Thank you so much Jenjoremy for signing up to beta another story, SandraEngstrom2 and Gredelina1 for helping me get the ideas done, and you all for coming back yet again to support the series.
Chapter One
Dean was kneeling on the ground in the spot where the portal had closed. His hands were fisted in the grass as though he could still reach down and pull his brother back. He couldn't. It was too late, and even if he had been able to, Castiel knew he would not have done it. None of them would, as this was Sam's choice and sacrifice.
Castiel stood behind him with a hand on his shoulder and his heart aching for his friend. He wished there was more he could do. Had he been injured, he could have healed him, but Dean's agony was all emotional, and Castiel had never found the secret to easing that kind of pain. If he had, he would have healed himself, too. He felt misery such as he had never felt before in millennia of service to God. When Sam had died trying to evade his fate as a vessel, Castiel had been sad, but he'd known Sam would come back. There was no comfort of that knowledge this time. He could not come back. Sam had not just died; he had banished himself to the Cage, to an eternity of punishment at the hands of the devil.
"You might want to get him out of here, Feathers," Crowley said dryly. Castiel started. He had forgotten the demon was still there. "'Cause I'm pretty sure Mickey is going to come back to make with the battle again, and it's really best if part of the reason the bout got cancelled isn't here for him to vent his rage upon."
He was right, of course. Castiel tugged Dean to his feet, speaking gently, "Come, Dean, we have to go before Michael returns."
Seemingly on autopilot, Dean let himself be tugged to his feet and braced with an arm around his shoulders. Castiel spread his wings at his back and carried Dean away.
They did not need to speak when they arrived at The Roadhouse. Their expressions told the story.
Ellen crumpled into a chair, a keen crying ripping from her, Sam's name mingled with her expression of anguish. Dean took one step toward her and then faltered and stopped. Castiel looked at him and felt his stolen heart contract painfully. He had thought his own pain was great. He thought he was hurting for Sam. His grief was like a drop of water in an ocean compared to Dean's. The man was devastated, though even that word didn't feel strong enough to describe it. Bloodshot eyes gazed around the room, searching for something, someone, that would never be there again.
"Sit down, Dean," Castiel said softly, sure that if he did not, he would soon fall.
Dean shook his head. "Things I gotta do."
What? Castiel wondered. What was there to do now but mourn?
"Yes," Jo said, seizing on Dean's words. "We need to… For Sam…"
Another cry slipped through Ellen's lips.
"There is nothing to do, Jo," Castiel said.
"We need to take care of him."
Dean looked at her, dead green eyes meeting brown, and said, "There's nothing to take care of, Jo. He's gone."
"I know," she said, her words choked. "But his… body."
"There is no body," Castiel said when Dean's silence became too long. "When Sam took Lucifer down, he took him down completely. Lucifer was trapped within Sam's body."
"But… I need to take care of him." She sounded so young.
"We can't," Dean said, not seeming to hear the cries ripping from Ellen. "He's not here anymore."
"No!" Jo shook her head jerkily. "He's not. He can't be. I need to take care of him." Her voice rose to a shout. "He needs us!"
Dean dragged her into his arms, unfazed as she beat her fist against him in anguish. "He's gone, Jo. He's gone." He repeated the words to her again and again, his voice rising as did her cries of denial. "Sam is gone."
The words seemed to be the permission he needed to free the stranglehold he had on his own emotions. He began to cry out, his own expressions of grief mingling with Ellen's and Jo's in a chorus of agony.
Castiel stood useless beside them, unable to do a thing to comfort or repair. Sam was gone, and it seemed to Castiel that he had taken a part of each of them with him.
The bar was noisy and busy.
Ellen would once have been pleased to see her business flourishing, but everything felt meaningless now: the money in the register, the hunters sitting at the tables, the cases of beer that needed to be unpacked, the empty pretzel bowls, and the dirty and sticky counter that had not been wiped in days. It was all meaningless now that he was gone, taking her love with him—at least that was what he had said in his letter.
