Warnings: Swearing, language, mention of violence, mention/reference of past domestic abuse, death threat, implied homophobic threats

Chapter 22: Good to no one.

Charlie didn't say a word that morning while removing one by one all Sam's piercings for his hearing with the judge. They had agreed that for the occasion, he had to look the healthiest possible.

"I am healthy." Had muttered Sam.

"Yeah but judges are dicks." Had retorted Charlie. "I've known a few and they judge just as much if your face fits than in light of the file. I'll help you to look presentable."

Maybe because it was cold, maybe by sympathy, she had herself dressed in jeans that seemed new, a t-shirt almost her size and a sweater that creased at her elbows. She had tied her hair and was biting her lip, concentrated not to hurt him by undoing the earrings or dragging the rings in the skin of his brow until he's devoid of any jewelry.

He looked at himself in the mirror of the bathroom, hands tight on the box that contained the piercings. He recognized himself on principle but it wasn't the reflection to which he was used. He had bags under his eyes that Charlie had refused to hide with makeup. "For a judge, a man that doesn't put on makeup. Just shut up and look tired."

"It's unfair." He mumbled. "I did the right thing and..."

Charlie leaned against the sink, folding her arms.

"Striking people is never the right thing to do."

"What was I supposed to do?" He lost his temper. "Let him harass her until she gets scared? Or until he decides to hit her?"

She frowned, raising her chin, furious. "Watch your tone!" She ordered. "I have nothing to do with it, I'm just trying to help you, and yes. Yes you should have let her take care of him and then let justice do its job without playing the hero! You weren't even playing the hero you... you unwinded on this guy who had done nothing to you, convincing yourself that it was for her. It'll probably convince a judge but not those who know you. And it shouldn't convince you!"

Sam opened his mouth to reply but Dean arrived at full throttle, alerted by the raised voices.

"What's goin' on here?" Charlie sighed, exasperated and left the room. "What'd you tell her?"

"Nothing!" Sam grunted, turning to the mirror. "She's on Kurt's side like everyone it seems."

Dean sighed.

"Everyone's on your side, Sam. Except that Charlie is the only one of us who had the courage to tell you that you did the right thing for the wrong reasons."

"What, you also think I did it to blow off steam?"

"That's not the case?" Dean asked, trying to catch the eye of his brother. Sam turned his head toward the mirror with a sigh, his hands gripping the edge of the sink.

"Yes."

Sam had vaguely expected dark wood, leather and stacks of files scattered on each flat surface, spewing their litigation papers between two hard covers. But the judge's office was tidy, spacious, bright and white.

"You didn't need to come you know." Had he told Dean before entering. His brother had pushed the door, raising his eyes to heaven. "One day you'll have to let me take care of my problems on my own."

"One day." Had replied Dean. "But not today. However, you'll be on your own when you go grovel to Madison after that. And believe me you will, even if I have to drag both of you by the hair for you to talk to each other."

Sam had smiled, saying it was very unlikely. They had sat in uncomfortable chairs in the judge's office with a lawyer hired by Crowley, and beside them Kurt and his lawyer. Sam had barely resisted the urge to make him eat his confident look.

He now had a letter in his hands. He had kept an amazing ability to memorize a text very quickly after Stanford, and the letter that Madison had sent to his lawyer through Crowley was the kind to mark him.

"Do you acknowledge the facts, Mr. Winchester?"

Sam nodded. Then, before the insistent silence of the judge, answered yes.

"The testimony of miss Sinclair absolutely doesn't exonerate you from the charge of assault and battery, however, it is very incriminating for Mr. Wagner."

"We weren't informed of this document in the case." Kurt's lawyer intervened, reaching for Sam to demand the letter. The young man deliberately put it down on the desk, folded, leaving it to the judge to entrust it or not to the opposing party.

"It seems unlikely to me. We know that it is common to conduct a search criminal records in cases like this one and if you found informations about the past of Mr. Winchester, you cannot ignore the one of Mr. Wagner, in particular this, which was attached to the letter." The judge pulled out of the folder an A4 photo that he showed them without handing it to them.

