The Pride of Your Heart Part 6
Dean sat beside Sam’s bed, one hand on his brother’s arm, the other resting on his forehead, occasionally smoothing his hair, or brow, or pressing lightly against his cheek. Looking back, Cas was amazed how quickly his training had taken over-and his brother’s. Michael and Cas had never worked together in the same Emergency Room, but they had fallen together like a well-drilled team.
Michael had set to work clearing Sam’s airway while Cas made sure his heartbeat stabilized. When the paramedics arrived, Michael flashed his hospital ID and informed them that Dean, Cas, and himself would be accompanying in the young man in the back.
With his brother there, all the normal rules and regulations fell away without question. Dean was able to sit back in the corner, calling reassurances to his dazed brother. Michael and Cas called vitals back and forth between them and commanded IV lines and monitors to be placed by the paramedic. Dean was able to pass the Emergency exit and was stopped outside the galleys, where he was able to watch Cas and Michael inform the assembled team of what they were dealing with and command the emergency team to respond.
At one point, Sam seemed to rally slightly, twitching and making small sounds of distress. Michael had laid a hand on the young man’s chest and said “Sam? You’re alright. You’re in a hospital. Cas and Dean are right here with you. Please don’t fight us.”
There was a warmth and kindness to his brother’s voice that Cas hadn’t heard in years...though it suddenly brought back a rush of childhood memories.
When Cas was sure that Sam was stable, he stepped out to speak to a nearly vibrating Dean.
“Cas, tell me-”
“He’s going to be fine,” Cas said, and suddenly had an armful of trembling boyfriend. “It’s going to be fine,” he murmured. And held Dean tighter as he sobbed onto his shoulder.
Finally, Sam was shifted out of the emergency area and into an intensive care room. Michael informed the staff that Dean and Cas were not to be interrupted or ever asked to leave, regardless of visiting hours. Cas spent some time by Dean’s side, rubbing his boyfriend’s back while Dean adjusted the blankets, rubbed his brother’s arms and hands, and told him softly that everything was going to be okay.
And then Michael appeared in the doorway, and Cas stood up and met him, and now the Morgan brothers stood, watching the Winchester brothers, neither saying a word.
Sam was going to be fine. And if Sam would be fine, Dean would be fine. Cas knew this. But all he could think, when he saw Sam lying still and helpless in a hospital bed, with his big brother hovering over him, waiting for the moment when his eyes would open and he could calm and comfort the younger man, was that this was his fault. He’d pulled the Winchester brothers out of the safe cocoon they’d made and thrown them into the nest of vipers he knew infested this world.
If he were Dean, he’d have known better. If he were Dean, he’d have told them he’d be fine and faced this on his own. Instead, he reacted just like a Morgan: use whatever is at your disposal. He’d recruited them as part of his family’s army and led a pathetic civil uprising. He was nothing against them. His emotional revelations meant nothing to this segment of society. They wanted cash and power. He had a mechanic with a GED and a struggling former drug-addict. To him-they were the world. To the world he’d come from? They were the lowest common denominator. And he’d knowingly thrown them to the mercy of the merciless.
“He’ll be fine,” Michael finally said. He’d have a black eye, Cas knew, come morning. It was his brother’s surprising arrival-and his emergency kit’s adrenaline shot-that had saved Sam’s life: however, Dean, in a frenzy of adrenaline and terror, had watched Michael “stab” his little brother in the chest and promptly slammed him in the face with his fist, leaving Cas to empty the life-saving medication into Sam’s blood and holler for Dean to stand down.
“I want to see everything. All his lab results and records,” Cas snapped, refusing to look at his brother.
“I’ve evaluated his charts myself. He just needs a day or two of rest to get the last of it out of his system.”
“I still want to see everything.”
“I’ll authorize it.”
“I want him in a private room. All expenses sent to me.”
“I’ll have them sent to Raphael. There’s no reason this should be on your shoulders alone.”
“I brought them to this place. I’ll carry all the consequences of doing so.”
“What happened, Castiel? I thought Sam was clean.”
“He is clean. And don’t speak like you know him.”
“I know he’s been clean.”
“This wasn’t his fault.” And it wasn’t. If it was anyone’s, it was Cas’s: for forcing Sam away from all his support systems and coming here, to a high-pressure, high stress situation, without even Dean’s full attention to see him through. “And wouldn’t you be glad if he was out of the way? The family fortune wouldn’t be going to his healthcare.”
“I never said that,” Michael snapped. “I may not approve, and I definitely don’t understand, but I at least know I could have been wrong...that I should try to understand where you’re coming from. Who they are. I certainly never wished death on anyone you care for.”
“What is it you want, Michael? A signature? A statement?”
“You’re my youngest brother, Cas. I want you to come home-at least once and awhile. I want to stop in Kansas and have dinner and discuss your life-our lives,” he said quickly. “I want you to be involved...somehow.”
“And insulting and belittling Sam and Dean, that’s your way of accomplishing that?”
“No. I was wrong.”
That drew Cas’s attention. He’d never heard Michael admit anything like that. And when he looked at him, he could tell he was sincere. “You should apologize to them.”
“Cas...there’s more. You know...the will is quite complex, but there’s quite a sizable inheritance left to you. Father was worried, as I’ve said. Truly. He hoped you’d use it to change your life. To consider returning-”
Cas whirled on him. “You take,” he growled, “every single dollar of that money, and you give it to the Rosemount Rehabiliation Clinic in Kansas as an endowment, with at least half the proceeds to be paid toward the treatment of those who can’t afford care.”
“Cas...are you sure that this-”
“I’m more than sure that that money should go to the care and treatment of those who can’t afford it. To those who wish to break and end the cycle self-destruction in their lives. And I won’t have anything less done with our father’s money.”
His elder brother chanced a step closer. “Cas...when I came to you...I meant well. You have to understand what it looked like from our point of view. For years, you say nothing-you worked hard, everyone said you were on track for an esteemed position, and suddenly you stand beside the woman we’d assumed you’d marry while she marries someone else, and then you vanish into the Midwest, and the next we hear you’re living with a mechanic and his brother, both with troubled pasts and, at the time, active addictions. You don’t visit, you don’t write, you don’t offer explanations. We feared you had some type of severe psychological break.”
“Neither of you reached out and asked.”
“Where did we begin?”
Cas set his jaw and crossed his arms. Michael sighed.
“If you wanted to be with a man all along-Father and I didn’t care. Mother, well...she’d see past it, if it was someone she considered your equal. Ralph and Lou will die with the words ‘lifestyle choices’ on their lips and there’s no talking them out of it. But you never even expressed your unhappiness. You just...left.”
“If that worried you so much, why didn’t you say so?”
“I tried to.”
Cas wanted to stand firm, but he couldn’t fault Michael for not clearly expressing himself: not when that had been Cas’s problem all along. His time with the Winchesters had spoiled him: Dean and Sam could read him, and one another, and they met him halfway. His own family lacked that ability, and always had. They hadn’t deliberately ignored his growing misery: they hadn’t been aware of it. In a family where everyone was shouting, Cas’s quiet had been viewed as content.
Sam twitched on the bed. Dean jolted to attention. “I have to go,” Cas snapped, and bolted away and into Sam’s room.
