Fic: Picking up the Pieces (SPN) Chapter Twenty Eight
Chapter Twenty Eight
“Who was that?”
Sam nearly dropped the phone as he spun around, coming face to face with Bobby.
“Uh, Riley,” Sam shrugged, “She’s planning on coming by later.”
Bobby stayed silent for a moment, assessing, like he didn’t quite believe him. Sam wondered how much of the conversation he’d heard. He finally spoke, “Well, good. We need all hands on deck here and keep taking it in shifts. Which, by the way, you look awful. Go home and get some sleep.”
Sam shook his head. Yeah, he looked awful because of the lack of sleep and the constant stress, but he also knew part of it was because it had been so long since he’d seen Ruby. So long since his last top up.
“I told Dean I’d stay,” Sam stuffed his phone away and opened the door, allowing Bobby to go in in front of him.
“Dean’s so out of his head right now, I doubt he’d even remember that,” Bobby snorted.
“Well, then I have to stay.”
Bobby sighed and led the way to Dean’s bed.
Dean still had his eyes closed but Sam could tell he wasn’t sleeping. It could have been the way his face looked tense, or how his hands were clenched at his sides. But it was mainly the sound of the monitor alarming as his heart rate shot up past 120 and his breathing quickened to 30 breaths per minute.
Sam made it to him before the nurse did.
“Dean?”
Dean didn’t open his eyes but Sam could see he was scared.
The nurse was at his other side, hand on his shoulder, “Dean, take some deep breaths for me. You’re okay.”
Sam’s hand wrapped around his brother’s closed fist, the other hand a steady weight on his chest.
“Dean,” he said, right by his ear.
They watched his heart rate come down on the monitor as his breathing slowed. Eventually his eyes flickered open, they looked bloodshot, glassy, and heartbreakingly exhausted.
He cleared his throat and licked his lips before he spoke, “Nightmare.”
…
Dean moved from the ICU to a ward a day later, and four days after that they let him go home. The pneumonia was gone. The fluid in his chest was gone. His lungs were working well again. It was clear Dr Reid had picked one thing off the extensive list and decided to focus on that, on what he could fix. And Sam had heard nothing from Cas, no matter how much he shouted to the heavens.
It was a Wednesday morning when Sam decided he’d had enough. Dean was sleeping in his room, Bobby had gone to assist on a hunt a few towns over and promised he’d be back that night.
Sam wrote on the calendar, knowing Dean would check that.
Work 10am.
He packed his duffle, put on his boots and quietly left the house, pulling his phone out as he did so.
It rang once.
“Sam.”
“Where can I meet you?”
…
Dean lay in his bed, staring at the ceiling. He heard Sam’s boots on the wood floor, then the front door open and close, plunging the house into silence. He sighed. Looking at the clock on the bedside table he could see it was just after 9:30. He was sore. And now Sam wasn’t here to get him a painkiller, Bobby either. He sucked in a breath as his back twinged. All this lying around had made things worse. The painkillers were in the kitchen where Sam had left them. All he had on his bedside table was a half drunk bottle of water and a box of valium. Dean stared at them for far too long. Eventually he closed his eyes, tried to do what the shrink had taught him.
“What are ten things you can hear?”
Dean chewed the inside of his lip.
Birds.
A dog bark.
A baby crying.
The rumble of the impala as Sam pulled out down the street.
A garbage truck.
His heart beat…
The ringing in his ears.
The screams.
His scream…
…
Dean pinched the skin on his wrist.
A lawn mower.
Was that ten?
“Close enough,” Dean mumbled out loud.
He sighed again. He was friggen bored. But he was too sore to try and get up. If he made it out to the lounge room then at least he could watch TV, take his mind off things. It was bad when he was alone, left to think about everything. TV would be good. TV would help.
A minute later Dean decided that was too ambitious. He wanted painkillers. Lots of painkillers.
So, he reached over and grabbed the box of valium instead.
…
“Dean…”
“Hmm,” Dean groaned.
“Dean!”
“Wha’?” he mumbled, wishing the hands would stop poking at him, stop shaking him.