The harsh light illuminated Madison's skin, making it more white than in reality, unless at the time she had been actually very pale. This brought out the bruises adorning her arms, ribs, thighs. They disappeared under the t-shirt and her underwear but Sam easily imagined how far they extended. Dean had put his hand on his shoulder to calm him down but it only half-worked.

Kurt didn't reply.

"These data will help you avoid jail Mr. Winchester, but neither the fine nor probation. Furthermore you will complete a sentence of community service."

Sam nodded, it had been agreed and requested by their lawyer, Sam pleading guilty. He didn't care about community service nor the fine that was only substantial. Madison had written to plead his case. He also didn't care about his reputation, about what the press would do once it would seize the case. Crowley would deal with it. Crowley always dealt with this kind of stuff and had an amazing ability to turn that to his advantage. Madison had written. She hadn't rejected him en bloc even if she wasn't here today. She had stood up for him as she had done for Kurt a few weeks earlier. It was important and almost unbelievable but Sam wasn't particularly sure he understood her motives.

He thought to himself that he deserved a medal for not again give a punch in the face of Kurt when coming out of the judge's office. He lit a cigarette outside the building and took a long drag before exhaling a cloud of smoke.

"Apparently she still cares about you." Dean said, hands in his pockets.

"Apparently. That perfectly explains why she left earlier than expected for her new job, why she filters out our calls and why she hasn't given any sign of life." The younger said darkly.

"Stop bitchin' bitch. You know what I mean."

"Yeah." Sam replied. "I know. And don't imagine things, it's over between us."

"You still can sort it out."

Sam shook his head. "No." He still had Madison's picture in mind. He had believed until then that he understood her motives, but he was wrong. No one had ever laid a hand on him, not even his father in his worst fits of anger, not even Dean when he probably should have. The last time he had had bruises, it was after jumping into a pool from a roof with Charlie and having poorly landed. Whatever vague degree of empathy he believed being endowed, he could imagine, but not really understand.

"The first time she fled was because of him." He said, pointing to Kurt who was retreating in the sparsely populated street. "The second time it was because of me. It's exactly as if everything started all over again like with Dirk. I wanted to protect her, to be better than the other, and in the end I found myself a little worse. I won't inflict that to her again. Even if she was game."

Dean had nothing to respond to that, he let his brother finish his cigarette and took him by the shoulder to accompagny him at home.

"I can't lose the ones I love,

I can't live alone

But I'm poison

And do good to no one"

##

Music had its own rhythm, its own life and curiously, its own movements. Channing had learned that very young when starting violin. Music was a sport that rigidified members, made the fingers calloused and clenched the belly.

It was both exhausting and rewarding, even when she was alone in the glazed recording booth, with the looks of the group placed on her. Kevin had called on her to record additional violin lines for the new album. Dean had proposed that she accompanies them later on the tour but she had declined the offer quickly.

"That, is your life... His life." She had replied, pointing to Kevin. "Not mine, I study financial investments in Michigan and I try to be the best violinist. That's all."

"I like her." Castiel had decreed with a smile and then a shrug in front of the looks of incomprehension that had followed his declaration. "What? I like numbers!"

This had made them laugh and since then, they recorded compositions half-improvised by the heat of the moment because nobody except Kevin and her had knowledge of their instruments. This lasted for three days already and it seemed to her that she hadn't slept the whole time, but emulation was such that they all seemed terrified to let their excitement fall, as if they were afraid of falling into the apathy of the beginning of the recording that Kevin had told her about on the phone.

Channing liked to see them play, to hear them compose. She placed herself next to Castiel, behind the camera that recorded the jam sessions that began each of their days, and watched them work. He, took photographs when he was there, in search of the perfect idea for the art concept of the album.

Each of the four interacted with space differently. Sam by spreading his big frame, arms outstretched to the cymbals, one leg on his pedals. Charlie, concentrated on her bass, Kevin with his long movements of the tip of the bow, and Dean, who sometimes let himself be carried away by the song or the guitar tune and shimmied in front of his microphone, hands-on his headset to get the best possible feed.

The month was ending, they were beginning to have material to work, some kind of guideline and an idea not at all specific of what they would present to Crowley. They had recorded two songs and several others ongoing that mixed a bit like the ingredients of a cake. The themes were less gloomy than before but maybe a little more depressing. Everything was slowly beginning to take shape in the most unexpected way. Piece by piece, everything assembled and they had no other choice but to let inspiration work despite themselves. Bonus oint, not a day passed without them sniggering at an idea that would make Crowley grind his teeth when he would discover the concept of their album a few days later.

