Goodnight Moon: Chapter Six
2 October 2008 08:19 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dragonfly11
“Dean?” Bobby called hesitantly from the doorway.
His eyes never strayed from the small body. “What was it?” he rasped. They had moved Sammy to his bed after he fell asleep in Dean’s arms. It had taken twenty stitches to put his brother back together again, but Dean still felt broken.
Bobby came up quietly behind him, not wanting to disturb the sleeping boy. “Looks like some sort of spell. What for, I don’t know,” he added regretfully. “He burned the incantation. Unless we can figure out that nonsense on his arm, the only way we’re gonna find out what that brother of yours did…is if he tells us.”
“Bobby, what…” voice breaking, it took Dean a moment to speak past his snowballing despair. “What could have possibly been so important that he’d have to…” leaning forward, elbows on his knees, he covered his mouth with a trembling hand. He couldn’t even manage the words.
At a loss, Bobby just shook his head. He could only think of one thing that would make Sam do whatever it was he did. Dean. Of course. But he wouldn’t voice it. The kid, most likely, had already figured it out and was suffering bad enough for it. Because it was that unbearable feeling in the pit of his stomach that he couldn’t ignore. That told him, that reminded him with sickening revelation that Sam would never go through all this trouble—all this pain, just to save…himself.
Bobby swallowed hard, preparing himself to give even more bad news. “Whatever your brother did do, was like sending off a beacon, though.” He watched the hanging shoulders tense and cursed himself as he placed even more weight on them. “If somethin’ is out there lookin’ for him and was paying attention…” If Lilith…
Dean didn’t say anything, and Bobby figured it was because he just couldn’t. “I’ll be in the shed,” he finished wearily.
~*~
Listening as Bobby walked away, Dean washed an unsteady hand down his face.
What had he taught his brother?
~*~*~*~
A cold front was moving in and so were the clouds. Out back in the shed, seeking solitude for his fear, his grief, Bobby stood rigid, hands gripping the workbench. No wonder John had chosen a ticket to hell. It was worlds easier then watching those boys hurt.
The hunter dug his fingers into the wood, angry at the world, angry at the boys. Angry at himself.
What was it with the Winchesters?
Why could they only exist together…or not at all?
He should have seen this coming, he realized, shaking his head. If Sam had found something in all those books…
Bobby closed his eyes. He probably didn’t even fully research it.
“Damnit!” he cursed, shoving off the workbench.
He’s always tried to act indifferent, stay detached. But especially since Cold Oak…Bobby learned that it would be impossible to do…the further they wiggled their skinny orphaned asses into his rusty old heart.
And soon he was going to lose them both. Because even if one was left standing in the next couple of months, it was only a matter of time before the other followed. Their hearts just didn’t know how to beat on their own.
That was something else Bobby had learned at Cold Oak.
~*~*~*~
“Are you sure that’s a good idea, son?” he asked, watching Dean pace, concerned that if something did happen from the first spell, Sam’s body would be too weak to withstand it. It had been six hours since he pulled his little stunt and the boy remained unconscious.
Dean was, needless to say, eager to go forward with the first spell. If something was coming for his brother, it would help to have an extra set of hands. Also, if Sam were big again, Dean could kick his ass for the shit he pulled.
Dean stopped in his tracks and looked at him like he had two heads “What the hell are you talking about, Bobby?” he held frustrated arms out to the side. “We, we, we don’t know what the hell he did! We don’t know who might be coming!” he counted off.
“Listen, I’m just saying—” the older man tried to placate.
“No,” Dean shook his head, already dismissing whatever he was going to say, and going back to his pacing, “our plan from the beginning has been to do this friggin’ pointless spell,” he yelled, enunciating each word with a slice of his hand, “and that’s what we’re gonna do.”
