A Satellite of Sorrows: Conclusion
“So it was a Greek goddess?” Missouri asked. Her voice was disbelieving as she considered Sam and Dean. “Gerty was just bait for you? Why?”
“She wanted us to come back here. It was part of the torture.” Dean replied, his fork playing at the pie in front of him. He pushed it away and looked at her. Her eyes grew sad. “Dean,” she whispered, placing her hand over his. He gently pulled it away.
Sam remained silent. He was worried about Dean, who seemed to be more distraught than ever. He wanted to say something, but he was afraid.
“So there’s no hope for Gerty or the others?” Missouri wondered.
“I doubt it. I’m sorry, Missouri,” Sam replied. “They were affected by Lethe, the goddess of forgetfulness. She stripped them of their emotional memories, and we killed her. But maybe that curse is, in a way, a strange gift. At least they won’t feel the pain of their losses.”
Missouri shook her head, “No, Sam. It’s right what Tennyson said. Better to have loved…”
“Tennyson was an ass,” Dean interrupted, getting up from the table. “I appreciate the hospitality, Missouri. And the pie. But I think it’s time Sam and I hit the road. We have a case we’ve been working for a while and we need to get back to it.”
She stared at him for a moment before nodding, “Of course, Dean. You have to do what you have to do. But don’t be a stranger. I don’t want to only have ghosts and gods around to hear about you boys or see you.”
Dean smiled at her, but they both knew it was fake. He had no intention of seeing her or this town again, if he could help it. “Sure,” he assured her.
Sam bowed his head as they made their way to the front door. Dean leaned in and gave the older woman a quick hug before jaunting down the stairs toward the car. Again, Missouri held Sam back with her hand.
“You know he’s suffering something awful, Sam.”
Sam stared after his brother, who was waiting impatiently by the car. “Yeah, I know.”
“Sooner or later, you’re gonna have to confront each other, get it out in the open. If not….” She let her sentence trail off, leaving the implications for Sam to unpack. What she didn’t know was that Sam had spent most of his adult life unpacking the complicated relationship with his brother.
“When he died,” Sam whispered, “I fell so far, Missouri. You have no idea how low I went.” He stopped and turned to her, “And I’m not really sure I ever got back up.”
“Sam,” she rubbed a hand up his arm. “You’ll figure it out. Just don’t let him fall too far?”
He nodded and bent down to give her a hug. She squeezed him tightly under the jacket, her arms shifting underneath the denim material.
“Take care of yourself,” she murmured and stepped back.
He jogged down to the car and opened the door. He turned back one more time and stared at the house. He looked around at the street, knowing his father had lived here, his mother. He was sad to think they weren’t together. Sam hoped that Eris was lying.
“She was lying, Sammy.” Dean looked at him from across the car’s hood. It was eerie how Dean could read his mind.
“Was she?” Sam wondered.
“They’re together, Sam. Don’t ever doubt that,” Dean bent to get in the car. Sam stood there for another long moment until he heard Dean order him to get in.
He waved at Missouri as they pulled away.
Missouri watched until they were out of view. She unclenched her hands and stared at her fingers, sparks of silver dust and leather thread were embedded in her palm. She walked to the kitchen and brushed the dust and thread into the wooden bowl. Her voice was quiet and strong as she whispered the ancient chant; her fingers didn’t hesitate as it struck the match and dropped the fire into the bowl.
“Hello?” The older man looked at her askance, not sure who she was.
“You the ghost following the boys?” She asked as she wiped the dust into a bowl on the table.
“Bobby,” he said, tipping his cap at her. It was an oddly sweet gesture, gentlemanly.
“You know nothing good will come from you hanging around, right?” She scolded him, beckoning him to join her at the table.
“They’re my boys,” he said. “Someone’s got to look out for them. Damn fools are always almost getting themselves killed.”
