'Song of the Treadmill - part sixteen!
Hallo, hallo!
I feel a little...alone! My flist has been so quiet... But that's okay. keepaofthecheez has kept us all entertained with her picspam posts of boys. :) Well, okay - *a* boy, but sometimes *boys*, and...that's all good.
There has also been some batshitcrazy going on vis a vis Firefly, slash, and fringy lunacy but - it's hiatus! Seems like the weirdest shite comes to light when we don't have our 'stories' to keep us occupied. :)
Dearest darkhavens beta'd, as usual - yay! And sweptawaybayou cheered me on, as usual. Double yay!
And reremouse finished Parts, her Spike/Xander genderswitch fic which is just *made* of win. Yay all around!
Previous parts in my memories, and tags. Enjoy!
The silence, after, was almost painful. Air so dead and still it seemed like Sam couldn't drag it into his lungs - couldn't push out the stale air that was already there. And then he could, whooping cough as everything rushed back with a tangible snap. He blinked down at his knees, inches deep in freezing mud; looked at his hand, which had curled reflexively into Dean's shirts. His knuckles were white, skin dry and cracked from the cold.
The dogs were barking hysterically, the mules hee-hawing in the barn and Bobby was cursing, a steady and varied stream of profanity that made Sam feel the urge to giggle hysterically. Bobby maneuvered down the stairs and across the mud of the yard and Dean took a hard, sharp breath in, his arm and the Colt coming up to about half way and then wavering aside again.
"Did it - where -?"
"It's gone. It left." Sam let his head fall down onto Dean's shoulder, squeezing his eyes shut. He felt Dean pocket the Colt - felt his rough fingers stroke in under Sam's hair and up, tangling in it and pulling him close.
"You okay? Did it - what'd it do? Bobby, you said he'd be protected!"
"He's still alive, isn't he?" Bobby snapped. Sam heard Bobby's boot and the crutch-tips squelch in the mud and then a moment later felt Bobby's hand on his shoulder. "Sam, you alright?"
"Sam?"
Sam took a long breath, saturating his nose - his lungs - with Dean's scent. Leather and wood smoke, salt and soap. Dean. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm okay, I just..." Sam took one last, long breath and then lifted his head. Looked up at Bobby, squinting. "Is it always like that?"
"Every fuckin' time," Bobby said. He tipped his head to one side, his gaze sharp. "Wasn't it like that when you called it?"
"No, it was...there was...less. It was just...that..."
"That 'innocent street person' shape?" Dean asked, and Sam gave a short, rusty laugh.
"Yeah. Just...normal. Mostly normal."
"My fuckin' legs are freezing," Dean muttered. He leaned into Sam and stood up - hauled Sam up beside him and then stood there, swaying just a little. Pale, with the faintest of marks - like a touch of sunburn - on his cheek where the angel had touched him. Rusty smear of dried blood under his nose and the startling bloom of blood in the white of his eye. "Fuck me."
"It takes it out of you." Bobby started picking his way back across the yard, slithering a little in the mud. "You clean your boots off before you come in."
"Yeah, yeah..." Sam ran his hands back through his hair - rubbed at his cheek, where the drying blood itched. He stood there for a moment with his face tipped up to the sun, his eyes closed. There was almost no heat to the light, and the wind had picked up again, gusting through the ward wall. It carried, for the first time, the scent of earth on it, and moisture. *Spring. The equinox. Things coming back to life...*
Dean's hand touched his chest, tiny push. "You really okay?"
"Yeah, I'm...good..." Sam let his chin drop - opened his eyes to find Dean studying him, his hands jammed down into his pockets.
"It said something gave you a key. What'd it mean? 'Gave it without consent'."
Sam sighed - rocked back onto his heels a little, feeling the mud squish under his feet. It was stiffening already, freezing into hard little ridges as they stood there. *Can't keep it from him. Can't hide it anymore. Don't want to.* "When the demon...when Azazel killed our mom...he fed me some of his blood."
"Huh." Dean stared at him for a long moment and then his gaze flickered over Sam's shoulder, his whole face relaxing. Almost smiling and Sam frowned.
