A/N: Thanks again for sticking with me, and especially for the reviews, alerts and favorites. I am still blown away by your response to this story! This chapter took a little longer to get going, but thank goodness today it finally got there. I think I actually got derailed by The French Mistake. It was really hard to get back into angst mode after that one! Many thanks to Cynbad3, who had her work cut out for her in keeping me focused! :) And thanks for the quick beta!
Disclaimer in chapter 1
Chapter 12
The next few days went by in a haze for Sam. He tried to keep his distance from Dean and Bobby, too busy contemplating what he had learned to really want to be bothered with what was going on now. He ate when one of the others brought him some food, slept when Dean insisted, and just drifted in his thoughts the rest of the time. On a few occasions, he had attempted to push for his memories again, but somehow Dean had seemed to know what he was doing and stopped him.
He was starting to feel smothered with all of the attention he was getting from the two older men, and even Castiel had made an appearance to see how he was feeling. He wanted to be left alone, but the more distant and contemplative he became, the more diligent they seemed to be with keeping an eye on him, leaving all three of them frustrated and on edge.
Castiel seemed oblivious to the tension when he made his second appearance since Sam had found out the truth. He appeared in the kitchen when all three men were sitting at the table eating breakfast. Sam was the only one who didn't jump at the sudden intrusion, and that was only because he was busy studying the inside of his cereal bowl in order to avoid his brother's eyes.
He caught Dean's flinch out of the corner of his eye, and looked up to see what was going on. Both of the older hunters were glaring at Cas, who stood just in front of the kitchen sink.
"Could you please stop doing that?" Dean's voice was sharper than he usually let it get with the angel, and Sam looked at him closely, really seeing him for the first time in nearly a week.
He would have thought that Dean getting his brother back would have made him look more relaxed and rested, but it seemed to have had the opposite effect. The dark circles were more pronounced around his eyes, and his color had faded even more. The last thing Sam had wanted was to drag his brother down with his problems, but it seemed that it was exactly what he had done. He decided that he was going to need to make a concerted effort to follow the current events, if only to make it easier for Dean.
Castiel looked puzzled. "Stop doing what?"
"Stop just popping in without any warning! I've told you before, normal people use the door. That way you can knock, we have a warning that you're there, and we can go let you in." Dean's anger and frustration showed in his voice, and Sam's resolve grew stronger. Somehow he needed to get himself together enough to be there for his brother.
The angel looked puzzled. "That would be inefficient. This was much faster, and none of you needed to get up to let me in." He shrugged, clearly done with the moment. "Dean, I need your help."
Dean looked up with interest, and Sam cheered inwardly. Maybe his brother just needed to think about something else for a while.
Castiel took a step toward the table. "I need you to come with me to retrieve some more weapons I have located. I have been told it is a two man job." He stepped back, waiting expectantly.
Dean's expression darkened. "A two man job, huh? So of course you just decided to come and get me to help you with it. Don't you have any angel flunkies? Anybody else who could help you with this? Because now is not a good time for me." He eyed Sam for a second, his eyes full of concern, and then looked back at Castiel.
It was extremely rare to see Castiel get truly angry. In fact, Sam reflected thoughtfully, the last time he knew of it happening, Dean alone had borne witness to it and had returned half-conscious and covered in bruises and blood. But he was surprised to see it happen now. Castiel's normally placid expression dissolved into a clenched jaw and eyes bright with anger. When he finally spoke, it wasn't in his usual monotone growl, but with inflection and passion.
"Dean, I don't know how many times I need to remind you of this, but I am in the middle of a war. And yet every time you have asked me for something, I have done what you asked, even though it was not 'a good time for me'." He raised his hands as he spoke, dragging two fingers on each hand through the air.
Sam blinked. Did Castiel just use air quotes? He shook his head, trying to shake off the rest of the fog that seemed to have gathered in his brain. He looked over at his brother, wondering if Dean thought that was as strange as he did. He was just in time to see Dean deflate, suddenly back to looking tired and worn.
"I know. I'm sorry, Cas. I know it's a double standard, but I just can't leave right now." His voice was pleading now, and he seemed truly torn.
"Is it something I can help you with?" Bobby weighed in on the conversation. "I'd be glad to go with you and help with whatever your job is."
Sam's heart rate picked up. If Dean left for a little while, even though he was a little nervous about it, he would only have to contend with Bobby, and for some reason the older hunter was still keeping his distance. It would give Sam the space he so desperately craved.
"I think you should go." When three faces turned to stare blankly at him, he realized it was probably the most coherent thing he had said since he had found out what had happened over the past year. He pressed on doggedly. "Cas needs your help, and I won't be alone. Bobby will be here, right?"
