Thank you so much Jenjoremy for beta'ing this for me and Gredelina1 for all your help.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Sam slept so long Dean was worried he had exchanged one kind of absence for another. He checked on him regularly, but Sam seemed to be sleeping peacefully. He had to stow his panic and let Sam take what he needed. He'd been through so much, and rest and space were the least he deserved.
Only when the next morning came around did he start to worry. He wanted to talk to him, to check he was okay and not slipping away. He couldn't wake him for no reason, so he used the excuse of feeding him and began to prepare pancakes to draw him out with.
Bobby was gone again—Dean didn't know (or care) where—leaving Castiel and Dean alone in the kitchen. As Dean mixed the batter, Castiel leaned against the counter watching him.
"Can you hear anything?" Dean asked, spooning the batter into the pan to make the first pancakes.
"I can hear everything," Castiel said. "What in particular should I be listening for?"
"Sam," Dean said. "Is he awake yet?"
"Yes. He is in the shower."
"Does he sound okay?" Dean asked.
Castiel frowned. "I don't want to betray his privacy."
"And I don't want to have to banish you," Dean said. "But I will unless you tell me. This isn't about privacy. It's about me taking care of him. I need to know what's going on because you know damn well he's not going to tell me himself."
"He's crying," Castiel said quietly. "I can hear him saying Jessica's name."
Dean thumped the bowl of batter down on to the counter and sighed. He should have expected it really, Sam wasn't just going to forget her because he knew the truth now, but it still hurt him that Sam was suffering. He wanted to help him, but he had no idea how. He and Sam had their own way of helping each other. More was said by Dean with a look or a simple hug than by him pouring his heart out and offering comfort. Sam was the talker, but would he be still after this? Even if he did want to talk, what could Dean say to him? Should he apologize for his part in everything that had happened, or would Sam not want to think of it again? Could he even stop if he wanted to? Dean wished he knew what to do.
He turned the pancakes and wondered what he was doing. Did he really think breakfast was going to fix anything? Sam did need to eat though. It had been days since he had anything decent, and he had been losing weight before that. He had to start taking care of himself again.
"He's finished now," Castiel said. "He will be here soon."
Finished showering or finished crying for his dead girlfriend? Dean didn't know which he meant and he didn't ask. He plated the cooked pancakes and made more while waiting for Sam to come down and wondered what he would say to him when he did.
The problem was solved for him when Sam came downstairs, his hair still damp from the shower, and walked into the kitchen. He looked at what Dean was doing and asked, "Have we got syrup?"
Taking his cue from Sam, Dean pretended it was any other day, too. "In that cupboard," he said, gesturing with the spatula. "And there's fruit in the fridge."
Sam took out the syrup and placed it on the table then went to the fridge to fill a bowl with fruit. Dean plated the last of the pancakes, turned off the burner, and carried them to the table.
"You want coffee?" he asked.
"I'll get it," Sam said. He took two mugs from the rack and poured then brought them over and sat down.
"Load up," Dean said, pushing over the platter of pancakes.
Sam took two and loaded the rest of his plate with fruit. It was so normal and right that Dean felt hope that perhaps things could be okay after all.
"Where's Bobby?" Sam asked after swallowing his first bite of pancakes.
"You know about him?" Dean asked, stunned.
"He's a ghost," Sam said. "Yeah. Where is he?"
"No idea. He'll probably be back though."
Castiel sat down between them and said. "It takes a lot of energy for a ghost to manifest and he was here a long time yesterday. He will be back, I am sure."
"Great," Dean said sarcastically.
They ate in silence for a while, the only sound the scraping of knives and forks and rise and fall of the coffee mugs. It was only when Dean notice that Sam had paused with a forkful of food raised that he spoke. "Sammy?
Sam was gone again. His eyes were open but vague and his expression lax.
Dean set down his knife and fork and watched his brother, waiting for him to come back. He was gone only a minute before he blinked and his face and eyes became animated again. "Sorry," he said quietly.
"He's still here then?" Dean said, unable to hide his disappointment.
"You didn't really think he'd go, did you?" Sam asked. "It'd take more than getting a memory back to shake him."
Dean sighed. "I'm sorry, Sam."
Sam shrugged. "I've been through worse." He set down his fork and pushed his plate away, picking up his coffee instead.
