SEVEN

Trajectory Perfectery

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"Now just hold on there," Bobby said quickly, holding his hand up. "Kill Lilith? You two chuckleheads tried that already - and look where that went!"

"Bobby, this time it's perfect," Dean countered. "Last time it was all about ganking her to try and stop the deal without killing Sam. But the deal's done, you said after she'd shredded me she crapped herself and retreated. Now she's got nothing on us!"

"But you're talking about finding her and killing her," Sam interrupted.

"What? You're not happy about a dead Lilith? Thought you would have wanted her head on a platter?" Dean asked innocently.

"Dean - look - slow down," Sam said patiently. "What's going on here?"

"What?" he asked, his face screwed up in a patent lack of comprehension. "Which bit?"

"Ok, look," Sam said, sitting on the bed across from his brother and pinning him with a look. "Last time you said we should go after her right. We tried, we failed and she killed you with Hellhounds. Now I don't know about you, but I don't want a repeat of that," he said bravely.

Dean's eyes flickered over his face in an uncomfortable gesture that spoke volumes.

"All I want to know is, what's the sudden hurry to kill her?" Sam continued.

"Oooh, let me think, Sam - she's gonna keep trying to kill us if we don't? Oh and by the way, I'm dead," Dean cried angrily. "She can't harm me, cos I'm already dead! I'm a threat to her now, she's shitting bricks and sending her minions over one at a time to try and kill me - but they don't have the juice. It's her turn to fail at everything she does!" He stood abruptly, waving his arms out. "I can't eat or drink or sleep any more, but I can kill the bitch! Why are we even talking about this?" he demanded.

"Because maybe she can kill you," Bobby interrupted. "She ain't a normal demon you know, Dean."

"Then bring it on! We'll find out one way or the other, right? And if I'm right - which I think I friggin' well am - she'll be a rotting corpse as soon as I can get my hands on her. And she can't do a thing to stop me!"

"Dean!" Sam cried worriedly.

"Come on, dude!" he implored, his arms out wide. "I am the ultimate demon killing weapon and you two don't want to use me! Would you seriously carry a BFG-9000 and never pull it?"

"Dean!" Bobby shouted, making the elder Winchester stop short. "What if she kills you?"

"Let her try! I'll rake her into ribbons before she does!"

"And then what?" Sam demanded roughly, jumping to his feet. "By some miracle you kill her but you die - really die - forever. And then what?"

"And then you two throw a party because we finally got one over on those evil bastards! You dig up Dad's dogtags and douse 'em in JD - chuck my mullet rock tapes in the river - and everything is finally done and settled!" he cried happily.

Sam rushed forwards. He grabbed the front of the t-shirt on his brother, driving him into the wall behind. Dean slammed into the wood and Sam leaned all his weight on his fists, his face red with anger.

"You son of a bitch," he snarled, but it was angry tears making his voice thicken. "You blind, insensitive, arrogant dick!"

"Don't forget loud-mouthed," Dean protested with enough sarcasm to fill several orders at Starbucks.

Sam's hands lifted slightly to pull Dean up. He shoved at him again, bouncing him into the wall with force.

"We did everything we could to get over you!" he raged. "I even tried to find Ruby - I summoned and summoned, but the bitch wouldn't come! I offered my soul to anyone who would talk to me at a crossroads, to any demon who would bring you back! I begged and I begged, but they wouldn't listen to me! They laughed in my face, Dean!" Sam shouted, his eyes full.

Dean just swallowed, watching very much against his will.

"And now you want to go kill Lilith and die in some blaze of glory! You want to throw away everything we fought for all these years! Keeping it together cos Dad died - that was us! Finding Azazel and killing him - that was us! Beating his game and bringing me back to life - that was us! We did all that, you and me!" he roared. "Now I gave you crap about selling your soul for me while you were still alive, I know that! But I learned a lot of things while you were dead! I learned to stop getting motels with two beds! I learned to stop ordering two coffees at the truckstop, I learned to stop crying over my dead brother because nothing was going to bring him back!" he seethed.