“Alright, easy, easy, c’mon, buddy, it’s okay. You’re okay. Easy does it,” Dean murmured, leaning into Sam’s vision. The younger Winchester kicked and twitched and whimpered in distress, than settled back onto the bed, eyes cracking weakly open.
“Hey,” Dean grinned, smoothing his brother’s hair. “Relax. We gotcha.”
“You’re safe, Sam,” Cas assured, taking up stake opposite his boyfriend. “We’re here.”
He knew Michael was watching: he didn’t care. Let him. Let him see what real love was. What real family was. Let him see and mourn everything his kind could never have.
***
Rachel was used to excelling at everything she did. In school and work, she was known for her precision, detail, and confidence. As a District Attorney she was fierce, and had never cut a deal for the sake of convenience.
But the baby growing within her didn’t care that his or her Mommy had a job to do, and had no problem with draining every bit of her energy and demanding an endless supply of Sprite and cheddar pretzels.
Her phone jerked her out of her latest nap, the one she’d needed after Cas’s father’s funeral. Victor had left a bowl of pretzels, a Sprite, a glass of water, and a note saying he’d handle dinner, and to rest up. She smiled as she answered the phone. “Rachel Hendrickson.”
“Sorry to wake you,” Portia Ramon, a fellow D.A., greeted her. “How are you feeling?”
“I think I’m ready to come clean...I’m not really sick.”
“No, you’re pregnant.”
Rachel opened her Sprite. “How did you know?”
“I saw you falling asleep at your desk with a recycling bin full of Sprite cans.”
Rachel sighed. “The first trimester’s the worse, right?”
“Depends. I wasn’t a fan of the third, when I didn’t see my feet for three months.”
“I’d of thought evolution should have been able to speed up this pregnancy thing.”
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” Portia chuckled. She and her husband James had a two year old named Max: Rachel had met him on several occasions, when Portia brought him by the office. He had Portia’s big brown eyes and her husband’s thick hair, and Rachel had spent many hours asking Portia how she was able to balance work and home. “Listen, Rache...I have to tell you something, but I don’t want you to stress too much. I’m going to pick up anything you need, like you did for me, okay?”
“What is it?” she asked, feeling a jerking in her gut that had nothing to do with her pregnancy.
“There’s a picture that went up a few minutes ago on Gothamist of that friend of yours...the Morgan. Cas and Michael Morgan, it says. They’re outside a hotel, and they’re working on someone on a stretcher.”
“They’re both doctors...maybe someone at the hotel had a heart attack?”
“Maybe,” Portia said.
“Your gut says no?”
“I can’t see who’s on the stretcher, but there’s another man by the stretcher, crazy good looking...and I wondered if that was Cas’s beau.”
“Can you send it to me?”
“Sure.”
Rachel took a long drink of her Sprite and grabbed her phone. It beeped seconds later, and she pulled up a photo of a focused Michael and Cas, Dean looking panicked as he ran alongside them.
“Are you there?”
“I think...that may be Dean’s brother, Sam.”
“You want me to make some calls? Find out what’s going on?” Portia’s tone was light and friendly.
“Cas just buried his father today-”
“Don’t go down that dark road, hon. Facts first. Let me get them. You take it easy, and if Cas calls you, you support him as a friend. Deal?”
“Thank you.”
“One condition: I want to plan the office shower. And I don’t want help.”
Rachel chuckled. She’d put up Portia’s, but Portia’s secretary had barged in on the plans, and the result was a mix of the tasteful, simple style Portia was known for and a garish, grotesque display of feathers, glitter, and pink and blue boas-virtually everything her friend hated.
“Fine-but nothing vegan, alright?”
“No worries. I’m on this, okay?”
Rachel bid her goodbye and called Cas, then sent him a text when he didn’t answer. She tried Michael’s phone too, not expecting-or receiving-an answer.
She got up, brushed her hair, splashed water on her face, ate some pretzels, checked her emails and, finally, called Victor.
“How you feeling, honey?” he asked the second she answered.
“I’m fine, babe,” she smiled. Victor had always been a rock of calm and control, until she told him she was pregnant: than he’d reacted as if she had told him she was dying, insisting she lay down at every opportunity and racing for Sprite and pretzels like they were life-saving medications.
She filled him in on Portia’s conversation and, like Portia, he said “don’t stress...I’ll get on it.”
Rachel had nothing to but wait. She laid a light hand on her stomach and looked downward. “So...you’ve got two parents in law enforcement...thoughts?”
Bile stirred and rose: she barely made it to the toilet. Boy or girl, this baby had her parents’ instinct: and echoed her very own fear.
***
Sam wasn’t awake for more than ten minutes when he paled and rolled to the side. Cas had been prepared and pulled a plastic kidney dish under his chin as he vomited.
“Alright, get it out-that’s good,” he said softly. Dean rubbed his brother back with one hand, stroked his hair and forehead with the other.
Michael called in several favors, and not one but three addiction specialists showed up, putting their heads together and issuing a recommendation of Naltrexone, for the remainder of the opiate overdose, valium, and methadone. Michael arranged and inserted the IV himself, and Sam calmed slightly, but it was clear he was suffering from the way he curled around his stomach and shook beneath his covers.
Cas went out and found a home goods store. He bought the softest, warmest blanket he could find, and did his best to match the color green Dean had selected so long ago. Then he went to a bodega and bought the entire refrigerator’s row of red Gatorade.
The two of them spread the blanket over Sam, who promptly pulled it up over his pale, sweaty face, and began to cry quietly. Dean opened one of the Gatorades and found a bendy straw that he snaked beneath the covers and ordered Sam to drink.
“Hey,” Dean murmured, putting a hand on the mop of brown hair poking out from under the blanket. “We gotcha, buddy. This wasn’t your fault.”
Sam mumbled something indistinguishable. Cas attempted to lower the blanket and got a frantic Sam yanking back. “Sam,” he said softly, crouching beside the bed. “Dean and I aren’t mad at you. And I am so, so sorry I dragged you into this. You shouldn’t have had all this pressure put on you. It was too soon.”
Dean gave him a strange look. “What do you think happened?” he asked.
Before Cas could answer, Michael appeared in the doorway and asked, quietly, for a word. He was slightly pale, and the bruise stood out stronger.
“There was something unexpected in Sam’s blood test,” he said, flipping open a file. “Vecuronium bromide. It’s a non-depolarizing blocking agent used to aid in paralysis during surgeries.”
“What does that mean for Sam?”
“If he injected it himself, he couldn’t possibly have administered the dose of heroin-the drug is fully deployed in a minute. And if he took the heroin, I doubt he’d have the wherewithal to administer a dose of the paralytic...and then, to what end? It seems a bizarre way to commit suicide, and from what I understand, Sam hasn’t been suicidal for some time.”
“He’s not,” Cas murmured. Something was stirring in his gut: a dark, cold coil of understanding he couldn’t fully process.
Dean stepped out, his face stony and cold and looking far too much like the night he took justice into his own hands and pursued his brother’s assailant.
“I don’t know what you two think happened,” he said, “but I saw that sonofabitch run off, and I know he did this.”
“Saw who?”
“Lou.”
Michael swayed slightly, and set his jaw. “You’re sure?”
“He had Sam half in his damn lap, and Sam wasn’t moving. Maybe he somehow talked Sammy into using again, but even if he did, he sure as hell knew he was dying and he didn’t do a damn thing about it!” Michael looked like he may very well be sick. Dean looked ready to kill. “Look, I know he’s your buddy and all that, but wherever he is, he’s going to pay for this.”
