Chapter 11
Dean tried to tune him out. Bobby sat with him, as he'd done dozens of times already. His voice droned on, about Dean's importance to them all, about his recovery, about the future. -As if there is one- Finally he sighed and turned to look at his old friend.
"Can it, Bobby, alright? I'm tired. I know you all mean well, but jesus, what do you want from me? My so-called future is irrelevant; this thing is still going down whether I'm standing in front of it or not. Lilith is breaking seals left and right while you spend your time telling fairytales to the sad, lonely cripple. I can't help this anymore! You need to quit wasting time here. Sam knew that; he left, didn't he-? You need to find him and Castiel and figure out how to win the bloody war. I'm not a part of anything anymore, I'm not strong enough, maybe I never was! You're all backing the wrong horse, just leave me alone for christ's sake!" His voice was thin, and the outburst left him short of breath. He swore softly, wiping at his watering eyes.
Bobby stood up so abruptly that his plastic chair up-ended. He threw his hat to the ground and roared in frustration. "Stop it, dammit! You stop that bullshit right now-! I am sick and tired of sitting here listening to you give up on yourself, and on Sam, and the rest of this miserable world! You are tougher and grittier and stronger than anybody I know, but you're the most stubborn sonofabitch god ever had the misfortune to make! So don't you lie there whining and moaning about how you're nothing and we should all haul you to the curb and move on! You know it's crap, so crawl out of your own god-damned navel for two seconds; you'll see that you're needed here, and that it's up to you to get on with it! I'm tired too, Winchester! I'm tired of sitting in this hard chair day in day out, watching you wilt like a cut flower, listening to you dying in increments when none of it is necessary! I'm tired of hearing my own voice, I got no words left! Your idiot brother is out there looking for an answer to all this, so he can win back his hero and life can go on! Yeah, maybe he ain't going about this with a clear head, but he's doing it out of love, and the least you can do is buck up and make damned sure he doesn't come back to a corpse! You won't do it for yourself, you won't do it for us, but for god's sake, do it for him-!"
The tirade shocked Dean. Everyone had been tiptoeing around him up until then. He blinked and stared, momentarily speechless. But the hurt he felt ran deeper than Bobby knew. "Do it for Sam? You don't know what the hell you're talking about! He left me, god damn it! It told him not to, I warned him, but he left anyway! And he should have! It was the right thing to do, and you need to go find him and help him with what he has to do, before some new golden-hearted hellspawn becomes his mentor! Jesus christ, Bobby, look around you! Sam's the only hope we have now! Even Castiel knows it; do you see him here wasting time hovering over me? I can't even get up out of this bed, I can't leave this room, I can't drive my car, I can't do anything!" His voice broke at the end of it. "-there's nothing left here for any of you."
Dean expected him to leave after that. But Bobby quietly righted his chair. He sat down again, and rubbed his hand over his grizzled cheeks. He didn't know what he was going to say now, but he wasn't about to do what Dean wanted. He was quiet for a while, watching Dean as the younger man stared away, eyes shining, breathing hard with the emotion.
Finally Bobby did speak. "Are you done?"
Dean ignored him.
Bobby sighed and leaned closer. He measured his words with care. "Now you listen to me, you jackass! Right now, I don't give a rat's ass about the bloody Apocalypse. It can come whenever it wants, it was gonna happen sooner or later anyway. All I care about is you. Did you hear me? I said I care about you. Just as Sam does, just as David and Ellen. And I don't care if that makes you uncomfortable. I ain't sitting here getting 'roids day after day because I want you to take up arms and fight the good fight for us, ok? I'm here because...christ, I'm here because I love you, boy. I love you like you were my own damned kid. I can't stand to see you give up, you're stripping years off my sorry life watching this. Don't do this to me." Bobby choked back tears now, he slumped in his chair and aged as Dean turned and witnessed.
Dean could only manage a strangled whisper. "I just want to get into my car and drive far away, Bobby...I just want to drive far away." He didn't wipe at his eyes now. He let his own tears fall freely.
Bobby took his hand, and this time, Dean did not pull away.
"I know, boy. I know."