She had to wonder, though, if the part of her he had taken to the Cage would provide any comfort at all in that place. How could anything be a comfort when your jailer was Lucifer and your sentence was eternity? Years after she was gone, Sam would still be suffering. When there was no one left who remembered Sam's name, when no one knew he had been the man who saved the world, he would still be there.
She didn't know who she was angrier with, Sam or herself. Had she been stronger, more persuasive, she might have been able to stop him. If she had been a better mother, she might have known the words he needed to hear to stop him doing it. The fact he'd been saving the world seemed of little importance in the face of the price of that salvation.
She was so angry. All the time, she felt like she was on the verge of violence. Even Ash, so sweet and unimposing, aggravated her. He sat at the bar day after day—drinking more than ever before—and his life was so simple and free that it galled her. The only person's presence that didn't make her want to lash out was Jo's. She soothed her mother in some instinctual way. Ellen had one child left to her now that Sam was gone, and she loved her enough for the two of them.
She was pouring a beer for a hunter when a snatch of conversation reached her from along the bar. She largely ignored what people said unless it was addressed to her directly these days, sometimes even then, but the name caught her attention.
"You've got to admit, Winchester was a pain in the ass." It was Kubrick, and he was talking to Mackey.
"He was a decent man," Mackey argued. "He did a lot of good."
"Yeah, he saved some lives, but you can't say he wasn't damn arrogant. He thought he was the best and made sure we all knew it. After his daddy died, you were lucky if he'd give you the time of day. He strutted around like the big I am."
"He was grieving," Mackey said. "I don't think—"
Whatever he was going to say next was cut off as he caught sight of Ellen walking around the bar towards him, her shotgun aimed directly at Kubrick's chest.
"Ellen!" Mackey cried out, raising his hands in front of him.
Kubrick paled slightly as he took in the shotgun. "Now, Ellen," he said patronizingly, "you don't want to do anything stupid."
Her eyes narrowed. "You talking about my boy?"
Mackey swallowed hard. "He didn't mean anything by it."
Ellen cocked the gun. "My boy was a hero!" she snarled.
"Absolutely," Mackey said. "We know that. Kubrick is just running his mouth. He doesn't mean any offence."
"He saved the world!" Ellen shouted.
Absolute silence fell over the bar. No one moved to help Kubrick or disarm Ellen. Perhaps they thought he deserved it. Perhaps they knew Ellen would shoot them, too.
"I really doubt it," Kubrick said, playing to the audience now. "He was a decent hunter, sure, but that's a bit much even for you, Ellen."
Ellen lowered the gun slightly and pulled the trigger. Blood blossomed on the pants leg of Kubrick's thigh and he fell back shouting.
For a moment there was silence but for Kubrick, and then Ellen said, "Anyone else got anything to say against Sam? No? What about Dean or John? You got some bullshit about them you want to share?"
Heads were shaken but no one spoke.
"Good," she said. "Now get out of here, all of you. We're shutting up early today." She glanced down at the writhing man on the floor and added, "Someone get this trash out of here before he bleeds all over my floor."
She didn't wait to see if she was obeyed. She reached over the bar, grabbed a bottle, and carried it into the back.
The room seemed too large, though it was just an average sized double. The second bed drew Dean's eyes like a magnet. He should have asked for a king but he hadn't thought. It was automatic to get a room with two beds after three years of traveling with his brother. He'd realized his mistake as soon as he'd let himself in, but he couldn't face going back to the motel office to change. It would have involved an explanation and he couldn't bring himself to tell the truth. Because the man who should take the other bed is gone.
He couldn't say the word dead. Sam was gone. He had been gone so many times before and he'd always come back, and even though he couldn't this time, dead still seemed too final, as if Dean was accepting what had happened. There was no acceptance for him, not yet.
He reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out the crumpled envelope he'd carried close to him for weeks now, ever since he'd found it resting on his pillow in their bedroom at The Roadhouse. He wasn't ready to read it yet. He was saving it for a day he needed Sam most. He had only one chance to read it for the first time and he didn't want to waste it.
