"I don't like him. He's grouchy and his house smells weird."
Sam slouched on Bobby Singer's couch with a surly expression on his six-year-old face. Dean flopped down next to him, sighing gustily.
"This blows. He's got nothing in the fridge, the TV's busted, and the only thing to do in this whole house is read."
The ten year old sounded properly offended, as if he'd been stuck in a state penitentiary rather than a dusty old house. He honestly didn't know which one was worse.
"Dean, why couldn't we stay with Dad? Where'd he go?"
"He's on business, Sammy. He'll be back soon."
"But where is he?"
"It's just business, Sam, okay?" Dean snapped, and immediately felt the guilt set in as Sammy's face dropped. Those stupid puppy dog eyes…Dean looped an arm around his brother's shoulder and looked around the living room. To be honest, it wasn't much to look at. There were books and papers scattered everywhere, and a glass of whiskey sat half-finished on a desk the size of a house. Guns on all four walls, a revolver on the mantel, and-was that a flamethrower behind the couch?
"He's nuts." Sammy whispered anxiously.
"Like crunchy peanut butter." Dean whispered back.
"Don't touch anything." Bobby's voice cut in, making both boys jump. Sam nearly fell off the couch and scrambled to hide behind Dean, looking guilty.
"Just assume everything's loaded. You boys doin' okay?"
For some tough hunter, Dean thought Bobby looked freaked-like he was going to break both boys before Dad got back.
"I'm hungry." Sam piped up from behind Dean's shoulder. The grizzled man looked surprised.
"Right. I figured, but I, uh, don't have much in the way of food around here. You like Chinese?"
It was always the same. First there was the screaming, and then there was the smell. Later, Dean would wonder why he had noticed it. It was weird, the things you focused on when you couldn't focus at all. He smelled it now: that odd mix of burnt feathers and charcoal.
Sharp. Bitter.
Wrong.
And then came the flames. He remembered it in crystalline detail, more clearly than anything else that had happened in his short life; even more than the first time he'd shot a wraith that was about to get Sammy. Even more than the first time Dad came home drunk. It was unforgettable-and not the good kind, either.
It had been like an explosion off of an action movie. And as impossible as it seemed, Dean's world came crashing down around his ears in what had looked like slow motion. Mom, pinned to the ceiling. Him, holding Sammy. And Dad. On the floor. Screaming. It all flowed around him like freeze framed pictures on a motel wall, not real-not real-not real.
But this time was different. He wasn't holding Sam now and Dad wasn't here. It was just him and Mom. She smiled at him, her blonde curls ricocheting down the back of her nightgown like cascading ribbons. The fire was going to start any minute, he knew, and he had to get her out.
"Mom, we have to go!" The urgency in his voice didn't seem to bother her. Neither did the crimson stain leeching across her stomach. She turned to look at him, and it was like she had something to say; something important that shouldn't be forgotten. It didn't matter now. He took her hand and started pulling towards the door: out, away, anywhere but here. She hung back, glancing at the crib behind them over her shoulder. She pulled her hand away gently and smoothed the hair out of Dean's eyes.
"Why are you so worried, baby? You remember what I told you."
"Mom." He was desperate. They couldn't stay, not here. "Please."
Dean felt his eyes fill with tears.
"Please." He whispered.
A spark caught on the back of Mary's dress before one fine blonde ribbon stuck to the side of her face, melting skin and bone together so that they ran like paint. The fire burst around her, but she was still looking at Dean as she got pulled away to the ceiling with a ghoulish smile painted on her charring features. The bony jaw opened like a hinge, a gaping black maw that mouthed words all too familiar:
"Angels are watching over you."
"MOM!"
"Dean!"
But Dean couldn't see her any more. He was alone in the dark, and he was shaking. No-wait. Someone else was shaking him, talking to him. With a jolt he fell out of the darkness, back to reality.
"Dean! Wake up!"
The voice was gruff and firm. So were the hands on his shoulders. For a second he thought it was Dad, before a face swam in to view in front of him. As soon as he saw Dean's eyes open Bobby looked worried.
"You all right, kid?"
Dean felt his whole body trembling with ragged breaths, and his face was still wet. He had actually been crying-which meant he'd probably screamed out loud too. Of course.
"S-sorry." Dean choked out.
Bobby sat back with a sigh, shaking his head at the terrified ten year old. "You got a pair of lungs on you, son. I heard you all the way upstairs. One thing's for sure, though: your brother sleeps like the dead."
Dean looked over at the cot by the window- sure enough, Sam was sprawled out snoring. The table was still strewn with noodle cartons from the earlier Chinese dinner, and a fortune cookie lay cracked on the table. Focus, Dean.
"So what was that all about?"
"It was nothing." Dean was embarrassed enough. He didn't need to tell this stranger about the nightmares- he'd never even told Dad about them.
"Didn't sound like nothing."
Dean didn't say a word. He looked at the flamethrower, at Sam's wide open mouth, anywhere but at Bobby's face. The older hunter didn't even flinch. He just waited. Dean set his jaw stubbornly and waited right back. Bobby was the first one to break.
"Listen, kid. I know you don't know me, but I know you. You're the same as I was when I was your age- and something real bad happened to me back then. It was my fault. People got hurt. I still hate to think about it because I know that I could have done something to stop it. But you know what?"