“Geez, how many of these things did you take?”
“Quit it, Bobby…” Dean knocked Bobby away but managed to get his eyes open. He felt like a bus had been dropped on him. Sluggish and weak.
“Boy, I’ve been trying to wake you for a good ten minutes.”
“I took a valium,” Dean slurred, trying to get his tongue to work.
“Yeah, I can see that. Did you take the whole box?” Bobby sounded angry.
“I took a couple…”
Dean watched Bobby go through the box, counting the pills. He let his eyes drift to the window. He furrowed his brow. It was dark outside.
“Wha’ time is it?”
“After 8,” Bobby grunted.
“S’weird…”
Dean relaxed back and let sleep pull him under again.
…
The next time he woke up he could coordinate his limbs a bit better. But being more awake meant he was more aware of the pain.
“Bobby?” he couldn’t get his voice past a whisper, mouth dry.
It turned out Bobby was closer than he thought.
“Yeah, son?”
“I need a painkiller.”
“Okay, hang on.”
Dean kept his eyes closed. Bobby returned quickly.
“Here, son, you’ll have to sit up a little.”
Bobby, bless him, had brought a straw for his water, and Dean could have kissed him. He lifted his head and Bobby put another pillow under it. Dean took the pill and the water and swallowed, unable to think of anything else until he knew he’d had something to get the pain under control.
“Y’alright?” Bobby asked softly.
Dean nodded, “Where’s Sam?”
“Still at work, I think.”
Dean’s eyes widened, “Still? What time is it?”
“Uh, ten past eleven.”
Dean was struggling upright before his body registered its stiffness.
“Whoa, slow down, boy.”
Dean panted, “Give me my phone.”
…
"Yello! MacGinley’s Bar and Grill.”
"Get Riley."
"Is'at you Dean?" Jim said loudly over the roar of the jukebox.
"Put Riley on the phone."
"Geez, good to hear from you too," Jim muttered quietly, but loud enough to be heard.
"Riles! Dean for ya."
Dean waiting, gritting his teeth.
"Hey, Dean. What's up, honey?"
"Send Sam home now."
"What?"
"He's been there since 10am, that's longer than 12 hours! If you're gonna run him in to the ground then I don't want him working for you!"
"Jesus, Dean, calm down."
"Sam is exhausted. He's injured. You can't work him like that. I thought you understood our situation. I thought you would -"
"Wow, Dean. Stop. Sam is not even working today."
Dean's heart leapt into his throat.
"I have been nothing but understanding to you and Sam's situation, and I'm giving Sam all the work he can manage because I know you guys need the money."
"Riley..."
"Next time you accuse me of something, Dean, get your facts straight."
*Click*
Dean’s hands were shaking. Oh, god. Where the hell was Sam?
“Bobby,” Dean stared at his phone.
“What is it, boy?”
“Sam didn’t even work today…”
Bobby cocked his head, eyebrows furrowed, then something dawned across his face.
“You know something, don’t you?” Dean directed a finger at the older hunter.
“Sam was… he was working a job,” Bobby pushed his hat back to scratch his head, “At least I think. I found a motel room key in his pocket when I was doing laundry a couple’a weeks back.”
Dean steeled his jaw, cast his eyes skyward, “Son of a bitch.”
“Dean…”
“No,” Dean shook his head and looked back down at his phone, turning the GPS tracker on on Sam’s cell, “Get in the car. You’re driving.”
…
“What exactly are you planning to do?” Bobby argued from the driver’s seat of his ‘71 Chevelle.
Dean had the phone to his ear again, listening to it ring out on the other end as Sam didn’t answer.
“Shut up,” Dean moaned, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, “God, I can’t even think.”
“That’s because you knocked yourself out on 5 valium.”
Dean shook his head, trying to shake loose cobwebs. Yes, it was because he was still whacked from the handful of valium he’d taken, but he didn’t really need to be reminded of that.
“I knew this would happen,” Dean grunted, “We can’t walk away. We can’t ever just walk away.”