He traced a finger over his name and imagined Sam making the marks on the paper. When had he done it? Was this something he had carried a while or had he taken the opportunity that last day in the bar when Dean had been outside Ellen's door, pleading with her to come out and have time with Sam while she still could?
"Dammit, Sammy," he sighed.
He had left The Roadhouse within hours of their return from Stull Cemetery. He had stayed long enough to see Jo help Ellen into bed and to say brief goodbyes, then he'd climbed into the Impala and driven away. Over the course of the next few days he'd made it as far as a small town in Pennsylvania and there he'd stalled in his journey. He couldn't make the last few hours ride to Sonny's. He knew that once he arrived there he would have to talk, to explain where Sam was. He would have to deal with Sonny's concern, Mitch's questions and the kids' curiosity about where the hurricane man had gone. He didn't think he could bear it.
Instead, he had given into Winchester tradition, finding a liquor store and emerging with a paper sack of whiskey and heavy heart. He booked into the first motel he'd seen and started drinking. He knew he would have disappointed Sam by doing it, but Sam was beyond pride and disappointment now. For the first time, Dean fully understood the slippery path Sam had taken after his own death, how hard it was to face each day. Though each morning was a blessing for those few seconds of ignorance as sleep muddled his mind and made him think Sam was still there, in the bed beside his. The crushing pain of realizing he was mistaken was worth the happiness of those seconds.
It was midday when Castiel came. Dean hadn't seen him since he'd left The Roadhouse and, in truth, he'd not thought he would see him again for a long time, if ever. But Castiel came in a rush of wings and appeared at the end of the bed Dean was sitting on, leaning back against the headboard. He wasn't yet drinking, but the evidence of what he had been doing since his arrival was obvious by the smells of the room and the empty bottles dotted around.
"Hello, Dean," Castiel said, no pleasure in his voice, just a shadow of sadness.
"Cas." Dean raked a hand over his face to try to wake himself up properly. "How did you find me? I thought the rib etchings…"
"Chuck," Castiel said simply.
"Didn't think he'd still be tuned into Winchester vision after it all ended."
"He is and will be for the rest of his life."
"Lucky him," Dean said soberly.
Castiel's eyes scanned the room, taking in the bottles, the dirty clothes on the floor and the untouched second bed. "This is not good, Dean."
Dean shrugged. "I know."
"Sam wouldn't want…"
Dean winced. "Don't! Please, Cas, don't. I can't bear it."
Castiel nodded sadly. "I apologize. But there are better ways, Dean."
"I know," he said again. He just couldn't make himself do them. He wanted to be obliterated by drink. He didn't want to feel, and though he knew Castiel was right, Sam wouldn't want this if he was there, Dean didn't know what else to do now that he was gone.
"Sonny has been calling you; did you know?"
Dean glanced at the dead screen of his cell phone and shook his head. "Haven't charged it." He frowned. "How do you even know?"
"I have been checking on him from time to time, waiting for your arrival. He's very worried."
Dean sighed. "I don't want to make it worse by going to him."
Castiel frowned. "You have always gone to him before though, haven't you? Even when you were in pain. He will be able to…"
"Make me better?" Dean asked, his words torn between hope and sarcasm.
"He will support you as only someone who knows you so well can."
Dean bowed his head. He thought Castiel was right, but he was afraid. He didn't want to face what had happened. Here, in his drunken haze, it was easier.
"What if that makes it worse?"
"Do you truly believe it can be worse?" Castiel asked. His eyes drifted to the letter on the bed beside Dean and his eyes became sad. "Read your letter, Dean. See what Sam has to say. Let him guide you."
Dean grimaced. "And if he doesn't?"
"Do what you think he would want you to do until you are ready to guide yourself. That is all you can do now."
Dean picked up the letter again and sighed.
"I will leave you in peace," Castiel said. "But, Dean, do not forget that I am only ever a prayer away. Always.
Dean tried to force a smile but it felt like a grimace. "Thanks, Cas. I appreciate it. We both always did."
Castiel disappeared and Dean slid his finger under the flap of the envelope. A single sheet of paper slid out. He picked it up with a shaking hand and began to read.
