Chapter 52: Closing Arguments
Gabby greeted them as they entered the court room. She smiled warmly as she shook even Sam's hand. "We're ready for the closing arguments. It's a little unusual for the prosecution to come for you, but Raphael had to be excused."
"Why?" Sam asked curiously.
"He felt he could no longer be an impartial mediator," she explained. "Take your seats. I've been working on my closing." Gabby's face beamed with pride. "I think I'm ready."
Sam followed Bobby and his big brother to the spectator benches. Hillary sat between them, taking her usual position of peering over the low wall. She was not growling constantly this time, though.
"How's the back?" Sam whispered, leaning in close to Dean's ear.
Dean cleared his throat nervously. "Okay," he whispered back. When Sam shot him a hard look, Dean's face broke into a grin. "Really, Sam. It hasn't felt okay since I broke it. It's okay now."
"You didn't break it," Sam reminded him sternly.
Dean elbowed him in the ribs. "Knock it off. Besides, it was my fault anyway."
Sam sighed sadly as he watched Hillary lean into Dean's leg. More of Dean's misplaced guilt. He wished there was a way of showing Dean his worth, that everything which went wrong was not only not his brother's fault but that thanks to Dean's ability things that did go wrong were typically never fatal. Leaning against the hard bench, he worried again about Dean's back. Sam removed his jacket and outer shirt. He pushed on his brother's shoulder, wanting Dean to lean forward. Sam then draped his jacket and shirt over the hard backing to provide at least a little cushion. Dean gave him a quizzical look as he leaned back.
"Better?" Sam demanded.
"Yeah, I guess," Dean replied slowly. "But Sam, you really don't..."
"Shh!" Bobby warned from Dean's other side. "They're starting."
Mike stood to address the council. "We are here to determine the extent of demonic influence on a human. It has been proven that Sam Winchester, the defendant, was infected with demon blood from the time he was six months old. The demonic infection influenced his life, every decision he ever made. Otherwise how could the abandonment of his family be explained? How could anyone turn his back on such devoted and supportive family members unless his decision was demonic in origin?
"Granted, Sam never killed anyone. Any human, that is. He has killed more than his fair share of supernatural creatures. Perhaps it was simply his family's influence, but perhaps he found a release for his demonic urges. While a case could be made to show that Sam has been fighting this infection his entire life, it is still proven he has been under demonic influence the whole time. The prosecution argues that Sam Winchester has been demoniacally influenced, and the evidence supports this."
Mike shot a glance at Dean which was clearly apologetic. Dean shrugged as he bumped shoulders with Sam. He had a pretty good feeling that if things didn't go their way, Mike would still be on their side.
Gabby stood now. It was kind of odd seeing each individual go through proper court motions without Ralph there to announce them.
"Certainly Sam Winchester has been under demonic influence," Gabby began. "There is no arguing the fact. However, has he been a menace to anyone while under the influence? The answer to this question must be a resounding no. Sam Winchester has consistently shown mercy to those around him, even the things he hunts. Some might argue showing such mercy to creatures would be more evidence of the influence, but it is not. It is, most simply, Sam's true nature showing through. All his life he has fought against the baser instincts caused by his infection. Now that the infection has been cured, Sam is so happy and upbeat that his family actually now finds him annoying, yet it was this very nature which allowed Samuel to stand firm against the infection. Perhaps he put too much of himself into his hunts. The same could be and has been said of his brother, Dean Winchester.
"As you all know, Dean Winchester is the first human to successfully face down an archangel. Dean's primary devotion is to his little brother. His second is hunting the evil crawling across the face of the world. Had Sam truly fallen to evil infection, he could never have earned such devotion from his brother. Even if you choose to believe no other argument, the simple fact Sam comes first for Dean Winchester should be enough. The one man to face down our Michael, the man now accepting his new role and responsibilities with such grace and ease, the man who places himself between our kind and his brother when he feels he and his brother are threatened, should be the yardstick by which we all measure ourselves. Our kind shall be improved by the addition of this remarkable human. And his brother."
