A/N: After finally watching Death's Door (I avoided it for a long time. *MAJOR* denial here) two thoughts popped into my head almost simultaneously: 1. This is the second time a beloved Jim Beaver character has been shot in the head (the first being Ellsworth in Deadwood.) And 2. Bobby is *NOT* dead! I refuse to believe it-*sticking fingers in ears* "la-la-la-la-la I can't hear you!"
So this... whatever this is... is how my brain decided to fix things. Knowledge of the crossover series not necessary, I'll include any pertinent information on them within the body of the story. I have absolutely no idea where this will end up. It could just be a short one or two chapter fic or it could turn into an ongoing thing. It all depends on feedback and what the voices in my head tell me to do.
This is the first thing I've written in over five years and the first ever in the Supernatural universe. You have been warned.
oooOOOooo
Chapter 1: Death's Revolving Door
Dean was numb. No, not numb. Dead. He felt dead inside. The sights and sounds of the hospital swirled around him but he was oblivious to it all. He sat unblinking in one of those hard plastic chairs that hospitals seemed to like so much. It's like they want to add to the suffering of the poor saps that needed to use them, he thought to himself. Can't even give us one small comfort. He sighed and shifted his weight a bit, wishing his brother would hurry up. Sam was off talking to someone about Bobby's... about Bobby. The hospital douche bag had appeared at their side the second after it had happened. There were forms and questions, hospital policy he'd said. Then he'd asked about making arrangements for "the body" and Dean lost it. He stormed out into the hospital parking lot and promptly threw up the coffee and donut he'd managed to force down earlier. He stood there retching for a while, then leaned against a light post trying to catch his breath. This couldn't be real. Bobby couldn't be...
He finally managed to pull himself together enough to go back for his brother. Sam was waiting for him, and promised to take care of everything. It was a bad sign that "Sam, Interrupted" was the more stable one of them now and all Dean could do was sit there waiting outside the morgue. Where Bobby was. Damn it, I do not want to be thinking about this.He didn't want to think at all, which is what led him to the belief he was dead inside. Dead men didn't need to think, so that's what he wanted to be. Not that that's how it ever worked all the times he *had* been dead. Some supernatural S.O.B. or another always made sure he didn't "rest in peace." Reapers, demons, angels- they always played with him first. Bounced him around like a damn rubber ball before bringing him back to life. But not this time. No, this time Dean decided he was just going to be good old fashioned dead. He remembered how he felt after his father died, and this? This was so much worse. His Mom, Dad, Cas, Lisa and Ben, Rufus, Ellen and Jo. It seemed like all he did was lose the people he cared about. But not Bobby. Bobby was always there for him no matter what. Through death and pain. Monsters, demons and angels. Hell and even the damn apocalypse. Bobby was always there. But now? No, Dean wasn't going to think about that. Catching movement out of the corner of his eye he looked up in time to see Sam walk over.
"Ok, so I talked to the guy about Bobby," Sam said softly as he took a seat next to his brother. "I told him that his religion demands he be buried before the next sunset after death so they're gonna put a rush on the... the autopsy." Both boys flinched at the word. "We can take him after that."
"We should just grab him now."
"Dean..."
"No, Sam." Dean turned to face him, and in his eyes Sam could see pain, grief and rage all competing for dominance. "We don't need an autopsy to know what happened. We know what happened! And I do *not* want him being treated like some damn frog in a dissection lab!"
"Dean, Bobby was shot. The police-"
"The police what? What are the cops gonna do about this, huh?" By the look on Dean's face Sam could tell that rage had won top spot for now. "It's not like there's gonna be an arrest or a trial. This isn't one of their cases, it's one of ours. So we should just take Bobby's... we should take Bobby, do right by him, and then hunt down every last one of those big mouthed sons of bitches!"
Anything else he might have said was cut off as another man wearing a suit and hospital ID stepped towards them. "Excuse me, are you relatives of Mr. Singer?"
"His nephews," Sam replied as both he and Dean stood to face the man.
"I'm sorry, but I'm afraid there'll be a bit of a delay in releasing your uncle's body."
"What do you mean? Why?" Dean Demanded. He briefly wondered if they'd found some piece of evidence linking Bobby to one of their jobs. But no, even if there was something to be found, forensic analysis takes time. There was no way they could have come up with something that fast.
"I'm sure it's just a clerical error," the man said. "But we... can't seem to find the body. It was probably just misidentified as someone else. I'm sure we'll find him shortly-"
"Missing?" Dean felt his blood turn cold. No-no-no, this was not happening. "Missing how?"
"As I said," he answered, nervously taking a step back. "It's most likely a simple error. The orderly transported your uncle's body to the morgue. Because of his religious beliefs the autopsy was scheduled to be performed immediately. But when Dr. McCallum arrived the body was just... gone. I'm sure we'll have everything straightened out in an hour or two-"
That last comment was barely heard by Dean as he stormed down the corridor. The hospital wouldn't find Bobby because Dean knew what happened. Damn it, he thought. How could he have been so stupid! He should never have left him alone, not even for a minute!