Castiel sat on a bench in the Keukenhof gardens. He had come here once with Sam and Dean, and he'd chosen the place as it made him feel connected to them as well as God. The sky was just lightening with the dawn, but Castiel could see as clearly in the dimness as he would be able to at midday.
He was staring at a rose, a perfect bloom of his Father's creation, and trying to find the words to make his request.
"Father, hear me please; I need Your help. I don't understand Your will, Lord. You brought me back, You saved me, but why have You not saved Sam? I need to understand. Did You stop me? Was that why I failed?"
Castiel well remembered the agony of the journey through Hell, the shrieks of pain from the souls on the racks and the laughter of the demons. He had flown past them, confident in his mission to save Sam, with his wings spread wide at his back. Then he had come to the Cage and he had rejoiced at his success in making it so far. It was there he had failed. He had tried everything to penetrate its bars, but nothing worked.
The very worst part was what he had seen and heard: Sam's cries of pain and the glimpse of fingers curled around the bars, as if it helped for some part, any part, of him to be free. Castiel had stayed there for what felt like an eternity, though in truth it would only have been a matter of weeks in real time, trying to free Sam, but nothing had worked, and eventually he had surrendered to defeat and left.
The disappointment as he had breached the earth again and flown into the blue sky had been immense. Not only had he desperately wanted Sam to be free, he had wanted to be the one to free him. He wanted to show his gratitude to the man who sacrificed everything to save. He wanted to deliver him to Dean and see the joy of their reunion. He wanted something to ease the suffering of the residents of The Roadhouse and to ease his own pain. He was useless though. An angel returned to the power of Heaven he may be, but he still could not do it.
"Please, Father," he said. "Speak to me. Tell me Your will. I need to understand. Sam gave so much, his life to save, and he should be rewarded with freedom. He needs the aid of Heaven because it is the fault of Heaven that he is there. Exchange my place for his. Please."
He waited, silent and filled with the warmth of prayer, but there was no response. Disappointed in both his own failure to find the words to spur God to speak to him and his failure to save alone, he sighed.
"Why?" he asked, not to God this time but the empty air.
"Because there is always a price," a voice said, "and Sam Winchester is the price of the world."
Castiel's head snapped up and he saw Joshua standing on the other side of the rose bed. He stood but did not move any closer. They would have been able to hear each other clearly a mile apart. "That is not fair," he said.
"The will of God is not always fair, Castiel. You know that better than most."
"But Sam deserves life," Castiel said, impassioned.
"I know," Joshua said sadly. "Perhaps our Father knows that, too, but He will not intervene."
"He intervened for me; He brought me back. Why would He do that for a Fallen but not for Sam?"
"I don't know," Joshua said. "It is not my place to question Him. I merely listen."
"This feels wrong."
"Yes," Joshua said simply.
"What do I do now?" Castiel asked.
"Do what you were brought back to do. Serve Heaven."
"Michael will give me no instruction," Castiel said bitterly. "He will barely accept my presence in Heaven again."
"There are other ways to serve than as a soldier, Castiel. Find a way to live that you think will please Him and the Winchesters both."
"How do I do that?" Castiel asked.
"That is for you to discover, not to be told." Joshua looked at him sympathetically. "I am sorry."
Joshua's tawny wings spread at his back and he took flight away from Castiel.
Bobby Singer sat on the back porch of his house, a glass of whiskey in his hand and his eyes trained on the sky as it gradually lit up with the sun. He had waited weeks to do this as he hadn't felt ready before then. He knew that this was goodbye, and that was perhaps the very hardest word to say to someone you cared about.
He felt ready now though.
As the sun bloomed in the sky, a spectacular show of orange and pink, he raised his glass and toasted the sunrise. "Thank you, Sam," he said. "Goodbye."
ANGEL OF HURLEYVILLE
Today was an important day in Hurleyville. Construction on the last house for the people displaced by Hurricane Julian was completed. A full year after the storm hit, the Greene family, whose house was destroyed, was given the keys to their new home. Built on the foundations of their previous residence, the house has been built by the team of volunteer workers from Project Rebuild with materials and funds from large corporations and local businesses.
