Wind Your Way Down (3/4)
Title: Wind Your Way Down
Author: tekuates
Pairing: no pairing
Rating: PG-13 ish
Word Count: 14, 671
Warnings/Contains: [spoiler for fic (click to open)]major character death, general darkness, some creepy imagery
Summary: Things hunters are good at: shooting guns, saving lives, thinking on their feet. Things hunters are bad at: moving on. Moving forward. Living life.
Notes: Written for the 2014 Sam Dean OTP Minibang! Title from the Gerry Rafferty song "Baker Street". Art made by the fantastic angelus2hot.
When Sam headed back down the stairs, trying not to make too much noise though he knew Dean was dead asleep, he could hear voices coming from the kitchen. He stood at the bottom of the stairs for a moment, his shadow stretching out long.
Bobby and Claire were sitting at the table, leaning over a book together. Claire’s arms were free now, and she was shaking her head at something Bobby was saying.
Sam lowered himself into the free chair, eyeing Claire suspiciously. “That’s the thing,” she was saying. “I didn’t use just one spell, I combined a few.”
“How many?” Bobby asked.
“Seven,” Claire replied. “I layered them over each other. See, how it works is, the first three spells are for strength, power, accuracy. I mean, you have to get a decent shot first, but it makes sure the blade goes in deep enough, and in the right place. The last three are for the vessel, nonfatal drugs to slow it down. The middle one is the most important. It acts like a block between heaven and the angel.”
“You can block out heaven?” Sam asked incredulously.
“Well, not really. It acts like a block, but really what it does is create a separation between the angel and its grace, temporarily.”
“Separate an angel and its grace,” Sam said dubiously.
“Yes,” she said. “I know it sounds ridiculous. It’s hard to do, really hard. Hence the other six spells.
“Now, the first three only matter if I get a good shot, which I didn’t. It wasn’t deep. The last three are temporary drugs; tranquilizers, essentially - those are probably what made Dean pass out. If anything’s going to give you trouble, it’ll be the fourth one. And I got that out of this book.” Claire tapped a dusty tome; her hands were untied now, Sam noticed. Bobby opened the book and started paging through it.
“Why are you helping us?” Sam said.
“Why not?” Claire shot back.
“You didn’t seem all that interested in being helpful to us earlier.”
“I burned that body for you, didn’t I?” Claire smiled winningly.
“Yeah, thanks for that.”
“I even dug it up. Do you know how hard that ground was?”
Sam leveled a glare at her.
She sighed. “Seriously, because I don’t care. I wasn’t trying to kill Dean. And I’m here, I’ve got nothing else to do, I might as well
help.”
“That’s awfully selfless of you,” Sam said. “Or maybe you’re hoping Cas’ll show up and you’ll get another shot.”
Claire’s eyes flashed. Then she was smiling at him, all teeth and no mirth. “That certainly would be convenient.”
“What the hell happened to you?” Sam asked. “You were just a little kid.”
“Oh, don’t condescend to me,” Claire snapped. “You know exactly what happened to me, you - “
She was interrupted by Bobby clearing his throat. “If you two wanna wrap this up, we could talk about the spell, which I just found,” he said.
Sam shot Claire a look, then stood, walking to Bobby’s side of the table so he could read over his shoulder.
“Alright, here’s the “how to” part of it,” Bobby said. “And here’s the effects. On humans…”
“On humans,” Sam read aloud, “the effect is similar to that on angels. However, instead of the separation occurring between grace and persona, it occurs between soul and body - “ he stopped, swallowed, “between soul and body. The incision between the two grows gradually and - irreparably. Within seven days at the most, the soul will be severed completely from the body, and the body will - “
The book fell to the table, throwing a small cloud of dust into the air. Sam leaned forward onto his hands, trying to breathe. He stood, suddenly, compulsively. “No, he’ll, it’ll - “
“Sam,” Bobby said. “Take a breath, come on. We have a lot of work to do.”