“Dean...there was a paralytic in Sam’s blood stream,” Cas explained. “We think...it’s possible that was administered first.”
“What does Sam say?” Michael chanced.
“He doesn’t feel well right now. And I know what you think of me and him, and me and Cas, but I’m telling you, I will find a way to have the whole world focused on you if you don’t-”
“I believe you.”
“-believe me and go and get the cops and try to-wait, you what?”
“Raphael’s associate, Vincent Virgil, came by my office. He was concerned. He showed me Raphael’s attempt to break the will, and a second document, one that severely limited Castiel’s access to the estate in the event he decides to return home...and he seemed confident you would.”
“I’ve been trying to reach you,” Cas said.
“I know. I checked my Blackberry, and there was a message I didn’t send, requesting that any calls from you be forwarded to Lou’s office. I suppose to keep you from telling me what he and Raphael were up to.”
“And you believe they tried to kill Sam?” Dean growled. Michael rubbed his eyes, shoulders slumping.
“I don’t know...something about the way Virgil said that...that he was ‘confident you’d return’...it made me remember a conversation I had with Lou, after I came back from our...unfortunate visit.”
“And?” Dean barked when Michael paused.
“He said I’d gone about it all wrong. That the only way Cas would come home is if it was proved that you both couldn’t overcome your issues. He said ‘I’m confident Sam won’t make it, and once he can’t, Dean will follow.’ At the time, I didn’t give much thought to it...I was more concerned with Cas.”
Cas could feel Dean’s wrath ratcheting up and quickly placed a hand on his arm. “We’ll get him,” he said softly.
“You know-believe it or not, one of the reasons I came out here is I wanted Cas to have a connection to his family. I know what it’s like to cut ties and then lose someone. I wanted him to have all of you in his life. And now-”
“I understand you’re angry, and you have every right to be,” Michael cut in. “But Dean, we are on the same side here. I never wished harm on your, or on Sam. We may not agree on what is best for my brother, but we both want what’s best for him. I have come to believe that.”
“Then tell me you’ll sack up and take down the bastard who did this.”
“I will.” Michael’s voice hitched. “But...you’ll have to tell me where to start.”
***
Raphael smiled as Vincent Virgil stepped through the door. “How did it go?”
“Michael saved Sam Winchester,” Virgil said, smiling. “I believe Lou will be removed from the picture before long.”
“I hope you’re ready,” he smiled. “Your role will certainly expand exponentially. I’ll certainly need you to pioneer all our defense investments.”
“You know I’m only too happy to serve.” Virgil produced a flask and poured two drinks into paper cups. “Your brother, Lou...he strikes me as deeply unbalanced.”
“He is,” Raphael snorted. “And seems to believe he’s the smartest guy in the room.”
Virgil grinned back and took a long drink. “In all honesty, sir, I believe that title goes to you.”
He snorted. “Pride is a sin, my friend. This has been a long, long time to plan. And to recruit good help,” he said with a subtle wink.
“I only want to do what’s best for the good of this nation. And I’m fortunate that you conquer.”
The office phone rang. Raphael scooped it up, expecting Lou, and saying, calmly, “Raphael Morgan.”
“It’s Cas.”
Raphael smiled. “How are you?”
“Sam is alive.”
“I’m glad to hear it.”
“I know you knew what Lou was planning.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“You know Sam’s alive though?”
“Well I assumed, given I saw him a few hours ago.”
Cas breathed long and hard into the phone. “Raphael, you remember when I told you I’d bring down this house? Forget all I said.”
“I appreciate your surrender. I have all the paperwork in order.”
“No, brother. I’m calling to tell you that the war will no longer be on this house-it will be on you.”
***
Cas slammed his phone shut, spun on his heel, and ran smack into Dean.
“Sam’s asleep. I came to make sure you were okay,” Dean explained.
“I meant everything I said,” Cas growled.
“I believe it.”
“I backed you when you fought-you need to back me.”
“And I do.”
“I will fight-and there will be press.”
“Bring it on.”
Cas felt his shoulder sag. “Dean...”
“Shutup for a sec-if you’re gonna suggest splitting up, that’s your right. But it better be because you miss women, or you met a man you love more, or you want to be single again, or you want to reinvent yourself, or you’re sick of emptying your account for Sammy and me. If it’s because you think this is your fault, that’s not grounds for an endgame. And when Sammy rallies, he’d feel the same way. We’ll back you no matter what, but not if you’re scared you’re a danger to us. Not after we brought just as much danger to you.”
Cas felt an ache in his throat. “This can only get worse.”
“What’s worse than me being a drunk and Sammy being homeless? What can’t we beat if not that?”
“You have a duty to your brother, Dean.”
“I do. But I have one to you too, man. And this is not grounds for a spilt. This is grounds for a fight.”
Cas leaned forward and pressed their foreheads together, briefly, drawing support from the man he loved.
“Let’s go wait with Sam,” he finally said, and, painfully, pulled away.
***Naomi Morgan had never felt so overwhelmed.
The ceremonies were over: the funeral, the burial, the luncheon. The press had been run. She had been dressed and painted and her hair had been done. The estate had been settled and succeeded. She could take a long hot shower, pull on sweat pants and a t-shirt, and lie down on her bed.
And then...
She’d be the first to admit her husband was gone for long stretches, and prone to drinking heavily when he was at home. She’d spent countless nights on her own in this bed, and even more staring at her husband’s back, wishing he’d rouse and hold her.
But she’d done her duty: the boys had been poised, and she’d been the picture of a stylish widow. Society would approve of the luncheon and Michael, although he’d faltered, appeared a strong successor.
All she couldn’t control was Castiel...her baby, her joy, her sensitive one, her quiet, solider-like son, who did all he could to keep peace, who followed orders without complaint, who confided in her that he wanted the infighting to stop. To bring his lover without even trying to introduce him to her...it hurt too much to fathom.
Alone in that bed, with her sisters downstairs and her boys minutes away, she’d never felt more alone...or more of a failure. She’d done her duty by fooling society, but for her own conscious: that could never be fooled.
And so she did something she hadn’t in years: she curled into herself, pulled the blanket over her head, and began to cry.
***
Dean sat by his brother’s bed, rubbing his knuckles back and forth over his brother’s back. Occasionally Sam’s breathing would hitch and tremble, and Dean would pause and pat him. He’d given up trying to peel down Sam’s defenses and just let him try and work through whatever spiral of self-hate and fear and guilt he’d locked himself up in.
“Hey bro,” he murmured after a particularly harsh sob, “you do what you gotta to get through this, okay? I’m gonna wait right here.” He slipped the amulet off over his head and found the edge of Sam’s hand, trying to get him to take it. Sam curled tighter and sobbed, chest heaving. Dean leaned forward and rested his chin over Sam’s blanket-clad shoulder. “Alright, baby, you don’t have to feel hopeful right now. You can take your time.”
He looked up and realized Cas was standing in the doorway, looking exhausted and so, so sad.
“Hey,” Dean smiled, sitting back and rubbing his hand over his brother’s back once more. Cas gave a one minute sign and ducked out. “Cas stopped by to check on you,” Dean said, and only succeeded in eliciting more sobs. He found Sam’s whirlwind of dark hair and combed, scratching lightly at his brother’s head, alternating rubbing his back and scalp. He hummed for awhile, whatever came to mind, songs he remembered from rocking a young Sammy off to sleep. Sam settled, slowly, relaxing under his brother’s hands, uncurling slightly beneath the new blanket Cas had bought.