Castiel had two pictures open on his computer screen and was biting the nail of a thumb, looking dismayed.

"I can't manage to choose." He finally grouched. He was looking at the photos for hours now. "I can't choose, I need both. You cannot describe someone with only one picture, in any case I can't."

Dean leaned over him, looking at the two pictures next to each other, not retouched yet, cut by a reflection on the screen. Castiel was still grumbling: "You said you wanted them to show your public and your personal facet, but none of you is the same person in public or in private. I still need two photos to show both facets."

Dean could see the problem. By submitting to Castiel the idea of a sleeve that would show them each in both their public and private aspects he had thought that no one was most capable than him to take these photos. On the one hand because he was one of the only ones to have had a glimpse of what his lover did with a camera in the hands, and also because no one else saw them both as friends and idols. Castiel slept little for a month, alternating between his work days and his evenings spent with them in the studio, trying to find the perfect angle for his photos, or planning other stagings. Sometimes, with Charlie and Kevin, he spent the night manipulating their official website to offer fans some glimpses of the recording. He had dark circles under his eyes and lately it was Channing who reminded him of going to shower before returning to work. But he was impacted by the emulation of the group and perfectly happy to take part in their work.

"Keep 'em both." Dean said thougthfully. "I have an idea."

"You look in a miror and hate what you see,

You close your eyes and take a shot,

Throw away the questions you've got,

And make a step to change your story."

##

"I feel like I failed the Bechdel test in the last three weeks." Madison said, wallowing on her hotel room bed, the hand extended to Dorothy for the young woman to give her a beer that they had just purchased.

"The one that assesses the representation of women in cinema?"

"This one. You know, the one where you discover that the female character exists only to serve as love interest for the hero."

Dorothy let out a dry laugh. "For you to fail this test, it would mean that I consider Sam as the central character of the story. And to my knowledge, in your story, he isn't. He isn't the one who escaped from an abusive relationship. He isn't the one who learned to start afresh alone, traveling with strangers. He's not the one who made the initiatory path in this story." She sat on the second bed of the hotel room and uncapped her beer before lifting it to their health.

Madison smiled. "You do realize that you are wrong and that this conversation also fails the test?"

"Do not contradict me, I'm trying to cheer you up!" Dorothy grumbled. "You know, there is nothing wrong with idealising the idea of love, or having gotten the wrong partner. Even less when you had the courage to fight for yourself. So for now, we don't talk about him, let's talk about the fact that you and I leave tomorrow for a new tour of the United States, about what we'll do in each State, the places we'll visit during the days off..."

Madison smiled. "I feel like the coward lion that you drag into adventure. Or Johnny..."

"Still better than being just someone who fails the Bechdel test, don't you think?"

"Yeah. Thank you."

"Don't thank me. I feel that if I looked more like you, if I assumed a little more my feelings for the other I wouldn't spend my life running from my problems, driving a truck. You know Maddy, I actually admire you."

"Mutual admiration is a good basis for friendship."

Dorothy smiled and nodded even though she knew that the other couldn't see her.

"A very good basis." She agreed

They drank, channel-surfing, both too excited by their imminent departure to think of sleeping.

"Can I ask you an indiscreet question?" Madison finally asked between reruns of Friends. Dorothy nodded silently. "Why did you leave Charlie? Not assuming your feelings is one thing, but leaving like that with just a break-up note... it doesn't look like what I know of you."

Dorothy took a moment to answer, Madison was sincerely persuaded to have gone too far and ready to apologize when she finally got up to rummage in her purse and handed her a torn envelope.

"I opened it inadvertently."

The letter was addressed to Charlie and contained only a few lines typed on the computer and unsigned.

"They won't come to bury you once I killed you."

Madison felt her blood run cold, it was more than an expression, it seemed like something very chill suddenly ran down her back and she had a big lump in the throat.

"Do you know who it's from?" She asked in a trembling voice, handing the paper back to Dorothy.

"No."

"You didn't bring it to the police?"