Missouri shook her head, “But you’re dead, Bobby. Dead needs to stay dead. You’ve got to move on. You’re a hunter. You know what happens if you don’t.”
She could tell he wasn’t paying attention so she tried another tactic, “How guilty are those boys gonna feel, knowing that you gave up moving on for them? Don’t you think they’ve had enough emotional upheaval and worry in their lives? I ain’t stupid. John was not the best father to them. He tried. He really did, but a man obsessed is always going to make his obsession the god he bows to. But you? What god are you bowing to now, Bobby?”
Bobby studied her, “What do you care?”
“Those boys are the last Winchesters. They’re it. It’s a line that has been damned for too many generations, and I was hoping they may get some glimpses of peace, just small ones, so they know that their lives aren’t meaningless or even worse, destructive.” She considered him for a minute, “Imagine growing up knowing that your life is always a debt. That you live because someone else died. How’d you think you’d mature?”
Bobby sighed deeply, “I got work to finish. Things to do before I, well you know, move on.”
“That’s what every ghost says, Bobby. Every soul has unfinished business. The lesson you need to learn is that business will never be finished. That’s just life.”
But Missouri knew she wasn’t reaching him. Something powerful and dark lingered at the edges of the room and she wasn’t sure what it was. Wasn’t really sure that she wanted to know. She heaved a heavy sigh, “Just think about it, would you?”
“How’d you get me here anyway?” the older man wondered. Missouri smiled softly, “I have my ways.”
She struck a match and let the fire fall into the bowl. The orange flames licked away the silver dust and leather threads. Almost immediately, Bobby disappeared.
“Good luck to you, friend. You will need it.”
They were somewhere outside Omaha when Dean pulled over. They’d been driving for hours with short stops for gas and snacks. Sam got out of the car and cracked his back. His muscles ached from sitting in the car for so many hours. His tall frame bucked at being in the small car Dean scavenged from a salvage yard after they left Lawrence.
He couldn’t wait to get the Impala back. He missed it more than Dean these days. He checked around for his brother and saw him walking off in the distance, stretching his legs.
“Want a beer?” Sam called out. Dean turned back and nodded. They pulled the cooler out of the trunk and sat on the hood. The day was just giving way to twilight. They’d have to find a place to pull over soon, either a motel or some abandoned lot.
To make his point, Dean yawned right before he took another sip of the lukewarm beer. They sat in companionable silence for a bit, but Sam felt the tension, even if it was just coming from his own thoughts and feelings.
“Dean,” he started, “I just want you to know that I get the hell thing.”
Dean didn’t respond. He was looking out at the flat plain. For Dean, Sam knew, it was easier to ignore and deny. It was his basic survival instinct. It was also the impetus that pushed him to make deals he shouldn’t make and avoid alliances he should.
“Hell was hell, right?” Dean finally said.
Sam stared down at the beer in his hand. He fiddled with the label, pulling the wet paper away from the bottle absently. “So what is your dirty little secret, Dean?” He hadn’t thought before he asked it, and he cringed at the delivery. He looked apologetically at his brother.
Dean’s eyes shot up, his gaze sharpened momentarily before smoothing back into an expression of practiced indifference. “Leave it, Sam.”
In for a penny, in for a pound, Sam thought. He was committed now. He might as well try to push the issue. “We’ve never been good at the secrets thing, Dean. One way or another, they always seem to come out.” Sam refused to look away even though everything in Dean’s face told him to, warned him away from this discussion.
Dean sighed, setting the beer on the car hood. “Some things are better left unsaid, Sam.”
“Are they, though?” Sam wondered aloud. “Can’t we just be honest for once, just lay everything out on the table? What’s the worst that can happen? Haven’t we done everything to each other already?”
Dean laughed, “You really don’t get it, do you?”
“What? Tell me.” Sam’s frustration escalated. His hands shot into the air, “We can’t seem to move on and we can’t keep sitting in this emotional rut. And don’t tell me we shouldn’t do chick-flick moments. That’s bull and you know it.”
