Author's note: Reviews are still super welcome.
Chapter Seven: Drip dry
Dawn.
The air was crisp. To the left of Dean, the porch creaked. Castiel came to stand behind him and steadied his aim without even looking at the intended target. Not that it mattered, because Dean couldn't fire for fear of waking everyone up. The cans were safe.
Ammunition might be an issue, Dean realised. He needed to talk to Bobby about that. The feeling of not-rightness had returned with a vengeance, but he was better equipped to handle it this time around. He was warm and somewhat rested. Also, surprisingly hungry.
Castiel fixed them breakfast while the house slowly came to life. Before long the table was laden with food and surrounded by people. It wasn't until Dean was polishing off his second plate that he noticed how serious everyone was looking. Quickly and without chewing, he swallowed his last bite and choked out a couple of sentences.
'It ain't so bad. Yeah, Gabriel got away, but he said some stuff that...'
'We've got news. Raphael went into town,' Bobby interrupted.
Raphael took his sweet time telling. Meticulously, maddeningly, he explained that he'd found Gabriel's silver flask near the place where the bodies had been. It had contained hemlock seeds. According to Raphael, there was no way Sam and Grace wouldn't have died; even if they'd only drunk a little. Hemlock poison was extremely potent. Raphael had then visited town to talk to the local quack. Sufficiently intimidated, the charlatan had confessed that he'd recently sold a concoction containing a high concentration of hemlock to one person: Lucifer. Dean processed the new information. So, Gabriel had not been lying. Not about that, at least.
'Gabriel claimed that he didn't know it was poison. Could he have been telling the truth?' Dean asked.
'Lucifer would have enjoyed tricking him,' Raphael conceded. When Dean subsequently announced that he was going to take the fight to Lucifer and that Castiel was coming along, Jessica's jaw clenched. She fixed him with a glare.
'Fuck you, Dean,' she snarled, before exiting the kitchen.
'What was that all about?' Dean inquired. He turned to Bobby for guidance, seeing suddenly how drawn Bobby's face looked. Bobby pushed back his chair.
'She's mad as hell, son. I'd give you a goin' over myself if I didn't think you'd somehow manage to miss the point,' he replied. He went after Jess. The table emptied until Castiel was left. He stood and beckoned, so Dean followed. Castiel led the way to his bedroom at the end of the hall and entered first. Dean was barely in the door before something hit him in the face.
Luckily, it was a pillow. It bounced back. The pillow was embroidered with four pictures. Two were largely unrecognisable. Dean guessed they were maybe monsters. The third and fourth were a clumsily stitched horse and a smiling sun. More objects landed on the floor. A blue rock skidded across the wooden boards. A bunch of feather floated in the air. Useless things that Grace had constantly been doling out.
An ugly, coarse haired quilt thudded against Dean's feet. He recognised it as something Sam had bought for Castiel's designated birthday. With a shock, Dean recalled a thing his brother had once said. If push comes to shove Castiel has my back. That's what being friends means.
'Alright, I get it. I'm not the only one who's lost someone. Stop throwing shit.'
They stared at each other. It was a hard thing for Dean to acknowledge that he had been appropriating everyone's grief. No one could possibly feel what he was feeling and revenge was for him alone. Meanwhile the house was filled with people who were hurting just as much or more. This changed things considerably. He couldn't deny them the right to get their own back.
As his shame intensified, Dean grabbed a rifle and made his way down the hall. He could hear voices outside. He walked across the porch and right up to Jessica.
'You ever fire a weapon before?'
She shook her head. Dean handed her the rifle.
'Cas is a hell of a shot: ask him to teach you. If you wanna come. That goes for y'all,' Dean invited, peering into everyone's faces. Bobby nodded with approval.
'Vengeance belongs to the Lord,' Michael – who else? – protested. Well, at least he's stopped attributing lofty intentions to me, Dean thought. Gone was talk of mercy.