Mayor Harding was given the honor of handing over the keys, and he gave an honor in return. Dean Winchester, former resident of Hurleyville, was given a commendation for services to the community. In the wake of the disaster, Dean returned to the area and joined the team rebuilding. Not only has he spent his days constructing homes for the displaced, he spent evenings volunteering at the relief center and weekends counseling the young victims of the hurricane. A trained social worker, Dean has used his knowledge and kindness to guide the youth of Hurleyville and outlying areas through the process of grief and trauma recovery. Some of the counseled have lost their homes, while others have even lost members of their family.
"He's an angel," says Ruth Barber, who runs the counseling center. "The kids really respond to him and he works for hours without remuneration. We'd be lost without him."
The sentiment has been echoed by the site manager of Project Rebuild and Richard Windsor of the relief center.
Dean refused an interview, but we were able to speak with Sonny Antonio, owner of Sonny's Home For Boys, friend and former guardian of Dean. "Dean is a hero in the truest sense of the word. He's always given for others, and this is just one more way in which he serves the good of people. He's always given and asked nothing in return. I'm proud to know him."
Reticent in the face of recognition, Dean merely thanked the mayor for the citation and said he would accept it on behalf of everyone who acted for the good of others. It is clear to us that Dean is an exceptional person and we in Hurleyville are lucky to have him among us.
Ellen pinned the article Sonny had sent her to the bar wall and smiled slightly as she took in the attached picture of Dean, smiling ruefully as he shook hands with the mayor.
She'd kept up with what he had been doing through their letters and his emails to Ash, and seeing him getting the recognition he deserved for it pleased her, even though she knew he must have hated every minute of the ceremonious occasion. Dean had never been one to accept accolades; no Winchester had.
She sucked in a shaky breath, concentrated, and the tears that wanted to fall stayed behind her lids. She was better at that now, keeping them in. It was good that she was, because she would need it for the coming night. For the first time in a year, Dean, Ellen, Jo, Bobby and Ash were all going to be together again.
She had seen Jo and Ash on a daily basis as they'd stayed with to her, and Bobby had made the trip to The Roadhouse a few times, but she hadn't seen Dean since he'd walked out. She would now speak to him properly for the first time.
It had been Jo's idea to gather for Sam's birthday, a notion Ellen wouldn't have been able to consider even only a few months ago, but when Jo had approached her with the idea, tentative and tearful, Ellen had acquiesced.
They'd never had any kind of ceremony for Sam. There was no body to burn, so they'd not had that opportunity to lay him to rest. That was right in a way, because he wasn't resting, he was…
She concentrated again and the tears were forced back.
They all needed this, Ellen not least of all. They were going to gather, drink, remember, and mourn. It felt to Ellen that she had been mourning a lifetime. She had lost so much so many times over. There had to be a limit eventually for what a person could take. She wondered when she would reach hers, if she hadn't already. She certainly didn't feel whole anymore. She wasn't the same woman who had said goodbye to John Winchester all those years ago.
There were reasons to keep living though: Jo, Ash, Dean, Sam's memory. They were the things that kept her going, Jo more than anyone. Jo had lost her brother. She needed her mother and Ellen needed her. Jo knew that, too, Ellen was sure, as she hadn't left. Even months after Sam had been lost, Jo stayed at the bar, working the taps with Ellen. She didn't even talk about hunting, for which Ellen was grateful. She didn't think she would ever have even a semblance of peace if Jo was out there, risking herself now.
Sam wasn't mentioned by outsiders anymore. The story of her shooting Kubrick had spread among the community, and no one in the bar spoke of him, good or bad. His presence was still there, though. The table he had claimed for himself and then for them all was left empty most of the time as a mark of respect.
Ellen wasn't stupid. She knew that, as much as she had loved Sam, he hadn't been a saint. He'd upset people, ignored some and used others to achieve his ends, but those ends had always served someone else, not him. He had been a good man, a hero. He'd saved the world.
"Mom?" Jo said gently beside her. "Are you okay?"