“You’re always such a girl, Sammy.” Dean tried to deflect the conversation with humor, but Sam was ready this time.
“So what, you gonna insult me? Fine, do it. But I still want to know. What was so bad that you begged her to stop? What would make Dean Winchester beg a monster to have mercy?”
“You really need to leave this alone, Sam. I mean it.” Dean’s voice hardened and his expression took on an unfamiliar coldness. He didn’t meet Sam’s eyes as he grabbed the cooler and walked to the back of the car.
Sam stalked after him, “We’re not finished.”
Dean grabbed his brother, throwing him against the car roughly, “Leave it, Sam. I won’t tell you again. This is your final warning.” He let go of Sam’s jacket and lifted the trunk hood. He threw the cooler inside and walked to the driver side door. He was just wrenching it open, when Sam slammed it shut.
“Why my face?” Sam asked huskily and they both knew what he was referring to. Dean closed his eyes, refusing to look at Sam.
“Why?” Sam repeated again.
Dean shook his head, “Please, don’t.” It was almost the same tone he used with Eris and Lethe.
“We can’t move on, Dean. Just let us move on,” Sam pleaded with his brother. “The secrets are going to kill us. They always do.” He reached up to touch his brother’s shoulder, but the older man shook him away, his body jumped back violently from the contact.
“Dean?”
“No, Sam. This is the line. Right here. There are places inside me that you cannot see. I won’t let you see, do you hear me? I’m sorry for what Lucifer did to you. I’m sorry about what happened when you were seventeen. I’m sorry you ran away from home to Stanford. I’m sorry, okay? But this?” He moved his hand back and forth between them. “This? It’s not happening. We’re not having some kind of In Treatment therapy session so you can feel better about what you feel about me, about us, about our lives.”
“It’s not about me, Dean! You’re the one on the edge, man. You have to know you’re this close to falling? Don’t you?”
“If I fall, then I fall, dammit. Not us. Not we. Me!”
Sam grabbed Dean again, pulling his brother’s body toward him. They were so close that their foreheads were touching. Dean pushed at the unfamiliar embrace, but Sam held on. “That’s not how it works, Dean. You know it. What happens to you…”
But Dean wouldn’t let him finish. He shook his head vehemently, his body rocking hard against Sam’s, his hands coming up to clutch Sam’s jacket. He simultaneously pushed and pulled at the denim, reminding Sam of that entwined and falling figure on Eris’s golden apple.
“Lines, Sam,” Dean whispered, his voice deep but cracked and paper thin. He straightened against Sam, “Now! Get off me! That’s not what happens. I won’t let it. No more. Just me! Dammit, just me.”
Sam shook his head, not letting him go. “Just answer me, Dean. Why was it me?”
Dean pushed hard, his strength sending Sam back on his heels. He walked a little further away and stood with his back towards his brother. Sam watched as he bent his head back, his neck stretching long, his eyes looking vacantly into the sky.
A small, caustic laugh escaped him and Dean turned, staring at his brother straight on, “You wanna know why it was you, Sammy?”
Sam felt the pinprick of tears behind his eyes as he replied, “Yes, I really do.”
Dean smiled, but it was a sadly knowing smile. “Because it was always you, Sam. It always had to be you, remember?”
Sam flinched at the coldness of the love in Dean’s eyes. Eris was right. They were bound together, but perhaps the oldness of one soul was just too much to handle.
Dean stood still for a moment and then opened the car door. He gestured for Sam to get in, “We’ve got work to do. Need to find out what other deals Dick’s been making.”
And that was the end of the conversation. They would spend the next few hours in silence and then slowly they would begin to interact again. It was the same cycle again and again. They danced around their issues and each other in a long arc, through a path of sorrows. They were satellites under the spell of gravity. But he knew that eventually they’d crash to the ground. The burdens of their shared hell and their heaven would push them down and entangle them together forever.