He had been through worse, Dean knew, and he hated that fact. Sam had been through hell recently, and he still wasn't all the way free of it. Perhaps it was worse for him now. When he'd been confused, he'd had more peace than he had now, thinking Jessica was at least alive. He knew she was gone now, and he knew the depth of their other losses. Coupled with the fact Lucifer was still making his presence known, Sam was doing well to be talking to them at all.
"Why do you shut down when he comes?" Dean asked.
Sam frowned. "I thought you knew already. It's the easiest way to deal with him. If I lock my reactions inside myself, I'm the only one that gets hurt."
"You do it consciously?" Castiel asked.
"I don't need to anymore. It was something I had to focus to do before, but now it's automatic. He comes and I go. It's easier that way."
"Not for you though," Dean said.
"It's no harder. It's bad either way. At least like this you don't have to hear it."
Dean tried not to imagine what he would hear if Sam didn't hide it from him. What did Lucifer do in those moments he was there? Did he just taunt Sam or was he physically hurting him? What was Sam going through while he looked so blank? What did he suffer?
"Doctor Platt thought that was what you were doing," Dean said.
"He's the shrink, right?"
"You remember?" Dean asked, surprised. He'd thought Sam was mostly unaware of what was going on around him in that confused time.
"I remember everything," Sam said. "I remember how it all felt, how hard it was, and how much it hurt." He set down his mug and asked, "Do you want to know?"
Dean considered. He was curious as hell but at the same time he didn't want to push Sam. "If you want to talk, I'm listening," he said.
Sam nodded. "I remember the accident. I fell asleep at the wheel because I was so exhausted. It was only a second, but it was long enough. I remember calling you from the wreck, but after that things got hazy. It was like I spent a lot of time living in a kind of mist. I would try to think but my thoughts would drift away from me. It was hard to talk even, because finding the words seemed to take so much effort. I had brain damage, right?"
"You had a brain injury," Dean corrected.
Sam sighed. "It's the same thing. I was damaged, and I felt it. It was so hard sometimes. I remember liking some stuff too. I remember that little girl and the tree in the garden. They felt good. I remember Alfie and Elise, and I remember thinking it was okay for me to be lost as they were taking care of you." He frowned. "And then I remember Bobby. I forgot about what happened to Jess. I thought she was alive but angry at me maybe, because she didn't come. When I saw Bobby he would talk about how you weren't seeing him, and he'd get pissed. I didn't know he was a ghost. I thought you were just ignoring him. Then he told me about Jess…"
"I'm sorry," Dean said.
"What for?" Sam asked. "Her dying or me not remembering?"
"I'm sorry you were hurt by it."
Sam nodded. "Yeah, me too. But after I knew, it was like the wreck was happening all over again. Things became so much more confused, and I couldn't figure out what was real. It was easier for me to believe nothing around me was real than to accept she was really gone. I threw myself into the delusion and blocked everything I could about the real world. I'm sorry I left you, Dean."
"I understand it," Dean said. "I probably would have done the same thing in your place. I'm glad you're back now though."
"Yeah," Sam said. "Me too." He downed the remains of his coffee and stood up. "I need more. You want some?"
Dean nodded and handed him his mug. He tried to tell himself he was imagining things, seeing trouble where the was none, but he wasn't sure he believed what Sam was saying when he told him he was glad to be back. Dean had a feeling Sam would have preferred to stay lost.
It was afternoon and Sam had spent the past hour sitting on the dock, staring out at the water. Dean tried not to let his thoughts whirl out of control, but he couldn't forget the sight of Sam's body floating in the water. Unable to relax with Sam so close to the place it happened, he had taken the laptop out onto the porch and sat at a table with it open, pretending to scroll the net while watching his brother covertly.
He didn't want to be like this, so scared all the time, but he couldn't help it. He had seen so much lately that told him Sam needed to be watched to keep him safe. He thought it was going to take a long time for him to get over it. He only hoped Sam could be patient with him while he did.
He was reading a boring news report on a local missing person when he saw Sam move in his peripheral vision. He quickly looked up and was relieved to see Sam walking along the dock towards the cabin. He hoped Sam was coming to him rather than going inside and was pleased when he pulled up a chair at the table.
"You okay?" Dean asked.
"Yeah, fine."