Ellen realized the tears she had been masterfully controlling had crept out without her realizing. She wiped a hand across her face to clear the wetness and forced a smile.
"I'm okay, honey. Just thinking."
There was no need for Jo to ask what she was thinking. It was what they were both thinking of today.
"What time's Dean coming?" Jo asked.
"He said he'll be here around five. He's going to meet with Bobby on the road to eat before coming."
"Mom, it's five now," Jo said.
Ellen glanced at the clock on the wall. She'd come into the bar to pin up the article, wanting everyone to see it, thirty minutes ago. Had she really spent all that time since lost in thought? It was an exceptionally difficult day, but she thought she'd handle it better than that.
"Oh," she said. "I guess we should get stuff ready."
"I'll do it," Jo said. "You sit."
Ellen allowed Jo to lead her to a chair and she sat down, her hands clasped on the tabletop, watching her daughter as she leaned over the bar to retrieve a bottle of whiskey. It hurt Ellen's heart to watch. It was just what Sam used to do. She wondered if Jo was even aware of it.
Ash came in and set his laptop down on the counter and then moved around the bar to collect glasses for them. Ellen watched and tried to brace herself for what was to come. She was still trying when she heard the sound of the Impala approaching. Color drained from her face. That sound…
"They're here," Jo said, walking to the door to unlock it.
Ellen stood, gripping the table hard, and took a breath. It was okay. It was Dean and Bobby. It was for Sam. She could handle it.
"Are you going to be able to handle this?" Bobby asked.
Dean was staring up at the frontage of The Roadhouse, feeling like he was choking on the emotions that rose up his throat. He nodded though and dragged his eyes to meet Bobby's concerned ones. "I'll be fine."
He'd not been able to give Jo an answer straight away when she'd asked if he was willing to come for a gathering to mark Sam's birthday. He'd needed to think about it for a few days, talking it out with Sonny, before he called her back. He'd had one more question before he agreed. Was Ellen willing, too? Was she ready? He thought if she could handle it, he could, too.
Jo reassured him that she could, so he had made arrangements to take time away from his counseling duties and set out for Nebraska. He'd taken the drive slowly, making it last days, to give himself time to prepare.
It had felt strange to be alone on the highways, and he'd not driven the Impala in months. He used Sonny's truck to get around in Hurleyville, leaving the Impala under a tarpaulin in the barn. He'd not been sure the truck would make the journey though, and he'd thought maybe Ellen and the others would appreciate seeing the Impala on the road where it belonged again. It had made his heart ache though.
But he was there now, and it was time to face his past and loss properly.
He took a deep breath and then made for the door. It was ajar and he pushed it open slowly. Jo was just inside, her expression nervous. He wondered what she had expected to see in him and whether he met those expectations.
"Hello, Jo," he said, pleased to hear the steady quality of his voice.
"Hey, Dean."
He opened his arms to her and she stepped into his embrace. He had not held her since the day she cried for Sam, and the memory pierced him for a moment as the scent of her perfume and the feel of her made his mind spin back to that awful day. He stiffened and she pulled back. He quickly smiled, a little sadly, and she returned it.
She turned to greet Bobby and Dean looked across the room to the one other person he believed truly understood how he felt. Ellen looked exhausted and sad. She wasn't the same inconsolable woman she had been when he'd last seen her, but he could tell time hadn't healed her wounds any more than it had his. As he started toward her slowly, a tear slid down her cheek. He wondered what she was seeing. Was it the same pain in him that she felt? Did his presence hurt her because he reminded her of what they had lost?
She came forward to meet him, her gait not completely steady, and he brought his arms up to hold her. She wrapped her arms around him and hid her face against his shoulder, her breaths stuttering against him.
"I know," Dean whispered. "I know." He felt the same way. It hurt to be here, to see her, but at the same time it felt right, as if they had let Sam down by being apart for so long. Their mourning had each been done without the other and Sam wouldn't have wanted that.
She pulled back and said, "I missed you so much."
"I missed you, too," he admitted. "I'm sorry for being gone so long."
Ash clapped him on the shoulder and Dean shook his hand. "Hey, man," Ash said. "Good to see you."