"Dean! Dean, wait up!" Sam ran to catch up with him just as he exited the building. "Look, I know what you're thinking, but we don't know for sure-"
"Oh we know, Sam!" Night was falling and Dean stopped near a landscaped area just as the light posts flickered on. "Sam, Dick. Was. Here. He was taunting me earlier and now Bobby's body-" Dean closed his eyes and drew a ragged breath. He couldn't stand thinking of him as just a body. "Bobby's gone now. And you expect me to believe it's just a coincidence?"
"No, you're right. It's probably not a coincidence. But what can we do?" The question was scarcely more than a whisper and Dean could see that his brother was barely hanging on.
"We go back to that building Dick was operating out of and we get him back. He is not going to be Leviathan chow!" Dean's voice was beginning to waver now, his grief pushing to the forefront. "We can't let them snack on him, Sam. This is Bobby we're talkin' about! We just can't-"
"I was afraid you two yahoos would react like this."
Sam and Dean spun quickly towards the voice coming from the bushes, then froze in disbelief. Dean stared at the man in front of them and for a brief moment allowed himself to feel a flicker of hope. Bobby? Can it be?The graying hair, the beard, and even the gruff voice were all the same. But then reality came crashing down on him once more and he remembered that Bobby was dead. Shot and killed by one of the Leviathan, who at the time had assumed the form of Dick Roman. That's what this was, he realized. Another Leviathan posing as Bobby. "Give him back you son of a bitch!" Dean growled, drawing his gun on the... thing in front of him. "You think just 'cause you're wearing Bobby's face I won't shoot you?"
"Ok, just calm down, son. It's me." The man raised his hands in a submissive pose and took a step closer.
"Calm down?" CALM DOWN?" Dean shouted. "Less than an hour ago Bobby was on a morgue slab with a bullet hole in his head, and now you expect me to believe he's walkin' and talkin' like nothing happened?"
"What are you?" Sam asked, pulling his own gun from his waistband.
"I'm... me, boys. I swear, I'm just... look, I'll prove it to ya." He pointed towards the van they had been using. "My bag's over there. One of you go grab it and you'll have everything you need to satisfy yourselves that I am who I say I am."
"Oh yeah, like we're really gonna fall for that." Dean was getting angrier by the minute. "We separate and then you and some of your buddies jump us, right?" He began slowly tightening his grip on his weapon. Shooting one of these things might not kill it, but it would make him feel a lot better.
"Dean, now... just stop and think," the man said, seeming to realize Dean was seconds away from pulling the trigger. "First of all what kind of stupid monster plan would involve me standing in the bushes buck naked, wrapped up in a sheet?" For the first time since the standoff began Dean and Sam looked past the man's face to the rest of him, and a white sheet tied toga style around his body seemed to be the only thing he was wearing. "Secondly, follow this through to its logical conclusion," he continued. "You shoot me, and I'm a Leviathan all I'm gonna do it start spurting black goo and get pissed off. But if I'm telling the truth... if I am Bobby Singer and you shoot me, then what?" He grinned a bit and shook his head. "Come on boy, is it really that hard to believe? The two of you've come back from the dead how many times now? We hit double digits yet?"
Dean hesitated. While his head was telling him Bobby was dead and he should just shoot the son of a bitch, some part of him was still hoping to get him back. Bobby had become like a father to both him and Sam ever since their own dad died. Hell, if he were being honest he'd been more of a father to them than their real dad right from the start. He stole a look at Sam and saw the same conflict playing across his brother's face. Could it be true? The man...thing...whatever it was had a point. Dying didn't seem to be very permanent where he and Sam were concerned. Plus Cas had come back twice, and even Bobby himself had died once before when Lucifer snapped his neck back in Stull cemetery. If there was even a chance...
"Ok, here's how this is going to go," Dean began, making his choice. "All three of us are gonna walk over to the van. Together. You're gonna walk in front of Sam and me, and so help me God, if you so much as sneeze we *will* start shooting."
The three men shared a look and nodded, then began making their way across the parking lot. Sam and Dean had hidden their guns in their jacket pockets, but kept them trained on the figure walking before them. Reaching the van Dean kept close watch while Sam opened the side door and entered first. Then the man claiming to be Bobby clumsily followed, having difficulty because of the sheet wrapped around his legs. Lastly Dean got in and shut the door behind him. Now that they were away from prying eyes the brothers didn't bother to conceal their weapons anymore.
"Well, ain't this cozy," the man said, then glancing at the guns still aimed at him added. "You mind putting those away? I've already been shot once this week. Really rather not do it again."
Dean snorted, but slowly lowered his gun. "You said you could prove you're Bobby. So? Let's get to it."