Bobby could do nothing to hide the worry from his eyes. He hadn’t seen him look this bad, this desperate since Sam had died in his arms. “Dean…”
“What?!” he snapped, turning on him. The raging helplessness was quick to melt into weariness and fear, however. “Jeezus, Bobby,” desperate green sought out his, “we have no idea what he did. We don’t know how it might….” his voice broke, “how it might of hurt him. We don’t know…” Shaking his head, tears in his eyes, he turned away, placing his hands dejectedly on his hips.
Eyes brimming with his own heartache, Bobby watched the younger man hang his head on squared shoulders—balancing the weight of the world as he always did…with his brother sitting on top and with his own head barely above water.
With determination in his posture, but weariness still in his eyes, Dean turned back to him. “If we can do something, anything,” It almost sounded like a plea—so breathless, so full of need to make things better even if it was the last thing he did—and it just might be, “then we’re doing it.”
Bobby wasn’t surprised when his own voice came out but a whisper. “Alright.”
~*~*~*~
Dean was seeing red again. Although this time it was anger that blurred his vision.
“What? That’s it?!” They had just completed the first spell, finally, and all they got for their efforts was a cold draft and blown out candles. “No memos? No clues? Nothing written in candle wax?”
Bobby couldn’t hide his disappointment either, “We knew it was a long shot, son.”
In utter frustration and despair, Dean kicked the table—sending it and the ritual sliding across the kitchen floor, “Son of a bitch!” he hollered before stalking off.
~*~*~*~
Bobby found him sitting on the front porch steps. He sighed at the rigid shoulders—how they trembled, but would never collapse under the weight. Pushing open the screen door, he sat down beside the younger man.
“Storms comin’,” he noted absently as the wind picked up.
Dean didn’t even note his presence. And he didn’t expect him to.
He really didn’t know what else to say, though. He had no words to reassure him—none that Bobby believed himself anyway. And since he respected the boy too much to lie…
He didn’t say anything at all.
But after a long moment, Dean sure did. “He’ll need…” voice strained, chin trembling, he stared off into the night. “He needs someone that’ll love him, Bobby,” he finished raggedly.
Tears filling his eyes, Bobby immediately nodded. He didn’t even have to think. “You know I will, son,” he replied huskily, heart breaking at the thought of them not having each other. At the thought of something whole…not.
It was a conversation he prayed never to continue, but realized that though Dean would fight to turn Sam back until the hell hounds came to drag him away… that day wasn’t far to come.
Throat working, still looking off into the night, Dean merely nodded back.
Words were beyond him now.
…beyond both of them.
So in the dark they wordlessly sat as Dean struggled with the cost of his mortality, and Bobby struggled with how he would hold the pieces that were left behind together.
Though neither could help but wonder now…whose pieces, exactly, those would be.
The wind picked up again, weaving its chill between their bodies, but neither noticed this time.
“We will find a way to turn him back,” and save him from whatever nonsense he’s gotten himself into. Bobby decided he’d believe it if Dean would. And the boy didn’t disappoint.
Surreptitiously wiping a hand down his face, he finally turned to him. His eyes battle-weary, but not completely without hope. “I know we will,” he replied roughly.
Nodding again, reclaiming their resolve, Bobby tried to swallow down the painful lump in his throat that lately seemed to be a permanent fixture. Nobody could break his heart like these two could. Nobody else could leave him feeling so damn helpless either. Not since his wife, had he felt so inadequate. Not since his wife had he ever wanted to fix something so badly. Not since his wife, had he ached so deeply at someone else’s pain.
…especially when Sammy started screaming.
~*~*~*~
Dean was in the house before Bobby even made it to his feet. He had Sammy in his arms before he even made it into the bedroom. And he had his brother falling back to sleep before Bobby could even figure out what the hell had happened.
“Nightmare,” Dean answered his silent question.
And Bobby watched as, eyes closed, head on Dean’s shoulder, Sammy’s shallow breathing quickly evened out—his confused and terrified cries already a distant memory as he lightly fingered Dean’s amulet back into slumber.
He had just needed his brother.
