Warnings: swearing, language, hospitalization, slight drug use (morphine), mention of gun violence, state of shock, mention of homophobic violence, mention of homophobic threats, reanimation, emotional breakdown

Chapiter 25: Reversed roles

"Some people thrive in adversity."

Kevin was hearing this phrase in his head, played in a loop with the voice of his mother. His mother... He should call her. But his phone was still in the pocket of his coat in the dressing rooms of the concert hall. She was going to worry.

There was light in the ambulance, garish neon tubing, and little movement except the jolts and the bends taken too quickly. He was still holding Charlie's hand, clasped in his, and he could not get this stupid sentence out of his head. He doubted to be of those who flourished in adversity, but he had to do something. Castiel was in the next ambulance with Dean, and Sam...

Sam had fallen apart, a huge panicked carcass unable to answer a question or to walk straight, too shocked by the gunshots and blood, and then by the declaration of Dean to still function normally. It was strange, of all of them he seemed physically stronger and yet he was the one who broke the most easily.

"I think it's gonna be okay." Charlie mumbled.

"You say that because they crammed you with pain-killers."

"Yeah... I almost don't feel anything at all... feel like I'll fall asleep." The eyelids of the young woman fluttered.

"Don't do that! You don't have the right to sleep as long as I don't close my eyes!" Kevin felt himself panic in fits and starts and the idea of being alone with the paramedics who were exchanging medical information over their head scared him more than the blood that was slowly staining the compression bandage on the shoulder of his friend.

"Take morphine." Charlie closed her eyes, and he stuck his nails into the palm of her hand to make her react. A paramedic turned a small light in her eyes and she growled in discomfort.

"How could he shoot you?" Was yelling Bobby in the car following the second ambulance. He was talking to himself. In the passenger seat, Sam was keeping his eyes fixed on the flashing lights in front of them as if the slightest eye movement would make them disappear. He really had trouble understanding what was happening and already there were blanks in his memories. "Hey, kiddo, you with me?"

Sam jumped when Bobby touched his shoulder and nodded without really knowing to what he was answering.

"Call Crowley, put him on speaker, he must know."

The order took a while to reach Sam, it took even longer for him to realize that he didn't have his phone and that Bobby was handing him his own while driving. He took his eyes off the ambulance for a second to dial the personal number of the producer. He had trouble finding the button of the speaker and felt stupid and clumsy, phone in hand waiting for Crowley to pick up. "He did it, he shot the kids." Bobby said loud enough to be heard over the engine noise.

"Bollocks!" Crowley had the sleepy voice of someone who has just been awakened with a start. "Is the accountant alright?"

Sam frowned. Bobby nodded. "He's okay... He's in the ambulance with Dean. Charlie was hit too."

There was a small gap in the conversation.

"Who's on the stretcher Bobby?"

"Dean. Dean's on the stretcher. He took the bullet."

Sam started to tremble and put the phone on the dashboard when Crowley hung up on "I'm coming."

"Idjit." Bobby grumbled. "Doesn't even knows to which hospital we're heading."

"Why did he ask if Castiel was alright?" Sam asked. His panic was beginning to surge back and adrenaline was letting him with painfully clear ideas. Bobby didn't answer. "Why was he worried about Castiel? Bobby!"

"Because of… the assault."

"Liar." The tone was so cold that Bobby took his eyes off the road a second to watch Sam. Even in the alternative light of street lamps he could see his jaw clenched and his fixed and cold gaze. "Tell me the truth."

Bobby sighed. "Crowley received threatening letters from your father."

Sam gritted his teeth a little harder. "Why did you not tell us?"

"The threats weren't directed against you. He was targeting Charlie and..."

"And Castiel. He was targeting the homosexuals of the band."

Bobby nodded. "But they arrived after Castiel's assault, we thought he wouldn't move into action. That he just wanted to let out his venom."

The hospital was in view and they lost sight of the ambulance.

"He was aiming at Castiel. He had his back to the scene. And Dean shoved him. He caught the bullet in his place but Cas was aimed for." Sam thought aloud while getting out of the car. He walked like a zombie to the emergency entrance until Bobby grasps his arm.

"Sam, when they arrive, let the cops do their work."

The young man had a rictus. "You think I'd lie to them to go rip his head off myself?"

"Yes, that's exactly what I think cause I know you son. So when the cops interrogate you, don't mention anything about ripping his head off or taking the law into your own hands! Neither you nor Dean need that."