“You know...through all this drama with getting out here, I’ve been so crazy proud of you? You took care of me, and of Cas, and I couldn’t have done it all without you. Especially the plane...you just walked me through it.” He smoothed Sam’s hair. “You don’t have to worry about anything anymore. Me and Cas will take it from here.” And he lay his cheek against his brother’s shoulder and hummed once more.
He was still humming when Cas returned, some forty minutes later.
“Sam,” Cas murmured, and crouched down beside his friend, “Dean and both have something we’d like you to hold onto.” He took the amulet from Dean and pulled a small packet of seeds from his pocket and pressed both the necklace and the package under the blankets. “That’s the promise you made to Dean, and something I’ve always wanted to grow--a crape myrtel. They take a long time, and require much care but once they grow, they last, and they're stunning. I don’t have the time to look after them properly but, together, I know you and I could raise them.”
Sam didn’t move for a long minute. Then, slowly, he drew the contents of Cas’s hand into his cocoon. A few minutes later he sat up, slowly, the amulet around his neck and the seeds clutched in his right hand. His face was streaked with tears and sweat and his eyes were heavy with dark circles. Dean smiled and brushed sweaty bangs off his forehead, and Sam curled close to him, leaving Cas with his broad, trembling back.
“I have to tell you something,” he managed.
***Michael didn’t bother knocking on his brother’s office door: the office was dark except for his light, and he’d left the door ajar, clearly not expecting company. He stood for a moment, watching Lou toss electronics into a laptop bag and check his Blackberry, pat his pockets, and check his computer before looking up and doing a double-take.
“How did you get up here?” he snapped.
“The guards know me.”
“You should have called.” Lou grabbed up his bag. “I’m needed in London.”
“We just buried Dad-”
“I can run business from there.” His face softened. “You look better. Did you sleep?”
“You told me you were giving me something light.”
Lou smiled sheepishly. “I knew you needed to knock out.”
“It zoned me out.”
“Well, we got through it.”
“Did you try to kill Sam Winchester?”
Lou’s smile didn’t waver. “Sam Winchester killed himself the first time he stuck a needle in his arm.”
“He’s a young man.”
“Since when are you pro-Winchester?”
“Did you paralyze him, and then feed him a dose so it would look like an accident?”
“I have far too much to lose to do something so stupid.”
“I know you and Raphael attempted to divide the estate.”
“Ah, that’s why you’re here.” Lou’s smile twisted. “For a moment I thought we’d have to pretend you were an altruist.”
“Why are you doing this?”
Lou’s face darkened. “How many times over the years have we discussed our frustrations with Dad? The absences, the orders, the drinking-the criticism. How many times did I encourage you to break ranks, like I did? Well my way paved the way for Raphael to follow a path other than medicine. And your way gets to Cas, who ran West to slum at the first opportunity.”
“There aren’t supposed to be sides. The estate-”
“Is your birthright. Your chance to step into Dad’s shoes and tell the rest of us how to live and where to go next and what to say and who to say it to and what to think and how to vote and what causes to support-”
“It’s for all of us-”
“That’s easy to say when you’re running the show.”
“I could have bought out your share. Help you fundraise for new foundations. Invested in your ventures.”
“You say this with Dad a few hours in the ground. You wouldn’t have before, and when all this fades, you’ll be back to your old self.”
“And that justifies crime? Assault-murder?”
“An addict overdosed. How is that murder?”
“You’d drag Cas, and his partner, through all that...for what?”
“You know as well as I do that those men are walking corpses. Breaking a delusion isn’t cruel.”
“Breaking families is.”
“We’ve been broken for years, if we were ever together at all.” Lou gathered his bags. “Raphael shares my vision. We want to invest in keeping America where it belongs-as the world’s only superpower. You want to pour that money into the lowest common denominator, all those who aren’t working for healthcare, for their own wellbeing-you want to pour all those millions down into the black hole of American poverty. There are people on this Earth who shouldn’t be, brother-who would die if our hard earned money didn’t vanish into their vices. Sam Winchester is a prime example. He should have died a hundred times over, but our brother’s personal wealth has kept him alive.” Lou hoisted his bags over his shoulder and crossed away from his desk. “His death, and Dean’s to follow, are righting a balance that’s been wrong for some time. Maybe we won’t get his agreement-fine. We’ll take the estate to court.”
Michael felt a pain in his throat. “Please. We can talk about this. We can find a way that makes sense for all of us. I can get you help.”
“You and Dad and Mom and your help!” Lou slammed his fist into the door. “There is nothing, nothing wrong with me, other than I’m sick of being a puppet on this family’s strings! All of us are but you. You love having your orders and giving them, but the rest of us are through with it-with you, Michael.”
Michael stepped forward until he was toe to toe with his younger brother. “Did you plan all this...kill Sam Winchester, send Dean back to drinking, all to get Cas to come home?”
“You try and prove Sam didn’t pick up those needles himself. You try and prove, beyond a reasonable doubt, that he didn’t O.D. on a paralytic and a batch of heroin in an effort to check out early. I can see it now-‘overwhelmed by a massive city, a funeral, and no support system, the addict returned to his former ways.’ The defense rests.”
“A fine, upstanding citizen, member of a prominent philanthropic family, versus a junkie and a drunk.”
“Writes itself.” Lou turned off the lights. “I’m sorry it came to this. But pressing two vials into the body of a boy littered with puncture marks-that I don’t think twice. Sam would have done it to himself eventually. I just gave him a push in the right direction.”
“Like when you sent McCloud out to feed him an overdose? To recruit members of his home to poison his salt?”
“Again,” Lou snapped. “I’m sorry it came that-to this. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve a flight to catch.”
Lou left his elder brother standing, bewildered, in the doorway. He took the elevator to the parking garage, where his private car was waiting.
He made it halfway there before someone hollered “Freeze!” and an army of police and FBI appeared from behind the parked cars. He stopped in his tracks, then tossed them a calm smile.
“Very well-have your front page. I’ll have many more,” he said. An officer strode up behind him, and he handed over his bags before submitting to handcuffs. “Watch the suit-it’s Armani.”
“Lou,” a far too familiar voice said, “have you ever heard of the phrase ‘pride cometh before a fall?’”
He looked up and smiled. “Rachel Hendrickson, nee Marshal. To what do I owe this honor?”
“You’re under arrest.”
“I want my attorney.”
“You’ll have him.”
“Then there’s nothing further to say.”
She stepped closer. “Hear me,” she growled. “I’m coming after you with everything in my power.”
"Of course, you can't possibly prosecute me without conflict of interest, since you once shared my baby brother's bed."
"No--I'd never risk letting you go on a technically like that."
“And, it pays to have married into the FBI.”
“It does.” She turned toward a dark blue van in the corner, where Michael stood, unbuttoning his shirt while Victor Hendrickson helped remove the wire from it.
Lou felt a sudden rush of blood leave his face. Michael looked at him, tears in his eyes, glittering under the awful fluorescent lighting of the garage.
Of all the ways his brother might strike back, entrapment hadn’t occurred to him as one. Raphael, perhaps, but not Michael.
