14
Sam woke him in May Adam's driveway.
"Dean, wake up, we're here." He got out and collected their things from the back seat as Dean extricated himself sleepily from the car. They escaped before any well wisher, or Angus, could slip in with them, and Dean settled onto his bed, tired and sore. He glanced around at the familiar sight, his eyes settling on the bottle on his night stand.
"Oh yeah..." he sighed. "The bourbon fairy came through." He reached over and uncapped it, foregoing the nicety of a glass. After several good swallows he offered it to Sam, who declined. Sam busied himself with re-organizing their room and their personal effects, giving his brother a little space to readjust to the real world. It was pushing supper time, and both were keenly aware of hunger. They knew that there was no take-out anything to be had in this neck of the woods, so it would fall to May to fill the need. And she didn't disappoint.
There was a gentle knock at their door. "Sam?" May inquired. He let her in, and she gave Dean a thorough visual once-over. "Well, welcome back!" she smiled. Dean smiled back, praying she had more to offer than best wishes. "How are you fairing?"
"Not bad." he shrugged. "This grill on my arm is a bitch, but other than that, I'm ok."
"Good." She patted Sam's arm. "I can't tell you how much I've appreciated having your brother stay here. He's been a great help, now that my Russell has his own place to worry about." But she remembered Dean and his state. "Oh but poor you! Look at that horrible thing, it's a wonder you're out of the hospital at all. You know, the gossip at the store is fast and furious about how you boys and my Russ brought down that nasty Buell, and his little underground drug farm. We may not have a whole lot of ways to earn a decent living out here, but most of us try to do it in a law-abiding way! Marijuana, I tell you! The kids here have enough to deal with!"
Sam jogged her as to her purpose. "Wow, May, something sure smells good.."
"Oh, yes! I made a big chicken pot pie for you boys. Angus and I already had ours, so don't you let him in if he comes begging. If you're hungry, I'll bring it around now."
They indicated that her timing was perfect. She retreated to her kitchen, reappearing moments later with a heavy tray of her efforts. She set it down at the table in the room, and wished them a good night before hastening back. The brothers devoured the meal in appreciative silence.
After a few more drinks, the conversation turned to Nathaniel Willard.
"Yeah, Russell said that they were going to grade any day now." Sam informed. It was hardly his intention to add the pressure of time constraints, but it was a reality.
Dean sighed. He was weary after everything, and the warm dinner and alcohol were hitting their mark. "So we need to head out there first thing tomorrow. I have to talk to Nate...I have to convince him to let me help him."
His turn of phrase struck Sam. Convince him- He had his own task set out, where convincing had to play a major part. Sam wanted nothing more than to see his brother stay in his bed for a few days. But the world was not going to stop spinning to accomodate them. "Ok." he agreed. "We'll go first thing, if it's nice out. I'm not dragging you out there if it's raining." Dean agreed to that, and they made a short night of it.
Both slept well past what they'd planned. Dean had a rough night, fraught with dreams. Sam lay awake, listening, and trying to get a grasp on how to ease that disquiet, but Dean's words and sounds were too garbled to illuminate any of the terrors behind them. Sam woke him repeatedly, trying to derail whatever was driving his psyche. He would settle, and inevitably the R.E.M. battles would resume. He finally gave up. When the first rays of morning penetrated the curtain, Sam turned over and finally drifted off. It was ten when he went to May's in search of coffee. He was rewarded, she had a pot of it on the stove, cooking toward opaque blackness, and he carried two steaming mugs back with him.
He handed one to Dean, after shaking him awake. Dean swore at him, then apologized, then grudgingly thanked him. He sat up, sipping at the hot, black contents of his cup in silence. When Sam had finished his, he re-read the doc's instructions, and then forced Dean to sit still and allow him to clean and disinfect the pin sites. When that task was complete, they discussed the day.
"Looks ok outside." Sam mused. "So, do you want to go to the farm site right off?"
Dean wanted nothing more than to settle back and sleep away the day. But he already knew that their time was limited regarding Nathaniel. Today was as good a day as any to approach him. "Yeah. If I can call him out, then I can try to convince him. He looked pretty traumatized, after Frank Buell died. I think he's pretty freaked out. I just hope he shows."
"He will, Dean. You and Nate, you really connected, and it might take some talking, but he'll come out for you."
Dean glanced at his brother. "Yeah...hope so." He grimaced, and lifted his metal-barred arm higher, resting it on his pillow. "Christ this thing is a pain-in-the-ass!" he griped sourly.
"It won't be long, Dean, before they'll replace it with a cast like I had. That was nothing, trust me."
Dean nodded absently, knowing full well that "they" weren't going to have anymore to do with it. He changed the subject. "What are we going to do for some breakfast?"
"May said she'd get something together when we wanted. I can go over and ask."
Dean nodded. "Yeah. I want to get out to Nate's as soon as possible. If they're going to be working that land any day now, I have to get this thing underway asap. If we can't get him to go away willingly, then we'll have to salt and burn. Either way we have to dig him up. Or you will, anyway." He was quiet for some time. "He's really uptight about his headstone. He told me it was the only thing he had, the only thing anybody ever gave him. We have to do whatever we do before another earth mover tries to dislodge that thing, or somebody else will end up in that gully."
