Warnings: Swearing, language, panic attack, a bit of self-blaming, inherent homophobic language and behavior (basically, John Winchester)

Chapter 17: Sold Your Soul

"Your soul was like the sea

And you sold it

Like you could drown your demons

Those who know how to swim

And do it without me"

Dorothy's grandmother was wont to say that the vagaries of life were like buses. You didn't see anything coming for years and suddenly, three at once!

She thought about it on that morning when Charlie's phone rang, pulling them from a sleep so deep they squarely missed the first call. Dorothy heard only half of the exchange that ended with a hasty "We're coming" and she wondered since when "I" had become "We" in the mind of the bassist. Then she was dragged out of bed and forced to dress under a deluge of information repeated in a loop by her partner. Forty five minutes later they were in the hospital lobby and Charlie was having a panic attack as Dorothy hadn't seen one since she herself had stopped to have some. She saw her curl up on herself while waiting their turn at the Information desk, and start breathing very fast while blinking repetively to remove the tears from her eyes.

Dorothy pushed her aside from the counter and forced her to sit to calm down, holding her against herself, rocking her gently while frowning to the attention of onlookers who were throwing curious glances as if they weren't expecting to see someone crying in a hospital. She waited for Charlie to be a little calmer to go alone asking where they could find John Winchester.

"Are you a family member?"

"His daughter." She lied, knowing that the question was rhetorical. She memorized the room number and helped Charlie on her feet to achieve the ascenders.

"We don't have to..." She started but the bassist interrupted her, abruptly raising a hand.

"Yes. We have to, well you don't really have to, but I do. They are my family and a family support each others in times like this."

"Yes, for sure we need support when the father of the year takes a karmic backlash in the face." Dorothy mocked. Charlie glared at her and she pretended to sew her mouth, indicating that she wouldn't mention it again.

The hallways were like Charlie remembered them. Long, lit by neon lights and scattered with smells that seemed to file them in different olfactory universes: food, disinfectant, urine, perfume... They found Sam, Madison and Castiel in the waiting room. They seemed all three in shock but it was probably more the lack of sleep and coffee that gave this impression than a real affliction. Madison pointed to a folding screen on the other side of the hallway.

"They only let us enter one at a time, Dean's there."

Charlie banged her knee against Sam's before sitting beside him. "How are you feeling?"

"Like someone who needs a coffee and to go home to sleep until all this shit is resolved."

"What happened?" Dorothy asked, keeping a discreet watch over Charlie to ensure she kept her calm. The bassist's eyes were flying from one end to the other of the service, following the comings and goings of the medical staff who wasn't interested in them.

"John ran a red light last night. Has been hit by a truck." Castiel answered with the gloomy and clinical tone of someone who delivers an information that doesn't interest him. Dorothy didn't know what to say or what reaction seemed appropriate at this moment.

"And it's my fault." Sam completed taking his face with both hands.

"Stop saying that!" Madison grumbled. "You weren't driving his car, he was drunk and unable to drive that's his problem!"

"You know why he was drunk!"

Madison raised her eyes to heaven. "Yes, and again it has nothing to do with you and that'll serve him right!"

Charlie had hunched her shoulders, and before Dorothy gets up, Castiel had put an arm around the shoulders of the young girl as a sign of encouragement.

"Please don't argue." She implored. "I already hate this place... don't argue!"

Sam and Madison exchanged an embarrassed look and she took his hand to grip it tight.

"Still, it's not your fault."

Sam nodded without answering but he wasn't convinced. He could well imagine in what condition John had been after their meeting the previous day, probably in the same condition as himself, the one that had convinced Madison to not leave him alone for fear that he does something stupid. John was alone the night before and here he was now.

"Remember how it used to be

When we fell in love by the sea

I can't lose the ones I love

I can't live alone

Screams wake you up."

In the small room, John was a dark shape lying on a bed in a hospital blue tunic that didn't suit him (but according to Castiel these things were designed to not suit anybody). Dean was standing beside the bed, torn between anxiety, fatigue and the urge to be elsewhere.

"I'd like to see..." John cleared his throat with a grimace of pain and searched his words for a few seconds (the time for Dean to count two drops falling from his IV). "Your partner."