"A demon fed me blood when I was six months old, Dean. Doesn't that...mean anything?"
"I dunno, does it?" Dean moved a step or two away, bending down a little and a moment later Sam-dog was leaping up at him, mouth open in a doggy grin, tongue out. Dancing on his hind legs and getting streaks of mud on Dean's sleeves and jacket-front. "Hey, Sammy, hey, boy..."
"Of course it does!" Sam made an impatient gesture, opening his arms wide. "It means I'm... It means I'm not -"
"It said 'not tainted', Sam. I heard it." Dean looked up from Sam-dog, squinting a little into the sun. "So whatever big bad....thing you think you are, you're not, okay?" He slapped his hands together, straightening, and Sam-dog hopped over to Sam, sniffing excitedly at his muddy knees and fingers before darting away again, running across the yard toward the back of the house and the pack.
"Except I am, Dean."
"Jesus." Dean wiped at the paw prints on his sleeve. "No, you're not. You made a deal with an angel, Sam. Doesn't make you special. Bobby calls 'em all the time!" Off Sam's look of complete disbelief, Dean sighed and looked skyward, making a point of giving in. "Okay, so he's called them four times. Still doesn't mean anything."
"No, it's not...that." Sam pushed his fingers back through his hair and then linked his hands behind his neck for a moment before letting them fall to his sides. "What did it feel like, when the angel touched your cheek?"
"Nothin'" Dean said, too fast, and Sam just looked at him. "Dude, it was - it wasn't anything, it..." Dean stopped and sighed - reached up and scratched at the back of his neck, frowning. "It felt like...for just a minute like...everything was okay. You know? I could just...stop. I could rest and nothin' was gonna go to hell or blow up or...catch on fire. I knew everything was gonna be okay."
Dean looked pissed off - actually angry - and Sam felt himself frowning in confusion. "And what, that's a bad thing? I don't get you."
"It's a fucking lie, Sam! Nothing's gonna be fine, nothing's gonna be okay. The demons are still out there, the monsters are still out there and the angel already fucked back off to - to heaven or wherever." Dean blew a breath out, glaring at the ward wall - at the mud and the barn and everything but Sam. "And we're still stuck here, people dying every day and the cities falling apart and nothing's...ever gonna be like it was. I'm just sick of the lies, Sam." Dean's gaze, when he finally met Sam's, was flat and cold, antique-jade green and darkness, his eyes socketed in shadow. "Sick of it all."
"No, Dean -" Sam reached for Dean's shoulder and Dean actually flinched away. Flinched and stood there, rigid. All but trembling and then abruptly he relaxed, his shoulders slumping down, his neck bending. Letting out a long breath, soft little laugh at the end.
"Sorry. I'm sorry, man." Dean straightened up and rolled his head on his neck a little, making it crack. "Not your problem."
"What?" Sam stomped a few feet away from Dean - stomped back and jabbed him in the chest with his finger. "Jesus, sometimes I just wanna fucking clock you, you know that? Not my problem? It's been my problem since I was six months old!"
"Yeah, and it got you killed, Sam! I got you killed. This whole fucked up world and fucked up life and you didn't even make it to puberty 'cause of me and then this fucking...angel wants to feed me some bullshit lie about how it's all better now? Fuck that! And fuck you. You had it easy, playing the fucking hero, never staying behind to clean up the mess. So don't tell me it's your fucking problem."
"Are you nuts? Dean? Do you really think - do you even fucking know how many times I've seen you die? Seen Dad..." Sam's voice cracked on that - cracked and caught and he couldn't finish his sentence - couldn't breathe, for a moment. The hurt too sharp and too deep - too bright-hot, like a knife to his heart. *God, Dad...I fucked up with you so bad, and I miss you so damn much...* Sam wiped at his eyes roughly, his knuckles scraping the thin skin underneath, smearing freezing wetness across his cheekbones. "What the hell is wrong with you?"