Sam slowly nodded. Crowley's car parked askew on the spots in a screech of tires and the producer got out while the engine was still running. He looked both relieved, panicked and worried.

"You're okay?" He asked to Sam and then right after "He's okay?" to Bobby.

Sam had another rictus.

"You worry about me now?"

Crowley shrugged. "Sorry kid, but presently, Bobby and I are what you have the closest to a father figure. And do not think it makes me happy. Where are the others?"

They escorted him to the ER and Sam understood then how Crowley had risen to the position he currently held. He was behaving exactly as if the hospital belonged to him and he had every right to be there. The nurse of the reception showed him the way to the ER and the doctor that Crowley called out for news of his protégés answered him without even asking him who he was.

A curtain was drawn around the bed of Dean and Castiel was standing before it without taking his eyes off it, attentive to every sound that came out.

"How is he?" Sam asked, the doctor's explanations had been concise and quick. Normally, Sam would have understood every word, but not right now. His brain was a mixture of lucidity and fog, he was still shaking and clenching his teeth so hard that his jaw hurt.

"The bullet pierced a lung, broke a rib or something. They're putting a drainage tube to drain off the blood and everything should return to normal." Castiel answered. It was a nightmare, it could only be a horrible nightmare. And an unusual moreover. "That should be me."

"Finely observed, kid." Crowley replied. "Thank God, this isn't the case."

"Since when does my health interest you?"

Crowley raised an eyebrow, behind him Bobby sighed, starting to massage the bridge of his nose. The producer examined the profile of Castiel who was deliberately avoiding his gaze. He had a sallow complexion, red eyes and hands covered in blood.

"Firstly, if it doesn't bring down the sales, having the singer and the bassist in the hospital will give us a phenomenal publicity stunt." Said Crowley who could almost feel Sam rolling his eyes beside him. "But seriously, you're already thin as a rail and half malnourished, if someone should be confined to a hospital bed here, might as well be the sturdiest of the two. One who has a chance to make it, although usually it's your job to be the band's sick."

Oddly enough, he was right. And oddly enough, this was nothing reassuring. The curtain remained desperately closed around the bed of Dean and Castiel finally turned away, glancing around for Charlie. He first spotted the bent figure of Kevin a little further and, in the bed, the red hair tied in haste by a paramedic. He approached, half amazed that his legs still carry him, and bent to brush the temple of his friend with fingertips.

"Hey." He whispered. He had a hoarse voice, as if he had screamed for hours. "How are you?"

Charlie opened her eyes and turned her head to the other side.

"You're done worrying about Dean so you come check in with me?" She grouched, closing her eyes again.

Castiel felt his heart sink and Kevin gave him an apologetic gaze. "It's the morphine talking, the lady doctor said sometimes she's a little delirious."

"She's not delirious." Sam said, approaching. "She's right." He knelt on the side where Charlie had turned her head. "Hey, Char..." The bassist didn't respond. Mechanically he passed his hand across her forehead to move away the bangs glued by sweat. "Seriously, stay with us until they patch you up, okay ?"

"You ever caught a slug in the shoulder Sam?" Grumbled the young woman.

"No."

"Then shut up." Charlie had a gnashing of teeth and whined. She would have wanted to cry of distress and pain but every movement caused her stabbing pains up to the fingertips. She felt her heart beating more and more quickly, and she was suddenly breath-taken. She let go of Kevin's hand, she didn't hear anything, her ears buzzing too much for that.

Kevin cried out. It wasn't a cry, it was a deep scream of terror while Crowley frantically pressed the emergency call button. Someone pushed them out of the perimeter of the box and drew the curtains while someone was bringing a big red cart near the bed. There was no chair or bench where collapse and Sam had to lean on Bobby to keep from falling to his knees on the floor so much he was trembling violently. He looked around for Castiel but the latter had his eyes fixed on drawn curtain.

"Is she going to be okay?"

"It's time that you worry about it!" Kevin shouted.

"Dean nearly died!" Sam shouted in his turn. "Sorry I can't be everywhere!"

"You were nowhere!" The young man lost his temper. A person in white coat approached him to take him by the arm and enjoin him to leave, but he was still glaring at Sam. "Thank goodness we weren't counting on you to take things in hand!"

