4 months later
She approaches Dean with wide eyes and a slightly panicked expression. She opens her mouth and speaks and Dean jerks back at her words.
"I said yes."
He stares at her for a long moment. "To what?" he asks finally, struggling to mask his fear as his heart begins to thump faster in his chest.
"Moving in. Do you think we're moving too fast?" she asks Dean anxiously, fiddling with the end of her hair.
He swallows hard, relief flooding his body, and smiles at her. "Well, I like havin' you around so my opinion might be a little biased."
She laughs in response, her eyes lighting up, and he grins as she reaches over and gives his hand a squeeze.
"Thanks, Dean. It's your home, too, so I guess if I'm moving in then I wanted to be sure it was okay with you."
"Of course it is, Jane," he replies. "I mean, you'll have to deal with Sam's dirty laundry and him leaving his wet towels all over the friggin' bunker, but if you're up for that, then hell yes."
"Charming," she mutters with a smile. He laughs.
"What about you?" she asks after a moment. "Do you have any bad habits?"
Dean thinks for a moment. "Nah."
She laughs. "'Nah'? That's it? No bad habits at all?"
He shakes his head, grinning, and she giggles. "I think you're lying."
"I think you're awesome."
She looks at him in surprise, and he shrugs. "I mean it. You're awesome to Sam, you deal with me-even Cas likes you. And the way you took all this stuff, hunting and everything, was great, too. Sam's happier than I've seen him in ages. Years, maybe. And I don't know, seeing your little brother happy with someone..." he trails off. "I don't know. I'm just glad you two are, uh, you know. Doing well."
She listens to his speech thoughtfully, and smiles softly when he's finished. "Thank you, Dean."
He just nods.
"But what do you mean, 'deal with you'?" she asks. Dean looks over at her and she raises her eyebrows. "Dean, you're my best friend. I don't 'deal' with you. I get to be around you. I love to be around you. So don't act like... I don't know, that you're some kind of burden. You're not," she finishes simply.
Dean swallows hard and takes a deep breath. "Uh, thanks, Jane. Thank you."
She laughs. "You sound uncomfortable. Too chick flick?"
He grins. "Nah. You're fine, I'm not uncomfortable. I just..." he shakes his head. "I don't know. Forget it."
"Dean," she says softly. He stares at his feet, and she gently slides a finger under his chin and lifts his gaze to hers. "I care about you. A lot."
Dean bites his lip. "Yeah, I don't get that," he replies finally. He sees her expression and says quickly, "I'm not saying I don't believe you, I just... sometimes I wonder.... Who could, you know? Care about me, I mean."
His gaze turns back to the layer of mud creeping up the sides of his boots.
"I could," she says immediately. "I do. Whatever you think you are, Dean... you're wrong."
He swallows again. "Maybe."
"What do you think you are?"
Dean glances at her in surprise and she looks steadily back.
"What do I think I am?" he repeats finally. "I'm..."
He trails off and inspects his fingernails for a moment. "Flawed."
She surprises him again by smiling at him. "Of course you are, Dean. So am I. So is Sam. So were my parents, so were yours. So is every single person you've ever laid eyes on. That's a part of being human."
"I know," Dean says. "But my flaws... they're a little worse than most."
She pauses for a moment, thinking. "I trust too easily," she says finally. "I'm slow to fall, and slower to pick myself back up. I can be selfish. I would do crazy things for the people I love. Bad things, even. I'm self-deprecating. I'm insecure."
Dean listens, astonished. What was she doing?
"I'm easily blinded. I-"
"Jane," Dean interrupts softly. "Why are you telling me all this?"
She looks at him. "Did any of that make you like me less?" she asks.
He frowns. "No."
"Did it change your opinion of me? Did it decrease my value as a person, or as a friend?"
Dean shakes his head slowly, seeing what she was getting at. She smiles softly, gently squeezing his hand. "I love your flaws, Dean. You should, too. They make you you. So quit fighting them and hating them and shoving them down under all that damn beer, and embrace them."