Sam nodded, a sharp jerk of a motion. “I’m just gonna - get some air. I’ll be back in to help you guys soon, okay?”
“Yeah, Sam,” Bobby said, with no expression. Bobby dealt with grief differently than Sam did, quietly, reservedly, and Sam loved him for it.
Sam let the door slam shut behind him as he walked outside, taking great gulps of the cold, clear air. He’d left his jacket inside, but he wasn’t cold, not yet. For the moment, the air felt only bracing, thrilling, like it was setting every nerve he had alight. He threw his head back and looked at the sky, and the stars were so bright.
He breathed out sharply, scoffing at himself, and looked down at the ground. There was snow all over his shoes, in the laces. It would start to melt soon and then his feet would be wet.
The stars were so bright, and the air was so cold, and Dean was going to die.
Sam went back inside.
The first thing Bobby told him the next morning was that Dean wanted to talk to him.
“You told him,” Sam said more than asked.
Bobby paused. “Yeah,” he admitted. “He had to know.”
“You could have let me do it.”
“Sam,” was all Bobby said, and Sam had to look away, fighting down tears at the concern in Bobby’s voice.
“And you didn’t have to tell him right away, we could have waited until we were sure,” Sam continued doggedly even though his voice was kind of slipping sideways. Claire, sitting by the window, reading from a leather-bound book, was pretending not to listen.
Bobby sat on the edge of the bed next to him. “He’s a grown man, and he had to know. Now, come on, son. Pull yourself together.”
Dean was sitting up in bed. He didn’t look as bad as he had before, now that the drugs had worn off. He didn’t look bad at all,
really.
“Hey,” Sam said, subdued, sitting on the bed by Dean’s feet.
“Heya, Sammy,” Dean said. He even smiled, a little quirk up at the corner of one side of his mouth.
“We’re gonna figure this out, Dean, it’s gonna be okay,” Sam said, discarding any pretense of this being a casual conversation.
Dean didn’t move, didn’t blink. “Sam, come on.”
“What?”
“Don’t give me that crap. This is serious mojo, Claire knows what she’s doing, and you’re not getting me out of anything. And you’re not getting yourself into anything, you hear me?”
“Dean - “
“Do you hear me.” Dean’s voice was like iron. Sam wondered how he doesn’t crumble under the effort of holding it together like
this.
“I hear you,” he said.
“Sam, it’s too late. It is just too late, and you know it. You’ve gotta let me go.”
“Don’t give me this,” Sam was abruptly furious. “Don’t tell me to let you go. I know you’re scared and I know you’re tired and
you’ve had a tough time of it lately, but don’t give me that crap.”
Dean raised an eyebrow. His face was so cold, and his voice was too when he spoke. “Wow, how much an hour is it for that great insight?”
“I am going to save you,” Sam said. “It’s okay. You don’t have to -“ he waved a hand. “Whatever you’re doing now. The bullshit.”
“Wow, you really hit the nail on the head there,” Dean said.
“Why are you being like this?” Sam asked.
Dean laughed, a short laugh with nothing in it, and said, “Just get the fuck out of here, Sam.”
And he rolled to face the wall, and Sam was left with nothing to do but leave.
As Sam walked down the stairs, he saw Castiel standing in the living room.
“Where the fuck have you been,” Sam said, striding over to Castiel.
“Sam,” Castiel said, and it wasn’t apologetic, wasn’t anything. It was just a greeting.
“Dean is dying,” Sam said without preamble. “This is because of your bullshit, which, by the way, you didn’t even warn us about.”
“I had no knowledge of the dagger that Claire has.”
“Great,” Sam said through gritted teeth. “That’s so helpful. Why are you here, exactly? I assume you know that there’s nothing you can do to help Dean.”
“I am here,” Castiel said after a pause, “to speak to Claire. I can at least try to set that right, even if aiding Dean is beyond my power.”