"Enough!" Bobby interposed himself. He took each man by the arm and pushed them towards the exit. Behind the curtain, a shrill whistle was heard and then a thud. Sam bit his lips and felt tears well up in his eyes. Castiel and Crowley had lingered a second to make sure they would keep them informed. In the hall the accountant passed them all and disappeared down a hallway as if he knew the place, ignoring the glares of Kevin, and Sam who had started crying, curled up on a bench.

It was curious, that he still remembers the path to the chapel. The place was never closed. It was a square, dark room, dimly lit by one or two altar candles at night. Castiel had never attended a Service in this chapel. He just needed to be alone for a moment, and, facing the small crucifix hanging above the altar, he felt himself at home.

And he began to pray. Eyes closed, standing in the small chapel, fists clenched on the hem of his shirt too large in which he was beginning to get cold, he prayed until he felt calm again. He stayed yet, this time sitting on a bench to gather enough courage to support Sam and answer questions from Kevin, after all, he had spent more time within these walls than all of them gathered.

But closing the door of the chapel behind him, he took his phone and dialed a number that was becoming less and less familiar to him, that of his home in Michigan. His father answered drowsily after a few rings, and Castiel realized that his parents probably had just gone to bed.

"Dad..."

"Cas, sonny... What's up?"

Suddenly, Castiel felt very small, very empty and very lonely. He would have given anything to have his father or his mother in front of him. A solid shoulder to cry on and lean on instead of having to bear things that were unbearable to him. He leaned against the outside wall of the chapel, pressing his phone in his palm, he was shaking so much that he feared to drop it.

"There was... There… Someone shot Dean. And Charlie. During a concert."

Pause on the line. "Are you okay?"

"I am but... Dean..." A sob prevented him to continue. "Dad, Charlie they... they are trying to resuscitate her and Dean... I don't even know if it's serious I..."

"Castiel!" His father interrupted him. Chuck Novak hadn't really been an authoritarian father, preferring to let his son leisure to do what he wanted in the limited number of days he had to live as a child. But sometimes, when circumstances required, the thin and stooped man he was straightened up to become stronger than an oak in the eyes of his son. It was exactly what his tone suggested even thousands of kilometers away in the night. Castiel stopped breathing one second.

"Take a breath, a deep breathe."

He complied. "Good. Now tell me everything."

Castiel explained, in a quavering voice, regularly interrupted by his father, who instructed him to breathe.

"They are gonna make it." Chuck decreed at the other end of the line. "If they haven't checked out yet, this means they are gonna make it. Your mother is finding us a flight to California, we'll come help you take care of it."

The flood of relief that invaded Castiel made him realize how much he needed help. Since when had he not seen his parents? Four months? Six?

"I'm sorry to... excuse me, I needed to talk to someone. "

Chuck sighed. "Stop apologizing, if we didn't want to be woken up at night by dramas we wouldn't have had children your mother and me."

"I'm just, sorry for causing you so much trouble..."

"Cas, son, listen... when you were little, you've spent so much time in the hospital that I was sure we would make a doctor of you or something like that. Ultimately the only thing that interested you was the numbers. Of course I would have loved to boast about having a son doctor. But when you graduated, I realized that as a parent all that matters to me is that you're happy and protected. It would be so much simpler if you had fallen in love with a girl. You could have had children and I would have force them to play baseball on Sunday."

Castiel stifled a chuckle.

"But the only thing that really bothers me is that it puts you in danger. Dean is a good man, and I know he would never hurt you. But this relationship puts you in danger, so reassures your old man, tell me that, for lack of being protected, you're more than just happy. Tell me that hell is when he isn't there. Tell me that you love to argue with him and when you make up, tell me that he always lift your spirits after a tough day, tell me that it's enough for you to know that you will still be together in ten years to smile. Tell me that he makes you more than happy. Tell me that this makes up for the risks you're running."

"He gave me a kitten dad."

Sigh at the other end. "Castiel, that misses the point!"

"No." Castiel smiled even though there was no one to see him. "No, it's precisely in the point. Because in ten years he'll bawl me out because of that stupid cat who loses her hair on his black trousers. And I will retort that he should have taken a black cat. And in ten years I'll still be happy to have still and always the same arguments. And the same cat. And the same love. It's worth it dad. It's worth to fight even though we are afraid and even if the situation is unfair. I promise that being with him makes up for everything else."

There was silence on the line.

"Your mother wants to talk to you. Don't keep her long, our plane leaves in two hours, we'll be in LA tomorrow morning."