"I heard what it said, Sam." Dean was breathing hard, sheet-white, the scar across his mouth standing out in contrast to his chapped lips. His own eyes glittering with tears but they didn't spill over, just pooled there, making his eyes huge. "I was listening through the fucking....roofie it gave me. It said you could - what - save the world? Save us all? That you've got some kind of power, now?"
"So? So what? I'm not - it's not what -"
"Yeah, so - save the fucking world and then off to your next...case, right? Or maybe - maybe you get to go...wherever they send heroes, huh? Off in - heaven or wherever, with M-Mom and...you -"
"Dean - no. No. Damnit -" Sam ignored the rigidly hunched line of Dean's shoulders, ignored the glare and simply grabbed. Grabbed Dean and pulled him close and held on, face buried in Dean's neck and his arms squeezing tight, hip bumping hip and their ribs crushed together. Shaking, and he wasn't sure if it was rage or fear or what. "What makes you think I'm leaving? What makes you think I'd just...a-abandon you?"
Dean didn't answer - didn't move for too long and then he did, his arms coming up and around. Holding tight, fierce clutch that made Sam wheeze a little. It hurt, but love had always hurt, one way or another, and Sam didn't mind. "It's you that fixes everything. Isn't it?" Dean's voice was rough - ragged. Thick with emotion, vibrating against Sam's collarbone. "What it said, you fix the world. If the monsters are all gone...why would you stay?"
Sam wrenched out of Dean's hold and stared at him. Fury, shock - one sick moment of pity before he took Dean's face in his hands and kissed him. Fuck Bobby seeing - fuck Bobby, he didn't matter. None of it did - nothing did, except for Dean. Making him understand - making him feel. Sam could taste iron in Dean's mouth - blood and maybe tears, coffee and salt. The rub of Dean's tongue over his own sent a quick, tingling shock of arousal straight to his cock and he had to break the kiss. Press forehead to forehead for a moment, dragging air into his lungs, the back of Dean's neck warm and fragile under his hand. "Fucker, you fuck, you idiot. God damnit, Dean, I love you. Don't you get it yet? I fucking love you."
"Doesn't mean you'll stay," Dean said, and there was a lifetime's worth of heartbreak in his voice.
"I'm not Dad. And I'm not six. I can fight - God, you have no fucking idea what I can do." Sam pulled back far enough so they could see each other - so Dean could see. "I can't do this alone, Dean."
Dean stared back at him, solemn. Fingers twisted in Sam's jacket, holding on. "Yes you can."
"I -" Memory came, clear as ice, and Sam had to grin. "Yeah, but I don't want to."
Dean went upstairs to wash off the rest of Bobby's spell before, as he said, his head exploded. Sam went into the kitchen, his throat dry. He washed his hands and then poured himself some Tang and gulped it down. Bobby was sitting at the table, cup of coffee on the scratched wooden surface in front of him, his hat tugged low over his eyes.
He'd seen - Sam knew he had. He didn't care.
"He doesn't trust me," Sam said, staring out the kitchen window. Watching the dog pack trot in circuits through yard, reaffirming that everything was theirs - was safe. "He thinks I'll leave - thinks I don't...care."
"And what, that's supposed to come as a shock?"
Sam turned around sharply, angry. "I'm his brother, Bobby -"
"No you're not." Bobby held up his hand, forestalling Sam's reply. "You've been here, what - seven days? He barely knows you. He believes you, don't think he don't." Bobby turned his cup in his hands, tapping a thick fingernail against the pottery. "He knows you're telling him the truth, but he don't feel you in his bones."
"I'm not going to abandon him."
Bobby lifted his head, skewering Sam with a look of squint-eyed intensity. "Every single person he's ever give fuck-all about has died on him, boy. Died right in front of him, and him helpless to stop it, every damn time. That demon got in his Dad...he didn't know it right at first. They were down in Texas and John was drinkin' and then he comes back to the hotel and starts tellin' Dean..." Bobby stopped and reached inside his down vest - pulled out a flask out and poured a slug of whiskey into his coffee. "That demon told Dean every single secret John ever had. Every ugly thought and fucked-up memory - every desperate impulse the man ever fought. Dean thought it was John telling him that, you hear me?"