Bobby clenched his jaw.
“You know who this smells of?” Dean continued to rant, “That black eyed bitch, Ruby.”
“Well, juries still out on that one. Let’s just find the idjit first.”
Dean rubbed his eyes, digging his fingers in until he saw stars.
“You doing okay there?” Bobby quirked from beside him.
Dean grumbled, “Doin’ the best I can.”
“Yeah, and how are you really doing? This the most you’ve been upright all week.”
Dean looked at the phone in his hand, trying to focus his eyes. His head was pounding and his arms felt like lead weights. His back was a dull ache, but it was manageable. It was the cocktail of prescription pills in his system that was messing with him. He was running on nothing but adrenaline.
Dean cleared his throat and dialled Sam’s number again.
…
“Where is Lilith?” Sam shouted, tripping holy water onto the bald head of a poor demon’s meat suit. The demon wailing as the water hissed and burned.
“Even if I knew, I wouldn’t be telling you, Winchester,” the demon cackled, even as it clenched it’s teeth and cried out again as Sam poured some more holy water over it’s bubbling skin.
“Wrong answer,” Sam bit.
“We know you’ve had direct contact with Lilith, alright? Cut the bullshit and tell us what we want to know or things are going to get really ugly,” Ruby rounded the chair the demon was tied to, staying carefully outside of the devil’s trap on the floor.
“Go to hell, Ruby,” the demon spat.
“Been there,” she shrugged, “didn’t really agree with me.”
“You know what you are if you won’t talk?” Sam sneered, “Useless… and you know what I do to demons who are useless? I send their asses straight back to hell.”
“Then you may as well start now, because you’re not getting anything out of me… besides, whatever you could do to me, Lilith can do worse. And that is a wrath I’m not prepared to face.”
Sam stared at Ruby, “This guy is worthless.”
Ruby shrugged, “Well, he’s worth something… Practice.”
…
“He’s in here,” Dean grunted as Bobby pulled the car up in front of an old beat up warehouse.
It had taken hours to get there and Dean was stiff, pins and needles tingling in his feet. But he pushed his door open and stood up on his own, holding onto the roof for support.
“You good?”
Dean groaned, straightening, “I’m fine. Hand me my gun.”
Bobby slung a duffle over his shoulder, “Do we even know what we’re walking into?”
He handed Dean his sawed off and Colt .45.
“Prepare for anything,” Dean tucked his colt in the back of his pants, pausing for a second as he felt the cold metal against his scar, his muscles rippling beneath it.
He raised the sawed off and waved a hand.
Dean and Bobby did a sweep of the perimeter. Dean hadn’t held a gun like this, for a prolonged time, in a while. His shoulder did not like the position. He rolled his shoulder a few times, gun still raised, his brow permanently furrowed with the pain he was forcing down.
Dean found a door at the back of the building, and waited for Bobby to join him.
Bobby edged the door open.
“… and you know what I do to demons that are useless? I send their asses straight back to hell.”
Dean could hear Sam talking, and the demon screaming. Hearing the sounds of torture almost sent Dean in a downward spiral, flashing back on his time down under.
Bobby’s hand appeared on his shoulder, gripping tightly. It was his bad shoulder and he was kind of grateful, because he needed the jolt of pain to bring him back to reality.
They managed to get into a position where they could see Sam and Ruby, and the demon tied to a chair in the middle of the room. Dean narrowed his eyes as Sam raised his hand, closing his eyes.
The demon started choking, coughing, spitting out black smoke that travelled down towards the floor and disappeared through the floorboards, searing them red.
Dean looked back at his brother as blood dripped from his nose. When it seemed the demon was gone, Sam lowered his hand, letting out a breath.
“Good work, Sam. But you’re going to have to be better than that if we’re going to take on Lilith.”
Dean couldn’t push down the anger anymore.
“Yeah, change of plans,” he said, stepping out, gun trained on Ruby, “Sam’s coming with me.”
“Dean?” Sam gasped, eyes wide in shock.
Dean glared at his brother, “Bobby, check the guy.”