He grins at her seldom used cuss word, but squeezes her hand back, thinking about her words.
"I love your flaws."
She'd said the same thing to him when she was still an illusion. Dean shakes his head, still unable to grasp any part of this messed up situation. "Thank you," he says finally. "I mean it. That, uh.... That means a lot."
Her eyes search his for a moment. "Anytime, Dean."
Dean looks back at her, then clears his throat. "So, when do you think you'll be moving in?"
She shrugs. "As soon as I can, I guess. Whenever I have time."
Dean leans away from his car and asks, "You busy right now?"
She laughs. "Eager to have me as a roommate, Dean?" she teases.
"Maybe I just don't wanna be stuck alone with my brother anymore," he replies with a grin.
"Sure," she replies with a smile. "Actually, no, I'm not busy. Sam would be thrilled. He's doing some research on that case you guys were looking into, though... Should I ask him if he wants to come?"
Dean's desperate to spend more time with her. Alone. "Nah. You should tell him that we're going, though. We'll just drive your stuff over here and then he can help bring it in when we're done or something."
She nods thoughtfully. "Yeah, okay."
He watches her walk back inside. She pauses at the door, though, and turns around. "You sure you're okay with this?"
I don't really have a choice. "Havin' second thoughts?" he asks with a smile, avoiding her question.
She grins. "No, actually, I'm just dying to figure out all your bad habits."
"I thought I said I didn't have any."
"You did," she says, shrugging. "But do you honestly expect me to believe that?"
Dean casually shoves his hands into his pockets. "No, sweetheart," he says. "I don't."
-------------
Dean feels a strange sense of déjà vu as he turns into the long driveway of her house. The road is lined with blossoming trees on both sides, and they sway lightly in the breeze, occasionally dropping a few leaves to the grass below. It's quiet but not silent, and Dean slows down as his car rumbles over the slight bumps in the road.
His heart starts to beat faster in his chest-not in anticipation, but recognition. This couldn't be happening. Not this, too. There was already too much.
He knows this road. He used to drive it every day for months. He knows every rock, every hill, every weed along the way and he has a feeling the house he'll find at the end will be far too familiar.
She watches him quietly as he takes it all in and he struggles to remain expressionless. They continue down the road, and when the little white house comes into view, Dean's hands clench so tightly around the wheel that his knuckles turn white, and he fights back the sensation of oncoming tears. He reflexively parks at an angle, away from the bump that he got the Impala stuck on the first time he'd ever been there, and she looks at him in surprise. He avoids her gaze as he climbs out of the car and stares up at his old house.
"What do you think?" she asks as she too gets out of the car.
"It's..." Dean's at a loss for words. He swallows. "It's perfect."
"Really?" she asks softly. He glances at her and sees a small smile playing at the corner of her lips. He returns it.
"Yeah," he says, turning back to the house. He notices the crooked chain of the swinging bench on the porch, the slight discoloration of the second step, the small crack in one of the windows. "It looks... homey."
She smiles sadly. "It is," she sighs. "I'll miss it."
Dean chews his lip, contemplating. "Maybe..." he says hesitantly. The idea of her selling it or something, kills him. "Maybe... you should just keep it after you move out. Like, not sell it or anything."
"You think?" she murmurs, gazing lovingly at the little white house. "Yeah....maybe you're right. Seems wrong. I doubt I'd find anything like it again."
She looks at him. "But what's the point of keeping it if I don't use it?"
Dean shrugs. "I don't know. Keep it as... your spot."
"What do you mean?"
He sighs. "I don't know. I think maybe everyone should have their own place they can go to when crap comes their way, you know? Mine is the road, in my Baby. Sam's is that damn library. We all deal with things in certain ways, and sometimes we need to be alone. This... could be your spot."
