Warnings: slight drunkness, mention and reference to past abuse

Chapter 11: Head On

Drink to give herself courage wasn't a solution, or shouldn't have been, Madison knew it. Yet she had stayed all day locked in her room, pretending not to be and distressing at the idea that Sam could knock on the door. She had so much passed her hand through her hair that they had greased. She had drunk. And Sam's words were playing in a loop in her head. "I killed someone."

That sounded wrong, should have sounded even more wrong than this. Yet she felt constantly reliving the second of terrified incredulity of the previous day. Something like her heart collapsing suddenly in her belly by freezing her entrails passage. A great white flash that replaced all other reality than this one: He had killed someone. And nothing prevented him to do it again.

She shook her head for about the thousandth time that day to chase the sensation. That wasn't true. It was fear speaking and not the rational and intelligent part of her. It was fear that had made her drink the night before and defer her reply, fear again that had frozen the words on her tongue and had tied her throat. Deep inside her, a terrified voice asked her the same question constantly : "And if he's like Kurt, what will you do?"

She wondered since morning and had found only one answer: "We'll see." And this conversation with herself had already lasted too long. Sam hadn't thrown anyone off a cliff, hadn't pointed a revolver on anyone and only his guilt had made him use those precise words that continued to terrify her almost twenty-four hours later. "I killed someone." It was wrong and it was the only thing she was entitled to respond. The rest concerned only Sam and only depended on him. As far as she was concerned, he hadn't done anything else than his best and he wasn't guilty of the way things had turned.

She took a pack of beer in the fridge. Drinking shouldn't have been the solution, but sober, she saw Kurt's face, heard again the noise of the key turning in the lock and the feel of her stomach that ached every time she imagined him following her in the street. If she concentrated enough she could almost remember the pain of the blows that day and she had to open her eyes because there was the name of another tattooed in white on the knuckles which aimed her.

"And if he's like Kurt, what will you do?"

She went out into the corridor by mentally silencing the insidious voice. "We'll see." It was probably the alcohol talking but the beer had more courage and less qualms than her. She had her eyes half closed when he opened the door because she was afraid of not being able to utter a sound if she looked at him. She was clutching the cans against her, concentrated only on the cold and the words she uttered.

"You didn't kill anyone. You were just a child, you did what you could and... And I don't care that you feel guilty, I don't care that you're afraid because I'm afraid too. But you haven't done anything to me and…" Her voice deadened. Where was her eloquence? Her education? Where were the beautiful phrases she had prepared? Where was the intelligence and the culture he admired in her and she admired in him? She looked down at the ugly carpet and the metal door step. "We are the sum of our experiences. And until yesterday, I thought that your experiences had made you someone good. There's no reason that what you told me changes anything. It's still you and it doesn't change anything."

"It does." He said quietly. "It changes things. It changes the way you'll look at me."

Elle shook her head. "Like tattoos, like piercings. It changes the way people look at you, but it doesn't define who you are. It doesn't change who you are."

"And who do you think I am?" He asked, smiling slightly. She shrugged, became aware of the cold beers that froze her stomach and held them out.

"Like everyone. Someone who does his best."

He took the cans and his smile widened. "You practiced your speech, didn't you?"

She nodded. "Absolutely."

"Good work, the jury is satisfied." He stepped aside to let her in and when she crossed the threshold she felt like a vise loosening around her, as if she was breathing for the first time of the day.

"Sorry I... freaked out yesterday."

"The opposite would have been... freaking." He gestured to the couch where she sat down with the strange sensation of floating in a bubble as she was relieved that the ordeal had passed. The voices had fallen silent inside her and she felt strangely in her place.

"It's because of this story the tattoo?" She asked, pointing to her own chest with a wave of her free hand. He nodded and looked down at the neckline of his shirt where a few letters were visible.

"Always be wary of the kind ones. Even more of those who think they are." He handed her a beer and put the others on the floor, sitting in turn.