Stunned, Sam glanced at his big brother. Dean's eyes were wide and his mouth hung slightly open. Bobby, looking exactly the way Sam felt, turned to Dean. He settled a hand on Dean's shoulder and squeezed. Just squeezing his brother's shoulder was not going to do it for Sam, however. Instead he wrapped an arm around his brother's shoulders, despite the fact Sam had avoided hugs from Dean since he was about fourteen, and drew his big brother into a tight hug. Yeah, he owed Dean. Big. Always had.
"So are we done?" Mike asked Gabby. She nodded at him. With clear hesitation, Gabby opened her arms. Mike smiled as he stepped into her embrace. Then he picked her up and swung her around. After setting her back on her feet and planting a kiss to her forehead, Mike headed straight for them. Gabby stood in the center of court behind him, eyes bulging and unmoving. Mike hopped easily over the short wall separating them from the court proper.
"Ready?" Mike demanded with a grin. "Let's get out of here," he said under his breath as he grabbed Sam and Dean by the arm. Dean reached for Bobby as the court flashed out of sight.
When the bright light faded from their vision, Sam saw they stood in the middle of Bobby's house. Bobby was rubbing his eyes and Hillary sat in the middle of them all.
"I need to go find Ralph. We're demon hunting. So unless you need something?" One of Mike's eyebrows arched, an exact imitation of Dean's questioning look.
"Nah, go have some fun. We'll look into those angel hunter whackos for you," Dean assured him.
"Great. Holler if you need me." Mike gave Dean a quick shove in the arm before disappearing in a flash of light, barely long enough to cause dancing spots in Sam's vision.
"Angel hunters?" Sam asked. "What angel hunters?"
"I'll tell you all about it while we raid Bobby's kitchen." Dean turned both Sam and Bobby around to face the direction of food. "Let's go, I'm starving."
Hillary sat under the kitchen table watching intently for tasty morsels to be handed out. Food-boy and Book-boy and Bobby were talking about something, but she didn't care. She sat closer to Food-boy, he was more generous with the hand-outs. Once Bobby slipped her some meat and she almost missed it.
A whimper from the far corner of the kitchen, where That Dog's bed was, stopped the table conversation.
"Hang on," Bobby said as he pushed back from the table. He knelt down next to That Dog, one hand gently rubbing over That Dog's head. Hillary grumbled to herself, remembering when Bobby used to treat her that way.
Then a warm hand rubbed her head and one of her ears. She leaned into Food-boy's touch, enjoying not only the attention but the warm emotions and feelings of belonging. Her tongue rolled out of the side of her mouth as she rested against Food-boy's leg, closing her eyes and soaking up the attention.
"Jealous mutt," Food-boy said. She knew he was not upset, could feel it in the strokes in her fur. Well, she supposed as long as Food-boy and Book-boy didn't take too much of a liking to That Dog, she could tolerate him.
That Dog whined again when Bobby ran a hand along his back and left flank. Hillary nudged Food-boy's hand. Food-boy peered under the table at her.
"What?" he asked. "What's wrong?"
Hillary nudged his hand again, trying to tell him That Dog's leg was hurt.
"Really?" Food-boy held her head in his hands, looking into her eyes. "I can try to help him if you want."
She whined at him. If That Dog wasn't hurt and whiny, all the attention would come back to her. Of course he needed to help That Dog!
"Okay, Hill," he said as he pushed back his chair.
Food-boy started to kneel down on the floor when Book-boy jumped up to help lower him down. Food-boy placed a gentle hand on That Dog's leg.
"Here?" he asked looking at That Dog. That Dog whined again, going on and on about what hurt and where. "Easy, boy," Food-boy crooned as his other hand went on That Dog's neck. "Just relax."
Gentle warm light glowed around Food-boy's fingers. That Dog relaxed instantly, stretching as the pain disappeared. Food-boy ran his hands over That Dog's neck, back and all four legs. When the light stopped, Food-boy looked at Bobby.