Nothing. There was nothing. Sam growled in frustration, tossing the last sheaf of faxes aside. After all his research, after everything he'd received from Bobby, after the miles he'd logged, he'd come up empty. Loki, or Trickster, had been adept at hiding his tracks. Sam couldn't find any means whatsoever to summon the being, it seemed he appeared only at his own whim and never, ever in response to the call of man. He sighed, rubbing his exhausted and gritty eyes. Iceland's ambassador had connected him with the country's Minister of Education, Science and Culture. Katrin Jakobsdottir was a collector of books on Icelandic myth, a great source of cultural lore. The information she'd provided was very complete, with one exception. It said nothing of ways in which one could speak directly to the demi-god Loki. It seemed it just wasn't done. He paced in the small room, running a hand through his unkempt hair. He felt flushed, he was beginning to panic. - I'll never fix this- He was running on empty and couldn't remember when he'd last eaten anything decent. He felt like his head would explode, and he needed to go somewhere to find a drink. He was wise enough to leave the car behind, just in case. He went in to the john and washed his face with cold water, and headed out to find distraction.
He found it, a half hour walk from his room. It was a dive, but he hardly noticed. It was full of people, most of whom were there for similar reasons to his own. Distraction...denial of ugly reality... He found a space at the bar, and ordered a double scotch. He grimaced at the taste; he hated scotch, but it was strong. He ordered another, and another. The sounds of the voices around him were grating. Loud mouthed bullies, and know-it-alls offering their unsolicited opinions, sharing bad advice. He felt a rage begin to bubble under his surface. Maybe another drink would help... When he was decently numbed, he was nearly able to drown them all out. The patrons, the losers around him now, as well as the other voices and images that had been torturing him. He felt himself begin to uncoil.
It was then that he heard it. Laughter. It came from close behind him, just to his left. It got louder, and he whipped around, sure it was familiar. No one was there, at least no one he knew. He turned back to his drink. Someone nudged him then, hard enough to spill the drink he held to his mouth. It knocked from his fingers and soaked his shirt; the glass clattering on the bar top. He swore and stood up, as the other patrons stared at him with irritation. He turned, ready to confront the offender. The grinning man who met his angry eyes winked.
"You!" Sam growled. He lunged, not waiting for an answer. His target vanished instantly, and Sam bowled into the solid body of the aggressive drunk standing behind him. The two hit the floor, up-ending pub tables and chairs. People scattered as the stranger hauled Sam up to his feet and plowed a fist into his face. It sent momentary stars across his view, but his rage boiled up and he slugged him back with equal violence. It decended from there; the two men punched and swore and battered each other bloody, until a pair of burly bouncers separated them, and threw them unceremoniously out the front door of the bar into the street. Both lay there for a moment in the dust, heaving to catch their breath. Sam was up first, and he staggered, raising his fists. The other man shook his head. He rose unsteadily and headed away in search of his wheels.
Alone, Sam scanned the street with one eye, the other already swelling shut. He swore again, quietly this time, and rubbed his bruised and bloody knuckles. Pain clarified things for him, more than anything. What am I doing here..? he thought miserably. This is stupid. He sat down heavily on the curb and dropped his head into his hands. It hit him like a kick to the gut. He really had no idea if the trickster had really been there; it could have been a scotch-induced hallucination for all he knew. He was wasting his time. He couldn't undo the past. He couldn't make it all better by chasing this lost cause. He had to face it and deal with things. And the future; especially Dean's, was in serious jeopardy. He knew that there was something more important than this pointless search. He'd convinced himself that it was for Dean, but deep down he knew that it was really to assuage his own crushing guilt. Dean was suffering. Dean needed him. He lurched off in the direction of his motel.
He got to his door, and stood there for a moment, staring at the car. He wanted to get behind the wheel right now and drive to his brother. But he was drunk, and he knew it. Too much so to drive. And he needed cleaning up, after his fight. He decided to crash; it was late, well past two am. He couldn't think any more. He went in and dropped like a stone on to the bed, beaten in more ways than one. He lay there in the quiet, keenly aware of what he'd been up to for the last few hours. He sighed, and got up to wash his blood-crusted face. The bathroom mirror offered a view that was hardly complimentary. One eye was now tightly swollen shut. His nose was bloodied, but thankfully not broken. A fat lip threatened. He washed away as much of it as he could, then poured a glass of water and locked the front door. As he settled into his lumpy, stale motel bed, he was drifting off when he was startled by a call. It was Bobby again. He was too tired and demoralized to speak to him, and once again he let the voicemail take it. When the call ended, he picked up the phone to retrieve the message. -hope it's something positive-
He listened to Bobby's anxious words. Dean was going down hill, his condition failing. In no uncertain terms, Bobby informed him that if he wanted to see his brother alive, he'd better get his ass back to Georgia, and soon. Sam swore with a vengeance and threw the phone onto the chair. He'd failed. He'd failed, and now Dean was facing more than paralysis, he was dying. He buried his face in his hands and cried, railing against god and the devil, against Castiel, Trickster. Lilith...And against himself. His self-imposed exile had been pointless, apparently doing more harm than good. When he was able to get a grip on himself, he finally returned the call.