“You’re -“ Sam barked out a laugh. “You’re here to talk to Claire. Of course.”
“I may be able to do some good there.”
“What about Dean?”
“There’s nothing I can do for him, Sam. I’m sorry.”
“That is not the point,” Sam said. “He’s your friend, you’re not even gonna talk to him? He’s dying. Or does that mean you don’t
care anymore? I guess we’re only worth talking to when we’re useful as tools for whatever you happen to be interested in.”
Bobby wasn’t saying anything, but Sam thought, from the look on his face, that he might agree with Sam. For a moment, Castiel
didn’t say anything either. Sam wanted to hit him.
“I’m doing the best I can,” Castiel said, and that was all. He looked at Sam, one of those long, sorrowful looks usually reserved for Dean, and Sam saw the shock, the sadness that was disguised by his lack of expression, and Sam’s anger drained away, leaving him empty. Castiel was mourning too, and it made it impossible somehow for Sam to want to hurt him.
“Where is she?” Sam asked, flatly, looking back to Bobby.
“Panic room,” Bobby said. “Shall we?”
Sam followed Bobby and Castiel down to the panic room, where he could see flashes of Claire’s blonde hair through the hatch in the door. She was pacing. When she heard them coming, she came to the door. She saw Castiel, and her face struggled through several indecipherable emotions, finally settling on blank.
“Wow, thanks, guys. It’d have taken forever to track him down again,” she said, her tone less sure than her words.
“Claire,” Castiel said, and Claire’s eyes hardened. “I thought it best that we speak, to avoid another encounter like the previous one.”
“Great,” Claire said. “Well, now that we’re all here, why don’t you vacate your current address and let my father go.”
“Claire, I -“
“I don’t. Want. To hear it. I just want my father. Let him go.”
“I can’t.”
“Bullshit!” she shouted. “Angels can leave their vessels. I know they can. So don’t tell me you can’t.”
“I can leave this vessel if I choose, but your father is no longer a part of it,” Castiel said. “This body has died and been rebuilt.
Jimmy - your father - is long dead.”
Claire flinched as if smacked. “But I - “
“I’m sorry,” Castiel said, and he was gone.
“Dammit, dammit,” Claire said, her voice cracking, one fist slamming against the iron door.
Bobby unlocked the heavy door. “Come out whenever you’re ready,” he told Claire, who said nothing. He turned to Sam, said
quietly, “Let’s give her a moment.” Sam nodded and followed Bobby back upstairs.
“So that’s what she wanted,” Sam said after a moment. “That’s why she went after the other angels - for practice.”
Bobby sighed. “Yeah. And why she was desperate enough to stab Dean; she knew she wasn’t gonna get a second chance at Cas.”
“At least she knows now,” Sam offered. “I mean he’s dead. But she can, I don’t know, move on.”
“Right,” Bobby said, dryly. “You see a lot of hunters who are good at moving on?” The look he gave Sam was very pointed.
Sam smiled tightly. “So, you and Dean talked a lot, I’m gathering.”
“It’s what he wants. It’s the right thing to do, Sam.”
“Please,” Sam said, in a rush, “please can we not talk about this right now.”
“When would you rather talk about it, Sam? Dean has a week, tops. You should probably find the time sooner rather than later.”
“I know,” Sam said, and it came out like a whine, like he was a teenager who had homework to do, and Bobby was looking at him
with pity. Someone was coming down the stairs, behind them, and Sam turned so he wouldn’t have to meet Bobby’s eyes.
It was Castiel, who said, without preamble, “You were in the right, Sam. I had not spoken to Dean; I was -“ he waves a hand as if
whatever he was isn’t important. “I have corrected the error.”
“Right,” Sam said. “How was that conversation?”
Castiel spread his hands as if to say you got me.
“Right,” Sam said again.
“Sam,” Castiel said, tentatively. “I don’t know if this will help, but…keep in mind that the world after death is broader than you know.”
