did a good thing. She'd be better off without him, all things considered. And apparently, Bela had the same opinion. Dean sighed. She made it his way, said every bloody word he wanted her to say and did nothing to give him hard times. It was like… like she didn't know how to say goodbye first and then he, all damn gentleman, did all the dirty work for her. Well, his pleasure of course! But why he was the one who felt like he lost the game then? Okay, maybe he was overreacting a little but something just wasn't right. Something probably…

The realization struck Dean so hard and was so painfully obvious that he nearly swerved into the wrong side on the road and all but started seeing red.

"Fuck, Sam! I hate you!"

Not at all surprised by the outburst, Sam heaved a tired sigh. "I'm sorry, man. I thought she knew."

"Yeah? And what exactly made you think so? The fact that I so love talking about my impending eternal damnation maybe? Or my willingness to share that I am well-known for?"

"I thought you'd tell her. It would be… fair."

"Fair." Dean mimicked him, his short laughter was bitter and lacked any humor. "Oh sure. This freaking stupid life is all about fairness, bright sunshine, hearts and flowers, yeah?" Should have guessed sooner.

Sam was silent for about half a minute. "She had right to know, Dean." Although Dean obviously had a different opinion on that matter. "Look, I was sure she was aware. She… behaved like she knew," he breathed out then, still staring out the window.

Doing his best to keep his frustration under control, Dean asked in what he thought was a very calm voice – assuming the whole situation, "What do you mean – behaved?" Couldn't keep the frown though, confused.

Sam shrugged. "She seemed to be worried, you know. And… dunno. Sad maybe, like… like…"

"Like she was already mourning me the way you and Bobby do?" Dean finished in a dry voice. He wasn't dumb and blind for God's sake!

So, why deny the obvious?

"Yeah, kinda."

Dean's jaw twitched and his grip on the steering wheel tightened so much that his knuckles turned unnaturally white. Lips pursed into a thin line, he fixed his gaze on the road ahead and the snowflakes dancing and falling and melting as soon as they touched the ground. His insides twisted at the thought that it was one of the things that would never change after his death. He would be long gone, but this time in a year it would probably start snowing again. Now that was somewhat frightening…

Yet, his blood was still boiling and he gave Sam another burning glare swallowing a string of curses that were so close to escaping his mouth.

"And when did it come to you, genius, that you probably spilled a little more than necessary?" He asked in a pointedly flat voice.

"Remember my face when I found it out first?" Sam's voice sounded oddly flat. "You get the general idea then. Whatever she thought your dirty little secret was, it was anything but that. A poker debt maybe." He pinched the bridge of his nose. "She was shocked. And hurt, too."

Dean slammed the steering wheel with his palm. "Damn it, Sam!" Growled through clenched teeth, and with a great deal of anger, too.

"Thought she was going to cry or something."

"Terrific!"

"She didn't, though."

"Sure it changes everything," Dean grimaced adding acid to his voice.

"She had right to know, Dean," Sam pressed on but it came out in whoosh of breath and Dean almost missed it, what with his blood hammering in his ears.

"Fine, Mr. I-know-what-is-right-for-everyone! And what am I supposed to do with it now? Why are you telling me this?"

"To make your life a little more exciting maybe," Sam's smirk was bitter. He felt Dean's glower on the back of his head. Apparently his brother was trying to burn him down.

"Nice! Thank you!"

"You've gotta start to take it seriously, Dean."

"Don't you think I know that it's not an amusement park I'll head to in the end?"

"Apparently, no. Because you're… you just… How can you not try to save yourself? I don't get it!"

"Because they'll kill you, you jerk, if I try!" Dean snapped. He was so sick and tired of saying it over and over again, and for nothing, too. Why waste time if Sam wasn't hearing him anyway?

They glared daggers at each other for a moment or two and then turned away from each other. Dean peered out the windshield, his fingers clenching the steering wheel so tight that it hurt. And Sam stared out his window counting his own intentionally slow breaths fuming from inside. Hell, how could Dean blame him for giving a damn?