"Sam?"
"Yeah, Bobby, it's me. How is he..?"
There was a long chain of cursing. "Dying, you stupid, blind jack-ass! He needed you! Why the hell didn't you call before?"
Sam stammered. "Bobby, I just had to do this, I needed to fix it! Dean hates me, I had to find a way-!"
"And did you?"
"No...no."
"Well it don't matter now. Dean's spirit is sapped. He feels abandoned, and he doesn't see any point in breathing for much longer. Boy, you better get your ass out here, or you'll be picking out his coffin."
Sam was struck dumb. After a moment, he spoke. "I tried, Bobby. I tried everything. I searched every angle, I followed every obscure reference, but it's hopeless. Trickster can't be summoned. I can't help Dean-"
"The hell you can't! Sam, your brother doesn't need you out there chasing miracles for him, he needs you here, with him! Christ, boy! You knew how fearful he was about being abandoned! You of all people should have known how this would affect him!"
Sam felt his heart constrict. "Bobby, I had to find a way to fix this-"
"No! That is bullshit, you had to stay here and face the consequences! You had to stay here and support him, dammit! Don't lie to me, you left to help your own conscience as much as to help him! And how'd that work out, by the way?"
Sam struggled to answer. "You know how."
"Yeah, Sam, I do know. You came up with squat. I coulda told you that, but you never asked. Hell, nobody has more literature on that than I do, not even all the museums and universities in Scandinavia, for christ's sake! All you had to do was talk to me-!"
Sam knew he was right. "Bobby, I...I just needed to do something...I needed to find a way-"
"You fled, Sam. You couldn't face his anger. You know that's the truth. And you wanted to find a way somehow to undo it all. And I get that, considering. But he thinks you left him because he's useless, or worthless now.. And he feels so god-damned alone that he's giving up, and he won't let any of us in to help. We can't do a damned thing to help him, none of us! The only one who can make any difference is you! Sam, you need to get back here, and now!"
Anna came. Castiel felt stupid for doubting. She sat down beside him on the grass. Before he could speak, she turned her dark and serious eyes to him. "I know what this is about."
He nodded, and looked away for a moment. "Uriel is watching me like a hawk. He is doing his good work thoroughly, keeping me from straying."
Anna was blunt. "Uriel is stopping good from being done. He's done so for some time, Castiel."
He looked at her, confused, and not a little alarmed. "What do you mean? He has orders; he has faith, strength, clarity; all things that I lack. God speaks to him, while He offers me only silence."
She looked at him with exasperation. "Really? Do you really think Uriel has God's ear? Castiel, I know your heart. You are torn and wracked with doubts and questions, you always have been. And you feel weak and faithless for it, don't you? Uriel knows this, he uses it to keep you off-balance. You think Uriel has been charged with your re-education, and why? Because he tells you so!"
Castiel shook his head. "No...I am weak and wayward, Anna. Just as you are. He is right, he is there to steer me back-"
Anna shook her head at him with a mixture of sadness and disgust. "Open your eyes, Castiel. When was it that you last thought for yourself? Why do you think he's isolated you from the brothers? Why do you think he always seems to have these 'directives', while you have nothing? Uriel is working his own agenda, and it clashes with your true path."
He snorted in a rare show of bitterness. "Path? And what is my path? No one but Uriel bothers to tell me!"
She stared hard at him. "It's the same as it always was, Castiel. You were given a sacred and important task; aid Dean Winchester in his destiny. Uriel did not give you that job, God did. There's never been any other. You don't get orders or revelation now, because you already have it! You have the clarity, you have the direction, you're still in the middle of fulfilling this important duty; so why would you be given new ones? You've been brainwashed by Uriel to believe that you are doing wrong. Tell me, Castiel; does abandoning them feel right? Is it not in violation of your orders? You have the choice to be creative in pursuing that goal, just as much as Uriel does. He's bullied you into believing that he has a direct relationship with the Lord, and that only he should be doing any thinking, and now Dean Winchester lies in misery, hobbled and faithless and bereft. Why, Castiel? Why do you think Uriel wants this? Does this sound like God's work to you-?"
Castiel stared back at her in shock. What she suggested now was tantamount to treason, but she was already well on that path when she abandoned her grace. "You can't be saying that Uriel has plans other than God's? It's unthinkable, it's-" He was a a loss for words. But he knew, deep down, that some part of it must be true. She'd pulled the veil from his eyes, and it was clear to him now; Uriel had been isolating him, he had been steering him away from what were his true orders. But he wasn't ready to accept her insistence that Uriel was blocking good, that if he had a secret agenda, it was somehow less than honourable. Anna wasn't objective after all, her perspective was tainted by her own disgrace. But still...
