Sam and the Librarian – Chapter 5

When the alarm goes off the next morning, the temptation to shut it off and go back to sleep is almost overwhelming. There's too much going on to allow for self-pity though, so I shuffle into the bathroom to start the day. I wash the face, brush the teeth, put on the make-up, but the hair is not salvageable. Thankfully, I own a large number of stretchy things covered with fabric, and bobby pins, so a twist, a tuck, and a wrap later the hair is contained. The bangs I tame with the flatiron even though in a couple hours I know they will be wavey again, but that's life.

Since it's Friday, it's jeans, a t-shirt, a sweater, and an optional hoodie. I pause, halfway down the stairs with my head full of what I'm going to do about tables full of copies, demon books, and Sam, when I catch a whiff of…coffee. While it is one of my favorite aromas, there shouldn't be anyone in my house except me since I threw Sam out last night. That means there shouldn't be anyone in here to make coffee. I think hard about what I might use as a weapon when a voice calls out from the kitchen.

"I heard the stairs creak; you might as well come down."

My heart tries to beat its way out of my chest. Do I know that voice? It's older, gravely and masculine, so nope. When I look to the front door, I see a beat-up pair of sturdy boots and an old wool hunting jacket. Would a thief or a monster take off their boots and coat and start making coffee? Probably not.

At the bottom of the stairs, I stop to peek around the wall into the kitchen. Standing in there, leaning against the counter, is an older man with a reddish beard wearing a green and white baseball cap.

"Hi, I'm Bobby Singer."

"Hey, I'm B Crawford. What are you doing in my house?"

"Well, there's only two beds at the motel, and while Dean's pretty quiet, Sam snores like a cave bear, and they both sprawl like starfish. Also, the three of us felt we shouldn't leave you without any protection last night. There's an ass-load of extra demons in the world and they tend to follow us around. So, when I heard your alarm go off, I started the coffee."

Holy crap. What the fuck have I gotten myself into?

I take a seat and he fills me a mug.

"Did you sleep last night Mr. Singer?"

"Please call me Bobby. Sure. Your couch is quite comfortable. Once I made sure everything was locked up and protected, I slept fine. Got a good six hours."

That sounds familiar. Either I finish my coffee and break the mug over his head, or I get some questions answered. My amoral curiosity gets the better of me.

"So, what WAS the original plan here? Sam would distract me with the sexy nerd act while you and Dean swipe half the books in the library?"

"No of course not! We wanted-"

"Which is worse? Pretending to fall for me, or destroying my career? I just can't decide."

Bobby scoffs and rolls his eyes. "Oh boo-hoo. Are you trying to convince me that a woman as smart as you would really fall for that sort of thing? Besides, a little heart-break or a damaged career beats death by demon possession any day." He pours himself another cup of coffee, adds something from a flask in his pocket, adds a little of the same to mine, and starts a new pot. "The boys will be here in a few minutes, are you going to let them in?"

"Tell, me the plan. The original plan"

"Sam was looking for Collinsworth's Compendium, and I sent him to your library because I heard a rumor that you might have it available. Then he found Patterson's demon compendium in the catalog, but couldn't find it on the shelf, so he asked about it. Sometime Wednesday, as I understand it, you mentioned the storage room full of books and that's when Dean called me."

"That's when you guys decided he should play boyfriend for a week."

He gives me a hard look through narrowed eyes. "That's when I drove here, and we set up research at the motel. Sam figured you'd need a break from your preservation work, and he could convince you to show him the storeroom. He planned to sneak out a couple of books a day, have Dean and I copy them to research, then sneak the books back in. Dean suggested you two could at least keep in contact in the future, so that if all else fails and he goes to hell, Sam would have you to keep him sane."

A knot in my chest loosens in spite of the phrase 'if all else fails and he goes to hell'. "So, he really did make a demon deal to save Sam's life?

"He made one to bring his little brother back to life. I saw him lying there – white with blue lips, still and silent – it was heartbreaking. Dean always felt his one job in this world, his whole reason for existing, was taking care of Sam." He scrubs a hand over his beard, looking distraught, and I realize this man thinks of the two of them as his kids. He's trying to figure out how to save his older son. I want to reach out and squeeze his hand, but I've only just met him.

"Then every monster I can think of is real, you guys fight them, Dean has five months left to live, and demons are plotting to take over the world?"

"Bigfoot's a hoax. Other than that, yes, pretty much everything, and some things you've never heard of are real. And yes, demons are plotting to take over the world."

"Since demons have always been real…isn't plotting to take over the world always been their target goal? Why the sudden urgency?"

"That's what we're trying to find out." He sighs and scratches his forehead under his cap. "There's gotta be more to it. Dean's been killing monsters and saving lives since he was ten years old. He and Sam are bona-fide heroes. I can see why a demon would want Dean downstairs, but not why they won't re-negotiate." Singer scrubs a hand across his mouth again and looks ill. The urge to hug him is strong.