"Cas?"

"Yes. Cas, if that's his name."

Dean nodded without understanding what his father had in mind, but whatever, it was still better than the three platitudes they had exchanged since he had arrived. He left the room and glanced around for Castiel. The relief came over him when he saw Dorothy and Charlie. The first seemed bored, the second on the verge of panic, but strangely, to know them here comforted him. That they had made the trip, as well as the fact that Madison had accompanied Sam even though none of the three women appreciated John was a sign that he found strong. The kind of things he really needed at that moment. He mentally noted to inform Kevin about the situation, the kid was part of the family after all, and walked to the bench.

"He wants to see you." He said to the accountant when the latter looked up at him. Castiel sent him a surprised look.

"Me?"

"You."

"Strange."

"As you say."

Castiel stood up and Dean took his place on the bench, giving a comforting nudge to his brother in passing. At the door of the room, the accountant couldn't help to mentally add up the numbers. 9. It was a good figure. He liked the 9. It was like a balloon that flies away.

John gave him a cold stare while Castiel closed the door behind him, tensed and ill at ease.

"You wanted to see me?" They had met only once and Castiel didn't keep a particularly pleasant memory of it, but after all it might be because of what he knew of John through Dean's confessions.

"Don't get close to my son again."

Castiel frowned. John Winchester was not a threatening man. Much smaller than his sons, he had regular features and dark eyes that were able to be tender when he wanted. But at that moment, there was nothing he wanted less than seem tender towards Castiel. Even half sitting in a hospital bed he refused to seem weak or diminished. Where he came from, this kind of things could cost you your life, your career, or both. They stared at each other a moment, Castiel had crossed his arms and lifted his chin, leaning against the wall with an air of defiance. He was eyeballing John, mentally assessing the harm that this man could do to him, the harm he had already caused around him. Dean hadn't told him everything, he would probably never say everything, but between the lines and behind the silences, Castiel hadn't come up with a very high opinion of John Winchester. Nothing either in the attitude of Sam had changed his mind. The drummer contented himself with shrugging when people talked about his father, and dismissing the subject. The only things that Sam never addressed were the most important for him, and Castiel had never backed him into a corner. John gave the impression that if he could, he would have destroyed with his own hands everything that mattered to Castiel. His jaw clenched, his cold and angry eyes expressed pretty much the desire he had to make his life a living hell and make him regret the day he was born, as well as the day he had fallen in love with Dean.

Castiel smirked. He was already regretting the day he was born, or rather resented it for all the suffering he had endured as a child. But nothing in the known universe could have convinced him that loving Dean was a bad thing. This was by far the most wonderful thing that had ever happened to him.

"Or what?" He asked quietly.

"You don't really want to know the answer to that question boy."

Castiel approached the bed and leaned a little to be at the height of John's eyes.

"Actually, yes. I want to know. Or what? If I get close to Dean again what will happen? You will make me regret having laid eyes on him?"

"Worse, kid, far worse." John growled fists clenched on the blanket.

Castiel smiled again, more to bare the fangs he didn't have than for anything else.

"I'm not afraid of you. What are you going to do after all? It's not like you're going out of here soon." He said wickedly. John abruptly sat up, under the sheet the legs barely moved and Castiel nodded to himself. "If ever." He added.

"Don't ever touch my son again! I didn't raise him to be... that!" John hissed with all the fury he could muster. He was very pale, his knuckles were turning white as he clenched hard the sheets in his fists and blood was starting to go up along the infusion tubing, capting the attention of Castiel briefly.

"I haven't changed your son." The accountant said. "And I don't care if you think otherwise. I make him happier than everything you had planned for him."

"Get away from him before a bad accident happens to you kid."

"I'd rather die." Castiel replied dully. "He saved my life. In every imaginable way, even those you can't imagine. And I belong to him now. Body and soul. And I don't care if we don't have your blessing. I'd die rather than letting him go. You cannot compete with it. You can threaten me all you want, but I will stay with him as long as he wants me!" He had not realized that his voice had risen to shout the last word, as if hammering them hard enough was going to give them more impact on John. He stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him and nearly bumped into Dean in his flight.