"No. Whoever it is, he or she already has something against Charlie, I didn't take the risk to expose her more. An investigation..." Dorothy shook her head. "I've already seen a police investigation, ask a lot of perfectly useless questions and then people blow rumors up out of all proportion. Neither her nor the group need that."

"You think she was threatened because of you?"

"Do you see any other reason? She's reckless, inconsequential and a bit borderline, but she's been touring with Free Will for years and she had never received any threats. We were photographed two or three times in recent months and she gets this, in her home..."

Madison looked at Dorothy, her features hard, her face darkened.

"You didn't tell her." She realized. "You left, thinking you're protecting her and you didn't even tell her why?"

"I know her. She would retort that she doesn't care, that if we spend our lives stuck by fear we won't do anything, she would kiss me and convince me to stay another day, then another, until some horrible thing happens. I left, and she won't see me again."

Madison nodded, that kind of speech sounded like Charlie, and also like herself. She could also understand Dorothy's reaction although she was wary not to point out that she found it stupid and dangerous. It wasn't the kind of speech that her friend was able to hear, at least not for now.

"I would have thought you'd prefer the truth over this kind of lie. She must be miserable now."

Dorothy gave a little sign of assent and drained the rest of her beer in one gulp. "Probably, but she'll get over it, and I've never claimed to be brave or benevolent, you all invented that on your own."

Madison smiled before finishing her beer too.

"So now, are you ready to conquer the world?"

"And how!"

Later that night, after Dorothy has finally dozed, Madison left the room quietly to make a phone call. Since she took the liberty to judge Dorothy, left without any explanation, she couldn't allow herself the right to do the same. Sam picked up on the third ring.

"Hey." She said softly, leaning against the wall of the hotel corridor.

"Hey."

"I'm calling to tell you that I'm leaving. I'm with Dorothy, we got engaged on another tour."

"Fine." Sam replied in a neutral voice. "You called just for that?"

Madison sighed. She wanted to apologize, to tell him that she was sorry to cause him such pain, but it was probably pretentious of her to assume that Sam's life would be affected by her departure. "I'll miss it all." She finally said, swallowing the lump in her throat. "Reading love stories with you, trying to find out who should rule over Westeros. I'll miss not laughing with you anymore while we're making love. I'll miss slowly falling in love with you. I'll miss you."

"You're the one who left." There was curiously no reproach in his voice. "And I get it, Mads... I think I get it. It's probably the best thing to do, to leave because I'm not the kind of person you need. I'd be unable to protect you from anything because when I try, I become the threat." A silence. "And I'm sorry for that. I wish it didn't happen or that you didn't get scared of me and you didn't leave. But you know better than me what's good for you, and I'm sorry."

"The truth is that I want you." She said abruptly. She bit her lower lip, looking downat her bare feet. "I want you in the morning, entering the kitchen with your pajamas too old, and you kiss me on the nose to distract me while you steal my pancakes." She wanted to cry and now regretted having called. She was just supposed to tell him… to tell him what? That she really wished things worked between them?

"Mads..."

"That's what I want, and I think about it all the time. I want the perfect life with the little white fence and a puppy dog that we would take for a walk on Sunday mornings."

Sam sighed at the other end of the line. "It's not the kind of life that I'll have Madison... It's not... I tried, this isn't for me."

"I know." She said, swallowing the lump that knotted her throat and made her talk a tone higher than usual. "No, actually I don't. And you don't know either. You say that when you try to protect the people you become the threat and you are wrong. You screw up, we all screw up, it's normal. But what you blame yourself for... Dirk, Jess, me… that wasn't your fault. Or not entirely. That was circumstances, life, or whatever you want, but not just you."

She realized as her monologue went along, how much she really believed it.

"That's why I wrote to the judge. Because you're one of the best people I've ever met. And I wish it worked, really."

"I wish that too." He replied in a low voice.

She was about to tell him that she loved him, because it was still true despite the fear and the determination not to live once again what had happened with Kurt. She swallowed the words and chose others instead.

"Take care."

"You too."

And they hung up.

"I'm a walking tragedy,

With metal on my tongue and silver on my gun,

There's blood on my name, dirt on my hands

Now that I've lost the ones that saw me,

Not as I am but as I long to be."