“I’d really like to go without talking about this for five damn minutes,” Sam said, and left the room before Bobby or Cas could respond. He ended up back in the basement, by the door of the panic room, still closed.
“Claire?” he said. No reply. He pulled open the door. “Claire?”
“What do you want,” Claire said flatly, from where she was sprawled on the cot.
“Uh,” Sam said. “I don’t know. Bobby and Cas won’t leave me alone about Dean, and Dean won’t leave me alone about Dean, and it’s cold outside, so.”
“Flattering,” Claire said, and closed her eyes. “So happy to be your last resort.”
Sam shrugged, feeling miserable, and sank down into a chair. “This might be weird, but, could you talk to me? Just talk to me. If I keep thinking about this, I’m gonna go insane.”
“Dean probably isn’t something you can just forget about,” she said. Sam gave her a look, which she didn’t see, since her eyes were closed. “Or, you know, should? He has like, a week, right?”
“Claire, would you please just humor me,” Sam said, trying to breathe evenly.
Claire’s eyes opened for a second, and she looked at him appraisingly. Then, “Fine. What do you want to talk about? The weather? State of the Union?”
“Tell me how you got into hunting,” Sam said.
“You already know that.”
“Not all of it,” Sam said.
Claire shifted a little on the cot. “I don’t know. It was pretty touch and go. First thing I did was I started reading all these books at the library, anything I could find on mythology, folklore, angels. I read it all, looking for something that would make it make sense. The Bible, too. I didn’t find much, of course. So then when I was thirteen, I started going out to bars and shit, asking about you guys. Mostly I just got myself in a lot of trouble. But eventually I found some hunters, and I started learning the real stuff. That’s about it. I’ve been training, mostly. It’s hard to do. No one wants to help me. I mean, I’ve learned more just taking classes in fighting and stuff than from actual hunters.”
“I didn’t realize,” Sam said. “I hoped you were too young for it to mean anything. I’m really sorry, Claire.”
“I lost my father,” Claire said. “It sticks with you.” She flipped onto her stomach, her face turned away from Sam.
“Are you alright?” Sam asked tentatively, after a moment.
“What do you care,” she said, her voice tired and slightly muffled in the pillow. “I’ve effectively killed your brother, shouldn’t you be sharpening a neck-sized axe for me about now?”
Sam found himself startled into a smile. “That’s, ah, not exactly how we do things. And we’re not gonna kill you. You were just in here so you wouldn’t kill Cas.”
“You seem to be doing well with this whole death thing,” Claire said. “Like, marginally.”
Sam ducked his head, then looked at her and mustered up a smile. “Not so much. But we might find something. And there are other alternatives.”
Claire huffed a laugh. “Please tell me you’re not gonna sell your soul. You two are seriously messed up.”
“It’s not messed up. I want to save him.” Sam leaned back against the doorframe. “How do you even know about that?”
“People talk,” she said. “Especially in the places hunters frequent. After all, we all know the same people, mostly. And…I don’t know.”
“What?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” Claire said. “It’s like you’re trying to keep this perfect bubble. Life isn’t like that. Things happen, and sometimes you have to go with it.”
“Are you,” Sam said incredulously, “seriously lecturing me on the wisdom of letting people go?”
“Just because I know it’s what I should do doesn’t mean I’m good at it,” Claire said. “Besides, my dad was - or, I thought my dad was trapped. That’s different.”
“Dean said something similar,” Sam said after a moment. “About letting him go, I mean. And then something about me getting the fuck out. I think you two would get along well.”
“It’s what he wants, why don’t you let him go?” Claire asked.
“Because he’s my brother! I can’t just let him, you know, die.” Sam spit out the last word with effort.
“People let their brothers die all the time. That’s just macho bullshit, right there.”
“Well if you put it like that,” Sam said, smiling a little. Then, “Because I’d miss him. That’s why.”
“Yeah,” Claire said, and then was silent. They sat there together, in the silence of the basement, for a long while.
