The Plague Final Part B FRAO Sam/Dean, John/Bobby
Epilogue
Dean stood at the doorway of the old house. He watched as several cars pulled off the main road one after another. He knew that the blue Buick sedan was David's car. He smiled at the fancy chrome and metallic paint, but it was still a far cry from the old Impala. Dean chuckled; he and Sam had the old girl in the garage, up on blocks. She'd blown a rod twenty-five years ago and never been fixed. He glanced at Sam sitting on the old wooden porch swing that Dad and Bobby had put in after Beth and David had been born.
The three cars rolled to a halt one after another, Dean stepped off the porch going to greet his son and daughter-in-law. Helen hopped out smiling brightly as the back doors swung open and Ashley, Justin and Tina came bounding out of the car scrabbling to see who could be the first to Grandpa Dean's side.
David strolled to his father at a more dignified pace hugging the older man.
"Where's Mom and Papa John?"
Ashley perked up at the mention of her great-grandfather's name.
"Yeah, Granddad where's Papa John?"
Grinning Dean scooped his youngest grand-daughter up.
"I think you love Papa John more than you love Grandpa baby-girl."
"I'm not a baby Granddad, I'm five years old."
Sam appeared at the door smiling as he loped down the stairs and hugged his son and daughter-in-law one in each arm. David smiled as the twins scurried around him and grabbed his mother by the legs.
"Grandma Sam," they shrieked.
By that time Beth and her husband Paul had walked over with their two little girls in tow. Dean kissed his younger sister on the cheek, and shook hands with her husband, the two men had never gotten along, but for John's sake they were keeping the animosity to a minimum. The last six months had been hard on Papa John, and everyone knew it.
Finally, Rebecca and her fiancé, Steve, made it to the porch, Steve's son, Chris, on their heels. Chris was twelve and the oldest of the grand children, and even though Rebecca wasn't his mother, she loved him dearly.
Becky hugged her older siblings then glanced around the yard.
"Is Mom here?"
Sometimes it seem odd to Dean to hear John referred to as Mom, but John was Beth and Becky's mother. His youngest sister was turning twenty-eight tomorrow, the same age he had been when all this started. Chris gave Dean a one-armed squeeze, his tough guy equivalent to a hug and looked expectantly at the porch.
"Uncle Dean, where is Papa John?"
"He's out in the back yard, sitting on his bench. Why don't you kids go out and talk to him?"
All of the kids gasped almost in unison and Ashley looked at Dean gravely.
"Grandpa Dean, you know Papa John doesn't talk anymore, not since…" she paused looking over her shoulder at her mother and father."Not since Grandpa Bobby went to heaven."
Dean winced.
"Well maybe he will today. You know he loves having all you kids around. And it is Becky's birthday tomorrow."
Sam sighed, ushering all the kids and grandkids inside.
"Do you think having them all here at one time will help?"
Dean shrugged.
"I don't know."
While Sam and the others talked in the living room Dean wandered to the kitchen door looking out at the figure huddled on a wooden bench just under the shade of an old oak tree beside the garage. He cringed; this wasn't how it was supposed to be. Big, bad John Winchester was supposed to go out in a blaze of glory not in this crippled silence, bent and gray and old. Well, he'd send the kids out a bit later; let them work their magic on Papa John.
John was almost dozing on the bench, the sunlight warm on his gnarled hands. Too many years of fighting and shooting had left his hands arthritic and painful most of the time now. He sighed a little looking as the patch of dappled light sparkling on the wet grass. He knew that the others were here, even at eighty-two his hearing was fine. The rest of him maybe falling apart but he could still hear and see damn well.
So the glimmer of light on a car coming, not down the driveway, but across the grassy yard startled him. The purr of the big engine whining the way no modern hybrid car ever could. He shook his head, stretching his back a little so that he could lean forward and get a better look at the damn fool who was tearing up his landscaping.
The car was big, gleaming black, shimmering faintly as it slid to halt not three feet from where he sat. John jerked a little but he didn't move. Then a figure stepped out of the car.
He was tall, straight and broad-shouldered with brown hair pulled back into a pony-tail sticking out from under his old ball cap. With a smug grin he stepped forward and John's breath caught in his chest.
"Bobby," John whispered.
Dean looked up when he heard his father call out that name. The one that had been banned from all speech by anyone in the house since…well, since January.
Bobby's bluff good-natured face broke into a hell-bent grin.
"John-boy, you're a sight for sore eyes."