He was obviously not okay, but he seemed calm enough. Dean supposed all his torment was hidden inside now. At least that was what he was trying to do. Dean knew him well enough to see the pain in his eyes.
"Do you need anything?" Dean asked.
"Yeah. I need to talk." He looked back at the door. "Cas, can you come out a minute?"
There was movement and then Castiel appeared in the doorway. He hesitated a moment and then pulled out the chair between Sam and Dean and sat down.
"What's up, Sammy?" Dean asked.
Sam stared at the lake for a moment and then cleared his throat. "I want to thank you both. I know I have put you through a lot lately, especially you, Dean, and that must have been hard, but you didn't give up on me. You found a way to save me from what happened."
Technically it had been Bobby, but Dean wasn't going to give him credit after the things he had done lately. Castiel had been the one to actually save Sam, first healing his brain injury and then helping him remember, and that was what mattered.
"It's what we do," Dean said.
"I know," Sam said with a small smile. "But I'm still grateful. I wouldn't have been able to find a way back myself."
"I am happy I could help," Castiel said. "The situation was of my making. It was my responsibility to make it right."
Sam looked away. Dean was glad he wasn't arguing. Once he would have. He would have told Castiel it wasn't his fault. He would have excused his crimes against him. It seemed what he had suffered at Castiel's hands had quashed that instinct. It was right that it had. Castiel had helped them this time, but the situation was of his making and Dean didn't want him to forget that and make the same mistake again. He wondered if Sam's thanks were genuine though. Did he really feel gratitude to them for making him remember one of the worst moments of his life? Did he see it had been necessary, or did he think the pain caused had outweighed the results?
"We need to talk about what happens next," Sam said.
Dean frowned. "What do you mean?"
"I could hear you talking yesterday, with Bobby. You said the Leviathan situation was being taken care of, something about Annie."
"Yeah," Dean said. "There's a group of hunters led by her and Garth that are working the problem. Frank is with them, too. They're working on a plan."
Sam nodded thoughtfully. "That's good. We need to join up with them though. It is down to us that this has happened, and we need to…"
He trailed off as his eyes became blank and his expression smoothed.
"Dammit," Dean said, banging a fist on the tabletop.
Sam was gone again. No matter how close they got to making things right, Lucifer was still there, a time bomb in Sam's head. It took a lot for him to look away and not glare at Castiel for this reminder of the damage he had done.
Sam came back to himself with a start and wince. "We need to take care of them," he said quietly after a moment of silence.
Dean shook his head. "We can't, Sammy. Look at what just happened to you. I know you want to help, but this time it's not on us. We can't fix it. We need to take care of you."
"How?" Sam asked. "Lucifer isn't going away. There's nothing Cas can do for that. This is my life now, so we have to find a way to work with it. Dick Roman and the others need to be taken out, and we need to do our jobs."
"No," Dean said firmly. "I know what you're thinking because I thought the same thing. Before the accident I was obsessed with Dick Roman and what he had done. I wanted to avenge Bobby and save the world again, but that was before I saw what my distraction could cost me. I should have been saving you, not anyone else. It's being taken care of, so we've got to dedicate ourselves to fixing you."
"How?" Sam asked.
"We've been dealing with this as a human thing lately," he said. "The doctor said you have PTSD, and he was treating you for it. It was complicated because of your injury, but it might be easier now since that's healed. We could go back to him and get help. There's things they can do. Maybe a different medication would work. We have to try."
"But the Leviathans…" Sam started.
"Are not down to us this time. Cas can go help the others, but me and you are going to take care of what we need to. I know you want to help, but no. This time I'm putting you first. Dick Roman is not our problem."
"Not your problem!" a voice snapped behind him.
Dean turned in his chair and saw Bobby marching towards them from across the yard. His face was thunderous and his hands were curled into fists at his sides.
"Bobby," Sam said quietly.
Bobby pointed an accusatory finger at Dean. "Listen to me, Winchester, you're not ducking out on this. It's your responsibility and you will fix it! Sam's got his priorities straight, and it's time you did the same. You will get your ass to Annie and you will do whatever it takes to deal with Dick Roman. You're a hunter. Do your damn job."
"I am a brother," Dean said, his own ire rising in the face of Bobby's.
"No one is disputing that," Bobby said.
"I am a brother first. I will not let Sam suffer when they're other people that can do the same job. It is not down to us."
"Dean…" Sam said quietly.