Before I can answer that question or make a comment, I hear a tell-tale rumble of an engine that gets louder and deeper as it nears my house. I realize I've forgiven Sam when I find myself cramming my feet into my boots and yanking the front door open with no memory of how I left the kitchen.

"Sam!" He gets out of the car, and I fly down the stairs and dash towards him, and launch myself into his arms. I wrap my legs around his waist as he tilts his head to cover my mouth with his.

I'm trapped in a cliché. I do not care. He tastes like toothpaste and smells like cheap aftershave. His nose is cold and something on his jacket catches something on my sweater that digs painfully into my left boob, but his big hands hold me with no effort, and his mouth is a warm haven. He breaks contact for just a moment.

"B, God, I'm so sorry." He rubs his nose against mine and presses little kisses around my mouth. Wow.

"Me too. I'm sorry I threw you out. I understand now."

He pulls back enough to look me in the eye. "You talked to Bobby, huh?"

"Yeah, but I should have known you'd never hurt me like that." I push his hair behind his ear on one side, stupidly thrilled that I can do that now. "I've wanted to kiss you since the moment I laid eyes on you." I still stand by my 'no sleeping with colleagues' policy, but my heart just decided to act without consulting my brain and I have to go with it.

That toe-curling smile appears. It stretches across his whole face and his dimples materialize. "You walked past my table with an armload of books, and I watched you stretch up on your toes to put one away. The sweater you were wearing rode up and I could see just a little bit of your tummy…I couldn't concentrate on anything else for an hour." He shifts his arms to adjust his hold. "Then I heard a laugh, and I saw you smiling at that other librarian…" He kisses me again. "You teach the torches to burn brightly."

When we go inside Dean is standing beside Bobby. They drink coffee and stare into the void until they see us. Bobby smiles fondly. Dean's eyes meet mine and his million-watt smile makes me blush as though Sam did spend the night.

"About God-damned time! Almost two weeks of 'Should I talk to her?' 'Her smile is soooo amazing!' What if she doesn't like me?' It was like he was back in high school." He points an imaginary gun to his temple and pulls the trigger while making the obligatory explosion sound. "Can we go get breakfast or are we going to have to raid the fridge while you two go up and take care of business?" He asks this like it's a real possibility.

Before either Sam or I can answer this piece of outrageousness, Bobby yanks off his hat and smacks it across the back of Dean's head. "Do you have no manners at all? Idgit!" He puts it back on, settles it in place, puts his cup in the sink and stalks over to the entryway bench to sit and put his boots on. "Let's go find somewhere to eat. We've got work to do."

After breakfast, we head to the library. Sam and I sit in the back, and he holds my hand. I want to sit in his lap, but instead concentrate on the thought of watching Dean die while knowing he's going to the bad place.

"So Bobby, where do you want to start?" I ask.

"The basement storage room of course." He turns around to look at me. "Any book that's in the library proper isn't going to tell us what we need to know. Demons would have stolen any book out there long, long ago."

"You think it's something more than Hell wanting to get its hands on the soul of a hero, don't you?"

Dean leaps in at that. "A hero, that's crap. I'm no hero."

I sigh and turn to Sam. "How many people do you think he's saved?"

"Oh please, there's no way!" Dean scoffs before Sam can answer, "Maybe 300…maybe 350 if you include everyone on the airplane." I'm shocked at this number.

Sam makes an actual growling noise. "We work like what, two, three cases a month?"

"Yeah, maybe."

"So, at a conservative estimate, that's five to six people a month." Sam concentrates. "That's 72 a year. I'll round that down to 70 for convenience's sake. That's over a thousand people. That's not including all the people on the airplane or all of the people we saved with demon exorcisms." Dean is shaking his head, but Sam plows on. "Do you know what they call someone who runs into a burning building and saves one person, Dean? A hero. A mother-fucking hero."

"You know you're talking about yourself too, right?" That shuts Sam right up. He looks out the window. I squeeze his hand.

"How did they get like this?" I ask Bobby.

"When you've been doing it since you were a little kid, it becomes routine."

I shake my head. "Last night I thought you were either crazy or telling the truth. Then I realized you were telling the truth, now I realize the truth is that you're all crazy."

"Ha-ha." Dean says, not laughing. He pulls into the parking lot and parks near the front door. I jump out before he even opens his door. He gets out and gives me a sour look. "What?"

I wrap my arms around his neck and whisper in his ear. "You are a good man. The best of men."

He's stiff for a moment, but then he wraps his arms around me like a I just saved him from drowning. "I'm not. I'm a screw-up. I ruined Sam's life, got his girl killed. Then I couldn't save him from Yellow-eyes, and now I'm gonna leave him alone with no protection…"

"Shut. The Fuck. Up. You're not a screw up. That's ridiculous." I lean back to look at him. His eyes are red and wet. "You love your little – younger brother. A super-powerful demon abducted him and then brainwashed another kid into killing him. You knew you could bring him back, so you did."