"Thank you dad."

When he hung up, Castiel realized he felt again ready to support anyone that would need it. He took the way back to the ER when Crowley informed him that Dean and Charlie were in the clear for now.

##

The wind was rushing into the room through the open window, making shiver Dorothy, but neither she nor Madison still had the courage to get up to close it. The dream catchers were swaying, entangling their feathers and drop beads.

Dorothy had met again her grandmother earlier in the afternoon and had introduced Madison to her, enjoying one day off in their tour.

"Oh... Are you the new..."

"No!" Madison had hastened to undeceive her. "We aren't together... Sorry to impose, but Dorothy offered."

"She was right to." Had said the old woman. "I like to know my grand daughter's friends. And my granddaughter should give news to her mother more often! She's worried you know!"

Dorothy had promised to go see her parents before leaving and neither Madison nor the grandmother had believed a single word. They had dined and explored the house before ending up in the room of Dorothy, both sprawled on the bed, watching the decorations twirl in the wind without any motivation to go to bed.

"The next town where we stop, we go find a bookstore. I have nothing left to read." Dorothy stated distractedly.

"I got some two days ago."

"But that's volumes in the middle of a series which I don't have the beginning!"

Madison frowned, gaze fixed to the ceiling.

"You haven't read the Dark Tower?"

"Nope, and don't look at my ceiling with this disgusted look, everyone doesn't like fantasy literature!"

"What do you..."

A scream and the sound of a chair falling on the floor on the lower floor cut her short.

"DOROTHY!"

The two girls bumped into each other when standing up hastily and rushing to the door, fearing that the old woman had hurt herself by falling. But they found her standing upright in front of the television, pointing an evening news broadcast replay.

"That was her, that was her Dorothy!"

"Her who?" Dorothy grabbed her grandmother by the shoulders and looked at the TV. Suddenly she began to get very cold reading the subtitles that her grandmother activated each time and that were passing too quickly for her to have the time to actually integrate their meaning. All she saw was the trembling image of a brightly lit stage on which people were collapsing. Then people in tears who were testifying, in a small inset at the bottom of the screen on which was filmed Charlie, an oxygen mask over the nose, evacuated on a stretcher, her hand clasped in that of Kevin.

Madison already had her phone in hand but remained suspended by seeing the next image, that of Dean off on a stretcher, covered in blood. No sight of Sam. She began to shake. What if she called and he didn't answer? Or worse, he answers?

"Mads..." Dorothy had a lump in her throat, she was shaking and it was her grandmother who sat her on the chair she had just picked up. "What happened?"

"Someone opened fire on them. I'm right, this is your Charlie?"

Dorothy nodded like a robot, too numb with shock to feel really concerned. As if she was watching herself from the outside, playing in a film with a particularly implausible scenario.

"Answer, dammit, answer!" Madison was muttering behind her. She was pressing the hand of her grandmother while the images were passing repeatedly until another story take its place on the screen. Madison hung up with a sigh. Sam not answering, she called Bobby.

The gruff voice of the manager answered on the third ring.

"It's Madison... I just saw the news. Is everything alright?"

"Of course not, everything ain't alright!" Retorted the other with a small time of delay. "It's already on the news? Balls."

"They aren't giving any details, how are Dean and Charlie?"

"They'll be okay... For now."

Madison had to sit in her turn. She cleared her throat before asking the next question. "How is Sam?"

"He ain't hurt."

"How is he Bobby?"

There was a frustrated sigh at the other end of the line. "Does that really matter to you? You're the one who left."

"Bobby! He's my... Of course it matters to me!"

"He's a mess."

Dorothy tore the phone from Madison's hands. "Bobby... Give me news of Charlie!" She frowned. "I know I'm the one who left, give me news of her, you'll be mad with me later!"

The conversation lasted a few more minutes during which Madison saw the grandmother of her friend busy preparing an infusion with plants that she didn't know the name. She should have offered assistance to the old woman, but no sound came from her mouth, she had the mind cottony as if she were drunk and at the bottom of a swimming pool. The old lady handed her a cup and did the same with her granddaughter before sitting down in her turn.

"Drink before leaving."

"We're not..." started Dorothy, but her grand-mother interrupted her.

"Oh yes you are going back. I don't care what I have heard, I don't care that you've again left behind you the people who love you without any reason or explanation." Upbraided the old woman. "Your friends need you and you cannot help here."