Bobby took a long swallow of his coffee and Sam nodded, arms crossed tightly over his chest, gaze fixed on the older man.
"Tellin' him the wrong son died - tellin' him they'd have been better off if it'd been Dean dyin' in that hospital bed 'stead of you. Tellin' him how much he hated life, hated the world, hated his son... And there's Dean, takin' it all in like he always did and believin' every filthy fucking lie..."
"It maybe wasn't all lies, though, was it?" Sam asked quietly, and Bobby sighed, his shoulders slumping.
"We aren't none of us pure in our heart of hearts. We all have unreasonable ideas and stupid grudges... Some of it might have been true, but John knew better than to ever let any of it out. Dean figured out it wasn't his Dad about an hour in but..." Bobby lifted his hands, and Sam nodded slowly.
"Damage done, I guess."
"Yeah, pretty much. Kid was only fifteen - what d'ya expect?"
Sam let his arms fall - walked the few steps necessary to take him to Bobby's side. "I'm not...he gave up so much for me. He always has. I'd give my life for him, Bobby."
Bobby looked up sharply, scowling. "That's the last fuckin' thing he needs, boy. You keep your life. Keep tight hold of it and live it. That's the only thing that's ever gonna make a fucking difference to him. You don't give him promises - you live 'em. You hear me?"
Sam stared down at the man - at the web of wrinkles around the weary eyes - at the scarred knuckles and the callused hands. At the love that shone, pure and clear as a candle-flame. "Yeah, I hear you."
Bobby stared back for a long moment and then huh'd in acknowledgment, lifting his cup and taking another mouthful of his doctored coffee. "Go on upstairs and get clean, then. You're droppin' mud everywhere."
"Yessir,"
"And don't be runnin' all the hot water out, it's a pure waste."
"Yessir," Sam said again, grinning now, backing across the kitchen.
"And don't be 'yessir'ing me like some kind'a smart aleck!" Bobby roared, and Sam turned and ran for the stairs.
"Sir, yessir!"
Dean was still in the shower, and Sam figured sharing was the best way to ration the heat.
Part seventeen.
I feel a little...alone! My flist has been so quiet... But that's okay. keepaofthecheez has kept us all entertained with her picspam posts of boys. :) Well, okay - *a* boy, but sometimes *boys*, and...that's all good.
There has also been some batshitcrazy going on vis a vis Firefly, slash, and fringy lunacy but - it's hiatus! Seems like the weirdest shite comes to light when we don't have our 'stories' to keep us occupied. :)
Dearest darkhavens beta'd, as usual - yay! And sweptawaybayou cheered me on, as usual. Double yay!
And reremouse finished Parts, her Spike/Xander genderswitch fic which is just *made* of win. Yay all around!
Previous parts in my memories, and tags. Enjoy!
The silence, after, was almost painful. Air so dead and still it seemed like Sam couldn't drag it into his lungs - couldn't push out the stale air that was already there. And then he could, whooping cough as everything rushed back with a tangible snap. He blinked down at his knees, inches deep in freezing mud; looked at his hand, which had curled reflexively into Dean's shirts. His knuckles were white, skin dry and cracked from the cold.
The dogs were barking hysterically, the mules hee-hawing in the barn and Bobby was cursing, a steady and varied stream of profanity that made Sam feel the urge to giggle hysterically. Bobby maneuvered down the stairs and across the mud of the yard and Dean took a hard, sharp breath in, his arm and the Colt coming up to about half way and then wavering aside again.
"Did it - where -?"
"It's gone. It left." Sam let his head fall down onto Dean's shoulder, squeezing his eyes shut. He felt Dean pocket the Colt - felt his rough fingers stroke in under Sam's hair and up, tangling in it and pulling him close.
"You okay? Did it - what'd it do? Bobby, you said he'd be protected!"
"He's still alive, isn't he?" Bobby snapped. Sam heard Bobby's boot and the crutch-tips squelch in the mud and then a moment later felt Bobby's hand on his shoulder. "Sam, you alright?"
"Sam?"