"Hey..." The singer said, automatically wrapping his arms around him. "Hey... calm down..."

"I am calm!" The other protested. He realized he was gasping and his hands were shaking. He clenched them on the jacket of his lover but it reminded him of John's clenched fists and he shook his hands to evacuate this vision with a growl.

"Yeah, like a tornado."

Castiel took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, forcing his heart to beat a little slower.

"I heard what you said." Dean said with a grin.

"Which part?"

"Something about you belonging to me body and soul."

Castiel looked down, he felt himself blushing and found it stupid. Dean leaned toward him to finish his sentence in his ear. "And now we must find an empty room 'cause I need to test this theory right now."

Castiel burst into a laugh so loud, in the middle of the hallway, that a nurse gave him a nasty look and he attracted the attention of their friends still sitting on the bench several steps away. He restrained his hilarity by biting the fat of his hand. Dean wrapped his arms around his chest and held him against himself, rocking him gently.

"I love you." Castiel said, returning his hug, his chin resting on the shoulder of the singer who had nothing to add.

The day had started badly and Dean knew it wouldn't improve when his phone rang about two hours later as they had all taken refuge in a coffee shop three blocks from the hospital. He ignored the first call and the second until Sam's phone starts ringing. They exchanged glances and Sam picked up with a sigh.

"Crowley..." A silence, Sam pinched the bridge of his nose, wincing. "It's not exactly a good time and..." Another silence while at the other end, Crowley was losing his temper, Sam eventually put the phone away from his ear with a sigh. "Ok, fine, we'll be there in an hour." He looked at his watch, frowning to focus on the small hands. "I said an hour Crowley, make do." He replied dryly to what had just said his interlocutor. He hung up and turned off the phone for good measure. The others gave him inquiring looks over their respective drinks. "Crowley wants to see us." He said to Dean.

"Do you want me to come?" Charlie offered.

"No." The two brothers answered at the same time. Since the arrival of Charlie and Kevin in the band, they did their best to avoid them to have any confrontation with Crowley and didn't intend to change that. Castiel fished the keys of his car in his pocket and interrogated the three girls. "May I drive you back?"

They nodded and followed him out of the shop, leaving the Winchester alone.

"What do you think he wants from us?" Sam asked putting his phone away.

"Less than twenty-four hours after our return? Give us hell for Atlanta, give us the promotion plan for the coming months? Know if we have a plan for the next album? I don't know, man." Dean grumbled. "But I don't like it."

"Do we call Bobby?"

"Hell, I'd even call God if I believed in him." The older sighed, finishing his coffee. "Remind me why we signed at Crowley records again?"

Sam shrugged. "Financial security, and I think at the time we thought it was good that someone pays us to do our music." He had turned his phone on again and dialed the number of their manager. Dean snorted.

"Yeah, our music, right." He said darkly. He was starting to have a migraine.

"I can't sing loud enough

To make you come back

Life now seems so rough

And long lost echoes of guitars

Makes me hold on to your heart"

##

The premises of Crowley Records were spacious, white as a hospital and smelled of lavender. It felt both comfortable and totally uncomfortable. Crowley didn't get up to see them, he had done it only once on the day they had signed their contract. His desk was facing the door, his back to a large bay window that forced his interlocutors to squint to focus on him. He was a man of medium height, with a strong English accent and studied manners whom the Winchester had never heard raise his voice. By way of greeting, he handed them a stack of press clippings.

"You caused quite a sensation during the tour, boys."

Most of the articles were talking about the altercation in Atlanta, some of the memorable shows and a few had photographed on the fly Charlie and Dorothy wandering around town.

"Publicity." Dean retorted by displaying more confidence than he felt. "Good for business."

Crowley fixed his gaze on him over his fingers crossed, elbows on his perfectly tidy desk. "Let me decide of it, lad. Because for now you aren't profitable enough to allow yourselves this kind of stupidity!"

Sam sighed. "And when does profitable become "profitable enough" for you?"