Dean was paralysed, fascinated by the few tears escaping down his brother's red face.

"But you just couldn't let it lie, could you?" Sam accused angrily. "You couldn't just see your place in the world and go with it, right? You had to - to upset the natural order and boot your way out of the back door to Hell! Part of me is so damn proud of you, Dean! Part of me is scared of you and what you're turning into! So listen to yourself, look to what you're doing! You want to kill Lilith? Fine! I'm all over that! You're not the only one who wants her dead. But you need me and Bobby too! The day any of us start trying to go it alone is the day all this is over!"

"This what?" Dean whispered, transfixed.

"This! This! All of this!" Sam cried, his tears arrested by his anger. "You and me! Bobby! Family and normal life!"

"We haven't had a normal life since I was four," Dean said sourly.

"Not ours - everyone's!"

"But you've had family," Bobby interrupted. "So you let us help, son. You need us, too."

Dean put his hands to Sam's, pushing him off. Bobby moved to drag Sam back but he pulled free of the shorter man. He flung a hand out and grabbed the lone t-shirt over Dean's shoulder, twisting it and pinning him back against the wall. Dean didn't look at him.

"Just don't leave us again," Sam said calmly. He stared at the wall by Dean's dangling hand, but it was a false veneer that Dean chose to ignore.

Dean put his hand up to the wrist, to remove Sam's grip, but he was leaning all his weight on it and Dean couldn't shift it. Sam lifted his chin and stared at his brother. Dean managed to look up at him.

"You did it once. It nearly killed us." Sam took a deep breath, his face turning decidedly threatening. "Don't. Do. It. Again."

There was a long silence.

"When you girls are done, you want to tell me how we can find Lilith?" Bobby grumped, but his voice sounded strained.

Sam let go of his brother abruptly, nodding and sniffing to himself. "Ahm, yeah," he managed gruffly.

Dean looked at the floor, unable to meet either of their gazes. "I'll ah - I'll go check the car over. I want to see what you've done to her radio," he muttered. He walked round them and disappeared out of the motel room silently.

Bobby watched the door close with a slight click and turned back to look at Sam. He turned away and wiped his face dry, sniffing to himself.

"Do me a favour," the older man offered.

"Yeah?" Sam replied quietly, not looking at him.

"Next time just hit him. It's good for him and a Hell of a lot quicker." He turned and retreated to the desk under the window, going through his backpack for books.

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Dean re-appeared much later, finding the two hunters asleep in the only two beds in the room. He sighed, went into the bathroom, and washed off the grease from two hours of checking under the bonnet of his beloved.

He dried his hands on a towel, watching the two sleeping humans with immense thought. The light in the room was off, but the television set flickered away with what appeared to be commercials. He set down the towel and rubbed his forehead before he realised he did not feel the least bit weary or tired. Prepared to accept this as another perk of being dead, he went to the television and turned it silently to point into the corner of the room furthest from the door. He picked up the remote and the wooden chair from under the far window, carrying them over to the darkest corner and putting them down. He went back to the bed, picking up the Colt and the wooden box next to it and retreating to the chair.

He sat for a while, simply staring into space, turning everything over in his mind. Then he picked up the remote and flicked through the channels. He paused on something very new-looking, apparently called 'BBC America', and sat back in the chair. He picked up the Colt, opened the box, and pulled out an oily rag.

And that's how he spent the entire night. He began by keeping one eye on cleaning and reloading the Colt Paterson, the other on the television, which appeared to be telling tales of immortal secret agents and their thrilling adventures. He went on to swallow and eject popcorn in controlled bursts as he enjoyed the irony of himself, undead, watching a similarly unkillable character on some imported television show, where people with weird accents chased aliens.

Because, as he realised with less upset and more resignation, it was all he could do.

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Sam opened his eyes. He heard the gruff chuckle of his brother and sat up with a jerk. He stared for a moment, finding Dean watching the television while he held pieces of popcorn in his hand. He appeared to be engrossed in some programme, ignorant of his brother's startled awakening.

"Dean?" Sam checked.