His eyes beseeched her for the answers that eluded him. "I don't know what to think, Anna. I don't know what to do-"
"Yes you do. You do. Fulfill your orders, Castiel! Protect Dean Winchester. Guide him. For God's sake, help him. That's your purpose. You have to go back to him; do what you can to set him back on his proper track. Uriel derailed him from it by attacking Loki. Awfully lucky, wasn't it; Uriel's arrival at that crucial moment? He knew what he was doing; don't you ever doubt it. I don't know why he doesn't want Dean Winchester to move ahead as he's supposed to. It doesn't matter now; but it's your job to counteract the damage he's done."
"Are you suggesting intervention? You know that's forbidden-! And my strength is already diminished from the other times I've done it, it's the reason I'm being watched! If I do it again, my weakening will endanger my brothers! Uriel will-"
Anna rose with a disgusted sigh. She turned her back to him and began to walk away. But she stopped, and spun to meet his eyes. "Think for yourself, Castiel! If God wanted sheep, he wouldn't have given you your intellect. If it's sacrifice that's required of you now, than do it. If it weakens you to do good, then ask yourself if perhaps it's worth the risk. This is as much a part of your orders as anything you've done so far to aid Dean. Do you really want to remain powerful, but heartless, like Uriel? Stop looking for answers to things that don't require questioning. Do your job-!"
She left him then, alone on the grass. He sat for a long time, thinking over everything she'd said, about the brothers, about Uriel. He thought about his own role in all of this. He made a decision then. And for the first time in a long while, he felt good.
Sam met Bobby in the parking lot. He stood by the Impala, running his hand absent-mindedly along it's smooth, sculptural lines. "Hi Bobby."
Bobby stood with arms crossed. "What the hell did you get in to?"
Sam shrugged. "Had a little disagreement with a fellow jackass. It's nothing." He didn't bother to tell him of his Trickster sighting. It didn't matter. "Hope David wasn't too mad about the truck.." he ventured.
Bobby snorted. "He's already got a car picked out."
"Good." Sam looked away briefly. "Bobby, I really wanted to fix this-"
"I know, Sam. But sometimes you can't change things. Sometimes the best thing you can do is accept it. He needs you, even if he won't show it. He might be angry, he might blame you, but that don't matter. What matters is that you're there for him."
Sam nodded. He stared at the car for a few moments. "He said... he'll never get to drive his car again."
"Well, I guess...that's not real important now."
Sam shook his head. "No, Bobby. It is. It really is. That's why I took the truck, I just couldn't take the Impala.. This car, this stupid old junker...it was Dad's. For Dean, it's home, it's the centre of everything. He's only ever happy when he's driving it. No matter what was going on around him, if he could get in this car and drive, things were bearable."
Bobby nodded. There was nothing to add.
Sam turned to him, his expression raw and scared. "What should I say, Bobby? I don't know how to make it better...I tried, and I came up empty. All I did was make it worse. And all the rest of it; Lilith, the seals, what the hell are we all supposed to do now-?"
Bobby leveled his gaze at him. "One thing at a time, Sam. The world can just sit on it's thumbs for while. Look after your brother. That's all you need to worry about today. And it ain't gonna be easy, you know that. He's got a lot to work out, and you're at the centre of most of it. Don't let him chase you away, Sam. Lord knows he's gonna try."
Sam stared at the ground, then nodded. "I know. Thanks, Bobby, for all your help.."
Bobby patted his shoulder. "Get in there. I've got some things I have to do."
Sam's words had flicked a switch for Bobby. He did a bit of research. He knew there were ways. A consumate scrounger, Bobby made a few calls, and he found a source for what he sought. He left for a while, and when he got back, he had his prize beside him on the truck seat. The cardboard box was taped in many places with fraying duct tape. It was stained and creased, having spent some years, unused, in someone's damp basement. He parked, and the box clanked with metallic weight as he gathered it up. He smiled slightly, and went in search of Sam.
Sam crept into the room. Nothing had changed much in the week he'd been away. The room was still the stark, institutional backdrop to the still figure sleeping there, surrounded by electronics and monitors. The steady hum of the specialized bed was the only constant sound. He put his hand on it, again intrigued by the curious sensation it offered. Like mice running around in it. It was supposed to vary the pressure points on the patient's body, to minimize bed sores. Dean had complained that it felt weirdly obscene, and it kept him awake. What he could feel of it, anyway...