“Locking me in a cage won’t ruin me,” Lou managed.
“Maybe not,” Rachel conceded, her face hard. “But Cas, the law, and I, will--even if it means the end of all of us doing it.”
Part 7
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5
Michael had set to work clearing Sam’s airway while Cas made sure his heartbeat stabilized. When the paramedics arrived, Michael flashed his hospital ID and informed them that Dean, Cas, and himself would be accompanying in the young man in the back.
With his brother there, all the normal rules and regulations fell away without question. Dean was able to sit back in the corner, calling reassurances to his dazed brother. Michael and Cas called vitals back and forth between them and commanded IV lines and monitors to be placed by the paramedic. Dean was able to pass the Emergency exit and was stopped outside the galleys, where he was able to watch Cas and Michael inform the assembled team of what they were dealing with and command the emergency team to respond.
At one point, Sam seemed to rally slightly, twitching and making small sounds of distress. Michael had laid a hand on the young man’s chest and said “Sam? You’re alright. You’re in a hospital. Cas and Dean are right here with you. Please don’t fight us.”
There was a warmth and kindness to his brother’s voice that Cas hadn’t heard in years...though it suddenly brought back a rush of childhood memories.
When Cas was sure that Sam was stable, he stepped out to speak to a nearly vibrating Dean.
“Cas, tell me-”
“He’s going to be fine,” Cas said, and suddenly had an armful of trembling boyfriend. “It’s going to be fine,” he murmured. And held Dean tighter as he sobbed onto his shoulder.
Finally, Sam was shifted out of the emergency area and into an intensive care room. Michael informed the staff that Dean and Cas were not to be interrupted or ever asked to leave, regardless of visiting hours. Cas spent some time by Dean’s side, rubbing his boyfriend’s back while Dean adjusted the blankets, rubbed his brother’s arms and hands, and told him softly that everything was going to be okay.
And then Michael appeared in the doorway, and Cas stood up and met him, and now the Morgan brothers stood, watching the Winchester brothers, neither saying a word.
Sam was going to be fine. And if Sam would be fine, Dean would be fine. Cas knew this. But all he could think, when he saw Sam lying still and helpless in a hospital bed, with his big brother hovering over him, waiting for the moment when his eyes would open and he could calm and comfort the younger man, was that this was his fault. He’d pulled the Winchester brothers out of the safe cocoon they’d made and thrown them into the nest of vipers he knew infested this world.
If he were Dean, he’d have known better. If he were Dean, he’d have told them he’d be fine and faced this on his own. Instead, he reacted just like a Morgan: use whatever is at your disposal. He’d recruited them as part of his family’s army and led a pathetic civil uprising. He was nothing against them. His emotional revelations meant nothing to this segment of society. They wanted cash and power. He had a mechanic with a GED and a struggling former drug-addict. To him-they were the world. To the world he’d come from? They were the lowest common denominator. And he’d knowingly thrown them to the mercy of the merciless.
“He’ll be fine,” Michael finally said. He’d have a black eye, Cas knew, come morning. It was his brother’s surprising arrival-and his emergency kit’s adrenaline shot-that had saved Sam’s life: however, Dean, in a frenzy of adrenaline and terror, had watched Michael “stab” his little brother in the chest and promptly slammed him in the face with his fist, leaving Cas to empty the life-saving medication into Sam’s blood and holler for Dean to stand down.
“I want to see everything. All his lab results and records,” Cas snapped, refusing to look at his brother.
“I’ve evaluated his charts myself. He just needs a day or two of rest to get the last of it out of his system.”
“I still want to see everything.”
“I’ll authorize it.”
“I want him in a private room. All expenses sent to me.”
“I’ll have them sent to Raphael. There’s no reason this should be on your shoulders alone.”
“I brought them to this place. I’ll carry all the consequences of doing so.”
“What happened, Castiel? I thought Sam was clean.”
“He is clean. And don’t speak like you know him.”
“I know he’s been clean.”
“This wasn’t his fault.” And it wasn’t. If it was anyone’s, it was Cas’s: for forcing Sam away from all his support systems and coming here, to a high-pressure, high stress situation, without even Dean’s full attention to see him through. “And wouldn’t you be glad if he was out of the way? The family fortune wouldn’t be going to his healthcare.”
“I never said that,” Michael snapped. “I may not approve, and I definitely don’t understand, but I at least know I could have been wrong...that I should try to understand where you’re coming from. Who they are. I certainly never wished death on anyone you care for.”
“What is it you want, Michael? A signature? A statement?”
“You’re my youngest brother, Cas. I want you to come home-at least once and awhile. I want to stop in Kansas and have dinner and discuss your life-our lives,” he said quickly. “I want you to be involved...somehow.”
“And insulting and belittling Sam and Dean, that’s your way of accomplishing that?”
“No. I was wrong.”
That drew Cas’s attention. He’d never heard Michael admit anything like that. And when he looked at him, he could tell he was sincere. “You should apologize to them.”
“Cas...there’s more. You know...the will is quite complex, but there’s quite a sizable inheritance left to you. Father was worried, as I’ve said. Truly. He hoped you’d use it to change your life. To consider returning-”
Cas whirled on him. “You take,” he growled, “every single dollar of that money, and you give it to the Rosemount Rehabiliation Clinic in Kansas as an endowment, with at least half the proceeds to be paid toward the treatment of those who can’t afford care.”
“Cas...are you sure that this-”
“I’m more than sure that that money should go to the care and treatment of those who can’t afford it. To those who wish to break and end the cycle self-destruction in their lives. And I won’t have anything less done with our father’s money.”
His elder brother chanced a step closer. “Cas...when I came to you...I meant well. You have to understand what it looked like from our point of view. For years, you say nothing-you worked hard, everyone said you were on track for an esteemed position, and suddenly you stand beside the woman we’d assumed you’d marry while she marries someone else, and then you vanish into the Midwest, and the next we hear you’re living with a mechanic and his brother, both with troubled pasts and, at the time, active addictions. You don’t visit, you don’t write, you don’t offer explanations. We feared you had some type of severe psychological break.”
“Neither of you reached out and asked.”
“Where did we begin?”
Cas set his jaw and crossed his arms. Michael sighed.
“If you wanted to be with a man all along-Father and I didn’t care. Mother, well...she’d see past it, if it was someone she considered your equal. Ralph and Lou will die with the words ‘lifestyle choices’ on their lips and there’s no talking them out of it. But you never even expressed your unhappiness. You just...left.”
“If that worried you so much, why didn’t you say so?”
“I tried to.”
Cas wanted to stand firm, but he couldn’t fault Michael for not clearly expressing himself: not when that had been Cas’s problem all along. His time with the Winchesters had spoiled him: Dean and Sam could read him, and one another, and they met him halfway. His own family lacked that ability, and always had. They hadn’t deliberately ignored his growing misery: they hadn’t been aware of it. In a family where everyone was shouting, Cas’s quiet had been viewed as content.
Sam twitched on the bed. Dean jolted to attention. “I have to go,” Cas snapped, and bolted away and into Sam’s room.
“Alright, easy, easy, c’mon, buddy, it’s okay. You’re okay. Easy does it,” Dean murmured, leaning into Sam’s vision. The younger Winchester kicked and twitched and whimpered in distress, than settled back onto the bed, eyes cracking weakly open.
“Hey,” Dean grinned, smoothing his brother’s hair. “Relax. We gotcha.”