In that moment Sam realized that heard from a different room, a soul mate could easily be mistaken as a cell mate.
“She wanted us to come back here. It was part of the torture.” Dean replied, his fork playing at the pie in front of him. He pushed it away and looked at her. Her eyes grew sad. “Dean,” she whispered, placing her hand over his. He gently pulled it away.
Sam remained silent. He was worried about Dean, who seemed to be more distraught than ever. He wanted to say something, but he was afraid.
“So there’s no hope for Gerty or the others?” Missouri wondered.
“I doubt it. I’m sorry, Missouri,” Sam replied. “They were affected by Lethe, the goddess of forgetfulness. She stripped them of their emotional memories, and we killed her. But maybe that curse is, in a way, a strange gift. At least they won’t feel the pain of their losses.”
Missouri shook her head, “No, Sam. It’s right what Tennyson said. Better to have loved…”
“Tennyson was an ass,” Dean interrupted, getting up from the table. “I appreciate the hospitality, Missouri. And the pie. But I think it’s time Sam and I hit the road. We have a case we’ve been working for a while and we need to get back to it.”
She stared at him for a moment before nodding, “Of course, Dean. You have to do what you have to do. But don’t be a stranger. I don’t want to only have ghosts and gods around to hear about you boys or see you.”
Dean smiled at her, but they both knew it was fake. He had no intention of seeing her or this town again, if he could help it. “Sure,” he assured her.
Sam bowed his head as they made their way to the front door. Dean leaned in and gave the older woman a quick hug before jaunting down the stairs toward the car. Again, Missouri held Sam back with her hand.
“You know he’s suffering something awful, Sam.”
Sam stared after his brother, who was waiting impatiently by the car. “Yeah, I know.”
“Sooner or later, you’re gonna have to confront each other, get it out in the open. If not….” She let her sentence trail off, leaving the implications for Sam to unpack. What she didn’t know was that Sam had spent most of his adult life unpacking the complicated relationship with his brother.
“When he died,” Sam whispered, “I fell so far, Missouri. You have no idea how low I went.” He stopped and turned to her, “And I’m not really sure I ever got back up.”
“Sam,” she rubbed a hand up his arm. “You’ll figure it out. Just don’t let him fall too far?”
He nodded and bent down to give her a hug. She squeezed him tightly under the jacket, her arms shifting underneath the denim material.
“Take care of yourself,” she murmured and stepped back.
He jogged down to the car and opened the door. He turned back one more time and stared at the house. He looked around at the street, knowing his father had lived here, his mother. He was sad to think they weren’t together. Sam hoped that Eris was lying.
“She was lying, Sammy.” Dean looked at him from across the car’s hood. It was eerie how Dean could read his mind.
“Was she?” Sam wondered.
“They’re together, Sam. Don’t ever doubt that,” Dean bent to get in the car. Sam stood there for another long moment until he heard Dean order him to get in.
He waved at Missouri as they pulled away.
Missouri watched until they were out of view. She unclenched her hands and stared at her fingers, sparks of silver dust and leather thread were embedded in her palm. She walked to the kitchen and brushed the dust and thread into the wooden bowl. Her voice was quiet and strong as she whispered the ancient chant; her fingers didn’t hesitate as it struck the match and dropped the fire into the bowl.
“Hello?” The older man looked at her askance, not sure who she was.
“You the ghost following the boys?” She asked as she wiped the dust into a bowl on the table.
“Bobby,” he said, tipping his cap at her. It was an oddly sweet gesture, gentlemanly.
“You know nothing good will come from you hanging around, right?” She scolded him, beckoning him to join her at the table.
“They’re my boys,” he said. “Someone’s got to look out for them. Damn fools are always almost getting themselves killed.”
Missouri shook her head, “But you’re dead, Bobby. Dead needs to stay dead. You’ve got to move on. You’re a hunter. You know what happens if you don’t.”