"And the sunflowers?"

"Dean and I. Sunflowers are always looking toward the sun. I made them after Jess's death... it was a bad time, you know, really awful."

"I imagine."

"When things started to get better, we vowed to remember that things always get better. De To always look toward the sun."

She nodded thoughtfully. It was symbolic that she could also identify with. Things got better if only taken head on.

"Do you manage to?" She asked.

"Most of the time."

He smiled, and when she reached for the remote they knew that the subject was closed. They both happened to feel strangely relieved about it.

##

Charlie couldn't remember the last time she had been awakened before sunrise. She had slept a restless sleep that hadn't bothered Dorothy and had gotten up long before her partner, gently closing the door behind her and going back up the corridor on tiptoe, her boots in her hands as if she might be getting caught going over the wall.

She loved hotels, their impersonal smell and their lighting designed to not harden the occupants's features. She loved the musty and sometimes dusty smell of the carpeted and poorly ventilated corridors. She hesitated to settle in the lobby while waiting for breakfast time, but finally decided to go out. The street was covered with a cloak of icy mist that made her tighten her jacket around her, shivering. Her phone told her that it was just before six o'clock, namely an absolutely indecent hour on the west coast. She hesitated for a second before calling Dean. He answered on the third ring.

"I hope for you that's important." He grumbled in greeting.

"Am I interrupting something?" She asked, feigning amusement. She didn't really know where her steps were leading her and wasn't paying attention, her eyes in the gray wave that tinged the streets.

"My daily four hours of sleep." Dean grouched. She heard a rustling and a groan that certainly came from Castiel. "What's goin' on?"

She felt tears arrive suddenly and put a hand to her lips as if to prevent them from coming out. She already had a blocked nose and eyes burning with tears.

"I'm not ok Dean, not ok at all."

There was a little silence at the end of the line and then: "Cas... Coffee."

She stifled a giggle and a snort, but curiously she didn't hear a protest, just the sound of the phone that went from one hand to an other and Castiel's hoarse voice.

"Charlie? Find a place to settle yourself if you haven't already and call us back in ten minutes."

He hung up before she could say anything. She had stopped near a busy avenue in which the fog prevented her to discern the name on the plates. She asked to one of the few passersby if there was a cafe open at that hour, and he indicated her a tea house two blocks away. The establishment was barely open and behind a refrigerated counter full of colorful cupcakes, a young man in apron forced himself to smile at her. She was not hungry but still bought a pastry with blue topping and a tea.

She hardly drank tea before meeting Castiel. The young man had initiated her by claiming that there was much more flavors in this hot water than in coffee. Sam had spent months telling them that the hot water was made for baths until their lack of responsiveness discourages him. She sat in a box, wedged between the seat and the wall, pulled her knees against her chest, her shins against the table with a questioning look to the cupcake seller who shrugged as if uninterested if her boots stain the seat fabric.

She let her tea brew before taking a cup and pressing the recall button on her phone. She sat back in the corner, her cup in her hands clasped between her knees, her phone jammed between her shoulder and ear.

"Hey princess."

"Hey. You have your coffee?"

"Yep, you're settled?"

"Yes."

She heard a movement while Dean placed her on speaker and she closed her eyes, imagining her friends, barely dressed, hair disheveled, each with a cup of coffee in hand and phone between them on the blanket.

"Tell us." Castiel said.

"She's going to leave me."

The urge to cry had returned and the hot tea in her hands did nothing to calm her. She clenched her fingers stronger around the cup and swallowed a sniff. She didn't care to look ridiculous or for the seller to hear her conversation. She felt terribly alone and she needed comfort. Like that day, years ago when the gray sky had tinged with pink under Dean's umbrella. She related the discussion of the previous day almost without crying. It was a feat.

Neither of the two men interrupted her during the time that lasted her account. She could almost imagine them exchanging facial expressions over the phone.

