1x22 -- Devil's Trap

[salver]

Bobby Singer looks out the window, past the hubcaps nailed to the black boards on the outside of the house like encroaching barnacles, and raises his eyebrows the proverbial six feet.

Anybody approaching the salvage yard that fast has business with him -- and not the kind where he's supposed to be a legitimate businessman, either. Bobby's got himself a nice-looking elephant graveyard: this is where cars go to die, and rust, and -- sometimes -- lie in wait to be dismantled for other purposes. Any way you want to look at it, there's a fair amount of metal lying around. Lots of places to hide. Lots of cover.

(And Rumsfeld the rottweiler to set up a ruckus.)

Bobby knows cars (among other things), and there's only one hunter he knows of driving a car like that. Hunters, now. Plural. It's still Team Winchester in the black Impala, but the lineup's changed. Not John and Dean, not any more: Dean and Sam. The college boy.

Ten minutes later he's got the Winchester boys inside and set up in his living room -- Sam at Bobby's desk, with a stack of books to hand and one open in front of him (and that short stack didn't even make a dent in his collection, piles twenty deep in some places spread over every flat surface and some surfaces that aren't so flat), Dean at the walls, feasting his eyes on the collection of pinned-up symbols and maps (the hunter's wallpaper, Bobby sometimes thinks to himself, without much humor) to see if there's anything familiar-looking -- while he goes looking for fortifying materials. Ammunition.

They come in two silver flasks, the first of which he passes off to Dean. "Here you go."

Comments

[salver]

He's been in the other room this whole time. Watching out of the corner of his eye. Listening. Sam's got a good grasp on the Latin, the flow of it; Dean's got a scary grasp on how to be the bad cop.

Bobby's arms stay folded, and he listens, and he mentally reviews what he knows, what he's been told --

We've got to help her, Dean says, and that's enough to send him from the other room to three steps from Dean. Quiet (and a little strained): "You're gonna kill her."

The deal's this: the most important difference between humans and things that aren't is that humans get to know exactly what it is they're doing. They get to care that they're going to kill, and they get to care that they have to make some ugly choices. It's a responsibility. Pretty damned heavy one, too.

(Maybe John Winchester never looked at it that way, never taught it to his sons, but there's more than one hunter in this world, more than one way to go about all of this. John's got his own way, and Bobby Singer has his.)

[hopeitsworthit]

Dean stops, snapping around to face Bobby.

"What?"

What?

[salver]

"You said she fell from a building." Bobby casts a glance at the girl in the chair -- he'd buy it, from the way she looks.

He lowers his voice. "That girl's body is broken. The only thing keeping her alive? Is that demon inside. You exorcise it -- "

"That girl is going to die."

[hopeitsworthit]

Dean's expression gets tighter than before, and his voice gets softer and more intense.

"Listen to me, both of you. We are not going to leave her like that."

He can't even begin to imagine doing that.

He can't.

[salver]

It isn't that cut and dried. It isn't. It almost never is. That's a luxury that the men and women who do what they do rarely get to see, and that they certainly can't afford. If Dean's calling the shots, and calling them that fast -- is he seeing this? Is he understanding it?

"She is a human being -- "

[hopeitsworthit]

"And we are gonna put her out of her misery!"

There's no doubt in him. Not about this.

He knows what he'd want.

He knows--

"Sam. Finish it."

They're done here.

[gavemea_45]

He can't mean--

Sam stares at Dean, then darts a glance at Bobby before slowly turning to look at Meg.

She's looking back at them, waiting, her breathing rapid and filled with pain, and he finds it hard to meet her eyes.

There's got to be another way, he thinks, almost desperately.

Except that there isn't, or not one he knows of, anyway.

[hopeitsworthit]

Dean just looks at Sam, jaw set.

"Finish it."

He knows what he's doing. Now he just needs his brother to believe it.

[salver]

Yeah, well.

Bobby looks at Meg, at Sam, at Dean.

And thinks, John just has that effect on people.

[gavemea_45]

He searches his brother's face, and finds no sign of doubt. Sam swallows and lets out a breath, then turns back to face Meg, lifting the book that by now he doesn't really even need.

"Ut inimicos sanctae Ecclesiae--"

That the enemies of your sacred Church--

"--te rogamus, audi nos."

--we ask you, hear us.

He starts pacing the circle around her again as Meg gasps, jerking in the chair, raising his voice to carry above her cries.

"Terribilis Deus de sanctuario suo!"

God is terrifying in his sacred house!

"Deus Israel ipse truderit virtutem et fortitudinem plebi suae."

The God of Israel himself will thrust excellence and strength unto his people.

Meg screams, her eyes turning entirely black as she tries to wrench herself free of the ropes, but it's too late for Sam to stop now, even if he wanted to.

"Benedictus Deus--"

Blessed be God--

"Gloria Patri!"

Glory be to the Father!

[salver]

What follows is pretty textbook:

The girl's head gets thrown back, and what's a little too tentacular, a little too alive, to be plain old black smoke geysers out of her mouth in a straight-up column, before hitting the ceiling (and the Key of Solomon on it) and spreading through the air before dissipating.