“You’re safe, Sam,” Cas assured, taking up stake opposite his boyfriend. “We’re here.”
He knew Michael was watching: he didn’t care. Let him. Let him see what real love was. What real family was. Let him see and mourn everything his kind could never have.
***
Rachel was used to excelling at everything she did. In school and work, she was known for her precision, detail, and confidence. As a District Attorney she was fierce, and had never cut a deal for the sake of convenience.
But the baby growing within her didn’t care that his or her Mommy had a job to do, and had no problem with draining every bit of her energy and demanding an endless supply of Sprite and cheddar pretzels.
Her phone jerked her out of her latest nap, the one she’d needed after Cas’s father’s funeral. Victor had left a bowl of pretzels, a Sprite, a glass of water, and a note saying he’d handle dinner, and to rest up. She smiled as she answered the phone. “Rachel Hendrickson.”
“Sorry to wake you,” Portia Ramon, a fellow D.A., greeted her. “How are you feeling?”
“I think I’m ready to come clean...I’m not really sick.”
“No, you’re pregnant.”
Rachel opened her Sprite. “How did you know?”
“I saw you falling asleep at your desk with a recycling bin full of Sprite cans.”
Rachel sighed. “The first trimester’s the worse, right?”
“Depends. I wasn’t a fan of the third, when I didn’t see my feet for three months.”
“I’d of thought evolution should have been able to speed up this pregnancy thing.”
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” Portia chuckled. She and her husband James had a two year old named Max: Rachel had met him on several occasions, when Portia brought him by the office. He had Portia’s big brown eyes and her husband’s thick hair, and Rachel had spent many hours asking Portia how she was able to balance work and home. “Listen, Rache...I have to tell you something, but I don’t want you to stress too much. I’m going to pick up anything you need, like you did for me, okay?”
“What is it?” she asked, feeling a jerking in her gut that had nothing to do with her pregnancy.
“There’s a picture that went up a few minutes ago on Gothamist of that friend of yours...the Morgan. Cas and Michael Morgan, it says. They’re outside a hotel, and they’re working on someone on a stretcher.”
“They’re both doctors...maybe someone at the hotel had a heart attack?”
“Maybe,” Portia said.
“Your gut says no?”
“I can’t see who’s on the stretcher, but there’s another man by the stretcher, crazy good looking...and I wondered if that was Cas’s beau.”
“Can you send it to me?”
“Sure.”
Rachel took a long drink of her Sprite and grabbed her phone. It beeped seconds later, and she pulled up a photo of a focused Michael and Cas, Dean looking panicked as he ran alongside them.
“Are you there?”
“I think...that may be Dean’s brother, Sam.”
“You want me to make some calls? Find out what’s going on?” Portia’s tone was light and friendly.
“Cas just buried his father today-”
“Don’t go down that dark road, hon. Facts first. Let me get them. You take it easy, and if Cas calls you, you support him as a friend. Deal?”
“Thank you.”
“One condition: I want to plan the office shower. And I don’t want help.”
Rachel chuckled. She’d put up Portia’s, but Portia’s secretary had barged in on the plans, and the result was a mix of the tasteful, simple style Portia was known for and a garish, grotesque display of feathers, glitter, and pink and blue boas-virtually everything her friend hated.
“Fine-but nothing vegan, alright?”
“No worries. I’m on this, okay?”
Rachel bid her goodbye and called Cas, then sent him a text when he didn’t answer. She tried Michael’s phone too, not expecting-or receiving-an answer.
She got up, brushed her hair, splashed water on her face, ate some pretzels, checked her emails and, finally, called Victor.
“How you feeling, honey?” he asked the second she answered.
“I’m fine, babe,” she smiled. Victor had always been a rock of calm and control, until she told him she was pregnant: than he’d reacted as if she had told him she was dying, insisting she lay down at every opportunity and racing for Sprite and pretzels like they were life-saving medications.
She filled him in on Portia’s conversation and, like Portia, he said “don’t stress...I’ll get on it.”
Rachel had nothing to but wait. She laid a light hand on her stomach and looked downward. “So...you’ve got two parents in law enforcement...thoughts?”
Bile stirred and rose: she barely made it to the toilet. Boy or girl, this baby had her parents’ instinct: and echoed her very own fear.
***
Sam wasn’t awake for more than ten minutes when he paled and rolled to the side. Cas had been prepared and pulled a plastic kidney dish under his chin as he vomited.
“Alright, get it out-that’s good,” he said softly. Dean rubbed his brother back with one hand, stroked his hair and forehead with the other.
Michael called in several favors, and not one but three addiction specialists showed up, putting their heads together and issuing a recommendation of Naltrexone, for the remainder of the opiate overdose, valium, and methadone. Michael arranged and inserted the IV himself, and Sam calmed slightly, but it was clear he was suffering from the way he curled around his stomach and shook beneath his covers.
Cas went out and found a home goods store. He bought the softest, warmest blanket he could find, and did his best to match the color green Dean had selected so long ago. Then he went to a bodega and bought the entire refrigerator’s row of red Gatorade.
The two of them spread the blanket over Sam, who promptly pulled it up over his pale, sweaty face, and began to cry quietly. Dean opened one of the Gatorades and found a bendy straw that he snaked beneath the covers and ordered Sam to drink.
“Hey,” Dean murmured, putting a hand on the mop of brown hair poking out from under the blanket. “We gotcha, buddy. This wasn’t your fault.”
Sam mumbled something indistinguishable. Cas attempted to lower the blanket and got a frantic Sam yanking back. “Sam,” he said softly, crouching beside the bed. “Dean and I aren’t mad at you. And I am so, so sorry I dragged you into this. You shouldn’t have had all this pressure put on you. It was too soon.”
Dean gave him a strange look. “What do you think happened?” he asked.
Before Cas could answer, Michael appeared in the doorway and asked, quietly, for a word. He was slightly pale, and the bruise stood out stronger.
“There was something unexpected in Sam’s blood test,” he said, flipping open a file. “Vecuronium bromide. It’s a non-depolarizing blocking agent used to aid in paralysis during surgeries.”
“What does that mean for Sam?”
“If he injected it himself, he couldn’t possibly have administered the dose of heroin-the drug is fully deployed in a minute. And if he took the heroin, I doubt he’d have the wherewithal to administer a dose of the paralytic...and then, to what end? It seems a bizarre way to commit suicide, and from what I understand, Sam hasn’t been suicidal for some time.”
“He’s not,” Cas murmured. Something was stirring in his gut: a dark, cold coil of understanding he couldn’t fully process.
Dean stepped out, his face stony and cold and looking far too much like the night he took justice into his own hands and pursued his brother’s assailant.
“I don’t know what you two think happened,” he said, “but I saw that sonofabitch run off, and I know he did this.”
“Saw who?”
“Lou.”
Michael swayed slightly, and set his jaw. “You’re sure?”
“He had Sam half in his damn lap, and Sam wasn’t moving. Maybe he somehow talked Sammy into using again, but even if he did, he sure as hell knew he was dying and he didn’t do a damn thing about it!” Michael looked like he may very well be sick. Dean looked ready to kill. “Look, I know he’s your buddy and all that, but wherever he is, he’s going to pay for this.”
“Dean...there was a paralytic in Sam’s blood stream,” Cas explained. “We think...it’s possible that was administered first.”