"Yeah, look how that turned out."

"Dear God, you're such a fucking martyr! You do realize that almost no one in the world would do the same for their brother? I'd like to think I would, but faced with actual hell, I don't know if I could. I am desperately, stupidly, romantically head-over-heels in love with Sam, and if the choice were put to me, I don't think I could do what you did." I put my hands on his shoulders, and shake him. "What you did for him was selfless, brave, and yes, fucking heroic! We are going to do everything we can to get you out of this deal because you do not deserve to go to hell!" Standing on my tip toes, I give him a quick, chaste kiss. "Do you believe me?"

"Yes, okay, I believe you." I release him and he wipes at his eyes with his sleeve.

"Good, because I'm almost always right."

Once inside we go directly to the basement. The guys find a table in one of the other storage rooms and Bobby spreads a cloth marked with a circular design across the surface. Sam sets a brass bowl in the center of the circle and places candles around it. Dean lights the candles while Bobby chants a spell and crumbles various herbs into the bowl.

This is all new to me. I focus on the process to the exclusion of everything else around me, so when a voice behind me says, "That's not necessary." I scream.

Chaos descends. Sam drops the flask he was about to open. Dean pulls out his (fucking HUGE) gun and points it just to my right. Bobby stops chanting and pulls out his own gun. I whip around to see who spoke and then freeze.

Mrs. S stands just inside the doorway. Shit, I am so fired.

Sam reaches my side in the next instant, dragging me out of the line of fire.

"You don't need to perform that cleansing ritual; I've protected this building against anything that wards, salt, iron, and silver can keep away."

I find my voice in the chaos, "Guys, please, put the guns away, don't shoot my boss!"

"Thank you B, I appreciate your support."

"Sure Mrs. S, anytime. Seriously, guys, this is the head librarian, Sam, tell them."

Sam puts his gun away – the one he pulled out in the two seconds between dropping the flask and pushing me out of the way, how the hell – and nods to Bobby and Dean. "Guys, it's true. This is Mrs. S. Mrs. S, this is my brother Dean, and our friend Bobby Singer."

Mrs. S nods, "Thank you Sam. I've seen your brother here a few times and I've heard of Mr. Singer though I never expected to meet him in person."

"If you're Betty S, then the pleasures all mine ma'am." Bobby holsters his gun, and then actually touches the bill of his cap.

Dean follows Bobby's lead and shifts into flirt mode. "Mrs. S, this is a nice surprise."

She smiles with a glint in her eye. "None of that Mr. Winchester, my age gives me some immunity to your charm, but we have demons to fight and no time for foolishness." She turns and walks out, and we follow her…what else can we do?

As we start up the stairs I turn to Sam, "Winchester? Your last name is Winchester? Like the ri-"

"Yes, like the rifle, but no relation."

"Oh, there is a connection, it just goes back a few more generations than you've checked Samuel." Mrs. S stops at the top of the stairs on the main floor. "Let's go to the conference room next to my office. B, go make a pot of coffee and one of hot water for me. You two gentlemen go with her, Sam you'll come with me to my office. I need you to get down a large book from a high shelf." He gives me brief look of terror, but then follows her up the stairs.

Dean and Bobby follow me, and a few minutes later we all gather around the big table. Sam's eyes are a little wide, but I don't see any tooth marks. He sits beside me and presses as close as our chairs will allow. Mrs. S sits at the head of the table in her usual spot.

She gives me one of her withering glances that make me feel like a puppy who's piddled on the rug…again. "B, I'm disappointed in you. Why didn't you come to me if you needed to share the contents of that storeroom? These men aren't even students at this university."

"I didn't think you'd believe me when I told you what they need." I still don't quite believe it myself.

"Oh honestly!" Mrs. S exclaims, "A room full of medieval occult books, what else would they be doing except hunting demons!"

Thank God I'm sitting down. "Y-you believe them?"

"Yes, of course I do. Every scholar from the beginning of writing until the 18th century believed in demons. We know that some, perhaps even the majority of accounts of demon possession in the last hundred years, can be explained by mental illness, but not all." Mrs. S says.

I let out a snort. "They believed that the Earth was flat too!"

"Not the scholars." Mrs. S shakes her head. "This is my fault. The Men of Letters most important principal was secrecy. I've adopted those values and not been as open with you as I should, and I apologize.

"That's why you weren't surprised at all by what the guys were doing, you said it wasn't necessary. Did you know what Sam was searching for?"

"Any time we get a request for anything in our occult collection I know about it." She reaches inside her blouse and pulls out a hefty silver chain. A strange-looking pentagram dangles from the links.

"Ah-ha!" Dean says, and he and Sam pull down their collars. Bobby lifts his shirts. Each of them is tattooed with the same symbol.

Sam gives me a brief smile, "You'll have to get one too, B. It protects against possession."