17Je sais pas quoi faire - Téléphone
(I don't know what to do)
"You know what Dude, I don't get it. Really! What could possibly be the point? I mean: kidnap us for days, shoot me, bust your balls, and basically make a nuisance of himself, just to tell us to say "yes" to his demented big bros! This is just..."
Dean was ranting nonstop since they left the warehouse lot. Speeding through the suburbs, back to the Motel of the Week, only refraining from banging in the wheel in frustration because... well it was Baby's wheel. Sam tuned out his brother's ranting. His questions were kind of relevant. But Sam had others questions for himself; a few things were bugging him about their weird encounter with the Trickster.
Or more like The Freaking Archangel Gabriel.
Damn...
An archangel popping sweets, reading comics books and binge watching TV shows...
"My own sets, my own actors."
So... his own script too right?
"Seriously, you're brilliant, you know that? And a coward. You're a brilliant coward."
"So that girl died on your table. It wasn't your fault. It wasn't anybody's fault."
Did he/she mean Lilith? Well, Lilith died on an altar, not a table but it was close enough. Or was Sam thinking too much into it? It had been almost the opposite of the Trickster speech whent they confronted him.
He had been angry at them then. Had they busted their chances at some point?
Sam shook his head and let his gaze wander on the landscape, a succession of more or less rundown buildings, trying to stop giving all this crap more importance than it truly deserved.
"You're afraid to operate again, and you're afraid to love."
Given how his last relationships/flings has ended, and their way of life, of course he did not want to try again, no need to be a genius or an angel to gess this much.
Sam stifled a sight: seriously, it was getting ridiculous. He could feel Dean, who finally stopped rambling, looking at him curiously.
_Long day, Dude.
_Angels are dicks, and apparently, Archangels are just bigger dicks. Seriously, what took us to think that douchebag could help?
Translate: what took you, since it was Sam who had this fabulous idea.
_ You know, we don't need no one. You, me Cass : once we get the Colt we'll wrap up that Apocalypse and be done with all that crap.
By the way, it seemed that the angel had excused himself when Sam wasn't paying attention. Or just fled, bored.
_ I'm telling you, we no need a son of a bitch who can't even man up an tell his brothers to cut the crap or go fuck themselves.
That was the last drop for Sam. Dean was already opening his mouth to go on the rant. Sam cut in, prissy.
_ Cut the crap, Dean.
His older brother stared at him instead of the road that Sam started to worry about their trajectory.
_ Excuse me?!" Dean went back to looking ahead and straighten the car when its tires started to graze the sideroad.
_ Do you really think that I don't know you enough and will think less of you if you would just stop pretending?
_ What?
Being cut mid-rant was doing no good to Dean's brains.
_ No , really Sam, what do you mean?
Now Dean was pissed at him instead of the douchebags from up there. Not that it wasn't a common occurrence lately.
There were so many answers to that: stop pretending he still cared about his monster freak brother, stop pretending he was some super macho, super tough guy when he was not, stop pretending Hell didn't happen, or stop pretending he wasn't terrified by what was waiting for them, the damn Apocalypse, the risk to go back downstairs if/when he'll die again.
The list was long... too long. He was afraid of not being able to stop once started.
Instead, Sam pruned his lips together, shot Dean a "stop pretending you have no idea what I'm talking about for starters" glare and drowned whatever retort his aggravating brother could come up with by increasing the volume of the radio.
Peeved, Dean spat a harsh "Fine", then resumed driving in deafening silence.
Sam went back on looking through the window and rewind the recent events.
"You sorry sons of bitches."
"I love you"
Yeah... sure...
One of the thing Sam did learn about the trickster during those months spend tracking him down, was that he always had a purpose behind his deeds. Even several, most of the time. But that?
Except the kind of obvious, kind of absolutely impossible one; there was none that Sam could fathom.
Say a thing, do another, lure them in that warehouse to just basically, albeit in his convoluted ways, tell them to sod off... It did not make any sense. There must have been a point they missed.
Or Sam was thinking way too much.
"That's why there's no stopping this...You think you'd be able to relate."
Yes, Sam could relate, but not exactly the way Gabriel saw it. Not as Sam the rebellious little brother and Dean the faithful soldier. Well...that too of course. But Gabriel story mostly reminded him of his fights with their father, and Dean stuck in the middle, unable to choose a side between two people he loved. Just stand back and watch them tear at each other's throats, trying to clean up the mess afterward. Until it was no longer enough.
There are things a third party could not mend. There were words spoken, actions done, that a third party could not erase.
"I love you"
She had looked so much like it was an adieu. Like she had given up. Like Gabriel had given up, on them? on hope?
On him?
The angel had seemed surprised, albeit briefly, when Sam had spoken up, as riled as Dean, and not less aggressive.
And now Sam wondered if they didn't have busted their only chance to get Gabriel to help.
Lost in his thought, his eyes locked on the window but not seeing through, Sam only realized that they were back at the Motel when Dean grabbed his shoulder; looking both grumpy and concerned.
"Whatever you are thinking about, Sam: Don't."