Sam understood. There was urgency on several fronts. "Ok, Dean. We can go right after I grab something for you to eat."
They polished off their breakfast, and both got into the Impala. Dean had moved toward the driver's side on instinct, but hindered by his sling, he realized that he was useless in that regard, and had to concede. It added to his black mood. They drove in silence to the place at the highway where the Buell farm road intersected. Sam parked, and they got out.
"Dean, it's still a rough walk-" Sam began.
"I'm fine!" he growled back.
By the time they reached the grassy field that was once the farmstead, Dean was exhausted. But he refused any attempts Sam made at helping him along. The police tape was gone, the backhoe had been pulled up from the gully and taken to the wreckers. When they reached the little copse of twisted apple trees, Dean leaned heavily against one of the ancient, gnarled trunks. He slid down against it, and sat in the grass. Nate's headstone was within reach. Sam sat beside him, waiting for Dean to make the next move.
"What now, Dean?"
He shrugged. "Guess I call him out." He yelled Nate's name. There was only silence. He tried again, several times, but Nathaniel refused to show himself. Finally Dean resorted to something he knew would grab the spirit's attention. "Sam; give that stone a kick, will you?"
Sam turned toward it. He sized it up, and then threw his weight at it. It rocked slightly, dislodging a little from the heavy, clinging weight of the clay soil. It brought an immediate response. A yellow apple ripped from it's mooring and collided solidly with Sam's head. He swore and wiped at the pulp.
Dean couldn't help but laugh. "Nate! C'mon, show yourself, it's me, Dean."
Nate pelted Dean with another apple in response. That was less humorous to the elder hunter. "Hey! Stop it! I need to talk to you! Come on out, Nate!"
After a moment or two, the brothers became aware of the sudden drop in temperature. A mist formed, and it solidified into the image of Sin Eater. He stayed at a distance, wary and unhappy.
"What do you want from me now?" he said finally.
"I don't want anything from you, Nate!" Dean objected. "I came to talk to you, to thank you for what you did for us."
Nate glared at him. "What I did was murder. I murdered my own kin cuz of you. What else could you possibly ask of me now?" He was thoroughly, horrifyingly, in the form of Sin Eater. It unnerved both Dean and Sam to see him like that, after the gentler form of the boy Nate.
It struck Dean then, just how deeply Nathaniel was wounded by the event. He sighed, and softened his approach. "Nate, that was terrible; it was a horror for you to do that, I know. But you did it to save our lives. You saved four good people through that. Probably more, because that sonofabitch didn't blink at killing to protect his secrets. Frank Buell may be your relation, but he was hardly family, and he was a brutal bastard, just like your old man."
Nathaniel was silent. Finally he spoke. "I'm going to hell. I done murder, I killed my own kin. My soul's a ruin, for sure."
Dean looked away. But he regained his resolve. "You thought that already, before all this. You were the Sin Eater for how many people, Nate? Dozens? A hundred? All those strangers; you took on all their sins, every last one of them. Your soul was already as black as coal, so this has no effect on anything! And don't you think that motive and circumstance have any bearing on this? Christ, you stopped a murderer from burning three people alive! I think that pretty much counts in your favour!"
Nate sighed after a while. He sat down in the grass and dropped his disheveled head into his translucent white hands. "I hate this place. I'm tired of being here. I'm just so tired..."
It was just what Dean wanted to hear. He couldn't stand the idea that Nathaniel Willard was robbing himself of the thing that he himself was denied. Nate had the brass ring; but fear kept him from grasping it and pulling open that door to glory, or peace, or happiness...whatever it was. To Dean Winchester, that was a tragedy of epic proportion.
"What if I said I could help you?"
"Help me with what? It's done. I'm done. Ain't nothing you can do."
"Yes there is. You think you can't get into the pearly gates because you're a sin-eater. Well...what if somebody ate your sins? Wouldn't that make you clean again?"
Nate frowned and looked away. "I wouldn't put that on nobody. I won't damn another to save my own soul."
"Well, what if there was somebody who was already damned..?"
Sam got up at that and walked away. He couldn't hear that, he just couldn't.
But Nate turned and stared at Dean. "What are you saying?"
"I'm saying that it won't make a damn difference if I took on every sin you carry, even your most recent. I told you, Nate; my soul is already spoken for. I'm going to hell whether I, or you, or anybody else like it or not. It's a fact. So why don't we make this count for something? Why don't you let me be your sin-eater?"
Nathaniel Willard was stunned. It was a ray of hope he had never even dreamed of. His feeling was still to reject the offer; no one had ever been so profoundly good to him, and he had no idea how to react. But then, he knew of Dean Winchester's fate. If he let him do this, it would not be his fault that his friend would be damned. He already was. Dean saw that hope spark brief and bright in the Sin Eater's eyes.
"...I..I could never ask it of you."
"I'm offering, Nate. You don't have to ask, all you have to do is accept it."
"I dunno, it feels wrong, to me.."
Dean sighed. "Nate, just do it for me then...please. I need my lousy end to bring some good...please."
The sin eater met his eyes. He stared at Dean for several moments, his eyes glowing with a mix of relief and gratitude and grief. He began to weep silently, tears falling without shame. "I accept, then."
Dean closed his eyes with relief. He turned and glanced over to where Sam stood some distance away, and sighed. "Good."