"He's beat to hell, Bobby. I think he'll be a little more comfortable now, but don't expect much." Food-boy sighed before turning on his knees to Book-boy. Book-boy helped him to his feet. "He's probably going to sleep an awful lot as he recovers."
"Recovers?" Bobby asked in a hopeful voice. "You mean you think he'll make it?"
Food-boy slapped his leg as he headed back to the table. Hillary jogged close by his side until it was time to slip under the table so she could sit by him.
"Sure he'll make it, Bobby," Food-boy declared. "He's a tough one. Have you named him yet?"
"Uh, no." Bobby sat in the floor by That Dog, carefully rubbing the dog's head. "I didn't want to in case he didn't, uh, make it." Bobby shrugged.
Oh, Bobby. What a softie.
"Might be time," Book-boy suggested. "Unless he already has a name? Dean?"
"What?" Food-boy demanded. "Am I supposed to go around talking to dogs all the frigging time?"
"De-an," Book-boy said in his warning voice.
Hillary rested her head on Food-boy's knee. Whatever he wanted to do was fine with her. Book-boy was on the verge of being bitten. Again.
"Hey, mutt," Food-boy called out. "You got a name?"
That Dog let out a mumble and a whine, which left Food-boy chuckling and Hillary highly amused.
"Better give the dog a new name," Food-boy told Bobby.
Hillary couldn't help herself. She rushed over to That Dog's side and nosed his head. She asked him what a big, bad military dog was doing with a name like Francis. Then she started to double-check that he was indeed male, which earned her a snap at her ear. Hillary let out a growl as she turned to face 'Francis' again.
"Hill, come on," Food-boy said in a calm voice. "He's beat up enough. Want some more turkey?"
Turkey? Oh, yeah! She trotted back to her spot under the table to gently remove the tasty treat from Food-boy's fingers.
"His name is Francis?" Book-boy asked with a laugh. "Are we sure he's male?"
"Shut up," Bobby snapped. "Frank? Nah. Maybe..." He chuckled. "Reagan. Yeah, he looks like a Reagan. How many attempted assassinations were there on him?"
"Showing your age, Bobby," Food-boy teased as those wonderful fingers massaged her ear.
"Shut up, boy," Bobby replied, but Hillary could not scent any hostility in the room. She let herself relax, dropping down to rest on Food-boy's boots. It had been a long freaking day, she realized as her eyelids became too heavy to hold open.
"So when do we know the outcome of the trial?" Bobby asked as he looked at his kitchen table. Dean was sound asleep, head propped up on his fist. Sam appeared ready to fall out of his chair at any moment.
He had to leave his dog's side to tend to the stubborn-ass Winchesters. First Bobby forced Sam to his feet, knowing he'd need help with Dean. Dean was shockingly compliant as they forced the older boy to go to bed upstairs. Sam crashed on the other bed. When Bobby made it back to the kitchen, both dogs were sleeping soundly and rough dog snores filled the small room.
Well, a good idea's time had come, Bobby figured. He returned to his own couch to stretch out. It had been a hell of a day, he thought as he pulled his cap down over his eyes. A hell of a day.
Mike peered through the dark place for Ralph. Darkness was not merely the absence of light, it was often the presence of evil. He was in the middle of a gathering place for evil. Where was Ralph and what in the Lord's name was he doing here?
On the surface it appeared to be a bar, the type of place the Winchesters liked to frequent. The people in the bar were doing normal kinds of things, drinking, playing bar games like darts and pool. It was the people themselves who were suspect. Each person had a deep shadow writhing just below the human skin, undulating obscenely. Mike resisted a deep urge to rip every dark shadow out and cast it to Hell. There were rules, and horrible consequences for breaking those rules.
He felt a pull to the back of the bar. There he found Ralph perched on a high bar stool watching a pool game with both arms crossed over his chest. Mike sidled up beside his friend, coming close enough to brush against Ralph's arm. Ralph's acknowledgement was a flicker of eye contact, but in that flicker Mike learned all he needed to know. This was information gathering. This was also the reason Ralph was so good at demon hunting, far better than Mike, he had patience in places like this. Mike would have preferred to level it, leaving nothing but dust. Instead he pulled up a stool to sit beside Ralph and watch his back.