Watching as Dean held him, rocking, murmuring words only Sammy could hear, Bobby was reminded again that that was all either had ever needed…yet for some reason, was always too much to ask.
“He has a fever again,” Dean stated unhappily, cupping the back of his brother’s head and looking up at Bobby worriedly.
~*~*~*~
Hours later, Dean sat in the living room stroking Sammy’s sweat soaked hair. His brother didn’t take up nearly as much room on his lap anymore, he realized absently…not like he did when they were both kids anyway.
A lump suddenly formed in his throat. “What did you do, Sam?” he wondered aloud, not for the first time that night.
Looking up as Bobby walked in, Dean schooled the anguish from his features. “I think my sweat is sweating,” he commented languidly.
Grinning crookedly, Bobby handed him a cold beer, which Dean immediately placed against his own brow. A fevered, clingy Sammy was wrapped up in a blanket sleeping against his chest and Dean felt like he was baking from the outside-in.
“It break yet?” Bobby asked with genuine concern.
Without taking a sip, Dean sat his beer down. He scrubbed at his face. “No, but at least it hasn’t gotten any higher.” He yawned and looked down at his watch—though he didn’t need to. He could hear the birds starting to chirp outside. “Do you think…?” he then asked worriedly as Bobby went to lower himself down onto the couch. “You think it’s just a cold, right? Nothin’…supernatural?”
The older man straightened and studied them both for a long moment. “Nah, I’m sure it’s just a cold,” he finally said, but didn’t sound as convinced as he tried to come off.
Sitting on the couch then, he rubbed a hand across the back of his neck and sat his own beer down on the floor. Though Dean had stayed up with the fevered snuggle-bug, Bobby hadn’t been to sleep either. “Protective charms are placed all around the perimeter.” He already had some up, of course, but decided to do a little reinforcing.
But Dean’s mind was far away…where his heart hurt a lot less, “You know,” he started softly, “when he was little…the first time,” he added ironically. “The first clue we’d get that he was gettin’ sick, was when he’d take off with my pillow and disappear on us. We’d…” Dean grinned and continued fondly, scratching behind his ear, “we’d find him in the weirdest places—curled up behind the couch, under the bed, in the closet. One time I even found him in the cupboard with the cooking pans.” He shook his head. “I don’t think even he knew he was getting sick—”
“He’d just take somethin’ of comfort with him and hole up somewhere,” Bobby finished for him, earning an embarrassed glance. “I seem to recall him curling up under the table with one of your dolls when he was about two.”
Dean’s face fell. “I owned no such thing.”
“Yeah, remember it was that alien thing,” Bobby gestured loosely with his hand.
“It was E.T.,” Dean grated, “and he was a plush. action. figure.”
The older man just grinned knowingly, “Mmhmm,” Then got serious, “Has he been Sammy all night?”
He got his answer in the troubled way Dean looked down at his brother.
Damn.
“You think…you think he’ll come back?” the younger man asked a few moments later, almost hesitantly—as if afraid of knowing the answer. They hadn’t heard from Sam since he told Dean he “had to.” And although he held him in his arms…Dean missed his brother.
Bobby wanted to tell him yes. That Sam was still in there somewhere… “I don’t know,” he ended up admitting reluctantly, taking off his cap and turning his eyes to the boy currently pressed against Dean’s chest—his mouth hanging slightly open as he breathed through the congestion. “I don’t know.”
The room filled then with an impossibly heavy silence that left both men aching. Because even as they openingly embraced the child…both men missed the man they knew as Sam Winchester.
After a long, weighted moment Bobby awkwardly scratched his beard—pushing himself to talk about what they had been avoiding all night. “Those markings on Sam’s arm…” he started. Dean’s tired eyes turned to him. “I’ve been trying to figure out where they come from, what they mean…”
“And?”
“I haven’t had much luck of it yet,” he admitted.
Dean turned back to his brother.