She could tell he wasn’t paying attention so she tried another tactic, “How guilty are those boys gonna feel, knowing that you gave up moving on for them? Don’t you think they’ve had enough emotional upheaval and worry in their lives? I ain’t stupid. John was not the best father to them. He tried. He really did, but a man obsessed is always going to make his obsession the god he bows to. But you? What god are you bowing to now, Bobby?”
Bobby studied her, “What do you care?”
“Those boys are the last Winchesters. They’re it. It’s a line that has been damned for too many generations, and I was hoping they may get some glimpses of peace, just small ones, so they know that their lives aren’t meaningless or even worse, destructive.” She considered him for a minute, “Imagine growing up knowing that your life is always a debt. That you live because someone else died. How’d you think you’d mature?”
Bobby sighed deeply, “I got work to finish. Things to do before I, well you know, move on.”
“That’s what every ghost says, Bobby. Every soul has unfinished business. The lesson you need to learn is that business will never be finished. That’s just life.”
But Missouri knew she wasn’t reaching him. Something powerful and dark lingered at the edges of the room and she wasn’t sure what it was. Wasn’t really sure that she wanted to know. She heaved a heavy sigh, “Just think about it, would you?”
“How’d you get me here anyway?” the older man wondered. Missouri smiled softly, “I have my ways.”
She struck a match and let the fire fall into the bowl. The orange flames licked away the silver dust and leather threads. Almost immediately, Bobby disappeared.
“Good luck to you, friend. You will need it.”
They were somewhere outside Omaha when Dean pulled over. They’d been driving for hours with short stops for gas and snacks. Sam got out of the car and cracked his back. His muscles ached from sitting in the car for so many hours. His tall frame bucked at being in the small car Dean scavenged from a salvage yard after they left Lawrence.
He couldn’t wait to get the Impala back. He missed it more than Dean these days. He checked around for his brother and saw him walking off in the distance, stretching his legs.
“Want a beer?” Sam called out. Dean turned back and nodded. They pulled the cooler out of the trunk and sat on the hood. The day was just giving way to twilight. They’d have to find a place to pull over soon, either a motel or some abandoned lot.
To make his point, Dean yawned right before he took another sip of the lukewarm beer. They sat in companionable silence for a bit, but Sam felt the tension, even if it was just coming from his own thoughts and feelings.
“Dean,” he started, “I just want you to know that I get the hell thing.”
Dean didn’t respond. He was looking out at the flat plain. For Dean, Sam knew, it was easier to ignore and deny. It was his basic survival instinct. It was also the impetus that pushed him to make deals he shouldn’t make and avoid alliances he should.
“Hell was hell, right?” Dean finally said.
Sam stared down at the beer in his hand. He fiddled with the label, pulling the wet paper away from the bottle absently. “So what is your dirty little secret, Dean?” He hadn’t thought before he asked it, and he cringed at the delivery. He looked apologetically at his brother.
Dean’s eyes shot up, his gaze sharpened momentarily before smoothing back into an expression of practiced indifference. “Leave it, Sam.”
In for a penny, in for a pound, Sam thought. He was committed now. He might as well try to push the issue. “We’ve never been good at the secrets thing, Dean. One way or another, they always seem to come out.” Sam refused to look away even though everything in Dean’s face told him to, warned him away from this discussion.
Dean sighed, setting the beer on the car hood. “Some things are better left unsaid, Sam.”
“Are they, though?” Sam wondered aloud. “Can’t we just be honest for once, just lay everything out on the table? What’s the worst that can happen? Haven’t we done everything to each other already?”
Dean laughed, “You really don’t get it, do you?”
“What? Tell me.” Sam’s frustration escalated. His hands shot into the air, “We can’t seem to move on and we can’t keep sitting in this emotional rut. And don’t tell me we shouldn’t do chick-flick moments. That’s bull and you know it.”
“You’re always such a girl, Sammy.” Dean tried to deflect the conversation with humor, but Sam was ready this time.