Sam took a long breath, saturating his nose - his lungs - with Dean's scent. Leather and wood smoke, salt and soap. Dean. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm okay, I just..." Sam took one last, long breath and then lifted his head. Looked up at Bobby, squinting. "Is it always like that?"
"Every fuckin' time," Bobby said. He tipped his head to one side, his gaze sharp. "Wasn't it like that when you called it?"
"No, it was...there was...less. It was just...that..."
"That 'innocent street person' shape?" Dean asked, and Sam gave a short, rusty laugh.
"Yeah. Just...normal. Mostly normal."
"My fuckin' legs are freezing," Dean muttered. He leaned into Sam and stood up - hauled Sam up beside him and then stood there, swaying just a little. Pale, with the faintest of marks - like a touch of sunburn - on his cheek where the angel had touched him. Rusty smear of dried blood under his nose and the startling bloom of blood in the white of his eye. "Fuck me."
"It takes it out of you." Bobby started picking his way back across the yard, slithering a little in the mud. "You clean your boots off before you come in."
"Yeah, yeah..." Sam ran his hands back through his hair - rubbed at his cheek, where the drying blood itched. He stood there for a moment with his face tipped up to the sun, his eyes closed. There was almost no heat to the light, and the wind had picked up again, gusting through the ward wall. It carried, for the first time, the scent of earth on it, and moisture. *Spring. The equinox. Things coming back to life...*
Dean's hand touched his chest, tiny push. "You really okay?"
"Yeah, I'm...good..." Sam let his chin drop - opened his eyes to find Dean studying him, his hands jammed down into his pockets.
"It said something gave you a key. What'd it mean? 'Gave it without consent'."
Sam sighed - rocked back onto his heels a little, feeling the mud squish under his feet. It was stiffening already, freezing into hard little ridges as they stood there. *Can't keep it from him. Can't hide it anymore. Don't want to.* "When the demon...when Azazel killed our mom...he fed me some of his blood."
"Huh." Dean stared at him for a long moment and then his gaze flickered over Sam's shoulder, his whole face relaxing. Almost smiling and Sam frowned.
"A demon fed me blood when I was six months old, Dean. Doesn't that...mean anything?"
"I dunno, does it?" Dean moved a step or two away, bending down a little and a moment later Sam-dog was leaping up at him, mouth open in a doggy grin, tongue out. Dancing on his hind legs and getting streaks of mud on Dean's sleeves and jacket-front. "Hey, Sammy, hey, boy..."
"Of course it does!" Sam made an impatient gesture, opening his arms wide. "It means I'm... It means I'm not -"
"It said 'not tainted', Sam. I heard it." Dean looked up from Sam-dog, squinting a little into the sun. "So whatever big bad....thing you think you are, you're not, okay?" He slapped his hands together, straightening, and Sam-dog hopped over to Sam, sniffing excitedly at his muddy knees and fingers before darting away again, running across the yard toward the back of the house and the pack.
"Except I am, Dean."
"Jesus." Dean wiped at the paw prints on his sleeve. "No, you're not. You made a deal with an angel, Sam. Doesn't make you special. Bobby calls 'em all the time!" Off Sam's look of complete disbelief, Dean sighed and looked skyward, making a point of giving in. "Okay, so he's called them four times. Still doesn't mean anything."
"No, it's not...that." Sam pushed his fingers back through his hair and then linked his hands behind his neck for a moment before letting them fall to his sides. "What did it feel like, when the angel touched your cheek?"
"Nothin'" Dean said, too fast, and Sam just looked at him. "Dude, it was - it wasn't anything, it..." Dean stopped and sighed - reached up and scratched at the back of his neck, frowning. "It felt like...for just a minute like...everything was okay. You know? I could just...stop. I could rest and nothin' was gonna go to hell or blow up or...catch on fire. I knew everything was gonna be okay."
Dean looked pissed off - actually angry - and Sam felt himself frowning in confusion. "And what, that's a bad thing? I don't get you."