"You, too," Dean replied, and he meant it. It was good to see these people; they were all family.
Jo cracked the seal on the bottle of whiskey on the table and poured five glasses. She handed them around and then took one herself. Her voice choked, she said, "To Sam."
Dean forced back his tears and saw from the concentrated look on Ellen's face that she was doing the same. "Sam," he echoed.
As the night wore on, the mood became less melancholy. Though the object of the evening had been to mark Sam's birthday, and Bobby had thought that would be done through tears and sadness, they celebrated his life instead. There were tears, of course, but there were also smiles of remembrance and expressions of love, even some laughter.
Ellen and Jo shared some of their memories of Sam as a child and young man, the years Dean and Bobby had missed, and Dean told them tales of Sam's youngest years when he had been there. He told a story of Sam's obsession with space, and though Ellen, Ash and Jo had apparently heard the story before, they laughed with him again.
Dean was telling another story of their youth, and Bobby was listening, thinking of their missing member. "We were in yet another grungy ass motel," Dean said. "The only thing it had going for it was cable and the late movie. So, Dad's only been away a few days and we're still in the happy phase of being left alone; we hadn't started worrying. One night I'm bored, and Sam's going through a stage of not wanting to go to bed till I did, so I let him watch the movie with me. It was The Shining."
"How old was he?" Ellen asked curiously.
"Ten," Dean said, sounding apologetic. "Way too young, but I didn't know until it was too late. So, Sam gets through the whole movie like a trooper, and I'm thinking, 'my brother rocks' until the next morning. I wake up to find him curled in a ball beside me, fast asleep. For the rest of the two weeks we spent there, I would wake up to Sam sleeping next to me. Poor kid had the piss scared out of him." He looked pensive. "The first hunt we took after I rejoined the life was in Colorado. I said we should stay in The Stanley Hotel—the King connection, you know? He was… well, he was Sam about it, but we made a deal to stay there sometime. Would have been cool."
Ellen nodded thoughtfully. "Yeah."
Jo perked up. "I've got one. Okay. We were like fifteen and thirteen, Sam seemed to be racing ahead, growing up faster than me, and I was scared of being left behind, so I started following him everywhere."
"I remember that," Ellen said fondly. "Drove him just about crazy."
Jo nodded. "Yeah. I didn't care though. He was my Sam; I figured that I had some claim on him. Anyway, there was this family staying in town for the summer, house-sitting or visiting relatives or something. They had this daughter… She was pretty and red-haired and older, and everything I thought I wanted to be. Sam was smitten. They would meet at Debbie's Diner and share milkshakes like they were children of the fifties or something. This one time they were taking a walk together around the farm roads and I followed. They were holding hands and talking, and suddenly Bree, that was her name, pulled him to a stop and kissed him. There's me hiding behind a tree like a creeper watching them making out, and thinking any minute Sam's going to see me and freak."
"Did he?" Ash asked eagerly.
"No," Jo said. "They finished making out and carried on home. ButI was so mad at him. Like I said, he wasmySam, and that girl, who was everything I wanted to be, was kissing him. It wasn't that I liked him like that even. It was her I was jealous of and I made it about Sam." She shook her head. "So I wait till we're back home and she's gone, and I go storming up to Sam in all my thirteen year old glory and demand that he kiss me, too."
"Hold on," Ellen said. "Are you telling me Sam kissed you?"
Jo laughed softly. "He did something far worse, at least it was worse for me. He bent down—and I'm so sure he's going to do it, right—and he kissed my cheek. He stands up straight again and says, serious as anything, 'One day I'll find you someone that deserves a kiss'." Her tone became plaintive. "He didn't."
Ellen nodded sadly. "He didn't have long enough, not long enough at all."
Bobby cleared his throat gruffly and Dean sniffed.
"Have I told you about Sam and Rumsfeld?" Bobby asked, wanting to break the moment of grief that had settled over them again.
"Rumsfeld?" Ellen asked.
Dean smiled. "Bobby's Rottweiler. Most ridiculous guard dog I ever met."