Bobby nodded, looking a little queasy, but Sam was willing to take that. A nod was agreement, no matter how hesitant. "Yeah, Bobby will be here, if anything goes wrong . . . which it won't." He emphasized the last three words. He needed Dean to be on board with this.
Dean studied him closely and then finally nodded painfully. "Fine. Sam says he'll be fine, so I'll come with you, but only for a quick trip."
Cas relaxed back into his usual straight face. "Thank you. I know this is hard for you, but I will get you back as quickly as possible." His face took on a look of concentration.
"But only," Dean put in quickly, "if I get to drive. All that zapping around makes me dizzy."
Cas looked puzzled again, but he nodded, clearly relieved that Dean had agreed to join him for his mission. "Thank you." He headed toward the door and the Impala.
Dean rolled his eyes. "I need to get my stuff together, Cas. Give me a few minutes." He disappeared up the stairs, returning a few minutes later with his duffle. Heading for the door, he stopped in his tracks, studying Sam intently. "Are you sure?"
Sam nodded. "Go ahead, Dean. I'll be fine."
Bobby stepped up beside Sam, resting his hand on the younger man's shoulder lightly. "Don't worry about us. We'll still be here when you come back."
Dean seemed to relax at that statement, nodding in satisfaction before following Castiel outside to the Impala. Sam stood up and leaned against the doorway, watching the black car as it eased down the driveway and out onto the road. Once he couldn't see it any more, he returned to his place at the table, picking up his bowl of cereal. Disgustedly, he realized it had soaked up all of the milk and was now a soggy mass on the bottom of the bowl. He stood up, carrying the bowl to the sink. He dumped the offending mess into the garbage disposal and then rinsed his bowl and stacked it neatly in the sink.
Turning purposefully toward Bobby, he took a deep breath. "Is there anything you need my help with?"
Bobby shook his head, still looking uncomfortable. "No, you go do what you want. I have some cars to work on today." He quickly exited the room, crunching across the gravel to the garage.
Sam smiled, relieved that he wasn't going to have to worry about Bobby keeping too close an eye on him. He really did need the space. He went into the library and sat down in an easy chair, picking up a book from the desk. Leaning back in the chair, he opened the book, a little disappointed to find it was an antique textbook on lycanthropy. He shook his head. He didn't really think he was going to get too much distraction from a book written in 1865 with an incredibly creative title like The Book of Werewolves. He set the book back on the desk and sighed.
Staring up at the ceiling, he tried not to think about the discussion he and Dean had shared the other day, but it kept running through his mind anyway. His eyes followed the barely visible crack in the plaster of the ceiling, wishing he had picked another room to sit in. This one, while it held many fond memories, also held one from four . . no, he supposed that would be five years ago now . . that he wished he could forget. Waking up after Bobby and Dean had exorcised Meg to find a battered and bruised Dean whose injuries had been caused by Sam's own fists and gun. Not exactly an image he wanted to think about right now.
He stood up unsteadily and quickly left the room, grabbing his jacket in the hallway and heading outside to walk in the junkyard. He really needed to find a way to get past this, for Dean's sake if for nothing else. He was glad Dean had agreed to accompany Cas on his mission, and he hoped it would keep his brother's mind on something other than him for a while. Dean deserved some peace in his life. Maybe now that Sam had returned from the dead once again and had been successfully reunited with his soul, his brother would achieve some form of it.
He spent the day wandering through the junkyard and around the grounds. Every once in a while, he noticed Bobby in the distance, checking to make sure he could still see him, and then getting back to work on whichever project he was tackling at that time. Sam considered going to see if he could help, but Dean had always been the one who was mechanically inclined, and he didn't want to waste Bobby's time with his inept attempts to help. That reminded him of following at Bobby's heels as a small boy, asking endless questions and handing his 'Uncle Bobby' whatever tools he needed. Bobby had made a lonely little boy feel special with his request for Sam's help, even though he was fairly sure he had actually only slowed the mechanic down.
He smiled fondly. Those memories were bittersweet, because while they had been special times with his 'uncle', they had almost always corresponded with a painful memory of being left behind by his father and brother, either literally or emotionally. He shook his head in disgust. This wasn't helping either.
Bobby called him in for dinner as the sun was setting, and Sam reluctantly headed back inside. He knew it was bound to be an awkward evening with just the two of them there, considering Bobby's new reticence around him. He really wished he knew what had caused it, but there was no point in asking. Even if he had wanted to tell him, Dean had probably sworn him to secrecy. Whatever it was, it seemed like it must be pretty bad.
Sam trudged into the house, washing his hands at the kitchen sink, and then sat down at the table. He was disappointed, but not surprised to find only one place set at the table. Bobby had a second plate in his hand and was already heading back to the garage.