He sighed nervously, queasy with apprehension. He wanted to tell Dean why he'd gone, and how sorry he was for it all. He wanted to tell him he'd been successful in calling Trickster to them, and that things were going to change, but that wasn't going to happen. He'd returned empty-handed, with nothing to offer. He didn't know what his reception would be, but he tried to brace himself. He waited, listening to his brother's shallow breathing over the other sounds. He did look worse. He looked colourless, and had lost weight. He turned away, feeling terrible, and stared at the heart monitor line peak and level, over and over. He didn't notice that Dean had opened his eyes and was staring at him now.
It startled him. "Dean! -jesus, how are you feeling?" It was lame and stupid, nothing like the eloquence he knew he'd need now to win him over.
Dean was on his side, some sort of brace held his torso rigid. He eyed Sam coldly. "Have a nice vacation?"
Sam steeled himself and started. "Dean...man; first, let me say-"
"Go to hell! I don't want to hear your bullshit! Why'd you bother to come back, anyway? Was there something you needed? Well all I've got is ten bucks and a safe in my wallet; take it and get out-!"
"Dean, please...hear me out! Look, I'm so, so sorry I left, I know what you must think, but I was sure I could...I was...I wanted to..."
Dean interrupted him with a bitter growl. "You wanted to get away from the cripple. You wanted to go somewhere, some place where you didn't have to deal with the shit. How'd it feel, Sam? Did it work? Must've been nice to get away." His meaning was brutally clear.
Sam wilted under the hostile stare. He wanted to flee again, more than anything, but he sat where he was and bore his brother's anger. "No Dean, that wasn't it. I went so I could fix it, so I could make this better." But Dean was right, and he knew it. He stopped his laboured explanations and sighed. He raised his eyes. "You're right. ...you're right, Dean. I was a coward. I left because I couldn't stand to see what I'd done to you. I couldn't deal with you blaming me, I was so scared and screwed up and weak... I thought it was best for both of us if I went and did everything I could to get Trickster to come back, and then everything would be ok again and... and you wouldn't-"
Dean looked away. "..be useless anymore."
"No! god, no, Dean! Not that! If I could fix it, then you wouldn't keep hating me." He wiped away his tears, his hand shaking. "Christ, Dean, I couldn't live with that. I never thought you were useless, I didn't leave because I didn't need you anymore, or because I figured there wasn't anything you could do for me anymore.. I left because I needed to make this all right again, for you and for me! But I failed. I looked everywhere, but I couldn't find any way. I can't make him come back, Dean. Trickster just toyed with me, I never had any chance. God, I'm sorry.. I'm so sorry-" He broke down fully, his sobbing awkward and unbridled.
Dean sighed and covered his own eyes. "Sammy, quit blubbering. God, you sound like a woman." His voice was tired, but it had lost it's harsh edge. Sam got a grip on himself and dared to look up at him. Dean scrutinized him for several moments, then sighed and pursed his lips. "Look, I hear what you're saying, alright? I guess maybe I did think you were a self-serving bitch for leaving, but I should have known why."
"You believe me, right?-that it wasn't because I thought you weren't any good to me anymore-"
Dean rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I believe you. It was because you're just a big pussy."
Sam smiled sheepishly. But he sobered. "Dean, I'm not giving up. I'll keep looking, there's got to be a way-"
Dean stopped him short, wearily rubbing his eyes. "Sam...don't waste your time. I'm not trying to be a martyr here, ok? But I need you to be realistic. I'm going to need help, with the way things will be. I know I can get back some of my life; they all keep telling me that ad nauseum, but I need you here with me. I need to know I can count on you, despite all the heavy stuff on the horizon. I have too much to deal with right now without worrying that you're going to take off and go kamikaze against Lilith because you feel guilty over me. You've gotta promise that..."
Sam met his gaze. "Yeah, Dean.. I promise."
"Good...alright. Now as beautiful a moment as this is, I need you to get lost. I'm beat, Sam, and I need a nurse in here."
"You sure..? I mean, I want to stay-"
"It's not a test, Sam. Go get some sleep, you look like crap warmed over. What happened anyway?"
Sam smiled a little. "Scotch and bad judgement."
Dean snorted. "Well I hope you won at least."
"It was pretty much a tie."
Dean rolled his eyes. He sighed wearily. "Go. Come by later, I'm guessing I'll still be here."
Sam nodded, relieved. He got up, and turned back one more time. "Dean...uh...you know I..."
"Don't make me hurl, Sam."