"He wasn't ridiculous when I got him," Bobby said defensively. "I got him from a breeder that specialized in guard dogs. I did it all proper, checked the bitch and father first, and they were fierce and feisty. The pup seemed to be working towards the same attitude. I thought it was perfect. Couple days after I get him home, your daddy arrives on my doorstep with Sam. Rumsfeld takes one look at John and tries to eat through his boot, barking and growling fit to bust. Then Sam comes along, twelve years old and butter wouldn't melt. I'm getting ready to send Rumsfeld out to the yard, thinking Sam will be scared, then, swear to God, Sam picks the beast up and Rumsfeld starts licking his face like he's coated in kibble." He laughed. "Me and John are just standing there watching this dog go to town on Sam, and Sam's laughing so hard. Well, John picks his jaw up off the ground and you can guess the rest, he tells Sam to be good and drives off. Sam spent the next few weeks with Rumsfeld following him around like he was the Pied Piper of stupid pups."
Ellen smiled fondly. "He always did like dogs. We had a few come through here with customers and he charmed them, too."
Bobby nodded. "By the time John came back to pick Sam up, I had a guard dog that would roll over and shake on command, practically dance for sausages, and lick a man to death. Damn, did I look stupid. He died a few years later, some intestinal thing. Damn shame. He was young"
"Young," Ellen said dolefully.
Bobby realized what he said a moment too late and he bowed his head. Yes, too young, and a damn shame.
"You ever hear the story of me and Sam's first meeting?" Ash asked.
Bobby and Dean shook their heads.
Ellen smiled slightly. "I forgot about that."
Ash nodded, "So, I've been booted from MIT and I'm touring the country as a… I think vagrant is the word. I am hacking and transferring money around courtesy of the big banks, keeping myself in beer and beds, when I stumble across this place. I like it, so I stick around a few weeks, loving the atmosphere…"
"And not batting an eyelid at the weapons being bandied around," Ellen added.
"Yeah," Ash said. "It's a cool place, so I hang. One night I pass out on the pool table, and Ellen lets me be. It becomes a habit, and I get real comfy. I start pulling out the laptop and doing my work in the open. A few hunters ask for help with cases, and I realize there's this whole other world I'm clueless about. I start asking around, and a few people tell me a few things, but largely it's like they're trying to protect me." He sighed. "Then Sam comes in. He's around sixteen, and boy is he intense. Kinda freaked me out at first. One night, I'm drunk, John is talking with another hunter in the corner, and Sam's talking with me. He finds out I was at MIT and he is full of questions. What's college like? How hard is it? Why'd I leave? I start telling him in exchange for information of my own. For every question I answer about college life, he tells me something about the hunting world." He smiled, lost in nostalgia. "There's me, learning about the real world of hunting, and Sam learning about the world beyond it." He shook his head. "In another life maybe."
Bobby swiped at his eyes. He'd heard the story of Sam's acceptance to Stanford from Ellen and now he saw where the impetus had come from. Ash, of all people, had made him see there was another life out there for him. He'd never experienced it though, because of John damned Winchester and his hunt for The Demon. He couldn't have known what it would cost his son, but Bobby still blamed him for his part in what had happened to both the boys: the one who had given up his life for the world and the one who had been left behind.
There was silence for a moment, and Bobby was sure all thoughts were in the same place as his—the life Sam could have led—then there was a rustling sound.
Bobby turned in his seat and saw Castiel standing behind him.
"Cas!" Dean said startled. "I didn't know you were coming… You… What's happened?"
Bobby saw it, too. Castiel's eyes were wide and wild. His whole body seemed to crackle with energy. He had never seen the angel like this before.
"Castiel?" Bobby prompted.
The angel cleared his throat and spoke into the silence. "Sam is back."
So… This chapter was a really tough one to write. It felt important to see how the others dealt with the fallout of Sam's jump but at the same time I was so damn eager to get Sam back into the story. This is the result. What did you think?
There was inspiration for and a theme to the pre-article scenes of this chapter. Did you catch it?
Until next time…
Clowns or Midgets xxx