"Yeah, Sam," he grinned, his eyes still on the screen. Action and great drama was afoot and Dean could not be torn away. "Shoot him, man!" he urged with an effort to keep his voice quiet, 'ooooh'ing as the character onscreen aimed and let off two shots. "Jesus - for an immortal secret organisation guy, your aim sucks!"

"Dean," Sam tried again.

"Hmm?" he managed, yanking his attention to his brother.

"You're not eating that, are you?" Sam asked, eyeing the amount of popcorn in his brother's hand.

"What? No," he said scathingly, dropping it to the plastic tub in his lap. "Hang on - watch this," he grinned suddenly, delving into the tub and flicking pieces into his mouth.

"That's going to come out again," Sam observed wearily, scratching at the t-shirt over his front.

"I hope so," Dean mouthed round the snack, "or else I can't do my new party trick." He swallowed the popcorn and then turned to face his brother. "Ready?"

"No," Sam said pointedly.

Dean grinned, then appeared to hiccup without sound. Sam watched, aghast, as his brother tilted his head back and coughed abruptly in three staggered emissions. Popcorn shot up in three small controlled volleys, as if directed from a weapon. The third salvo hit the underside of the second, combining to fire up and into the first projectile, splitting it into shrapnel that fell around the elder Winchester like rain.

"See? How awesome is that?" Dean proclaimed with pride.

Sam's mouth worked but nothing came out.

"Aw come on, you wish you could do it," Dean teased. "It's awesome, huh? Huh?"

Sam just shook his head, rubbing an eye and swinging his legs over the side of the warm blankets. "And that's what you've spent all night doing?"

"Nah. Cleaned the Colt, reloaded it - you can thank me later. Used your laptop, visited a few sites - and man, am I glad I did," he whistled to himself.

"News sites?" Sam asked innocently.

"Put it this way; my online membership to is still valid for another two months, and more importantly: no, I am not a Ken doll but a fully functioning member of the male half of the population," Dean asserted, the tip of his tongue between his teeth as he nodded away with a maddening grin.

"Oh, dude, TMI," Sam protested, waving a hand at him. "That's all you've done all night?"

"Hey, I had six months' worth blocking the pipes. And anyway, I thought it would be useful to know how to control this spewing thing. I mean, better out than in and all that, but controlling it--"

"Dean, seriously!" Sam cried. "This bathroom better be clean!"

"I was talking about the popcorn," Dean called after him as he disappeared into the bathroom. He turned to find Bobby awake in the furthest bed, watching him with distaste. "Oh hey, Bobby," Dean said weakly, waving a hand at him.

"Hmm," Bobby grumped.

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"Ok, look at this," Sam said excitedly, turning the laptop round. Bobby leaned a hand on the desk, peering at it.

"Demonic signs?" he asked, viewing the list of natural disasters centred on the one town.

"Looks like. You think Lilith might be there?"

"We can hope. I'll put in a few calls to some hunters, see if they've heard anything." Bobby paused at the swishing sound of water behind him. "Dean!" he cried, annoyance adding to his volume.

He turned round to find Dean by the window, a coffee cup in his hand and his head tilted back. Jets of brown liquid were flying up and out of his mouth and down again, some colliding in mid-air, some reaching the ceiling.

"Will you knock it off!" Bobby warned.

Dean sent the last coffee jet up into the air, stepping back to catch it in the cup in his hand. "Just practising."

"Well get in that shower and make it quick. I don't care if you don't sweat any more - you reek and you need a change of clothes. Now get," Bobby ordered.

"Yes Bobby," Dean muttered, putting the cup down and picking Sam's duffle up from the desk by him. He fished around for clothes before Bobby huffed and leaned back to his own bag. He pulled out a clean checked shirt and tossed it at the dead Winchester. Dean caught it gratefully, pulled off his boots, and walked past both living people. He closed the bathroom door behind him.

"We'll leave as soon as he's done prettying himself in there," Bobby grumped, going to the bed and picking up his coffee on the side table. "And we do this right, Sam. You said it, now you're gonna abide by it - we're a team."

"Yes Bobby," Sam grinned.

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