He exhaled slowly. "She asked me not to tell you," added quietly. Practically breathed out.

Dean spluttered for a moment.

"What?" He snapped his head around. "Dude!"

"She didn't want you to know that she knew."

Hell! Dean swallowed hard past the lump in his throat.

"Why?" His voice dropped. Like… like there actually was an answer to this question.

Sam shrugged. "Maybe for the same reason you didn't want to tell her. For the same reason you're running away, Dean. So that you two could pretend that nothing changed. Or so that you didn't know that she cared." He gave Dean a grave look. "But you gotta learn to live with it." And turned away.

"With what?"

Sam stayed silent for a little while before finally saying, "With people caring."

On that he let out a long breath and sagged back into the seat once again.

And what was Dean supposed to say about that? Now that was what he called a very fucked-up situation. But he could have seen it coming, right? Could have felt it. She let him off the hook too easily. Didn't even try to… what? Hold him back? She didn't try to make him feel miserable, that was what surprised him most.

Hell, he could live with people caring! He could live with them alright. With Dad, and Sam, and Bobby. It was okay. It was natural. They were family. He knew he could count on them 24/7 and that they'd do anything for him. It simply couldn't be the other way around.

Bela on the other hand was someone entirely different. She was making him feel the things he didn't want to feel and think of the things he didn't want to be involved with. She was confusing, and Dean simply didn't know what to do. He was losing control and it frightened him like hell. Or maybe even more than hell.

Yeah, it was the very time when he thought he should have died like Dad. He wished he could just walk away and never come back so that everyone he was leaving behind could still believe. As if he wasn't really dying. He wished he knew a way to walk away without hurting anyone. On the times like this Dean wished he was all alone in the entire fucking world so that no one would notice that he was gone. But the truth was – he wasn't no one, and he wasn't alone, and he couldn't just walk away.

The weight of wrong steps and bad decisions was pressing on him and tightening his chest. And the further back Dean was looking, the more he wished he could just rewind his life and start everything again.

He shouldn't have called Sam back into life his brother was so eager to run away from. He should have tried to find Dad on his own. If he could just let this little brother go maybe the things could go different. Sam could have had his friggin' perfect life. Maybe their Dad would still be alive, too. Maybe he'd get demon before it got him, had the things gone some other way. Maybe they'd get him before he started his crazy game with the chosen kids and Sam would never die. Maybe Dean would never have to make the bloody deal.

Slowly, Dean let out a long sigh, his fingers flexed on the steering wheel, eyes locked to the wet asphalt. Sam didn't so much as move in the last ten minutes and Dean wondered if he'd fallen asleep, but he never turned to actually check. Right now he wanted to stay alone and give in to all these brooding thoughts he'd been pushing away for so long. Apparently, pretending that he indeed was alone was the only way to do so. He still felt anger and frustration peppered with something bitter and hurting. Something that was making him want to scream.

Selfishly, he thought it was a very bad idea to answer the bloody phone call in the first place. He almost ignored it when he first saw Bela's name on the caller ID. It was a bad idea to drag his ass across half of the country.

Deep inside he felt a twinge of guilt – knowledge meant responsibility; more people would die if he didn't come – but he quickly blocked himself from going any further down this lane. For once in his life Dean wanted to think about what was good for him instead of caring about the bunch of strangers who didn't even know he existed. God knew, after all these years of being big damn hero he had right to be selfish.

It was a very bad idea to get involved in this crazy pony case…

Dean heaved a tired sigh and rubbed at his eyes.

It was a very bad idea to fall in love with Bela Talbot.

The end

So, this is it. Nothing big, I know. I'm not really good at fighting and action. It's emotions I like writing about *was the video spoilery btw??*

I know that there are some mistakes here and there. Swear to God, I do my best to avoid them but after reading the whole thing for like 10 times I just stop seeing separate words, so sorry. I'm working on it :)

AN2: It is probably my last Season3-related fanfic. If I ever decide to write smth else, it will probably also involve Season 4 spoilers. Well, just for the record.

Reviews are always love!

Thank you for reading!