"When I'll have decided so." Crowley said in a low tone. "You don't seem to realise the investmentof time and money that you represent. This." He said by pointing the newspapers. "Puts in jeopardy the hundreds of thousands of dollars that I invested on you, and when you put in jeopardy those hundreds of thousands of dollars, you put in jeopardy the survival of this compagny and of all the people working there." He had gotten up, benefiting from the sitting position of his interlocutors to dominate them from his full height. "Is it clear enough for you or shall I develop to the kids that your unconsciousness will force to do without health cares because YOU morons have not been able to respect a simple contract?"

"We respected the damn contract!" Sam lost his temper. "We handled all the shows, most were sold out, we did all the interviews, all the TV shows and received backstage all the fucking VIP that YOU sent us! Yes we screwed up once, so what? We have no room for error?"

"Not in this business!" Crowley sat down again. "Not when you want to succeed, and I invested too much on you for you to allow yourselves this kind of misdemeanours again, did I make myself clear?"

Sam was ready to respond but Dean silenced him with a hand on his arm. "Fine." He said through clenched teeth. "No more stay at the station."

Crowley nodded, satisfied and pointed to one of the articles with his fingertip. "And tell the girls to be a little more discreet. I don't care what they do but the public could see it unfavourably."

Dean felt like his teeth were going to burst under pressure. "Since when lesbians are no longer a sales pitch?"

"Since your pretty faces are what sales for the most part, dear." Crowley retorted. "And that applies equally for her than for you! Our marketing policy is to make you the ideal companions all right? Keep singing what you want on the quest for self, free will blah blah blah, keep telling teens what they want to hear, and most of all, most of all, don't ever give the impression to not be available for all their fantasies that's all I ask of you!"

Dean rubbed his face hoping to make slightly pass a headache that was only increasing. "Basically you're asking us to be whores."

"Minus the sexual part. That, you do whatever you want with it as long as you remain discreet. I said discreet Sam!"

"I heard the first time." The younger grumbled, thinking about the video on Twitter to which Crowley was referring.

"Good, now that we all agree, let's talk about the orientation of your next album." The producer said on a benevolent tone.

"Crowley, we're worn-out and our father's at the hospital!" Dean protested.

"It has been brought to my attention. Tragic. Not my problem, it's not like you're really attached to him anyway. So? Any ideas, desires? I'm listening?"

It was going to be a very long meeting.

##

"Distant beatings of the drums

Rocks us on the shore

You're poison and can't protect me

Our souls were like the sea"

Their first reaction when leaving Crowley's office was to call Bobby. Contrary to the producer, the old manager had their interests at heart more than his wallet. He found them sitting in the living room of the apartment they shared and drinking beer without savoring the tastes.

"Tough day?"

"Worse." Sam answered, emptying his bottle before getting up to get one for Bobby. They related him the interview with Crowley.

"Looks like he has you by the balls." Observed the manager.

"Litteraly. He holds the purse strings, we still owe him two albums or failing that, the reimbursement of what he invested on us and we don't have that money." Dean synthesized. "At a push we wouldn't give a shit but what he wants us to do... Bobby it's almost not music anymore to that point!"

Bobby nodded. "I had warned you that it was a risk. He pays, he has a say in what you do with his money."

"He has well chosen his moment." Said Sam. "You won't make me believe that he called exactly today just by chance. He knew that receiving us tired and just after dad's accident, we wouldn't protest, no matter what he'd say." He had a particularly gloomy look that Bobby had rarely seen him.

Dean nodded. "And yet if it was only us we would tell him to go to hell but..."

"Kevin and Charlie." Bobby completed.

"Yep. We can't deprive them of the financial security that Crowley provides us. No matter how you look at it we'll have to accept two more albums to do crap that sells until he agrees to give us some slack."

"I have the impression of being a whore." Sam muttered, wallowing in the sofa.

"It's not just an impression Sammy."

Bobby had not much to respond to that. He knew for quite a while now just how Crowley's grip on their music horrified the Winchester. He had thought, a few years earlier that it wouldn't matter to them, music was not their first choice after all. But he had underestimated the importance it would take for the boys with time. He had seen their resentment towards Crowley flourish during the year that had lasted their tour. Not so much because of the dark cuts in their music than because of the fact that music was precisely what people talked about the least. Dean's green eyes were way much written about than his work and these boys hadn't left the paternal yoke to be under the domination of someone else, sooner or later this situation wouldn't keep up anymore but their contract didn't allow them a short-term escape.