It's not pretty.

The girl's head drops, and -- as Bobby figured -- something begins to gather on her lips. Something dark -- but dark red.

As he figured.

Dean wants to call the shots? Dean can call the fucking shots. Rest of it's cleanup from here, if there's anything to do for her.

Damned waste.

[hopeitsworthit]

He's only frozen for a second, because he knew--he saw Meg take that fall, goddammit--he knew it was gonna end up like this.

But she's still breathing. He can hear it.

And she's still moving, head turning so damn slowly to look up at them.

Dean's moving toward her a split second later, yelling orders over his shoulder.

"She's still alive. Call 911! Get--get some water. And blankets, too."

Chances of her not going into shock are pretty freakin' small.

Goddammit.

[gavemea_45]

As Bobby rushes off, Sam moves to help his brother untie Meg, who coughs and manages a broken whisper.

"Thank you."

She sounds awful and looks worse, and he can't get the ropes undone fast enough.

"Shh, shh." Sam says, trying to be as gentle as he can. "Just take it easy, all right?"

[hopeitsworthit]

"C'mon."

Dean's voice is sharp and tight, even though his hands are gentle.

He hates this. He hates that they can't do anything but make her comfortable.

Fuck.

"Help me get her down."

Even gritting his teeth doesn't really help when she screams in pain, bone jarring against bone.

Falling a couple storeys'll do that, you know?

Shit.

[gavemea_45]

"Sorry," Sam says, helplessly, trading a look with Dean as they ease her to the floor. "Sorry. I got you. It’s okay. It’s -- it's gonna be okay."

She doesn't seem to hear him; Meg's focusing on something else. "A year."

"What?"

"It’s been a year," Meg repeats, and sends Sam's world spinning around him.

A year. She's been-- that thing's been using her for a year?

What do you say to that? How is there anything to say to that? The answer's simple. There isn't, and so he falls back on what he can at least try to do.

"Just take it easy," Sam reassures her.

[hopeitsworthit]

Meg can't, looks like.

Dean can relate. He'd probably wanna get all the use outta being back in charge he could.

Because--

Anyway.

"I've--I've been awake for some of it. I couldn't move my own body, I couldn't--The things I've done. It's been a nightmare."

She'd probably be crying if she didn't hurt so bad.

And Dean--

Well--

"Was it telling the truth about our Dad?"

Maybe getting her mind off--maybe--He just needs to know, dammit.

He can hate himself later.

[gavemea_45]

"Dean."

It had been different when the demon was riding her.

This-- seeing her like this--

[hopeitsworthit]

Dean shoots Sam a narrow, dark look.

"We need to know."

They do. And if Dean were her--he'd rather do somethin' instead of just laying there dying.

Some things are--

Some things just need doing, that's all.

[gavemea_45]

Dean's right, and Sam knows it. He doesn't say anything else-- and as a result, Meg's choked reply is clearly audible.


"Yes. But it wants... wants you to know--"

She struggles for air, fighting to get the words out through the pain.

"--they want you to come for him."

[hopeitsworthit]

Dean's jaw tightens again.

"If Dad's still alive, none of that matters."

And it doesn't. Not for him.

[salver]

A lot of good a blanket and a glass of water are going to do, but he's got them, and Bobby passes the glass to Dean. He and Sam get blanket duty.

[hopeitsworthit]

Hey, it's better than sitting there watching her bleed out.

Because Dean can pretty well see that's how it's gonna go down.

But at least she'll die as herself. That's--when you're dealing with demons and shit, that's a lot.

Fuck.

He tilts her head up real careful, and holds the cup to her mouth so she can drink.

Might even wash a little of that blood-taste out of her mouth.

[gavemea_45]

It's clear that they don't have much time -- Meg least of all, and there's one question that's still tearing at him. One question she might be able to answer; something they need to know.

"Where is the demon we’re looking for?"

She shakes her head, a tiny movement, and meets Sam's eyes.

"Not there. Other ones."

A beat. "Awful ones."

[hopeitsworthit]

Yeah, yeah. Big shocker there.

Really.

But there's still one thing, one really goddamn important thing they need to find out.

"Where are they keeping our Dad?"

If they know that, they can get him out.

Meg coughs again, voice fading real quick.

"By--by the river."

Beat.

Beat.

"Sunrise."

By the--sunrise? What the hell--?

"Sunrise? What the hell does that mean? What does that mean?"

Dean could talk himself hoarse on the subject right about now, ask questions until just this side of forever, and it ain't gonna matter shit.

Meg's dead.

"Goddammit."

He hits the floor with his fist, hard, then stands up.

God fucking dammit.

[salver]

Which means what's left is the cleanup, and to do right -- or as right as they can -- by the girl on the floor.

Only two of them don't have time for that.

Bobby reaches for a nearby book that fell open on a table -- bad for the binding, he'll have to get that one looked at sooner rather than later -- and closes it, and walks back through toward the front door.

"You better hurry up and beat it. Before the paramedics get here."