"Talk to her." Dean said. "How do you want her to guess if you've never renegotiated the terms of the contract?"

"She doesn't want to renegociate. She finds it normal... She doesn't care."

There was a pause and then Castiel's voice. "Don't be a fool. You'd certainly like her to be telepathic but she isn't. What do you risk in telling her what you just told us? It's not like if she could leave you twice."

"Cas!" Dean grouched.

"What? You know I'm right!"

Charlie had a laugh that was half a sniff by listening to them argue. The tea was cold enough for her to drink. People were starting to get in the shop and the fog was slightly less dense.

"I wish we could be... like you two, her and me."

"Nah you wouldn't want that!" Dean retorted. She could almost hear him roll his eyes. "You have no idea how many times he tried to leave me."

Charlie frowned. "How many?"

"Nineteen." Castiel answered.

"Why?"

"For an unbelievable amount of good reasons that neither you nor Dorothy have. So if we were able to overcome that nineteen times, don't you think it's worth for you to fight, just once?"

Charlie nodded while being fully aware that they couldn't see her. She poured herself another cup of tea and Dean spoke again.

"What would Batwoman do in this situation?"

Charlie nearly choked on her drink and began to cough violently while at the other end of the country, Castiel was sneering. She wiped her mouth with her napkin the time to find an answer. She didn't really wanted to cry anymore, she rather wanted to bite into something that wasn't a cake. She smiled watching the mist dissolving through the window.

"She'd tell her everything. She'd give her no choice and would deal with the consequences after."

"Go get 'em, tiger."

Dean hung up soon after and emptied his cup in two long sips. Castiel was looking at him thoughtfully.

"What?"

Castiel shook his head. "You know, I had never asked myself, but I kept count of the number of times I tried to leave you. I wonder what that says about me?"

"That you're an idiot inflicted with an obsessive-counting disorder. And that I'm awesome." Dean replied, pulling him toward himself for a kiss that tasted like coffee. They lay down one over the other, Castiel's arms crossed over Dean's chest, their chins almost touching.

"You know, you saved my life, I love you and you are my hero, but I always wonder... what do you see in me? Why do you stay?"

Dean dramatically sighed but kept the sarcastic comment he had on the tip of the tongue. He took the time to think to formulate his reply, mechanically outlining the tattoo under Castiel's clavicle with his finger. "Safe and sound".

"You're the only one I can drift with." He eventually replied. "I want to be strong for Sam, be a model for Kevin, a support for Charlie... But you really think I'm a hero, and I don't feel the need to be anything else but me when I'm with you to conform myself to this image. It's relaxing."

Castiel was watching him intently and Dean ran a hand over his face, stopping on the lips as if it was the natural place of his fingers. "You're going to find that… you're gonna hate what I'll say, but you just had to not ask. You're my refuge, you're where I go when I need to rest, to be weak once from time to time. And it's more than anyone can give me. And besides, I love you."

Castiel would have wanted to laugh and sweep the declaration with a sarcastic comment, but he was tired and filled with emotion and couldn't find the courage to answer anything. Nor to move to kiss him. He remained just leaning over his lover, looking at him. Cheek still marked by the pillow, the lower lip slightly distorted by the ring of his labret, the green tiger's eye that highlighted the color of his eyes, and the freckles which overlayed his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. He sincerely wondered what he had done to deserve this.

"You think it's going to be ok for her?" Dean asked and Castiel was glad of the interruption of his thoughts. His ability to frenzied romanticism had been exceeded at least ten minutes before. He nodded.

"She knows she can count on you if necessary. And I sincerely believe that talking will do some good to both of them."

Dean nodded and the movement ended up in kissing, Castiel's tongue against his and the sighs that escaped him right away sufficed to distract him for a long time.