Part 4 | Masterpost
Author: tekuates
Pairing: no pairing
Rating: PG-13 ish
Word Count: 14, 671
Warnings/Contains: [spoiler for fic (click to open)]major character death, general darkness, some creepy imagery
Summary: Things hunters are good at: shooting guns, saving lives, thinking on their feet. Things hunters are bad at: moving on. Moving forward. Living life.
Notes: Written for the 2014 Sam Dean OTP Minibang! Title from the Gerry Rafferty song "Baker Street". Art made by the fantastic angelus2hot.
When Sam headed back down the stairs, trying not to make too much noise though he knew Dean was dead asleep, he could hear voices coming from the kitchen. He stood at the bottom of the stairs for a moment, his shadow stretching out long.
Bobby and Claire were sitting at the table, leaning over a book together. Claire’s arms were free now, and she was shaking her head at something Bobby was saying.
Sam lowered himself into the free chair, eyeing Claire suspiciously. “That’s the thing,” she was saying. “I didn’t use just one spell, I combined a few.”
“How many?” Bobby asked.
“Seven,” Claire replied. “I layered them over each other. See, how it works is, the first three spells are for strength, power, accuracy. I mean, you have to get a decent shot first, but it makes sure the blade goes in deep enough, and in the right place. The last three are for the vessel, nonfatal drugs to slow it down. The middle one is the most important. It acts like a block between heaven and the angel.”
“You can block out heaven?” Sam asked incredulously.
“Well, not really. It acts like a block, but really what it does is create a separation between the angel and its grace, temporarily.”
“Separate an angel and its grace,” Sam said dubiously.
“Yes,” she said. “I know it sounds ridiculous. It’s hard to do, really hard. Hence the other six spells.
“Now, the first three only matter if I get a good shot, which I didn’t. It wasn’t deep. The last three are temporary drugs; tranquilizers, essentially - those are probably what made Dean pass out. If anything’s going to give you trouble, it’ll be the fourth one. And I got that out of this book.” Claire tapped a dusty tome; her hands were untied now, Sam noticed. Bobby opened the book and started paging through it.
“Why are you helping us?” Sam said.
“Why not?” Claire shot back.
“You didn’t seem all that interested in being helpful to us earlier.”
“I burned that body for you, didn’t I?” Claire smiled winningly.
“Yeah, thanks for that.”
“I even dug it up. Do you know how hard that ground was?”
Sam leveled a glare at her.
She sighed. “Seriously, because I don’t care. I wasn’t trying to kill Dean. And I’m here, I’ve got nothing else to do, I might as well
help.”
“That’s awfully selfless of you,” Sam said. “Or maybe you’re hoping Cas’ll show up and you’ll get another shot.”
Claire’s eyes flashed. Then she was smiling at him, all teeth and no mirth. “That certainly would be convenient.”
“What the hell happened to you?” Sam asked. “You were just a little kid.”
“Oh, don’t condescend to me,” Claire snapped. “You know exactly what happened to me, you - “
She was interrupted by Bobby clearing his throat. “If you two wanna wrap this up, we could talk about the spell, which I just found,” he said.
Sam shot Claire a look, then stood, walking to Bobby’s side of the table so he could read over his shoulder.
“Alright, here’s the “how to” part of it,” Bobby said. “And here’s the effects. On humans…”
“On humans,” Sam read aloud, “the effect is similar to that on angels. However, instead of the separation occurring between grace and persona, it occurs between soul and body - “ he stopped, swallowed, “between soul and body. The incision between the two grows gradually and - irreparably. Within seven days at the most, the soul will be severed completely from the body, and the body will - “
The book fell to the table, throwing a small cloud of dust into the air. Sam leaned forward onto his hands, trying to breathe. He stood, suddenly, compulsively. “No, he’ll, it’ll - “
“Sam,” Bobby said. “Take a breath, come on. We have a lot of work to do.”