Bobby wasn't a hopeless optimist, he had seen too many dashed hopes and aborted careers to still have any illusions about his profession or the art business in general. However, he wasn't the type to give up.

"Listen boys... Crowley has you, we all knew it from the beginning, but remember something: if he invested on you at the time it's that he thought retrieve his dough. And we'll have to rely on that."

"How?" Dean asked darkly.

"By beating him on his own turf."

The conversation took them the rest of the afternoon and when Dean's phone rang, they were all three exhausted. The previous night had been short, the day full of strong emotion and his heart lightened a little when he read Castiel's message.

"Hey Sam? Call Madison, tell her to come if she wants to, Cas is bringing pizzas."

Sam wrinkled his nose while retrieving his phone on the table.

"Haven't you boys already eaten enough pizza for the rest of your days?" Bobby groaned as he climbed off the couch.

Dean shook his head without taking his eyes off the text he was typing. "You accompany us for dinner?"

"No thanks, my arteries don't need this. Think about what I told you boys, and rest, you've earned your two days off."

They nodded and Sam walked him to the door while waiting for Madison to answer the phone. She accepted the invitation that Charlie and Kevin declined. They spoke neither of John nor of the appointment with Crowley, not even of the tour that had just ended as if all four were anxious to turn over a bit too crossed out page.

Castiel indicated to Madison his tea stash at the Winchester's and slipped out in company of Dean for the night.

"You're actually a pig." The young woman joked, swaying to watch the room between the door and Sam's arm. He hadn't made the bed or opened the window of the day and the room still had their two combined odors since their hasty departure that very morning. He shook his head.

"I just love being in my cocoon when I sleep." He said simply, entering the room determined to throw a pillow to her face. He refrained at the last moment, seeing the expression on her face. "What?"

"I hadn't realized." She said softly, approaching the bed to automatically smooth a sheet folds. "You find your shape again, your smell…"

Sam nodded. "I told you, a cocoon… it's easier to sleep when you feel safe. At least here. In the bus it's easier, bunks are so small that you feel like sleeping in an egg."

Madison laughed, nodding. The picture was very accurate. "I'm going to shower, do you mind if I borrow your soap?"

He shook his head, already removing his jacket and shirt. She turned before being too distracted by the spectacle. When she returned, a cup of tea in hand and hair still wet, Sam had already gone to bed and only his hair were visible under a thick pile of blankets.

"You seem like you're five like that." She teased, resting her tea on the bedside table where several books piled neatly.

"Don't care." He smiled. He brought an arm from under the blanket to take her hand. "At least it's comfortable!"

She climbed on the bed, lay down fully clothed against him, yawning, and pulled a piece of the quilt over her, gently pushing him aside to get a place on the pillow. He had his back to her now and she put her arms around him to settle comfortably, face pressed against the back of his neck where she laid a light kiss.

He could feel like the illusion of her lashes on his back and her breath that wrapped around the teddy bear tattoo before getting lost on the edge of the blankets. She had wrapped an arm under the blankets and around his chest, mechanically stroking his stomach until her nails rattle the piercing he had on the nipple which she grabbed between her fingers distractedly to slip the nail of her thumb on it. She was beginning to fall asleep, her forgotten tea spreading its sweet smell in the silent room.

"You love that thing." Sam laughed, covering Madison's hand with his own. The movement slightly pulled up the blankets on his chin and he sighed contentedly. She placed another kiss between his shoulder blades.

"You made it because you hoped it'd be touched." She muttered. Her thumb had stopped her whereabouts and Sam found himself wishing she start again. "No doubt Jess would have liked it too." She said again.

There was a moment of silence, he felt that she was holding her breath, aware of having said something a bit inappropriate. He pressed a little tighter her hand into his own and ensconced on the pillow again.

"Don't talk about her. She's not here anymore."

A third kiss, this time on his shoulder answered him and Madison tightened a little against him. Too late for the tea, now. They fell asleep smiling, buried in the bed.

"Can you feel the rumble of the end coming?

Does it pump your blood?

Does it turn you on?"