ANGELS WE HAVE HEARD... YOU'RE HIGH...
"Come on, Dean. Time to go. Last call for you."
Dean resisted, but only a little. That look was in his eyes. That totally bereft look that Sam had no way to combat, no words to vanquish, no salt to encircle Dean's broken heart to keep the bad thoughts out. The only thing he could do was drive him back to the motel and dump him in bed.
"Sammy, I don't wanna go."
"I know, man, but you've seriously had enough. More than enough, actually."
"I know. Not what I meant." Bleary, sad eyes stared into his.
"What DID you mean?"
"I don't wanna go to hell."
Trying to soothe Dean in this mood was impossible. Sam knew there was no way to reason with alcohol-soaked Dean and to be honest, he really didn't want to. Not on this night.
Christmas Eve hadn't meant much to the Winchesters as long as Sam had been alive, although he knew it had been a big deal for their mother. They'd always been on the road since then and Dad had given them little gifts but always something from what amounted to The Hunters' Handy Gift Catalogue. Sam had known no other way until Jessica.
Jessica's family went whole hog at Christmas. Church, dinners, charity outings, crèche on the table. Joy, good will, peace on Earth. He'd loved it, reveled in it. Thrived on it. Didn't believe but it was just so nice and warm and so damned normal. He'd always told Dean he was just going to hang around and work on school stuff but he had always had the feeling Dean knew the truth. He couldn't stand to be around either Dean or his Dad on holidays, any holidays.
God, how he missed Jess. Missed her with an ache that was strongly physical.
But right now, the whole point of his life was to get the brother he loved above all others in this world back safe and sound and in bed with, hopefully, visions of sugar plum fairies, possibly scantily dressed and pole-dancing, running through his dirty little head. This was the only mission he cared about right now.
Dean was being uncustomarily cooperative.
This worried Sam. A lot.
Why had they parked the car so damned far away? Oh, yeah. Last minute Christmas shoppers in the mini-mall. Finally, they made it to the car and he shoved Dean into the shotgun seat.
Then his phone rang. The number was Ellen's. As he walked around the back of the car, he answered, a little formally. Since Jo's little tirade, they had not been too close. "Hello, Ellen."
"Hi, Sam. I just wanted... Well, I wanted to say Merry Christmas. Are you boys all right?"
"Yeah, yeah. We're fine. Uh... Thank you. Merry Christmas to you too."
"Don't be strangers come the new year."
Then she was gone. He stared at the phone as if it belonged to someone else. After all that had happened, he figured the Winchesters were pretty much each persona non grata to Ellen and Jo so it didn't make much sense for her to be calling. Weird how holidays made people react. Opening the driver's side of the car, he looked over toward Dean.
The passenger seat was empty.
Spinning around, he looked to see if Dean had crashed in the back seat.
No Dean.
Frantically, he hopped from the Impala and looked around 360 degrees.
No Dean in sight.
"Dean!"
Silence except for the banging of some car doors from the bar down the street and engines coming to life.
Striding quickly to eat up more ground, he walked almost a full block before thinking to call Dean's cell. No answer and he was shunted to voice mail. Disconnecting angrily without leaving a message, he dumped his phone back into his pocket. When he caught up with that drunken pain in the ass, he was going to take that damned rain check and deck that bastard!
Then he spotted him.
Dean was standing, swaying, looking up at a stained glass window on a church. From inside, he could hear a choir singing "Angels We Have Heard On High". Tears were running down his cheeks as he stared at the vibrant glass depicting Mother and Child. Mary and child.
Feeling completely inadequate, Sam laid a gentle hand on Dean's arm but his brother shrugged off the touch.
"We should go to the motel now, Dean."
"Mom called you her little angel," whispered Dean, voice breaking.
What the hell was a man supposed to say to that? He'd never heard that one.
"She loved you so much..."
"Hey, man. She loved you too." Sam HAD to get Dean away from here. Lately, he'd been so close to suicidal, there was no telling what was going to push him over a cliff that Sam wouldn't be able to clasp his wrist and hold on to. He held his breath, hoping for Dean to go back to the previous cooperative state which he swore he would never, ever bitch about again as long as he lived. That mood had been a blessing compared to this.
"She told me to always obey my father and always, always protect my brother. My brother's keeper. But I didn't do either one right. I freaking failed at both. That's me. A failure."
"This isn't a real good idea right now, bro. Let's get back to the room."
Once again, Dean shrugged off Sam's hand. "I can't do that."
"Why not?"
"Because the angel told me not to. We can't go back to the room."
"Come on, Dean. I know you're really feeling all that alcohol right now but there are no angels telling you anything."
"Stop using that Dean you're out of your mind voice, Sammy!" Dean aggressively planted his feet wide apart to stop his swaying. "We are not going back to that room and that's it.."
"You need to sleep this off, Dean. Don't go all unreasonable on me now."
"If I have to fight you, I will. I'm not going to let Mom and Dad down again."
"This is ridiculous, Dean!"
"Not going."
This was the very last straw. Sam swung, connecting with Dean's jaw, oddly not even upset when the blow rocked his brother, knocking him to one knee. Surprised at Dean's fast recovery which saw him rise and rush into a tackle which sent them both flying, Sam landed on the bottom with an "Oof!"
They struggled for moments, each trying to land on top but neither actually gaining the advantage when suddenly, Dean went limp, silent tears still trailing down his cheeks.
"What the hell's gotten into you, man? I think you should cut out the alcohol from now on."
"Let's go. I want to go now. I'm so tired."
Back to the submissive mood that scared Sam more than the earlier physical attack. Not wanting to risk another outburst, Sam quickly stood, then pulled Dean up with a hand clasp. "All right. No more little side trips this time, okay?"
"Okay. Side trips all done." Meekly, Dean followed, head down.
There were no more incidents in the five minutes it took to get to the motel and they drove in total silence.
A block away, they saw the smoke cloud and the fire trucks. A police barricade up ahead. Sam pulled over and leaned out the window to a man standing on the sidewalk. "Hey, buddy. What's going on up there?"
"Damnedest thing. A couple of minutes ago, the old motel up there flickered and then the next thing we knew, it started going up. Arson they're saying because right before it happened, some dude called up and warned them with some crazy story about angels telling him so just in case, they went room to room and got everybody out that was there. Just in time too."
The guy took a step closer. "Hey, weren't you guys staying there? Looks like you probably lost all your stuff. Sucks at Christmas, but the cops were saying that they're going to find places for us all. You should go find out where."
"Uh, thanks, man. Good luck to you."
"Yeah. I'm going to need it. My girlfriend's present was in there. She's going to be pissed off tomorrow when I get there. Oh, Merry Christmas."
Sam nodded and the man walked off toward the flashing lights surrounding the motel.
"Was it you? Did you call? Did you start it?"
"You're high if you think I'd torch all our stuff."
"It's not the important stuff. We keep all that in the car," reasoned Sam.
"I did not set that fire."
"I'm beginning to think I don't even know you anymore, man."
"Yeah, Sammy, maybe you don't."
And seeing Dean sitting there with that set look on his face, Sam knew he'd get nothing more from his brother that night.
Merry freaking Christmas, he thought. God, how I miss you, Jess.
He drove off into the night.
After the two young men had left the churchyard, two blond women holding hands faded from sight to the rustle of wings. There was no choir singing in the derelict church with the broken, empty windows.