She takes in his words thoughtfully, leaning against the glossy paint of the Impala. "Or it could be yours," she replies softly.
He looks at her in surprise. "What do you mean, mine? It's your house."
She chew her lips. "I know. But..." she says hesitantly. "I know living with me and Sam isn't always going to be easy. It'll probably even be annoying sometimes. Maybe this place could be your... escape. Your little Garden of Eden or something. Since you like it so much, I could let you borrow it."
He laughs, twirling his keys around his finger. "You make it sound like I'm borrowing your favorite novel or something."
"Do you even read?" she teases.
Dean chuckles, shaking his head. "Got me there." He looks at the house again, smiling nostalgically. "I mean... are you sure? You wouldn't mind?"
"No," she says with a smile. "Is that weird? Me giving you my house?"
"Borrowing," Dean corrects. "And yeah, a little. Who the hell cares though, right?"
A slight smile curves her lips. "We're all mad here," she quotes quietly, turning to gaze back at the house.
We're all mad here.
Dean shakes his head suddenly, fighting against the flashback. He abruptly steps away from his car and stalks up the front steps, snatching the spare key from behind the flower pot on the porch and quickly unlocking the door with shaking fingers.
He bursts inside hastily, and everything is nearly exactly as it was in the dream.
"Dean?" her confused voice comes from behind him. "How'd you know where my spare key was?"
Oops.
He spins around awkwardly. She raises her eyebrows. "Uh... lucky guess," he says with a smile, clearing his throat. She doesn't look convinced, and he shrugs indifferently. "Maybe you should come up with a better hiding spot," he suggests with a grin.
She cocks one eyebrow and smirks. "Maybe you should. It's your house now, right?"
Dean shrugs, gazing down at the familiar wooden floors. "I guess."
The house was beautiful inside. Dark, red brown wood floors, cream furniture, some photos on the walls and a stone fireplace across from the couch. He can see the kitchen from the entryway, and while it's small, it's cozy. There's barstools and the cabinets are as cream as the furniture and there's flowers next to the sink and a calendar on the pantry and everything that Dean imagined would be there, is there. He glances at the ceiling, remembering the time that the two of them made spaghetti together and tried tossing noodles to the ceiling to test if they were done, except once one had stuck, both of them had begun laughing and had kept on tossing them, making it a game to try and catch them in their mouths.
He looks away. The memories that pervaded nearly every corner of the house were beginning to reassemble and pile up, filling the painful space between Dean and Jane. He meets her eyes and her eyebrows furrow.
"You alright?" she asks.
Dean swallows. "Yeah, I'm good. Just thinking."
"What about?" she asks.
He searches her eyes for only a moment before sticking his hands in his jean pockets and rocking backwardly on his heels, glancing around the house again. "We should get started," he says finally. "Don't wanna be doin' this at night."
Jane continues to look at him as she nods slowly. "Okay. Where do you want to start?"
Dean sighs. "I guess we should do your bedroom stuff first." The thought of her sleeping next to Sam every night while he lies alone in the next room over creates a small crack in his chest but he ignores it, stepping away from her to climb up the stairs and refusing to look back,.
------------
One Week Later
Crimson.
It gushes, pours, rushes from your crumpled form.
Crimson.
The world around him seems black and white. Even the bright color of her hazel eyes seems to fade.
Except the crimson.
It covers his shaking hands as his vision blurs, and his tears are swallowed by the vibrancy of the color.
As she speaks, the crimson leaks from her lips, too.
"Don't-forget-" she chokes out. "What's-real."
Dean sobs over her twisted body, desperate to understand the last words coming from her colorless lips.
"What does that mean?" he asks brokenly, tears streaming through the dirt on his face. "What does that mean, Jane? I'm so sorry. God, I'm so sorry."
Hey eyes begin to flutter shut but they remained locked on his. "We're all mad here," she whispers.
Dean screams as the last breath leaves her chest.