Bobby came out and crouched by the chair, putting his fingers to the man’s carotid, the other hand in front of his mouth.
“He’s dead.”
Dean gritted his teeth.
“Dean, what are you doing here?”
“Good day at work?” Dean asked.
Sam sighed, “Put the gun down.”
“No.”
“Feeling a little insecure, Dean?” Ruby quipped.
“Ruby, that’s enough,” Sam warned.
“Yeah, Ruby, that’s enough,” Dean mimicked.
“Dean, stop it.”
Dean snapped, “No, Sam! This is not okay! What you’re doing is not okay. You lied to me. You lied to Bobby. And you’re working with her? Again!?”
“Bite me, Dean,” Ruby snarked.
“You keep flapping your trap I just might.”
“Dean, I…”
“No. That’s it. Give me my keys.”
“Dean -“
“Give me my damn keys!”
Sam reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the impala keys, handing them to Dean.
Dean snatched them away, “Go get in the car.”
“You’re going with them?” Ruby asked, incredulously.
“I’d quit talkin’ if I was you, sweetheart,” Bobby nodded.
“You’re lucky you’re still breathing, bitch,” Dean growled.
“Demons don’t breathe, jackass.”
“One more word,” Dean warned, cocking his shotgun.
Ruby put her hands up in surrender.
“Come on, Dean,” Bobby urged, “Let’s get outta here.”
Dean was fuming. He could feel the heat creeping up his neck. He wanted to shoot Ruby in the face, preferably with the colt, so she’d never get back up again. But he listened to Bobby and left, following Sam.
Bobby nodded to Dean and got into his Chevelle. Dean went to the driver’s side door of the impala.
“Dean, you haven’t driven in weeks. This is a long drive. Maybe you should -“
“Clean the blood off your face and get in the car,” Dean snapped.
Sam wiped his nose on his sleeve, puppy dog eyes firmly in place. Dean wasn’t buying it. He was too mad.
Dean lowered his head as Sam got in the car. He was happy to get behind the wheel of his baby. He just wished the circumstances were different. It was going to be a very long night.
…
“Who was that?”
Sam nearly dropped the phone as he spun around, coming face to face with Bobby.
“Uh, Riley,” Sam shrugged, “She’s planning on coming by later.”
Bobby stayed silent for a moment, assessing, like he didn’t quite believe him. Sam wondered how much of the conversation he’d heard. He finally spoke, “Well, good. We need all hands on deck here and keep taking it in shifts. Which, by the way, you look awful. Go home and get some sleep.”
Sam shook his head. Yeah, he looked awful because of the lack of sleep and the constant stress, but he also knew part of it was because it had been so long since he’d seen Ruby. So long since his last top up.
“I told Dean I’d stay,” Sam stuffed his phone away and opened the door, allowing Bobby to go in in front of him.
“Dean’s so out of his head right now, I doubt he’d even remember that,” Bobby snorted.
“Well, then I have to stay.”
Bobby sighed and led the way to Dean’s bed.
Dean still had his eyes closed but Sam could tell he wasn’t sleeping. It could have been the way his face looked tense, or how his hands were clenched at his sides. But it was mainly the sound of the monitor alarming as his heart rate shot up past 120 and his breathing quickened to 30 breaths per minute.
Sam made it to him before the nurse did.
“Dean?”
Dean didn’t open his eyes but Sam could see he was scared.
The nurse was at his other side, hand on his shoulder, “Dean, take some deep breaths for me. You’re okay.”
Sam’s hand wrapped around his brother’s closed fist, the other hand a steady weight on his chest.
“Dean,” he said, right by his ear.
They watched his heart rate come down on the monitor as his breathing slowed. Eventually his eyes flickered open, they looked bloodshot, glassy, and heartbreakingly exhausted.
He cleared his throat and licked his lips before he spoke, “Nightmare.”
…
Dean moved from the ICU to a ward a day later, and four days after that they let him go home. The pneumonia was gone. The fluid in his chest was gone. His lungs were working well again. It was clear Dr Reid had picked one thing off the extensive list and decided to focus on that, on what he could fix. And Sam had heard nothing from Cas, no matter how much he shouted to the heavens.