"It's a fucking lie, Sam! Nothing's gonna be fine, nothing's gonna be okay. The demons are still out there, the monsters are still out there and the angel already fucked back off to - to heaven or wherever." Dean blew a breath out, glaring at the ward wall - at the mud and the barn and everything but Sam. "And we're still stuck here, people dying every day and the cities falling apart and nothing's...ever gonna be like it was. I'm just sick of the lies, Sam." Dean's gaze, when he finally met Sam's, was flat and cold, antique-jade green and darkness, his eyes socketed in shadow. "Sick of it all."
"No, Dean -" Sam reached for Dean's shoulder and Dean actually flinched away. Flinched and stood there, rigid. All but trembling and then abruptly he relaxed, his shoulders slumping down, his neck bending. Letting out a long breath, soft little laugh at the end.
"Sorry. I'm sorry, man." Dean straightened up and rolled his head on his neck a little, making it crack. "Not your problem."
"What?" Sam stomped a few feet away from Dean - stomped back and jabbed him in the chest with his finger. "Jesus, sometimes I just wanna fucking clock you, you know that? Not my problem? It's been my problem since I was six months old!"
"Yeah, and it got you killed, Sam! I got you killed. This whole fucked up world and fucked up life and you didn't even make it to puberty 'cause of me and then this fucking...angel wants to feed me some bullshit lie about how it's all better now? Fuck that! And fuck you. You had it easy, playing the fucking hero, never staying behind to clean up the mess. So don't tell me it's your fucking problem."
"Are you nuts? Dean? Do you really think - do you even fucking know how many times I've seen you die? Seen Dad..." Sam's voice cracked on that - cracked and caught and he couldn't finish his sentence - couldn't breathe, for a moment. The hurt too sharp and too deep - too bright-hot, like a knife to his heart. *God, Dad...I fucked up with you so bad, and I miss you so damn much...* Sam wiped at his eyes roughly, his knuckles scraping the thin skin underneath, smearing freezing wetness across his cheekbones. "What the hell is wrong with you?"
"I heard what it said, Sam." Dean was breathing hard, sheet-white, the scar across his mouth standing out in contrast to his chapped lips. His own eyes glittering with tears but they didn't spill over, just pooled there, making his eyes huge. "I was listening through the fucking....roofie it gave me. It said you could - what - save the world? Save us all? That you've got some kind of power, now?"
"So? So what? I'm not - it's not what -"
"Yeah, so - save the fucking world and then off to your next...case, right? Or maybe - maybe you get to go...wherever they send heroes, huh? Off in - heaven or wherever, with M-Mom and...you -"
"Dean - no. No. Damnit -" Sam ignored the rigidly hunched line of Dean's shoulders, ignored the glare and simply grabbed. Grabbed Dean and pulled him close and held on, face buried in Dean's neck and his arms squeezing tight, hip bumping hip and their ribs crushed together. Shaking, and he wasn't sure if it was rage or fear or what. "What makes you think I'm leaving? What makes you think I'd just...a-abandon you?"
Dean didn't answer - didn't move for too long and then he did, his arms coming up and around. Holding tight, fierce clutch that made Sam wheeze a little. It hurt, but love had always hurt, one way or another, and Sam didn't mind. "It's you that fixes everything. Isn't it?" Dean's voice was rough - ragged. Thick with emotion, vibrating against Sam's collarbone. "What it said, you fix the world. If the monsters are all gone...why would you stay?"
Sam wrenched out of Dean's hold and stared at him. Fury, shock - one sick moment of pity before he took Dean's face in his hands and kissed him. Fuck Bobby seeing - fuck Bobby, he didn't matter. None of it did - nothing did, except for Dean. Making him understand - making him feel. Sam could taste iron in Dean's mouth - blood and maybe tears, coffee and salt. The rub of Dean's tongue over his own sent a quick, tingling shock of arousal straight to his cock and he had to break the kiss. Press forehead to forehead for a moment, dragging air into his lungs, the back of Dean's neck warm and fragile under his hand. "Fucker, you fuck, you idiot. God damnit, Dean, I love you. Don't you get it yet? I fucking love you."
"Doesn't mean you'll stay," Dean said, and there was a lifetime's worth of heartbreak in his voice.