“What does Sam say?” Michael chanced.
“He doesn’t feel well right now. And I know what you think of me and him, and me and Cas, but I’m telling you, I will find a way to have the whole world focused on you if you don’t-”
“I believe you.”
“-believe me and go and get the cops and try to-wait, you what?”
“Raphael’s associate, Vincent Virgil, came by my office. He was concerned. He showed me Raphael’s attempt to break the will, and a second document, one that severely limited Castiel’s access to the estate in the event he decides to return home...and he seemed confident you would.”
“I’ve been trying to reach you,” Cas said.
“I know. I checked my Blackberry, and there was a message I didn’t send, requesting that any calls from you be forwarded to Lou’s office. I suppose to keep you from telling me what he and Raphael were up to.”
“And you believe they tried to kill Sam?” Dean growled. Michael rubbed his eyes, shoulders slumping.
“I don’t know...something about the way Virgil said that...that he was ‘confident you’d return’...it made me remember a conversation I had with Lou, after I came back from our...unfortunate visit.”
“And?” Dean barked when Michael paused.
“He said I’d gone about it all wrong. That the only way Cas would come home is if it was proved that you both couldn’t overcome your issues. He said ‘I’m confident Sam won’t make it, and once he can’t, Dean will follow.’ At the time, I didn’t give much thought to it...I was more concerned with Cas.”
Cas could feel Dean’s wrath ratcheting up and quickly placed a hand on his arm. “We’ll get him,” he said softly.
“You know-believe it or not, one of the reasons I came out here is I wanted Cas to have a connection to his family. I know what it’s like to cut ties and then lose someone. I wanted him to have all of you in his life. And now-”
“I understand you’re angry, and you have every right to be,” Michael cut in. “But Dean, we are on the same side here. I never wished harm on your, or on Sam. We may not agree on what is best for my brother, but we both want what’s best for him. I have come to believe that.”
“Then tell me you’ll sack up and take down the bastard who did this.”
“I will.” Michael’s voice hitched. “But...you’ll have to tell me where to start.”
***
Raphael smiled as Vincent Virgil stepped through the door. “How did it go?”
“Michael saved Sam Winchester,” Virgil said, smiling. “I believe Lou will be removed from the picture before long.”
“I hope you’re ready,” he smiled. “Your role will certainly expand exponentially. I’ll certainly need you to pioneer all our defense investments.”
“You know I’m only too happy to serve.” Virgil produced a flask and poured two drinks into paper cups. “Your brother, Lou...he strikes me as deeply unbalanced.”
“He is,” Raphael snorted. “And seems to believe he’s the smartest guy in the room.”
Virgil grinned back and took a long drink. “In all honesty, sir, I believe that title goes to you.”
He snorted. “Pride is a sin, my friend. This has been a long, long time to plan. And to recruit good help,” he said with a subtle wink.
“I only want to do what’s best for the good of this nation. And I’m fortunate that you conquer.”
The office phone rang. Raphael scooped it up, expecting Lou, and saying, calmly, “Raphael Morgan.”
“It’s Cas.”
Raphael smiled. “How are you?”
“Sam is alive.”
“I’m glad to hear it.”
“I know you knew what Lou was planning.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“You know Sam’s alive though?”
“Well I assumed, given I saw him a few hours ago.”
Cas breathed long and hard into the phone. “Raphael, you remember when I told you I’d bring down this house? Forget all I said.”
“I appreciate your surrender. I have all the paperwork in order.”
“No, brother. I’m calling to tell you that the war will no longer be on this house-it will be on you.”
***
Cas slammed his phone shut, spun on his heel, and ran smack into Dean.
“Sam’s asleep. I came to make sure you were okay,” Dean explained.
“I meant everything I said,” Cas growled.
“I believe it.”
“I backed you when you fought-you need to back me.”
“And I do.”
“I will fight-and there will be press.”
“Bring it on.”
Cas felt his shoulder sag. “Dean...”
“Shutup for a sec-if you’re gonna suggest splitting up, that’s your right. But it better be because you miss women, or you met a man you love more, or you want to be single again, or you want to reinvent yourself, or you’re sick of emptying your account for Sammy and me. If it’s because you think this is your fault, that’s not grounds for an endgame. And when Sammy rallies, he’d feel the same way. We’ll back you no matter what, but not if you’re scared you’re a danger to us. Not after we brought just as much danger to you.”
Cas felt an ache in his throat. “This can only get worse.”
“What’s worse than me being a drunk and Sammy being homeless? What can’t we beat if not that?”
“You have a duty to your brother, Dean.”
“I do. But I have one to you too, man. And this is not grounds for a spilt. This is grounds for a fight.”
Cas leaned forward and pressed their foreheads together, briefly, drawing support from the man he loved.
“Let’s go wait with Sam,” he finally said, and, painfully, pulled away.
***Naomi Morgan had never felt so overwhelmed.
The ceremonies were over: the funeral, the burial, the luncheon. The press had been run. She had been dressed and painted and her hair had been done. The estate had been settled and succeeded. She could take a long hot shower, pull on sweat pants and a t-shirt, and lie down on her bed.
And then...
She’d be the first to admit her husband was gone for long stretches, and prone to drinking heavily when he was at home. She’d spent countless nights on her own in this bed, and even more staring at her husband’s back, wishing he’d rouse and hold her.
But she’d done her duty: the boys had been poised, and she’d been the picture of a stylish widow. Society would approve of the luncheon and Michael, although he’d faltered, appeared a strong successor.
All she couldn’t control was Castiel...her baby, her joy, her sensitive one, her quiet, solider-like son, who did all he could to keep peace, who followed orders without complaint, who confided in her that he wanted the infighting to stop. To bring his lover without even trying to introduce him to her...it hurt too much to fathom.
Alone in that bed, with her sisters downstairs and her boys minutes away, she’d never felt more alone...or more of a failure. She’d done her duty by fooling society, but for her own conscious: that could never be fooled.
And so she did something she hadn’t in years: she curled into herself, pulled the blanket over her head, and began to cry.
***
Dean sat by his brother’s bed, rubbing his knuckles back and forth over his brother’s back. Occasionally Sam’s breathing would hitch and tremble, and Dean would pause and pat him. He’d given up trying to peel down Sam’s defenses and just let him try and work through whatever spiral of self-hate and fear and guilt he’d locked himself up in.
“Hey bro,” he murmured after a particularly harsh sob, “you do what you gotta to get through this, okay? I’m gonna wait right here.” He slipped the amulet off over his head and found the edge of Sam’s hand, trying to get him to take it. Sam curled tighter and sobbed, chest heaving. Dean leaned forward and rested his chin over Sam’s blanket-clad shoulder. “Alright, baby, you don’t have to feel hopeful right now. You can take your time.”
He looked up and realized Cas was standing in the doorway, looking exhausted and so, so sad.
“Hey,” Dean smiled, sitting back and rubbing his hand over his brother’s back once more. Cas gave a one minute sign and ducked out. “Cas stopped by to check on you,” Dean said, and only succeeded in eliciting more sobs. He found Sam’s whirlwind of dark hair and combed, scratching lightly at his brother’s head, alternating rubbing his back and scalp. He hummed for awhile, whatever came to mind, songs he remembered from rocking a young Sammy off to sleep. Sam settled, slowly, relaxing under his brother’s hands, uncurling slightly beneath the new blanket Cas had bought.