"They won't want me. Ulisi, I left leaving a break-up note so pathetic and I… I'd be too ashamed!"

"Ashamed?" The other lost her temper. "Shame is what's holding you back? You'd rather hide here like the coward idiot that you are rather than swallow your pride for the sake of the people you love?"

"That's not what I meant!"

"Yet you just said it. You said enough nonsense for today. Even migratory birds care for their young ones!"

"Migratory birds?" Intervened Madison. It was strange that it was what marked her the most in the altercation, but she hadn't manage to hold back.

"Give me your hand, child."

Madison complied, puzzled, and the old woman smiled. "Hare... It's amazing that you've both become friends. And rather revealing!"

"Of what?" asked Dorothy.

"The falcon that is your totem is called the messenger of the gods, it acquired its knowledge from its travels and teaches us to look at a situation from all angles. Her totem is the hare, the totem announcing the change and converts it into stability. This change that you hate Dorothy, she carries it in her and she thrives on it."

"I don't hate change." Protested the young woman.

"If you say so." Grumbled the old woman. "Madison, do you return with your friends?"

Madison nodded. "Dorothy... even if they're mad at us... We got to be there. We can't leave them alone!"

"They have Bobby and Crowley."

"Rectification, we can't leave them alone with Crowley." She had retrieved her phone to contact their booking agent and inform him of their need to be excluded from the tour. "We're going back, even if you don't like it."

"I like her." Commented the grandmother.

##

Someone had posted a blurry video, with a sound excruciatingly saturated by screams on Youtube.

Someone had reposted it on Twitter. And some on each social network. Channing reposted it on the official forum of the group and crept up to the ER, where she held Kevin against herself.

"Everything is gonna be okay." She said. She wasn't convincing but he nodded.

Then she knelt before Sam who was trembling and sobbing, curled up on an uncomfortable seat and forced him to look at her.

"Blow your nose, breathe, straighten up." She ordered. "Don't act like you think they're weak enough to kick the bucket."

Sam made a valiant effort to smile.

At the end of the night, when Dean was transferred from ER to surgery department, journalists were gathering at the gates of the hospital, their coffee perfuming the air of the smoking area and each medical staff who ventured there found themselves assailed of flashes and questions they refused to answer.

The hubbub slowly climbed up the floors, spread through the hallways at the the incessant rhythm of the telephone ringing. Sam would have wanted to throw the damn thing, to put it away from him as his own cell that he had left in the concert hall.

"The cat is going to be hungry." Said Cas when the breakfast carriage passed the room of Dean, still asleep, where they were. Only Kevin had been allowed to stay with Charlie who was transferred to the ICU a few hours after Dean.

"Like us." Croaked Sam. He was thirsty primarily, but getting up from his chair to drink a glass of water... taking his eyes off Dean more than a second was not an option. He had no more nail to bite.

"Later." Said Castiel.

Sam nodded.

At noon, the security of the hospital evacuated the journalists and fans gathered outside the hospital. The flowers, candles, drawings, letters they had left were confined at the reception where someone took a picture of it. Neither Charlie nor Dean were awakened to see that, but Crowley smiled in his office. Not of joy. Not really. But if the kids managed to get through...

He did not further elaborated his thought. Thinking to more than a few hours away, for now might bring them misfortune. And Crowley reckoned that he had screwed up enough to do without the evil eye.

In the early afternoon, Bobby greeted at the airport of Los Angeles Anna and Chuck Novak, both tired and pale, and explained the situation to them.

In the late afternoon, Madison and Dorothy, driving a rental car, had traveled a third of the way that separated them from Los Angeles. Neither had any idea what they would find when arriving, and the radio increased their distress rather than inform them.

Madison turned it off abruptly when one of the group's songs was broadcasted.

"They'll be fine." Dorothy said. The herbal tea of her grandmother had absolutely not calmed her down and Madison was clutching a bottle of it between her knees, gift from the old lady who had also insisted that they take something to eat with them. The passenger compartment smelled of orange.

"I hope so." Replied the young woman. Then she burst into tears. Dorothy didn't seek to comfort her. She handed her a packet of tissues and kept driving.

In the early evening, Charlie dreamed of her mother.

In the middle of night, Dean dreamed of his own.

"Mom? Why? What have I done?"

Maybe it was because of the morphine, but in their two dreams, both women answered the same thing.

"Nothing sweetheart. Nothing. Now sleep."

They slept.