"I'm not Dad. And I'm not six. I can fight - God, you have no fucking idea what I can do." Sam pulled back far enough so they could see each other - so Dean could see. "I can't do this alone, Dean."
Dean stared back at him, solemn. Fingers twisted in Sam's jacket, holding on. "Yes you can."
"I -" Memory came, clear as ice, and Sam had to grin. "Yeah, but I don't want to."
Dean went upstairs to wash off the rest of Bobby's spell before, as he said, his head exploded. Sam went into the kitchen, his throat dry. He washed his hands and then poured himself some Tang and gulped it down. Bobby was sitting at the table, cup of coffee on the scratched wooden surface in front of him, his hat tugged low over his eyes.
He'd seen - Sam knew he had. He didn't care.
"He doesn't trust me," Sam said, staring out the kitchen window. Watching the dog pack trot in circuits through yard, reaffirming that everything was theirs - was safe. "He thinks I'll leave - thinks I don't...care."
"And what, that's supposed to come as a shock?"
Sam turned around sharply, angry. "I'm his brother, Bobby -"
"No you're not." Bobby held up his hand, forestalling Sam's reply. "You've been here, what - seven days? He barely knows you. He believes you, don't think he don't." Bobby turned his cup in his hands, tapping a thick fingernail against the pottery. "He knows you're telling him the truth, but he don't feel you in his bones."
"I'm not going to abandon him."
Bobby lifted his head, skewering Sam with a look of squint-eyed intensity. "Every single person he's ever give fuck-all about has died on him, boy. Died right in front of him, and him helpless to stop it, every damn time. That demon got in his Dad...he didn't know it right at first. They were down in Texas and John was drinkin' and then he comes back to the hotel and starts tellin' Dean..." Bobby stopped and reached inside his down vest - pulled out a flask out and poured a slug of whiskey into his coffee. "That demon told Dean every single secret John ever had. Every ugly thought and fucked-up memory - every desperate impulse the man ever fought. Dean thought it was John telling him that, you hear me?"
Bobby took a long swallow of his coffee and Sam nodded, arms crossed tightly over his chest, gaze fixed on the older man.
"Tellin' him the wrong son died - tellin' him they'd have been better off if it'd been Dean dyin' in that hospital bed 'stead of you. Tellin' him how much he hated life, hated the world, hated his son... And there's Dean, takin' it all in like he always did and believin' every filthy fucking lie..."
"It maybe wasn't all lies, though, was it?" Sam asked quietly, and Bobby sighed, his shoulders slumping.
"We aren't none of us pure in our heart of hearts. We all have unreasonable ideas and stupid grudges... Some of it might have been true, but John knew better than to ever let any of it out. Dean figured out it wasn't his Dad about an hour in but..." Bobby lifted his hands, and Sam nodded slowly.
"Damage done, I guess."
"Yeah, pretty much. Kid was only fifteen - what d'ya expect?"
Sam let his arms fall - walked the few steps necessary to take him to Bobby's side. "I'm not...he gave up so much for me. He always has. I'd give my life for him, Bobby."
Bobby looked up sharply, scowling. "That's the last fuckin' thing he needs, boy. You keep your life. Keep tight hold of it and live it. That's the only thing that's ever gonna make a fucking difference to him. You don't give him promises - you live 'em. You hear me?"
Sam stared down at the man - at the web of wrinkles around the weary eyes - at the scarred knuckles and the callused hands. At the love that shone, pure and clear as a candle-flame. "Yeah, I hear you."
Bobby stared back for a long moment and then huh'd in acknowledgment, lifting his cup and taking another mouthful of his doctored coffee. "Go on upstairs and get clean, then. You're droppin' mud everywhere."
"Yessir,"
"And don't be runnin' all the hot water out, it's a pure waste."
"Yessir," Sam said again, grinning now, backing across the kitchen.
"And don't be 'yessir'ing me like some kind'a smart aleck!" Bobby roared, and Sam turned and ran for the stairs.
"Sir, yessir!"
Dean was still in the shower, and Sam figured sharing was the best way to ration the heat.
Part seventeen.