“You know...through all this drama with getting out here, I’ve been so crazy proud of you? You took care of me, and of Cas, and I couldn’t have done it all without you. Especially the plane...you just walked me through it.” He smoothed Sam’s hair. “You don’t have to worry about anything anymore. Me and Cas will take it from here.” And he lay his cheek against his brother’s shoulder and hummed once more.
He was still humming when Cas returned, some forty minutes later.
“Sam,” Cas murmured, and crouched down beside his friend, “Dean and both have something we’d like you to hold onto.” He took the amulet from Dean and pulled a small packet of seeds from his pocket and pressed both the necklace and the package under the blankets. “That’s the promise you made to Dean, and something I’ve always wanted to grow--a crape myrtel. They take a long time, and require much care but once they grow, they last, and they're stunning. I don’t have the time to look after them properly but, together, I know you and I could raise them.”
Sam didn’t move for a long minute. Then, slowly, he drew the contents of Cas’s hand into his cocoon. A few minutes later he sat up, slowly, the amulet around his neck and the seeds clutched in his right hand. His face was streaked with tears and sweat and his eyes were heavy with dark circles. Dean smiled and brushed sweaty bangs off his forehead, and Sam curled close to him, leaving Cas with his broad, trembling back.
“I have to tell you something,” he managed.
***Michael didn’t bother knocking on his brother’s office door: the office was dark except for his light, and he’d left the door ajar, clearly not expecting company. He stood for a moment, watching Lou toss electronics into a laptop bag and check his Blackberry, pat his pockets, and check his computer before looking up and doing a double-take.
“How did you get up here?” he snapped.
“The guards know me.”
“You should have called.” Lou grabbed up his bag. “I’m needed in London.”
“We just buried Dad-”
“I can run business from there.” His face softened. “You look better. Did you sleep?”
“You told me you were giving me something light.”
Lou smiled sheepishly. “I knew you needed to knock out.”
“It zoned me out.”
“Well, we got through it.”
“Did you try to kill Sam Winchester?”
Lou’s smile didn’t waver. “Sam Winchester killed himself the first time he stuck a needle in his arm.”
“He’s a young man.”
“Since when are you pro-Winchester?”
“Did you paralyze him, and then feed him a dose so it would look like an accident?”
“I have far too much to lose to do something so stupid.”
“I know you and Raphael attempted to divide the estate.”
“Ah, that’s why you’re here.” Lou’s smile twisted. “For a moment I thought we’d have to pretend you were an altruist.”
“Why are you doing this?”
Lou’s face darkened. “How many times over the years have we discussed our frustrations with Dad? The absences, the orders, the drinking-the criticism. How many times did I encourage you to break ranks, like I did? Well my way paved the way for Raphael to follow a path other than medicine. And your way gets to Cas, who ran West to slum at the first opportunity.”
“There aren’t supposed to be sides. The estate-”
“Is your birthright. Your chance to step into Dad’s shoes and tell the rest of us how to live and where to go next and what to say and who to say it to and what to think and how to vote and what causes to support-”
“It’s for all of us-”
“That’s easy to say when you’re running the show.”
“I could have bought out your share. Help you fundraise for new foundations. Invested in your ventures.”
“You say this with Dad a few hours in the ground. You wouldn’t have before, and when all this fades, you’ll be back to your old self.”
“And that justifies crime? Assault-murder?”
“An addict overdosed. How is that murder?”
“You’d drag Cas, and his partner, through all that...for what?”
“You know as well as I do that those men are walking corpses. Breaking a delusion isn’t cruel.”
“Breaking families is.”
“We’ve been broken for years, if we were ever together at all.” Lou gathered his bags. “Raphael shares my vision. We want to invest in keeping America where it belongs-as the world’s only superpower. You want to pour that money into the lowest common denominator, all those who aren’t working for healthcare, for their own wellbeing-you want to pour all those millions down into the black hole of American poverty. There are people on this Earth who shouldn’t be, brother-who would die if our hard earned money didn’t vanish into their vices. Sam Winchester is a prime example. He should have died a hundred times over, but our brother’s personal wealth has kept him alive.” Lou hoisted his bags over his shoulder and crossed away from his desk. “His death, and Dean’s to follow, are righting a balance that’s been wrong for some time. Maybe we won’t get his agreement-fine. We’ll take the estate to court.”
Michael felt a pain in his throat. “Please. We can talk about this. We can find a way that makes sense for all of us. I can get you help.”
“You and Dad and Mom and your help!” Lou slammed his fist into the door. “There is nothing, nothing wrong with me, other than I’m sick of being a puppet on this family’s strings! All of us are but you. You love having your orders and giving them, but the rest of us are through with it-with you, Michael.”
Michael stepped forward until he was toe to toe with his younger brother. “Did you plan all this...kill Sam Winchester, send Dean back to drinking, all to get Cas to come home?”
“You try and prove Sam didn’t pick up those needles himself. You try and prove, beyond a reasonable doubt, that he didn’t O.D. on a paralytic and a batch of heroin in an effort to check out early. I can see it now-‘overwhelmed by a massive city, a funeral, and no support system, the addict returned to his former ways.’ The defense rests.”
“A fine, upstanding citizen, member of a prominent philanthropic family, versus a junkie and a drunk.”
“Writes itself.” Lou turned off the lights. “I’m sorry it came to this. But pressing two vials into the body of a boy littered with puncture marks-that I don’t think twice. Sam would have done it to himself eventually. I just gave him a push in the right direction.”
“Like when you sent McCloud out to feed him an overdose? To recruit members of his home to poison his salt?”
“Again,” Lou snapped. “I’m sorry it came that-to this. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve a flight to catch.”
Lou left his elder brother standing, bewildered, in the doorway. He took the elevator to the parking garage, where his private car was waiting.
He made it halfway there before someone hollered “Freeze!” and an army of police and FBI appeared from behind the parked cars. He stopped in his tracks, then tossed them a calm smile.
“Very well-have your front page. I’ll have many more,” he said. An officer strode up behind him, and he handed over his bags before submitting to handcuffs. “Watch the suit-it’s Armani.”
“Lou,” a far too familiar voice said, “have you ever heard of the phrase ‘pride cometh before a fall?’”
He looked up and smiled. “Rachel Hendrickson, nee Marshal. To what do I owe this honor?”
“You’re under arrest.”
“I want my attorney.”
“You’ll have him.”
“Then there’s nothing further to say.”
She stepped closer. “Hear me,” she growled. “I’m coming after you with everything in my power.”
"Of course, you can't possibly prosecute me without conflict of interest, since you once shared my baby brother's bed."
"No--I'd never risk letting you go on a technically like that."
“And, it pays to have married into the FBI.”
“It does.” She turned toward a dark blue van in the corner, where Michael stood, unbuttoning his shirt while Victor Hendrickson helped remove the wire from it.
Lou felt a sudden rush of blood leave his face. Michael looked at him, tears in his eyes, glittering under the awful fluorescent lighting of the garage.
Of all the ways his brother might strike back, entrapment hadn’t occurred to him as one. Raphael, perhaps, but not Michael.
“Locking me in a cage won’t ruin me,” Lou managed.
“Maybe not,” Rachel conceded, her face hard. “But Cas, the law, and I, will--even if it means the end of all of us doing it.”
Part 7
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5