'I'll come, Dean,' Zachariah piped up with a contemptuous glance at Michael.
'No son of mine will take part in this. I forbid it,' Michael ordained.
'This ain't got nothing to do with you! I'm going,' Zachariah insisted. He could be just as stubborn as his father.
'I'm sorry, but you're not, kid,' Dean said, nixing the idea. Fifteen was too young. Plain and simple. Muttering under his breath, Zachariah stalked away with wounded pride.
If Dean had been thinking that killing Lucifer would be as simple as challenging him to a shootout, he could think again. Raphael corrected that assumption right quick. During his visit to town, he had seen more of Lucifer's men hanging around the saloon than ever before. They had all been armed and vigilant.
'He's expecting us,' Bobby summarised.
'And he plays dirty,' Raphael pointed out. As if Dean needed any more reminders that Lucifer was the devil himself.
(***)
Dusk.
The wind was pretty fierce. That was bound to fuck up his aim. Not that it mattered. His aim was shitty anyway. For now he just wanted to get a feel for the tools of the trade. He shouldered the rifle and squinted past the barrel at the empty cans he'd lined up that morning. They glinted in the darkness.
It would probably end up being close range, so the rifle wouldn't be of much use. Dean put down the rifle and handled the revolver. He raised his arm and imagined squeezing the trigger. The revolver's cylinder would be hot. The barrel would be too. He would feel the heat radiating off them. It would sear his flesh if he touched either of them.
The cans rattled in the wind. Moonlight illuminated the barn and what lay beyond it. Dean's aim wavered.
There they were. Four crosses in rows of two. Side by side. Dean looked at them and furrowed his brow. He could feel himself doing it. Wrinkle, wrinkle. If he was going to crack, this was as good a time as any. He walked over. He read the names and dates on the crosses, but nothing happened.
It got colder and later and darker and he was still waiting for the moment when he'd come apart. It had to come, right? For the life of him, though, Dean couldn't get into the right mood. Sure, he was afraid of the volatility of his emotions, but lots of things you were afraid of happened anyway.
Dean scanned his surroundings to make sure that no one was around. Digging a packet of cigarettes out of his pocket, he thought of what he'd say to Sam if he were the type to have a heart to heart with a grave. He struck a match to light his cigarette and took a drag.
'You don't approve of this turkey shoot I've got planned, huh? Well, it's happening.'
Tomorrow he was going to restore the balance. That should have been enough. Why wasn't it? He took another drag and exhaled slowly.
'I ain't got no illusions about it either. It's not gonna change a damn thing. I'm well aware.'
While Dean killed Lucifer, his brother's bones would make a home in this yard. It wouldn't fix anything. Sam would still be dead. At the end of the day, Sam would always be dead.
'But I can't let it go. 'Cause as it is... you break my heart, Sam. You break my goddamn heart.'
Whenever he closed his eyes Dean saw Sam and Grace sitting against that tree trunk. He couldn't watch that any longer. Replacing that image with Lucifer's corpse was his only goal. He waited until the flame licked at his fingertips before dropping the cigarette and grinding it out.
'You know what's funny? I don't even know why I didn't kill Gabriel. Maybe I thought that you might have been against it or something. That you'd object. I don't know and I reckon it don't matter now. He's long gone.'
The moon disappeared behind a cloud again and a feather light touch on Dean's arm alerted him to someone's presence. Dean started. A callused hand slipped into Dean's hand.
'I'm scared,' Dean said, feeling the weight of the words settle over him. As usual, his words were met with silence. The difference was that with the moon gone and no stars or light anywhere around them Dean had no idea how Castiel was taking this.
'This time tomorrow we could all be dead,' Dean added, for good measure. Castiel tugged at his hand until Dean half-turned. Hands mapped out his face, sliding across his lips only to be replaced with a mouth. Maybe it was alright to be afraid. Maybe it was how he was supposed to feel.