Sam worried his bottom lip, then nodded at his brother, wondering, maybe for the very first time, how much exactly he had hurt Dean by head-butting with John so many times. And now with the whole Ruby thing and its fallout. Anyone could only take so much before giving up.
Dean took his cue and exited the car, intend on leaving the town as soon as their things were packed and tucked in the trunk of his Baby. And probably after the cooler was refilled with ice and beer, though Sam. Not without a hint of bitterness.
He could not blame Dean for trying, badly, to cope with his memories of Hell, or drown them in booze. Did not mean he wasn't worried.
He unfolded him tall body out of the Impala and followed Dean in their room.
"Dean, the med' that slapped me...
_ Doctor Picolo." Dean prompted, halting in his packing, a revolver in one hand, a pack of cartrige in the other.
Sam had been thoughtful ever since they leaved the warehouse. Or since he cooled down, after exiting the place. And still was, if that little well known front was any indication. Dean would let aside his outburst: he still didn't know what to do with that. Should probably tag it on weariness.
_ What is about her?" The Hell if he knew what was going on in that hairy head of his overgrown little brother.
_ Did... did she have an affair with any of the staff or something, interested in one of them?
Dean stared disbelieving at those pale eyes, blue in the actual light, his own wide. Where did that come from? He emptied his hands in the duffle in front of him and turned fully toward Sam.
_ Just, humor me." Sam added folding a shirt with false casualness. As if it could fool him.
Still bewildered, Dean decided to play along, for now. Maybe Sam would go to the point, someday in 2016. He browsed quickly through his memories before answering.
_ None that I know of. She had one with Doctor Sharon's husband, and married a patient. Did not end well." he added as an after though.
But what has that anything to do with... anything?
Seriously, count on Sam to pick up interest in the least relevant thing sometimes.
_ Just...
He looked even more discomfited than before.
_ Spill it Sam!
Sam shook his head slightly, lips pursed, unseeing. And how Dean hated it, when his brother did not pay attention to him.
He looked Sam grow agitated, fiddle with the strap of his bag, to finally put it back on his bed and look up to him. Dean did not like that look either, the 'I made a decision, I know you won't like it, I don't care'.
_ I'll go extend our stay for another night, and I'll need your car key.
_ And why the fuck I should give you my Baby's key? You are so not gonnat go back there!
His voice has deepened on the last sentence. But Sam did not cower, or back off, he was calm now, too calm.
_ I have to, Dean.
_ Why? The fucker has flown away ages ago now." Dean did not understand him, and he did not like not understand things, thus he was slowly but surely growing angry.
_ Something don't... fit. I don't know how to explain, but I have to talk to him.
Dean huffed, clearly annoyed and stalked to his Sasquatch of a brother. What was he even thinking he was doing? Was he even thinking? They had agreed that the best thing to do was get the fuck outta here ASAP.
_ No." it dropped like a stone in a pond. And sank to the bottom. Sam shifted his weight, drew a hand through his hair, his gaze darting to the side, searching for a way to convince Dean. Too bad, there was none.
Sam blew a long steeling breath; his shoulders sagged a bit when he let his hand drop at his side.
_ Listen Dean, I know that you don't like what I am, that you are still mad at me for Ruby, Lilith and freeing Lucifer." He was rushing through his words, like tearing a Band-Aid. "And I know it will be a long time before you even start to trust me again, if you ever will. But, please, just on this one, just once,... Just, give me the benefit of the doubt. I just want to... I need to ask him something. Just one question and I come back. And if he isn't there, I promise I won't track him down this time. But, I have to at least try.
Dean should be angry, he knew that somehow, he should be angry. Damn he was angry! Before Sam punched him in the guts with his little speech and his pleading eyes. How could he? How dare he say such things with that innocent, earnest face. Such cruel things without a flinch.
As if it was normal to tell your brother, who fucking raised you, that they did not like you!
How could Sam even think Dean had given up on him?
He gave the key, because there was nothing else he could do right now, he was barely able to think, shell shocked. Could just listen, the squeak of the door of the room, the creak of Baby's door, open then quietly slammed shut, the roar of Baby's engine.
The car was already halfway through the parking lot when Dean managed to move, almost unhinging the door in his hurry.
_ Sam ! Sam ! Dammit ! SAMMY!
He rushed after the car, stopped in the driveway. Sam had lowered the window but had no intention to let go of the wheel.
_ I am coming with you.
_ This is not a good idea Dean. I need to talk to him, and you and him, you get too easily on each other nerves. It would only end in more angry words between you both and no answer.
_ I do remember that you were pretty pissed too.
_ I was, I cooled down. Besides, I have spent enough time studying him to know how he works... Mostly.
And with that, he took off. Letting, once again, Dean behind, lost.
It was when Dean realized that he did not get his brother. That he probably had never really got Sam. Oh, he knew him, as if he had made him, he knew what made him tick, all his buttons. He knew how Sam reacted in about any circumstances. But he did not get him, never entirely understood the whys.
He slowly went back to the steps leading to their motel room. Not getting the courage to climb those three steps, he sat there, his head swirling with more and more questions.
Sam would answer these, any of them. Dean will tie him up if needed, and he would be damned if he released his little brother before he was satisfied with the answers.
_ Fuck, Sammy, just come back already!