Sam nodded, a sharp jerk of a motion. “I’m just gonna - get some air. I’ll be back in to help you guys soon, okay?”
“Yeah, Sam,” Bobby said, with no expression. Bobby dealt with grief differently than Sam did, quietly, reservedly, and Sam loved him for it.
Sam let the door slam shut behind him as he walked outside, taking great gulps of the cold, clear air. He’d left his jacket inside, but he wasn’t cold, not yet. For the moment, the air felt only bracing, thrilling, like it was setting every nerve he had alight. He threw his head back and looked at the sky, and the stars were so bright.
He breathed out sharply, scoffing at himself, and looked down at the ground. There was snow all over his shoes, in the laces. It would start to melt soon and then his feet would be wet.
The stars were so bright, and the air was so cold, and Dean was going to die.
Sam went back inside.
The first thing Bobby told him the next morning was that Dean wanted to talk to him.
“You told him,” Sam said more than asked.
Bobby paused. “Yeah,” he admitted. “He had to know.”
“You could have let me do it.”
“Sam,” was all Bobby said, and Sam had to look away, fighting down tears at the concern in Bobby’s voice.
“And you didn’t have to tell him right away, we could have waited until we were sure,” Sam continued doggedly even though his voice was kind of slipping sideways. Claire, sitting by the window, reading from a leather-bound book, was pretending not to listen.
Bobby sat on the edge of the bed next to him. “He’s a grown man, and he had to know. Now, come on, son. Pull yourself together.”
Dean was sitting up in bed. He didn’t look as bad as he had before, now that the drugs had worn off. He didn’t look bad at all,
really.
“Hey,” Sam said, subdued, sitting on the bed by Dean’s feet.
“Heya, Sammy,” Dean said. He even smiled, a little quirk up at the corner of one side of his mouth.
“We’re gonna figure this out, Dean, it’s gonna be okay,” Sam said, discarding any pretense of this being a casual conversation.
Dean didn’t move, didn’t blink. “Sam, come on.”
“What?”
“Don’t give me that crap. This is serious mojo, Claire knows what she’s doing, and you’re not getting me out of anything. And you’re not getting yourself into anything, you hear me?”
“Dean - “
“Do you hear me.” Dean’s voice was like iron. Sam wondered how he doesn’t crumble under the effort of holding it together like
this.
“I hear you,” he said.
“Sam, it’s too late. It is just too late, and you know it. You’ve gotta let me go.”
“Don’t give me this,” Sam was abruptly furious. “Don’t tell me to let you go. I know you’re scared and I know you’re tired and
you’ve had a tough time of it lately, but don’t give me that crap.”
Dean raised an eyebrow. His face was so cold, and his voice was too when he spoke. “Wow, how much an hour is it for that great insight?”
“I am going to save you,” Sam said. “It’s okay. You don’t have to -“ he waved a hand. “Whatever you’re doing now. The bullshit.”
“Wow, you really hit the nail on the head there,” Dean said.
“Why are you being like this?” Sam asked.
Dean laughed, a short laugh with nothing in it, and said, “Just get the fuck out of here, Sam.”
And he rolled to face the wall, and Sam was left with nothing to do but leave.
As Sam walked down the stairs, he saw Castiel standing in the living room.
“Where the fuck have you been,” Sam said, striding over to Castiel.
“Sam,” Castiel said, and it wasn’t apologetic, wasn’t anything. It was just a greeting.
“Dean is dying,” Sam said without preamble. “This is because of your bullshit, which, by the way, you didn’t even warn us about.”
“I had no knowledge of the dagger that Claire has.”
“Great,” Sam said through gritted teeth. “That’s so helpful. Why are you here, exactly? I assume you know that there’s nothing you can do to help Dean.”
“I am here,” Castiel said after a pause, “to speak to Claire. I can at least try to set that right, even if aiding Dean is beyond my power.”
“You’re -“ Sam barked out a laugh. “You’re here to talk to Claire. Of course.”