It was a Wednesday morning when Sam decided he’d had enough. Dean was sleeping in his room, Bobby had gone to assist on a hunt a few towns over and promised he’d be back that night.
Sam wrote on the calendar, knowing Dean would check that.
Work 10am.
He packed his duffle, put on his boots and quietly left the house, pulling his phone out as he did so.
It rang once.
“Sam.”
“Where can I meet you?”
…
Dean lay in his bed, staring at the ceiling. He heard Sam’s boots on the wood floor, then the front door open and close, plunging the house into silence. He sighed. Looking at the clock on the bedside table he could see it was just after 9:30. He was sore. And now Sam wasn’t here to get him a painkiller, Bobby either. He sucked in a breath as his back twinged. All this lying around had made things worse. The painkillers were in the kitchen where Sam had left them. All he had on his bedside table was a half drunk bottle of water and a box of valium. Dean stared at them for far too long. Eventually he closed his eyes, tried to do what the shrink had taught him.
“What are ten things you can hear?”
Dean chewed the inside of his lip.
Birds.
A dog bark.
A baby crying.
The rumble of the impala as Sam pulled out down the street.
A garbage truck.
His heart beat…
The ringing in his ears.
The screams.
His scream…
…
Dean pinched the skin on his wrist.
A lawn mower.
Was that ten?
“Close enough,” Dean mumbled out loud.
He sighed again. He was friggen bored. But he was too sore to try and get up. If he made it out to the lounge room then at least he could watch TV, take his mind off things. It was bad when he was alone, left to think about everything. TV would be good. TV would help.
A minute later Dean decided that was too ambitious. He wanted painkillers. Lots of painkillers.
So, he reached over and grabbed the box of valium instead.
…
“Dean…”
“Hmm,” Dean groaned.
“Dean!”
“Wha’?” he mumbled, wishing the hands would stop poking at him, stop shaking him.
“Geez, how many of these things did you take?”
“Quit it, Bobby…” Dean knocked Bobby away but managed to get his eyes open. He felt like a bus had been dropped on him. Sluggish and weak.
“Boy, I’ve been trying to wake you for a good ten minutes.”
“I took a valium,” Dean slurred, trying to get his tongue to work.
“Yeah, I can see that. Did you take the whole box?” Bobby sounded angry.
“I took a couple…”
Dean watched Bobby go through the box, counting the pills. He let his eyes drift to the window. He furrowed his brow. It was dark outside.
“Wha’ time is it?”
“After 8,” Bobby grunted.
“S’weird…”
Dean relaxed back and let sleep pull him under again.
…
The next time he woke up he could coordinate his limbs a bit better. But being more awake meant he was more aware of the pain.
“Bobby?” he couldn’t get his voice past a whisper, mouth dry.
It turned out Bobby was closer than he thought.
“Yeah, son?”
“I need a painkiller.”
“Okay, hang on.”
Dean kept his eyes closed. Bobby returned quickly.
“Here, son, you’ll have to sit up a little.”
Bobby, bless him, had brought a straw for his water, and Dean could have kissed him. He lifted his head and Bobby put another pillow under it. Dean took the pill and the water and swallowed, unable to think of anything else until he knew he’d had something to get the pain under control.
“Y’alright?” Bobby asked softly.
Dean nodded, “Where’s Sam?”
“Still at work, I think.”
Dean’s eyes widened, “Still? What time is it?”
“Uh, ten past eleven.”
Dean was struggling upright before his body registered its stiffness.
“Whoa, slow down, boy.”
Dean panted, “Give me my phone.”
…
"Yello! MacGinley’s Bar and Grill.”
"Get Riley."
"Is'at you Dean?" Jim said loudly over the roar of the jukebox.
"Put Riley on the phone."
"Geez, good to hear from you too," Jim muttered quietly, but loud enough to be heard.
"Riles! Dean for ya."
Dean waiting, gritting his teeth.