“But I was thinkin’, Dean… I didn’t feel any changes in the ozone—nothing to indicate a monster of a spell being performed—which is what Sam would of needed to bust you outta your deal…”
That got Dean’s attention again. “What are you saying, Bobby?” he eyed him closely.
The older man shrugged. “Maybe it didn’t work. Or, maybe we stopped him before he could finish it,” he ventured, not surprised when Dean closed his eyes, shoulders slightly relaxing.
But Bobby found himself frowning. Only these two would fight over who got to go to hell first.
Break his heart indeed.
A noise from outside had both men immediately on their feet. Gently, but quickly placing his lax brother into Bobby’s capable arms, Dean grabbed his 9mil from the coffee table. “Take him to the bedroom and stay with him.”
“Dean…”
“Go!” he ordered low, weapon pointed to the floor but ready as he cautiously approached the front door. Lazarus started barking and Dean pulled the blind slightly down to look out the living room window. It was just after dawn and everything was covered in dew, but he couldn’t see anything suspicious—like an army of demons come to claim his baby brother.
Glancing back to make sure Bobby had done what he had asked, Dean crept up to the front door. Slowly, he reached out a hand to grab the doorknob and squaring his jaw, whipped it open, gun immediately leveled on…
“Missouri?”
Numbly, Dean lowered his gun. He had been prepared for just about anything…
“Boy, you just gonna stand there…”
Except this.
“Missouri?” he asked again, face scrunching up in uncontained confusion and surprise as he relaxed his stance.
Her tone and eyes soften, “Yeah, baby, it’s me.”
Bobby appeared at Dean’s side then with a groggy handful who had his arms extended. Exchanging the gun for his brother, Dean took the still too warm body into his arms, trying not to show his disappointment that it wasn’t Sam. “Hey there, squeaks. How you feelin’?”
As an answer, the four-year-old laid his cheek against his shoulder and tentatively tucked his injured arm between them. Then sticking the tip of his thumb in his mouth, regarded Missouri warily as Bobby let her in. “Been awhile,” the older man greeted gruffly.
“Not long enough,” the woman smirked, but not unkindly.
Then shaking her head as she placed her hands on her hips, tears filled her eyes as she got a good look at the brothers. “Oh, boys, what have you gotten yourself into?”
~*~*~*~
Bobby still made her drink the holy water, although she already had to pass a few tests just to get to the porch. And knowing why, knowing it was to protect the boys, Missouri did so without complaint.
“Now that that’s out of the way…” she said, setting her purse on the righted kitchen table and turning back to the reason she was there.
“Are you here to save my brother?” came a congested murmur out of nowhere.
Surprised, Dean looked down at the limp noodle in his arms—who still had his head tucked under his chin.
“One boy at a time, sweetie,” Missouri said, smoothing aside his damp bangs. “One boy at a time.”
She turned to Dean then, eyes sharp. “Young man, if you don’t calm down in there, you’re not gonna give me a chance to answer all those questions.”
Dean didn’t have the energy to look anything other than the way he felt; tired and desperate. He hadn’t seen this woman since Kansas, but he knew—he had to believe she was here because she could help. “Missouri,” he breathed brokenly, pleadingly.
“I know,” she soothed, cupping his jaw and rubbing her thumb across it. “I know.”
Chapter Seven
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Date: 2 Oct 2008 12:58 pm (UTC)I don't think that I could love this story more if I tried. Even if you do keep tearing my heart into little bitty pieces.
When this is done it's definitely one that will be printed out to be reread, and often. :)
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Date: 2 Oct 2008 03:01 pm (UTC)Tee! Thank you so much!
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Date: 2 Oct 2008 07:24 pm (UTC)Loved Chapter 6 - continued excellence!
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Date: 3 Oct 2008 02:44 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 23 Dec 2008 02:48 pm (UTC)*hopeful*
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Date: 23 Dec 2008 03:56 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 23 Dec 2008 03:58 pm (UTC)