##

Madison woke up with a stiff neck and pasty mouth, curled up on the couch in Sam and Kevin's room under a blanket that had slipped from her shoulders in the night. She didn't remember falling asleep but the empty beer bottles on the coffee table and on the floor clearly indicated to her how this could have happen. The two men were sleeping each in their own bed when she climbed out of her bedding and silently took three steps into the room, the rolled blanket in her arms to get her sneakers abandoned in a corner.

She put the blanket over Sam who was sleeping with one arm under his head, his face buried in the pillow. The pressure slightly woke him and he blinked, looking confused until he discerns her in the half-light of the room.

"Hey." He said in an unsteady voice. She leaned toward him, moving his fringe aside from his forehead and put a light kiss on it before slipping out while he fell asleep again, wondering if he'd just dreamed.

It was a little early for breakfast and Madison moved into the entrance hall with a book found on a depleted shelves that the hotel made available to its customers. She tried to distract herself by focusing on the story but had to periodically reread the page she had just turned because her mind kept coming back to Sam. Some people like Dorothy had a natural gift for observation and understanding of people which she herself lacked. The last three days had brought her more information about Sam that she felt able to assimilate, as though she had signed up for a course and found out too late that she didn't have the level required to succeed the final exam. She kept rethinking about the photo he had shown her, and his slightly broken voice telling his story was turning in her head as a programmed loop recording.

Broken, it was probably the best definition she could give of Sam. And yet, the only Image she had of him was this kid smiling and lanky playing with a dog in the dust on a past photo. And perhaps also the shadow of his eyelashes on his cheek that morning when she had covered him as he had done to her earlier in the night.

She felt the presence of Dorothy and looked up at the young woman, smiling to greet her.

"You're up early."

"Slept badly." Madison replied.

"Sam?"

She nodded. "How do you know?" She asked, putting down the book on the shelf. Dorothy shrugged.

"These days it's always about Sam, with you."

Madison felt vaguely embarrassed to be so predictable. "Sorry." She said. "I must be... particularly unbearable, by dint."

"Not really unbearable, just a bit discouraging."

Madison stifled a giggle. "Am I so easy to read?"

Dorothy nodded and made a movement towards the restaurant area that had just opened. "You want to discuss it at the breakfast table? Hungry, I'm useless and Charlie won't answer her phone."

Madison nodded for breakfast but she didn't want to talk about Sam and she broached any other possible topics: the next dates of the tour, what they would do when returning to California, and curiously, the concert to which Kevin had invited Channing. Dorothy had one of her ambiguous smiles, and Madison noticed that unlike her, the young woman never put her elbows on the table.

"You think they'll do something special for this occasion?"

The driver nodded. "It could hardly be otherwise."

They had almost finished their meal in the atmosphere increasingly noisy in the room that was beginning to be overly crowded when Charlie arrived, fists clenched in the pockets of her jacket and nose reddened by the outdoor freshness.

"Hey." She said to the roadie. "Sorry to interrupt, do you mind if I borrow her?" She asked, pointing to Dorothy with her thumb.

Madison smiled, shooking her head. "Take good care of her, I'm definitely going to need her advice in the coming days!" She said by standing up, taking her empty cup with her. Charlie took her seat and took off her jacket under Dorothy's questioning look.

"What did she need advice for?"

"Sam." Dorothy answered, pouring herself another tea. She raised an eyebrow to ask the bassist if she wanted some and Charlie declined with a shake of her head.

"What did you tell her?"

"To be cautious, but it dates back several days." Dorothy answered. It was exactly the angle of attack that Charlie would have wanted to avoid but she didn't want to further delay the confrontation.

"That's what you always do, don't you? Be cautious?"

"What are you talking about?"

"You want to leave me arriving in LA. Why not now?"

She felt a flood of words coming to her lips and the urge to cry that came quickly back under the detached gaze Dorothy had. She should have accept her offer of tea, she'd have had something to occupy her hands rather than nervously fiddling with the tablecloth.

"I didn't say that." The other replied. "I said that it was what was agreed at the outset."

