SPN FIC: ...and God has Turned His Back
Title: ...and God has Turned his Back
Characters: Sam, Dean, Bobby, Cas (mentioned)
Word count: 465
Summary: Coda to 6.22.
Warnings: Spoilers for the finale. Angst. Bobby!POV.
Disclaimer: Not my sandbox.
Notes: OH HEY LOOK, SOME NON-FOR-KEEPS FIC. I'm working on some whumped!canon!Dean. Consider this a prequel. This was actually the introduction to that fic, but I think it works on it's own.
Bobby keeps his eye on them.
Dean started fixing the car as soon as his ribs healed and he could move without wincing. He spends most of his days getting drunk off his ass in the shop. He doesn’t mention hunting. He doesn’t talk about going after Cas. He vocalizes loudly with each pound against dented metal; softly each night when Sam wakes up screaming. Bobby always wonders how someone so deadly, so damaged, and so destructive…can be so gentle. He doesn’t like to think on it too much because it makes him want to drink until his liver falls out.
Bobby tries to give them space. He worries that as soon as the Impala is running again, they’ll be off. He doesn’t know where they would go or what they would do, but he knows it’s a complete pipe dream to think that they’d settle down; that maybe Dean would go back to construction, Sam would go back to school.
Bobby looks away when Dean reaches out to steady the glass of scotch that Sam is about to dump all over himself. He hears him pull a chair out at the table, the telltale rattle of someone else’s prescription being dug out of Dean’s pocket, “You need a Xanax, man?”
Sam shakes his head and Dean leaves a dose sitting on the kitchen table anyway. Sam stares at it for a long time before slipping it between his lips, washing it down with the fire in his glass.
Sam helps with the research. Dean picked exactly one fight over it, and Sam calmly reminded him that the wall was gone, “It c-c-can’t hurt me, Dean. I know everything n-now,” and Bobby braced for some catastrophic blow-up. Dean stared at Sam, and Sam stared back, unflinching, the knowledge of a thousand things he shouldn’t know burning bright in his eyes. Maybe Dean caught a glimpse of it himself. He nodded curtly and pulled the bottle of Old Crow out of Bobby’s desk drawer.
Bobby doesn’t know what Castiel’s game is. He was sincere about avoiding the apocalypse, apparently. He hasn’t smashed up any major metropolitan areas yet, smote any humans, as far as Bobby can tell, but the monster population has been sharply declining, whole nests, packs, and camps wiped out at a time, and the demons are practically in hiding. Bobby would celebrate the extra downtime from this lull in supernatural shenanigans, except he can’t help but feel like this is just the calm before the shit storm.
Dean is content to drown and Sam is still waiting for Castiel to throw him that life preserver he was promised. Bobby tries to hold on enough for all of them, but the ocean is deep and suddenly, so very very vast...