"But you left me, you're …"
"I've missed you awful, baby. But its okay now," Bobby said squatting down beside the bench, his big, warm hand resting on John's thigh.
John's head bent down and he raised his hand trying to push the other man away. Bobby grinned.
"Don't be like that, baby. I would have stayed if I could."
"What do you want, anyway? Look at you. God you haven't had enough hair for pony-tail for twenty years."
"Look at me baby."
John looked into the other man's earnest blue eyes. Bobby looked like he had the day that a younger John Winchester had stumbled onto his doorstep, torn and bleeding. The first day he had ever met the man he would learn to love. John reached out trying to touch Bobby's face. He skin was firm, tanned, with just a hint of sunburn on the nose and cheeks, his brown hair just beginning to go gray at the temples.
"You look just like you did the first time I ever saw you."
"I know, I thought that it would be easier for you if I did. It’s time, baby. We need you on this side now."
"This side?" John asked cocking his head, and Bobby smiled settled on the bench beside his friend and lover.
"Yeah. Hunters live in the shadows, in between good and bad. And in the end, when its time for us to go, some of us anyway, we've traveled just a shade too far in the dark side for the white light. So we end up in-between here too. But it's okay 'cause there's a lot we can hunt on this side and make sure it never gets to the other side. I've been hunting John, but I sure want you by my side again."
John looked at him.
"I'd like that, Bobby. You and me together."
Bobby stood up moving to the car, and for the first time John took a good long look at it. He smiled. The old Impala looked like she’d just rolled off the assembly line in some good old Detroit factory. John grinned and Bobby held up a hand.
There was a moment of disorientation as John stood. He blinked expecting his knees to give and was surprised when he bounded forward in a few easy strides. Bobby held his hand out again and John slid into his arms. Bobby's chest was firm, warm and hard against him and John took a minute to breath in his lover's warm, clean scent.
Bobby tilted John's head back and covered his mouth with a kiss. Groaning, John slid his arms around Bobby molding himself against the strong body. When they broke apart John looked at himself in the side mirror. He gasped, the lines and seams in his face were virtually gone, his hair was solid brown, falling over his forehead like he was forty again. If Bobby looked like he had when John had first met him, then John judged he looked the same to the other man.
He turned around in Bobby's arms looking at the hunched, gray-haired figure slumped on the bench.
"It's going to hurt them."
Bobby nodded.
"Yeah, it'll hurt for a time, but it'll get better."
"It never did for me. Not after January."
Bobby shook him a little.
"And I felt like slapping you a good one for that too Johnny."
"Can we wait for a little while, just until they find out?" John asked, and the other man nodded.
"Dean's been watching you for a good long time, he'll be out directly. But then we got to go, John. We've got work to do, and miles to go before we sleep. But first I think I'll slide you into the backseat, and let you know just how much I've missed you."
John's eyes widened.
"You don't mean that we can… But not here in the yard, not with the kids and grandkids all around."
"Johnny, the boys have been around us long enough to know that if the car is a rocking, you don't come a knocking. Besides they can't see us. Not like we can see them. Now Sam, maybe he might get an eyeful, but he won't."
John straightened.
"Dean's coming. God, I hope that one of the little ones isn't with him."
"Nope he's alone."
Dean walked to the bench his father was slumped down on, and he frowned. John slept too much for his liking. He was used to the man who had boundless energy even now. Except since Bobby had passed, his Dad just wasn't interested in anything. Reaching out Dean shook John's shoulder gently.
"Dad," he said. "Beth and Becky and the rest are all here. Dad?"
Dean frowned dropping down on the bench. He touched the leathery tanned skin.
"Well, hell, Dad."
Sitting quietly Dean took John's hand in his. They sat there awhile until Sam came out to stand behind his brother.
"Dean, you and Dad need…"
Dean turned to face Sam unshed tears shimmering in his eyes. Sam gasped.
"Dean, we've got to call an ambulance, someone."
Shaking his head Dean patted the other side of the bench and Sam sat down.
"I'm just going to sit here a little while longer. You can go call."
But Sam leaned back pressing his shoulder against Dean's watching the wind ruffle his hair. Suddenly he frowned, and looked across the yard, cocking his head. Dean was long used to Sam's psychic incidents.
"Something wrong?"
The younger man shrugged.
"For a minute I thought I heard the Impala's engine. It hasn't run in years, but I'll never forget the sound."
Dean grinned.
"Yeah, there's something about good old fashioned Detroit steel. Well, at least they're on the road again."
Sam smiled.
"Yeah, together."
The End.