Charlie stopped trying to tear the tablecloth with her nails and gave her a puzzled look. "But yesterday..."

"Isn't th at what you want? Charlie, we're going back to California and then what? What do you see of me as a part of your life? You're going to lock you up with the boys in a recording studio for months, then you'll be in promotional marathon and I'll leave again on the road with other people. Where do you see the possibility for us to still be together in these conditions? That's why we had started this story knowing full well that it would end at the end of the tour."

"I don't want it to end." Charlie said, forcing the words to override the lump she had in the throat. She didn't know if it was sadness, anger or relief, perhaps an odious mixture of the three.

"Me neither." Dorothy replied. "But it can't work and you know it. And the more we'll try to force things, more painful it will be when we realize that we have failed."

She no longer had anything to drink and now the greatest difficulty in watching Charlie in the face. The following words hurt her probably more than they should have.

"I understand why Madison asked you advice about Sam. You're just like him, finally."

Dorothy frowned and crossed her arms in annoyance.

"Can you elaborate?"

Charlie had sat up, eyes shining with tears or rage, Dorothy couldn't determine.

"You never get attached, never. Neither to me nor to anything else! I saw you lose the keys to the bus without blinking, I was there the day you got your bag stolen and you didn't say anything. You don't care... Sam I understand why he does that but you? What do you fear? That people leave you, so you don't become attached to anything?"

"That is your fear Charlie!" Dorothy retorted. The other frowned, puzzled. "You're the one who's so afraid of being abandoned that you persist to get attached to anything and everything. You want to talk about who's most like Sam? Me, who don't become attached or you, who are unable to understand when to let go?"

Charlie had clenched her fists on her knees and looked down under Dorothy's icy tone.

"You're wrong." She said weakly. "It could work. It works for Dean and Castiel."

"We aren't Dean and Castiel."

Charlie looked down, defeated, and got up quickly to hide her tears, leaving Dorothy alone with her tea.

##

Kevin had made his best to not make noise but when he came out of the bathroom Sam was rubbing his eyes, sitting in bed. They greeted each other with a nod and Kevin saw Sam glancing around for Madison.

"She left before I wake up." The young man said, sitting on his rumpled bed to extirpate his sneakers from under the pile of blankets fallen to the ground. "You made her sleep on the couch? Very sweet, bud." He teased.

"She fell asleep in the middle of the film, I didn't want to wake her." Replied Sam who was beginning to wonder if he really had any reason to get out of bed for the time being.

"I don't get it." Kevin said, pulling on his second shoe. "When I met you, you used to jump on everything that moved, what has changed?"

Sam ran a hand over his face, it was much too early to have a real discussion. "Madison is a great girl, and she won't let me behave with her like with the others. And I'm pretty sure that jumping on a girl who just got out of an abusive relationship is somewhere between total stupidity and outright aggression." He was marveling at himself to be able to align such long words and also to be able to formulate a coherent thought as he wasn't yet fully awake.

Kevin smirked. "You mean she forces you to act like a decent guy?"

"Yup. Didn't happen to me since..." He paused, shaking his head before straightening in his bed as if to forget his sentence still outstanding.

"Since Jess." Kevin completed. Sam nodded. "You're lucky to have met twice a person who makes you want to give the best of yourself."

Sam nodded thoughtfully. Kevin searched his pockets for his magnetic key and walked toward the door, but the drummer caught him by the sleeve.

"Channing is comming to the concert next week... in Michigan?"

Kevin nodded. "What made you call her, finally?"

The young man took a moment to answer. He finally smiled and pulled away from Sam's grip with a jerk of his sleeve.

"At one point, whether you like it or not, escape isn't enough. So may as well take the problems head on."

Sam frowned. "I guess you're right... Whatever that means."

Kevin left him on a laugh and the drummer decided he ultimately didn't need to get up in the coming hour and lay down again.