"Who?" he asked quietly.
"Demon in the corner," Ralph replied under his breath. "Works for Her."
Mike glanced in surprise at his friend. He had no idea Ralph was after one of the big ones this time. Granted, Ralph rarely messed with the minors unless they were on a killing spree, but Mike had not expected him to be after Lilith.
"It's over?" Ralph asked him.
"Finally," Mike confirmed. "What's the plan?"
A cold smile spread over Ralph's face. Oh, awesome. They were going to have fun! Mike settled in to wait for Ralph to make his move. It had been way too long since they worked a demon over together. He hoped he remembered all of Ralph's tricks.
Bela waited for the cops to leave the holding area. Arrested on suspicion after finding her restrained in an abandoned house? What a load of American crap. There was no way she would be sticking around to stand in front of a judge.
She slipped the key to her cell out of her pocket the instant the holding area was clear. Some of the other prisoners gaped at her, but she ignored them. Then, inspired, Bela decided to release them all. In the ensuing chaos, she should be able to slip out unnoticed.
Perfect. And then back to being a very good thief. No more mucking around with anything still alive, it was just asking for trouble.
Ruby stared at the room she was in. It was some kind of bar. Most of the patrons appeared to be possessed. What was she doing here? There was a beer by her hand. She grabbed it, trying to fit in. In front of her two demons played darts for a small midwest town.
Disgusted, Ruby moved through the crowded room. A pool table against the back wall caught her attention. As much time as she had spent shadowing Sam Winchester, she had picked up an interest in the game. Recognizing one of the demons playing as a small-time demon, one who usually picked a backwater town and caused all sorts of non-fatal nasty things to happen to the residents which was usually attributed to Bad Luck, she leaned against the wall to watch the game.
Glancing around after a particularly good shot, Ruby noticed the demon watching from the far corner of the room. Now this was one demon Ruby had no desire to cross. She backed away slowly until she realized there were two men watching the demon. The two men seemed familiar. Then it hit her. One of those men was the witch who could stick her feet to the ground, and he had a friend.
She glanced between the witches and the nasty demon. Clearly the witches were after the nasty demon. Honestly, no matter how it went down, Ruby would be pleased with the results. She decided to slip out the back way before anyone here recognized her. Ruby was not exactly popular with other demons.
It was a shame she had not known that just outside the backdoor was a confrontation between a group of Lucifer worshipers and Azazel cultists. Both considered her a traitor.
Bright light pierced Daniel's eyelids. He squinted against it. The room he was in was white and people bustled back and forth.
"He's awake!" a voice called out.
Many faces peered into his, bright lights assaulted his eyes and hands moved his arms and legs. He laid there, unwilling to speak and risk further punishment.
"There may be psychological damage," a man's voice intoned. "It would explain his unresponsiveness. Put in an order for an evaluation."
"Yes, doctor," another voice replied. "Right away."
Daniel could not tell how long it was before a man came into his room with a chart and a pleasant smile. He would have liked to run, but the room he was in had a lock. In the order, when a man in a white coat appeared with a pleasant smile, it was usually related to punishment.
"Good morning," the man said in a pleasant tone, which put him further on edge. He felt his breath coming in short and rapid huffs. "Easy now. I'm Doctor Morgen. I'm just here to talk."
Talk? Speaking without being spoken to by a higher member of the order was forbidden. Daniel pressed back into his pillows, knowing this was a trap.
"Would it help if I told you I have already spoken with your employer, Mister Cardinal?" Doctor Morgen asked.
No, honestly, it wouldn't. Now he knew that this doctor worked within the order and this was a test of his convictions, his faith. Daniel was determined to pass the test and return to serving the order. He might no longer be allowed to serve the Cardinal himself, but surely his services would still be needed. Surely. Daniel closed his eyes so he would not have to see Doctor Morgen speaking. He would pass this test. He would.