“I may be able to do some good there.”
“What about Dean?”
“There’s nothing I can do for him, Sam. I’m sorry.”
“That is not the point,” Sam said. “He’s your friend, you’re not even gonna talk to him? He’s dying. Or does that mean you don’t
care anymore? I guess we’re only worth talking to when we’re useful as tools for whatever you happen to be interested in.”
Bobby wasn’t saying anything, but Sam thought, from the look on his face, that he might agree with Sam. For a moment, Castiel
didn’t say anything either. Sam wanted to hit him.
“I’m doing the best I can,” Castiel said, and that was all. He looked at Sam, one of those long, sorrowful looks usually reserved for Dean, and Sam saw the shock, the sadness that was disguised by his lack of expression, and Sam’s anger drained away, leaving him empty. Castiel was mourning too, and it made it impossible somehow for Sam to want to hurt him.
“Where is she?” Sam asked, flatly, looking back to Bobby.
“Panic room,” Bobby said. “Shall we?”
Sam followed Bobby and Castiel down to the panic room, where he could see flashes of Claire’s blonde hair through the hatch in the door. She was pacing. When she heard them coming, she came to the door. She saw Castiel, and her face struggled through several indecipherable emotions, finally settling on blank.
“Wow, thanks, guys. It’d have taken forever to track him down again,” she said, her tone less sure than her words.
“Claire,” Castiel said, and Claire’s eyes hardened. “I thought it best that we speak, to avoid another encounter like the previous one.”
“Great,” Claire said. “Well, now that we’re all here, why don’t you vacate your current address and let my father go.”
“Claire, I -“
“I don’t. Want. To hear it. I just want my father. Let him go.”
“I can’t.”
“Bullshit!” she shouted. “Angels can leave their vessels. I know they can. So don’t tell me you can’t.”
“I can leave this vessel if I choose, but your father is no longer a part of it,” Castiel said. “This body has died and been rebuilt.
Jimmy - your father - is long dead.”
Claire flinched as if smacked. “But I - “
“I’m sorry,” Castiel said, and he was gone.
“Dammit, dammit,” Claire said, her voice cracking, one fist slamming against the iron door.
Bobby unlocked the heavy door. “Come out whenever you’re ready,” he told Claire, who said nothing. He turned to Sam, said
quietly, “Let’s give her a moment.” Sam nodded and followed Bobby back upstairs.
“So that’s what she wanted,” Sam said after a moment. “That’s why she went after the other angels - for practice.”
Bobby sighed. “Yeah. And why she was desperate enough to stab Dean; she knew she wasn’t gonna get a second chance at Cas.”
“At least she knows now,” Sam offered. “I mean he’s dead. But she can, I don’t know, move on.”
“Right,” Bobby said, dryly. “You see a lot of hunters who are good at moving on?” The look he gave Sam was very pointed.
Sam smiled tightly. “So, you and Dean talked a lot, I’m gathering.”
“It’s what he wants. It’s the right thing to do, Sam.”
“Please,” Sam said, in a rush, “please can we not talk about this right now.”
“When would you rather talk about it, Sam? Dean has a week, tops. You should probably find the time sooner rather than later.”
“I know,” Sam said, and it came out like a whine, like he was a teenager who had homework to do, and Bobby was looking at him
with pity. Someone was coming down the stairs, behind them, and Sam turned so he wouldn’t have to meet Bobby’s eyes.
It was Castiel, who said, without preamble, “You were in the right, Sam. I had not spoken to Dean; I was -“ he waves a hand as if
whatever he was isn’t important. “I have corrected the error.”
“Right,” Sam said. “How was that conversation?”
Castiel spread his hands as if to say you got me.
“Right,” Sam said again.
“Sam,” Castiel said, tentatively. “I don’t know if this will help, but…keep in mind that the world after death is broader than you know.”