"Hey, Dean. What's up, honey?"
"Send Sam home now."
"What?"
"He's been there since 10am, that's longer than 12 hours! If you're gonna run him in to the ground then I don't want him working for you!"
"Jesus, Dean, calm down."
"Sam is exhausted. He's injured. You can't work him like that. I thought you understood our situation. I thought you would -"
"Wow, Dean. Stop. Sam is not even working today."
Dean's heart leapt into his throat.
"I have been nothing but understanding to you and Sam's situation, and I'm giving Sam all the work he can manage because I know you guys need the money."
"Riley..."
"Next time you accuse me of something, Dean, get your facts straight."
*Click*
Dean’s hands were shaking. Oh, god. Where the hell was Sam?
“Bobby,” Dean stared at his phone.
“What is it, boy?”
“Sam didn’t even work today…”
Bobby cocked his head, eyebrows furrowed, then something dawned across his face.
“You know something, don’t you?” Dean directed a finger at the older hunter.
“Sam was… he was working a job,” Bobby pushed his hat back to scratch his head, “At least I think. I found a motel room key in his pocket when I was doing laundry a couple’a weeks back.”
Dean steeled his jaw, cast his eyes skyward, “Son of a bitch.”
“Dean…”
“No,” Dean shook his head and looked back down at his phone, turning the GPS tracker on on Sam’s cell, “Get in the car. You’re driving.”
…
“What exactly are you planning to do?” Bobby argued from the driver’s seat of his ‘71 Chevelle.
Dean had the phone to his ear again, listening to it ring out on the other end as Sam didn’t answer.
“Shut up,” Dean moaned, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, “God, I can’t even think.”
“That’s because you knocked yourself out on 5 valium.”
Dean shook his head, trying to shake loose cobwebs. Yes, it was because he was still whacked from the handful of valium he’d taken, but he didn’t really need to be reminded of that.
“I knew this would happen,” Dean grunted, “We can’t walk away. We can’t ever just walk away.”
Bobby clenched his jaw.
“You know who this smells of?” Dean continued to rant, “That black eyed bitch, Ruby.”
“Well, juries still out on that one. Let’s just find the idjit first.”
Dean rubbed his eyes, digging his fingers in until he saw stars.
“You doing okay there?” Bobby quirked from beside him.
Dean grumbled, “Doin’ the best I can.”
“Yeah, and how are you really doing? This the most you’ve been upright all week.”
Dean looked at the phone in his hand, trying to focus his eyes. His head was pounding and his arms felt like lead weights. His back was a dull ache, but it was manageable. It was the cocktail of prescription pills in his system that was messing with him. He was running on nothing but adrenaline.
Dean cleared his throat and dialled Sam’s number again.
…
“Where is Lilith?” Sam shouted, tripping holy water onto the bald head of a poor demon’s meat suit. The demon wailing as the water hissed and burned.
“Even if I knew, I wouldn’t be telling you, Winchester,” the demon cackled, even as it clenched it’s teeth and cried out again as Sam poured some more holy water over it’s bubbling skin.
“Wrong answer,” Sam bit.
“We know you’ve had direct contact with Lilith, alright? Cut the bullshit and tell us what we want to know or things are going to get really ugly,” Ruby rounded the chair the demon was tied to, staying carefully outside of the devil’s trap on the floor.
“Go to hell, Ruby,” the demon spat.
“Been there,” she shrugged, “didn’t really agree with me.”
“You know what you are if you won’t talk?” Sam sneered, “Useless… and you know what I do to demons who are useless? I send their asses straight back to hell.”
“Then you may as well start now, because you’re not getting anything out of me… besides, whatever you could do to me, Lilith can do worse. And that is a wrath I’m not prepared to face.”
Sam stared at Ruby, “This guy is worthless.”
Ruby shrugged, “Well, he’s worth something… Practice.”
…
“He’s in here,” Dean grunted as Bobby pulled the car up in front of an old beat up warehouse.
It had taken hours to get there and Dean was stiff, pins and needles tingling in his feet. But he pushed his door open and stood up on his own, holding onto the roof for support.