"No," Dean snapped. "I have watched you suffer for months. I almost lost you more than once. I am not going to go through that again for anything. We're fixing you before we go after anything else."
"You will fix it now!" Bobby shouted.
Dean leapt to his feet. "I will not! Sam comes first."
Bobby looked like he wanted to attack. Dean had expected his return though, and he'd known how he would react when faced with the facts, so he had prepared for this.
He bent and picked up the poker where it leant against the wall beside his chair. Without hesitation, he swung the poker through the air, sweeping it through Bobby's chest, making him vanish. Panting, he set the poker down on the table and looked at Sam.
"I mean it, Sam. We're putting you first. When you're back on your feet, we'll take on whatever comes next."
Sam stared into his eyes, seeing the resolve there, and nodded. "Fine. I better get to work then."
"Work?" Dean asked.
"If we're not doing anything 'til I'm fixed, we've got to find a way to fix me," he said, picking up the laptop.
"What are you thinking?" Dean asked.
"Therapy will take too long," he said. "There has to be another way. I am going to find it." He carried the laptop into the cabin, letting the door swing closed behind him.
Dean took a breath and wiped a hand over his face. He felt exhausted and frustrated. Looking up, he saw Castiel's eyes were fixed on him. "Am I right?" he asked, needing reassurance. "It this how it's got to be?"
Castiel nodded. "Yes. This time you need to put yourselves first."
Dean forced a smile. "Thanks, Cas."
Now he just had to hope Sam would be able to find a way.
Dean jerked awake in the middle of the night and bolted upright. He sat in silence for a moment, listening carefully for what had woken him, and heard a creak from below. He threw back the bedclothes and quickly got up.
While he knew it was probably Castiel moving around now that he didn't need to spend his nights in bed, he was worried it was Sam. His hair-trigger anxiety hadn't eased up yet. He needed to check.
He crept down the stairs to the first floor and saw Sam facing away from him in the kitchen. "Dean," he said without turning.
"What are you doing?" Dean asked.
"Something I've got to do." His voice was strange, measured, as if he was suppressing some emotion.
Dean walked towards him. "Talk to me, Sam. Whatever's going on, we can fix it."
Sam turned to him at last, and Dean saw the blood dripping from his hand to the floor.
"Sammy!" he rushed forward and grabbed a cloth from the counter, reaching to staunch the bleeding. "What are you doing?"
"What I've got to do," Sam said again, pushing away Dean's hand and using the blood to daub on the wall.
Dean looked and saw it was an angel banishing sigil. "Cas!" he shouted. "I need you."
Sam shoved him away, a look of annoyance on his face.
There was a fluttering sound and Castiel appeared. He looked from Dean to Sam and his mouth dropped open. "No! How could you?"
"Goodbye, Castiel," Sam said with a grim smile. He slapped his bloody palm down on the sigil and Castiel was ripped away.
"What's going on, Sam?" Dean asked.
Sam rolled his eyes. "You think you know your brother so well and yet you don't even see it now."
"See what?" Dean asked. "What's happened to you?"
Sam wiped his hand on his pants leg and looked at Dean scathingly. "If you're not going to step up and do your damn job, I will do it for you."
"We're taking care of you," Dean said. "That is our job."
Sam glowered at him. "That's bull and you know it. And here's something else you don't know." He leaned forward with a familiar gleam in his eyes, a gleam that was not Sam's. "I am not Sam."
"Bobby?" Dean guessed.
"Yes."
Dean rushed at him. "Get the hell out of him!"
Bobby picked up a skillet from the stove and swung it at Dean. It collided hard with Dean's temple, and his head exploded with pain. He took another shaky step forward and then fell forward, boneless.
"How could you do this to him?" he asked weakly.
The voice was close to his ear as it answered. "I am saving the world. There's nothing more important than that."
Dean felt another blow land on the same place as the skillet had hit and his eyes fell closed against his will. As consciousness deserted him, he heard the heavy footsteps crossing the room and the door opening as Bobby made his escape.
So… This is not how it was supposed to go. Bobby was going to be his grumpy but basically kind self, but the story took a turn. I hope you can forgive me for doing this to the character we know and love.
Not got a lot to say about this week's episode, but if you want to chat about it, I'll be lurking in my inbox.
Until next time…
Clowns or Midgets xxx