“So what, you gonna insult me? Fine, do it. But I still want to know. What was so bad that you begged her to stop? What would make Dean Winchester beg a monster to have mercy?”
“You really need to leave this alone, Sam. I mean it.” Dean’s voice hardened and his expression took on an unfamiliar coldness. He didn’t meet Sam’s eyes as he grabbed the cooler and walked to the back of the car.
Sam stalked after him, “We’re not finished.”
Dean grabbed his brother, throwing him against the car roughly, “Leave it, Sam. I won’t tell you again. This is your final warning.” He let go of Sam’s jacket and lifted the trunk hood. He threw the cooler inside and walked to the driver side door. He was just wrenching it open, when Sam slammed it shut.
“Why my face?” Sam asked huskily and they both knew what he was referring to. Dean closed his eyes, refusing to look at Sam.
“Why?” Sam repeated again.
Dean shook his head, “Please, don’t.” It was almost the same tone he used with Eris and Lethe.
“We can’t move on, Dean. Just let us move on,” Sam pleaded with his brother. “The secrets are going to kill us. They always do.” He reached up to touch his brother’s shoulder, but the older man shook him away, his body jumped back violently from the contact.
“Dean?”
“No, Sam. This is the line. Right here. There are places inside me that you cannot see. I won’t let you see, do you hear me? I’m sorry for what Lucifer did to you. I’m sorry about what happened when you were seventeen. I’m sorry you ran away from home to Stanford. I’m sorry, okay? But this?” He moved his hand back and forth between them. “This? It’s not happening. We’re not having some kind of In Treatment therapy session so you can feel better about what you feel about me, about us, about our lives.”
“It’s not about me, Dean! You’re the one on the edge, man. You have to know you’re this close to falling? Don’t you?”
“If I fall, then I fall, dammit. Not us. Not we. Me!”
Sam grabbed Dean again, pulling his brother’s body toward him. They were so close that their foreheads were touching. Dean pushed at the unfamiliar embrace, but Sam held on. “That’s not how it works, Dean. You know it. What happens to you…”
But Dean wouldn’t let him finish. He shook his head vehemently, his body rocking hard against Sam’s, his hands coming up to clutch Sam’s jacket. He simultaneously pushed and pulled at the denim, reminding Sam of that entwined and falling figure on Eris’s golden apple.
“Lines, Sam,” Dean whispered, his voice deep but cracked and paper thin. He straightened against Sam, “Now! Get off me! That’s not what happens. I won’t let it. No more. Just me! Dammit, just me.”
Sam shook his head, not letting him go. “Just answer me, Dean. Why was it me?”
Dean pushed hard, his strength sending Sam back on his heels. He walked a little further away and stood with his back towards his brother. Sam watched as he bent his head back, his neck stretching long, his eyes looking vacantly into the sky.
A small, caustic laugh escaped him and Dean turned, staring at his brother straight on, “You wanna know why it was you, Sammy?”
Sam felt the pinprick of tears behind his eyes as he replied, “Yes, I really do.”
Dean smiled, but it was a sadly knowing smile. “Because it was always you, Sam. It always had to be you, remember?”
Sam flinched at the coldness of the love in Dean’s eyes. Eris was right. They were bound together, but perhaps the oldness of one soul was just too much to handle.
Dean stood still for a moment and then opened the car door. He gestured for Sam to get in, “We’ve got work to do. Need to find out what other deals Dick’s been making.”
And that was the end of the conversation. They would spend the next few hours in silence and then slowly they would begin to interact again. It was the same cycle again and again. They danced around their issues and each other in a long arc, through a path of sorrows. They were satellites under the spell of gravity. But he knew that eventually they’d crash to the ground. The burdens of their shared hell and their heaven would push them down and entangle them together forever.
In that moment Sam realized that heard from a different room, a soul mate could easily be mistaken as a cell mate.