“You good?”
Dean groaned, straightening, “I’m fine. Hand me my gun.”
Bobby slung a duffle over his shoulder, “Do we even know what we’re walking into?”
He handed Dean his sawed off and Colt .45.
“Prepare for anything,” Dean tucked his colt in the back of his pants, pausing for a second as he felt the cold metal against his scar, his muscles rippling beneath it.
He raised the sawed off and waved a hand.
Dean and Bobby did a sweep of the perimeter. Dean hadn’t held a gun like this, for a prolonged time, in a while. His shoulder did not like the position. He rolled his shoulder a few times, gun still raised, his brow permanently furrowed with the pain he was forcing down.
Dean found a door at the back of the building, and waited for Bobby to join him.
Bobby edged the door open.
“… and you know what I do to demons that are useless? I send their asses straight back to hell.”
Dean could hear Sam talking, and the demon screaming. Hearing the sounds of torture almost sent Dean in a downward spiral, flashing back on his time down under.
Bobby’s hand appeared on his shoulder, gripping tightly. It was his bad shoulder and he was kind of grateful, because he needed the jolt of pain to bring him back to reality.
They managed to get into a position where they could see Sam and Ruby, and the demon tied to a chair in the middle of the room. Dean narrowed his eyes as Sam raised his hand, closing his eyes.
The demon started choking, coughing, spitting out black smoke that travelled down towards the floor and disappeared through the floorboards, searing them red.
Dean looked back at his brother as blood dripped from his nose. When it seemed the demon was gone, Sam lowered his hand, letting out a breath.
“Good work, Sam. But you’re going to have to be better than that if we’re going to take on Lilith.”
Dean couldn’t push down the anger anymore.
“Yeah, change of plans,” he said, stepping out, gun trained on Ruby, “Sam’s coming with me.”
“Dean?” Sam gasped, eyes wide in shock.
Dean glared at his brother, “Bobby, check the guy.”
Bobby came out and crouched by the chair, putting his fingers to the man’s carotid, the other hand in front of his mouth.
“He’s dead.”
Dean gritted his teeth.
“Dean, what are you doing here?”
“Good day at work?” Dean asked.
Sam sighed, “Put the gun down.”
“No.”
“Feeling a little insecure, Dean?” Ruby quipped.
“Ruby, that’s enough,” Sam warned.
“Yeah, Ruby, that’s enough,” Dean mimicked.
“Dean, stop it.”
Dean snapped, “No, Sam! This is not okay! What you’re doing is not okay. You lied to me. You lied to Bobby. And you’re working with her? Again!?”
“Bite me, Dean,” Ruby snarked.
“You keep flapping your trap I just might.”
“Dean, I…”
“No. That’s it. Give me my keys.”
“Dean -“
“Give me my damn keys!”
Sam reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the impala keys, handing them to Dean.
Dean snatched them away, “Go get in the car.”
“You’re going with them?” Ruby asked, incredulously.
“I’d quit talkin’ if I was you, sweetheart,” Bobby nodded.
“You’re lucky you’re still breathing, bitch,” Dean growled.
“Demons don’t breathe, jackass.”
“One more word,” Dean warned, cocking his shotgun.
Ruby put her hands up in surrender.
“Come on, Dean,” Bobby urged, “Let’s get outta here.”
Dean was fuming. He could feel the heat creeping up his neck. He wanted to shoot Ruby in the face, preferably with the colt, so she’d never get back up again. But he listened to Bobby and left, following Sam.
Bobby nodded to Dean and got into his Chevelle. Dean went to the driver’s side door of the impala.
“Dean, you haven’t driven in weeks. This is a long drive. Maybe you should -“
“Clean the blood off your face and get in the car,” Dean snapped.
Sam wiped his nose on his sleeve, puppy dog eyes firmly in place. Dean wasn’t buying it. He was too mad.
Dean lowered his head as Sam got in the car. He was happy to get behind the wheel of his baby. He just wished the circumstances were different. It was going to be a very long night.
…