The man reached for his bag, but Dean stopped him halfway. He didn't intend to give the guy a chance to get the upper hand. Not until he was sure. The man nodded in understanding, and just pointed to a zipper compartment on one end of the duffle. "There'll be a silver knife in there." Dean reached in and retrieved the weapon. "Look familiar?" he asked and Dean realized he was holding the same blade Bobby had pulled on him four years earlier after he'd been yanked from the pit. "Go ahead. Satisfy your curiosity," he said, offering Dean his left arm. Pausing only a moment, he sliced the knife through the skin deep enough to draw blood. "Red blood not black goo, so not one of the big mouths" the man said, wincing slightly from the pain. "And no reaction to the silver, so not a shifter or revenant." Dean's eyes went wide and he could hear his heart pounding in his ears. Could it really be?
The man then turned to Sam. "Gimme your holy water flask." Dean could see his brother was shaking as he pulled the silver flask from his pocket and handed it over, his tenuous hold on his emotions nearing the breaking point. The man downed a large swallow, then splashed some across his own face, winking at Dean. "I'm not a demon either, you know."
The van went deathly quiet as all three men held their collective breath, then Sam broke the silence with a whispered "Bobby?"
Bobby turned and nodded, then let out a startled yelp as Sam launched himself at the old hunter, pulling him into a bone-crushing hug. "Sam... need...air..." he gasped, prompting Sam to quickly release him.
"Bobby, I'm so sorry. I, I didn't mean to- I'm sorry, are you ok? Do you need anything?" Sam was babbling now and Dean was worried the last string holding Sam's sanity together had just snapped.
"I'm fine, Sam. Honest." Bobby smiled at the young man, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. "Trust me on this, I ain't some china doll you gotta worry about breaking." He reached out a hand to give Sam's shoulder a squeeze. "It's all right, son."
Dean just watched the two of them together silently. Not moving. Barely breathing. As if he was afraid the slightest thing would cause him to wake up and realize this was all a dream.
Bobby looked at him and smiled, reaching out his hand. "Dean?"
Dean shifted his attention from Bobby's eyes to the offered hand then back again. He could feel his chin start to quiver, and the part of him that always mocked touchy-feely chick-flick moments insisted he was acting like a girl. But he didn't care. As he grasped Bobby's hand to pull him into an embrace he told himself he'd wear eyeliner and a skirt just as long as it meant Bobby was alive. Dean chuckled as he felt another set of arms wrap around him and realized Sam had come back for seconds.
"You damn idjits," Bobby laughed as Sam moved in for a group hug. He pulled back to look at Sam and Dean- his boys- and grasped each of them on the side of the head. "Sorry I put you two through this."
"Bobby, not to be looking a gift horse in the mouth here," Dean said, still not quite believing his eyes. "But what the hell? You had a freakin' bullet in your brain, how are you still breathing air?"
"Was it angels?" Sam asked. "They finally get off their feathered asses and decide to help?"
"No, not angels." Bobby scratched his beard, trying to find a way to explain this. "Damn, I knew I should have told you boys sooner."
"Oh, man," Dean groaned. "Please tell me this doesn't have anything to do with Crowley."
Snorting, Bobby said, "Right. Cause it worked out so well last time I played 'Let's Make A Deal.' No, Dean, demons had nothing to do with it."
"Well then what?"
Just as Bobby was about to say something the lights from an approaching car shone through the windows causing all three men to tense up.
"We're too exposed here," Bobby said. "We need to get someplace safe."
"Bobby!"
"I ain't trying to sidestep the question. Look, I promise I'll tell you everything. The whole story from opening credits to curtain fall. But it's a long one and we need to be somewhere secure," he said, then looking down at the sheet wrapped around him added, "Preferably someplace with pants."
oooOOOooo
An hour later, after stopping at a diner for take out and a liquor store for "supplies", they were all back at the abandoned house they'd been staying at. While Bobby dressed Dean went through the cupboards looking for something to drink out of, eventually finding two old Star Wars glasses from Burger King (he briefly wondered if they were worth anything on eBay) and a chipped coffee mug. Setting them on the table he began pouring whiskey into each as Bobby entered the room.
"Welcome back to life," Dean quipped, passing Bobby the mug and one of the glasses to Sam.
"L'Chaim," Bobby answered, downing the amber liquid in one gulp.
Sam set his glass down and faced Bobby. "Ok, so we've waited like you asked. And now you're dressed, and we're about as safe as we're likely to get anytime soon. Bobby, how are you alive? And what did you mean you should have told us sooner? Told us what?"
"Yeah," Dean added with a questioning smile. "You promised us a story. So come on Mark Twain, let's have it."
Bobby sighed and started pouring himself another shot. "All right. Boys, first you gotta understand, like I said it's a long story. Longer than you can even imagine. Well, might as well start at the beginning." Bobby quickly drained his mug and blew out a breath. "My real name is Whitney Conway Ellsworth. I was born in 1822 in the Missouri territories." He paused briefly, looking first Sam, then Dean square in the eye. "And I'm immortal."