Dean's eyes slowly rose up to meet Bobby's steady gaze. "What?"
"There is nothing I could do to change it. Life is life, son, and there ain't no changing the past once it's been done. You have to keep moving when things go south."
"But I-"
"The buts don't matter. You got a brother who's gonna look up to you whether you like it or not, and you have to make sure that boy likes what he sees when he's watching you."
At that, Dean withdrew, looking annoyed. He crossed his arms and pulled back from the old hunter, settling against the back of the couch with his legs folded up under him.
"You sound like my dad."
Bobby's eyebrows rose. "Yeah, well, I ain't. But I saw you two together tonight. He didn't let you out of his sight the whole time you were running around complaining about how boring my house is."
Dean flushed, looking uncomfortable. "You heard that?"
"Yeah. Look, my point is that he's on your tail, kiddo, and he's got your scent. You two are gonna be stuck with each other for a long, long, time. I can't say what you think of him, but I can see plain as day what he thinks of you. And you can't let what happened in the past hold you back from being here for him now."
Dean stared at the old hunter for a moment, startled at his sudden sympathy. He glanced at Sam, whose arms were flung wide across the cot, with one leg dangling off the edge. Bobby looked at the kid too, and found himself grinning slightly. He had a lot to live up to. Turning back to face Dean, he saw that the kid was watching him with a strange light in his eyes. Bobby sat back suddenly, looking alarmed. He gave Dean an uncomfortable slap on the back.
"There, you all right now?"
Dean stuck out his chin and nodded, as stubborn as he was short.
"Okay. You should probably get some rest." He got up to leave, but not before out of the corner of his eyes he saw the kid shrink back on the couch at the possibility of being left alone with the horrors in his head. Bobby made a turn to his desk and sank down in the chair behind it, shuffling papers around until he found something to scribble on. Dean stared. Bobby looked up at him and shrugged.
"What? I'm up. May as well get some work done while I'm here."
Dean rolled his eyes and lay back down, quietly relieved that he wasn't alone in the dark. Bobby sat at his desk reading up on the Japanese okami, finding himself relieved of the same.
BANG.
The morning light was streaming gray through the windows when a knock came at the door. Bobby sat up with a start, looking around groggily as he realized he was still at his desk covered in papers and whiskey. His eyes snapped to the two figures by his moth-eaten sofa. Dean was curled up on his side, back to the wall and his hand stretched out to touch Sam's. Sam was still spread-eagled across the entirety of the cot, his toes hanging half a foot from the floor-not that he seemed to mind. The knock came again, more insistent this time.
"Singer! Open up, it's John."
Bobby stood; sneaking past the two boys passed out in his living room, and was shocked to see John Winchester burst through the front door and into his hallway.
"John! What the hell do you think you're doin'?"
But the oldest Winchester flew past Bobby, running to where Dean was folded on the far end of the couch and shaking him roughly.
"Dean. Dean! Get up, we gotta go."
The kid's eyes snapped open, and he jumped up so fast you'd have thought someone had let off a gunshot in his ear. "Dad? What is it?"
"I got a lead. It's him this time, Dean. I can feel it. Get your brother and meet me at the car."
John turned to face Bobby, looking surprised to see him. The man looked half-wild with excitement, and a creepy sort of bloodlust shone in his eyes as he spoke.
"Look, Bobby. Thanks for watching them, but I just got a tip on Yellow-Eyes from a demon over in South Carolina. He's in New Hampshire with a bunch of others. I have to head in while the trail's hot, and having the boys here would put them in too much danger. We have to leave, now. Last I heard there were about sixteen demons headed up here."
Bobby gestured to one of the shotguns on the wall. "They don't have too much snap when faced with my décor. The boys can stay."
"Bobby, I have to go. I'm sorry I brought this on you, but I didn't even realize they were following me until I turned the corner to get up here. You've got about ten minutes, tops."
And after that, he was already halfway out the door. Dean had yanked a sluggish Sam from his nest of blankets and was pulling on the younger kid's jacket. Sam yawned and blinked owlishly at Bobby as his brother dragged him towards the front of the house.
Sixteen demons. Balls.
"John Winchester, you get your ass back here and clean up your own goddamned mess!" Bobby hollered. The guy didn't even turn around.
When there was no response, Bobby walked over to help Dean gather the bags on the stairs.
"You gonna be okay, son?" Bobby couldn't help but ask. The kid was playing Mr. Mom to a mad man and his kid brother.
"I'll be fine. Always am."
"Listen, kid: you ever need anything, anything at all, you call me. You got that? It doesn't matter what time or when. You need me, I've gotcha."
Someone had to say it.
Dean just looked up at Bobby with a shine in his eyes like he was some kind of Superman. And then he threw his arms around Bobby's middle, squeezing so hard that he thought the kid might end up popping a blood vessel.
"Thanks." Dean whispered. "Thanks for everything."
And with that, he let go just as quickly as he had grabbed on, tugged his brother out the door and was gone. Bobby stared out at the front yard, watching as the black Impala screeched around the corner with a cloud of dust rising fast behind it.
Anytime, kid.Anytime at all.