"Help yourself, Sam. You know where everything is. I'd sit down with you, but I'm really on a roll with the Charger tonight, and I'm just going to eat while I work." He was gone before Sam could respond.
He sighed, carrying his plate to the stove. Nothing too elaborate, just macaroni and cheese and green beans. He scooped some onto his plate and carried it back to the table. Sitting down, he looked around the room morosely. This was what he had wanted . . . space. But he hadn't expected to feel this lonely. He slowly ate his dinner, forcing himself to set the fork down after each bite. He had heard that this technique helped a dieter to eat less, giving him time to digest his food more quickly. Sam wasn't concerned about dieting; he just wanted to draw out the process of eating in an attempt to make time go more quickly.
He wondered how long Dean and Cas would actually be gone. It was funny how the one thing that he had wanted for the past few days was a little time and space to think things through, and now that he had it, he missed his brother fiercely. He finally scooped the rest of his food down the garbage disposal, where he supposed it met up with the remains of his breakfast. It hadn't been his best day for eating.
Finally after wandering the grounds all day, it got late enough that he felt he could reasonably decide to go to bed. He could still hear Bobby tinkering in the garage, but he figured the older man would figure out where he had gone when he finally came inside. Sam headed up to bed, hoping he would be able to get to sleep quickly.
Fortunately, it seemed he was still tired enough from his ordeal of the past week to drift off nearly immediately. He hovered in that comfortable state halfway between waking and sleep for a while, and then felt himself sinking deeper.
Sam stood in Bobby's basement, sharpening his knife until it would cut through just about anything. His work was interrupted by the pleading voice from behind him.
"Listen to me. . . .you don't want to do this!" Bobby's voice was urgent, and his breath sawed in and out like he had just run a marathon, but Sam continued to study the edges of his knife dispassionately. "Sam? I've been like a father to you, boy. Somewhere inside you've got to know that!"
"Well, that's just it." Sam was matter-of fact as he put the whetstone down and crossed the floor to Bobby's side. The older man should feel honored that Sam had chosen him for this ritual. The only person he was closer to was his brother, and even though Dean had raised him Sam wasn't sure that he would count as a father. He grasped Bobby by the forehead and tilted his head back sharply, exposing his throat. "Sorry."
He pulled the knife back, noting with mild interest the wild terror in Bobby's eyes . . .
Sam sat up with a gasp, his eyes wide as he fought for breath. He wanted that to be just a terrible nightmare, but he knew instinctively that it was more. He had just remembered what it was that had Bobby so spooked to be around him. He moaned and grasped his head, staggering from his bed. He had to get out. How could he possibly stay here alone with Bobby when he had tried to kill the man that he considered more of a father than John Winchester had ever been?
He stumbled for the stairs, falling against the wall a few times on the way down. He didn't know where to go, but he couldn't stay here. Running out the front door, he realized that since Dean was gone, the Impala was too. He couldn't bring himself to take one of Bobby's vehicles . . . he had already taken too much from the older man. He staggered down the front steps of Bobby's porch and fled across the yard and back into the junkyard. He ran until he couldn't keep himself upright anymore, and then collapsed against the fender of a burned out husk of an old Rambler.
How could he have done that to Bobby, of all people? Why was the older hunter always the first person he went after? How many times did that make now that he had attacked him? He thought back to the incident he had been remembering this afternoon. He had killed one hunter while possessed by Meg, but then Bobby had been the second person he had sought out. If the older man hadn't been so vigilant, Sam might have tried to kill him too.
And then there was the second incident . . . he had actually succeeded in killing him eighteen months ago while possessed by Lucifer. But wait, that wasn't the second incident, that had been the third. The second had been during that whole horrible affair with Gabriel when Dean had been killed and stayed dead. Sam had wanted his brother back so badly that he had risked killing Bobby in the hopes that it wasn't actually the hunter but the trickster posing as him. After he had dealt the death blow, he hadn't been sure though. He had never told Bobby about that one, but it still stuck in his head.
That made the murder at Stull incident number three, and the attempt in Bobby's basement just a week ago would be number four. How could Bobby even stand to be in the same room with him? Sam didn't know how they would ever get past this. He knew that he had not had the benefit of a soul at the time, but that was no excuse. He broke down in ragged sobs, shivering miserably. He realized belatedly that he was barefoot and was wearing only ragged sweatpants and a t-shirt to protect him from the cold South Dakota winter weather.
Sam shuddered. No wonder Dean hadn't wanted him to remember what he had done. He only remembered a few things so far, and they were both so horrifying that he had no idea how he was going to continue on. He pulled his knees up to his chest and buried his head in his arms, letting the tears fall at will.
TBC . . .