“I’d really like to go without talking about this for five damn minutes,” Sam said, and left the room before Bobby or Cas could respond. He ended up back in the basement, by the door of the panic room, still closed.
“Claire?” he said. No reply. He pulled open the door. “Claire?”
“What do you want,” Claire said flatly, from where she was sprawled on the cot.
“Uh,” Sam said. “I don’t know. Bobby and Cas won’t leave me alone about Dean, and Dean won’t leave me alone about Dean, and it’s cold outside, so.”
“Flattering,” Claire said, and closed her eyes. “So happy to be your last resort.”
Sam shrugged, feeling miserable, and sank down into a chair. “This might be weird, but, could you talk to me? Just talk to me. If I keep thinking about this, I’m gonna go insane.”
“Dean probably isn’t something you can just forget about,” she said. Sam gave her a look, which she didn’t see, since her eyes were closed. “Or, you know, should? He has like, a week, right?”
“Claire, would you please just humor me,” Sam said, trying to breathe evenly.
Claire’s eyes opened for a second, and she looked at him appraisingly. Then, “Fine. What do you want to talk about? The weather? State of the Union?”
“Tell me how you got into hunting,” Sam said.
“You already know that.”
“Not all of it,” Sam said.
Claire shifted a little on the cot. “I don’t know. It was pretty touch and go. First thing I did was I started reading all these books at the library, anything I could find on mythology, folklore, angels. I read it all, looking for something that would make it make sense. The Bible, too. I didn’t find much, of course. So then when I was thirteen, I started going out to bars and shit, asking about you guys. Mostly I just got myself in a lot of trouble. But eventually I found some hunters, and I started learning the real stuff. That’s about it. I’ve been training, mostly. It’s hard to do. No one wants to help me. I mean, I’ve learned more just taking classes in fighting and stuff than from actual hunters.”
“I didn’t realize,” Sam said. “I hoped you were too young for it to mean anything. I’m really sorry, Claire.”
“I lost my father,” Claire said. “It sticks with you.” She flipped onto her stomach, her face turned away from Sam.
“Are you alright?” Sam asked tentatively, after a moment.
“What do you care,” she said, her voice tired and slightly muffled in the pillow. “I’ve effectively killed your brother, shouldn’t you be sharpening a neck-sized axe for me about now?”
Sam found himself startled into a smile. “That’s, ah, not exactly how we do things. And we’re not gonna kill you. You were just in here so you wouldn’t kill Cas.”
“You seem to be doing well with this whole death thing,” Claire said. “Like, marginally.”
Sam ducked his head, then looked at her and mustered up a smile. “Not so much. But we might find something. And there are other alternatives.”
Claire huffed a laugh. “Please tell me you’re not gonna sell your soul. You two are seriously messed up.”
“It’s not messed up. I want to save him.” Sam leaned back against the doorframe. “How do you even know about that?”
“People talk,” she said. “Especially in the places hunters frequent. After all, we all know the same people, mostly. And…I don’t know.”
“What?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” Claire said. “It’s like you’re trying to keep this perfect bubble. Life isn’t like that. Things happen, and sometimes you have to go with it.”
“Are you,” Sam said incredulously, “seriously lecturing me on the wisdom of letting people go?”
“Just because I know it’s what I should do doesn’t mean I’m good at it,” Claire said. “Besides, my dad was - or, I thought my dad was trapped. That’s different.”
“Dean said something similar,” Sam said after a moment. “About letting him go, I mean. And then something about me getting the fuck out. I think you two would get along well.”
“It’s what he wants, why don’t you let him go?” Claire asked.
“Because he’s my brother! I can’t just let him, you know, die.” Sam spit out the last word with effort.
“People let their brothers die all the time. That’s just macho bullshit, right there.”
“Well if you put it like that,” Sam said, smiling a little. Then, “Because I’d miss him. That’s why.”
“Yeah,” Claire said, and then was silent. They sat there together, in the silence of the basement, for a long while.
Part 4 | Masterpost