For a little background: It's February, Dean just turned 22 and Sam is 17, turning 18 in a few months.
They needed a break from themselves. Tensions were running high among the Winchester men after Sam announced that he was planning to go to college. If they had to share the close quarters of one more hotel room right now, one of them was bound to explode all over one or both of the others. Sam and Dean were most concerned about John more than the other way around, but that was not to say they weren't nursing hurt emotions of their own. Dean was working overtime to keep his feelings of abandonment in check so he could give his nerdy little brother much-needed support. Sam worked to keep the self-pity at bay, continuously wondering why his quest for the normal things in life always seemed to bring his family to the brink of madness. Being the men they were, no one was fully sharing their inner thoughts with the other and John was sick of the whole thing.
"Pack your bags, boys. We're going to Sioux Falls."
"Why?" Sam asked in a clipped voice. Lately he stayed prepared to fight with his father over every little and big thing. Lately all they did was fight over nothing.
"Is there a hunt there, Dad? Can't Bobby take care of it?" Dean asked.
"Bobby's is where we're going. We need…" John continued stuffing his duffle and twisted his lips as he thought. "…a time out."
"What? Time out from what?" Sam challenged, stepping closer to John to force him to look at him.
"This, Sam. The bickering, all the college talk –"
"You say that like it's something seedy. Kids go to college all the time, Dad. It's the normal thing to do after high school?" Sam finished sarcastically.
"Yeah, I got that, Sam. I heard you and I'm calling a timeout on this right now."
"You can't call time out on my life, Dad! It's not going to sit by and wait –"
"No one is sitting by, Sam! I just need a moment -"
"Stop it!" Dean interjected before the words turned to something more. "Just, stop it, will ya?" Dean sighed as scratched the rim of his ear roughly, trying to figure out how he should feel about this sudden need to go to Bobby's. "Dad, I thought there was a hunt here you needed us to investigate?"
"I'll call Caleb and have him check the network. I'm sure there is someone close by who can handle this. We haven't even started yet, so it's not like it's unfinished business."
Dean nodded uncertainly, watching Sammy clearly simmering as he paced the hotel floor like a caged panther. John stopped packing and turned to look at Dean, casting a glance at Sam before he continued speaking. "This family needs a minute to get itself together."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Sam shouted.
"Sammy!" Dean yelled, looking pointedly at Sam to give him one of his I've-got-this-and-I've-got-you-so-shut-the-fuck-up glares.
"As I was saying," John continued. "This college thing –"
Sam huffed loudly, rolling his eyes. John and Dean both stiffened, but chose to ignore him so John could get out his intentions.
"-is just too big to ignore right now. We need…, ok, I need a minute here, boys. And I think you could use one too. Before we get back to work, before Sammy goes back to school, we need to make sure our heads are in the game and Bobby's place will let us safely relax for a little while."
John looked at Dean for understanding. Dean gave him a small, tentative nod, then he looked over at Sam, who still stood there fuming, his crossed arms holding in his stubbornness while he tried to wait for the right amount of time to pass to honor Dean's unspoken demand that he hold his tongue for a moment.
Dean rubbed his neck as he walked back over to the bed he was currently sharing with his brother because the motel had only one room available the night they had checked in. The hotel manager had promised them that a room would open up in two nights, if they could hold out that long. It was going to be tight, nothing they hadn't dealt with before, but that was before Sam dropped the college bomb and took all the air out of the room.
Sam watched Dean, a look of incredulity dawning on Sam's face. Dean was seriously thinking about it! Instead of just dealing with this, instead of just helping Sam convince their dad that he was being unreasonable, selfish and yeah, even short-sighted – the access to a university library alone, let alone all the professors with their varying specialties, should have made this a good idea. Yet there he was over there, once again, thinking about doing what Dad wanted; falling into line like the good soldier he always was.
Dean stood on his side of the bed, facing the room, and shook his head warningly at his brother. They were not going to fight this, he emoted. Sam's shoulders slumped in defeat. He was prepared to fight this fight with his Dad, but he was not up to fighting Dean too. Not yet. Not unless he had to. College was still just a dream right now anyway. He was only announcing his intentions to go. He wasn't sure yet, with his spotty school attendance record and frequent transfers, if anyone would even want him. He just wanted to prepare his family for the possibility that it could happen.
"You're on winter break this week anyway, Sammy," Dean reasoned.
"Fine," Sam gritted out. "I'll go, but this isn't done."
"No one said it was, Sammy." Sam glared at Dean, who only stared back with a silent plea for a temporary truce.
Sam huffed again and stormed over to his side of the bed, snatching his duffle from the foot of it and angrily stuffing in the few possessions that were within arm's reach.
John nodded and went back to packing up his bag, before starting to assess what else was around the room that needed to be collected. "It's only a night's drive," he said to no one in particular. "I'm sure we can keep from killing each other that long."
"I wouldn't bet on it," Dean said under his breath. The tension would probably kill them all before they even left the state.
(********)
Normally, Dean would have loved a quiet car ride in the country at night. It was a chance to momentarily forget what typically haunted the darkness and just be with his dad and brother, feeling something resembling normalcy, like they were just on a road trip like any other family. But the drive to Bobby's was anything but relaxing. With John in the driver's seat stewing and Sam in the back seat noticeably fuming, Dean had been left literally in the middle - again - trying to keep the pin in the grenade. He had dared not speak for fear of launching yet another attack between the warring Winchesters, so he folded his arms and watched the looming trees swish by his passenger window. From time to time he would spare a glance at his father to make sure he wasn't about to blow again, then steal a glance in the rearview mirror, trying to catch Sam's body language since he could not see his face without turning around. It may have been childish, but Sam had wanted to be as far away from John as he could get, so when he had reluctantly gotten into the car, he had made sure to get in on Dean's side, stacking their bags on the seat behind John as a pointless barrier, then pressing himself tightly against the door, sulking as he refused to speak or look anywhere but out the window.
It wouldn't be that long of a drive. They had been in Minnesota near the Superior National Forest when all hell had broken loose, so they were only a state away. But the forest was still a good seven hours from Bobby's place. They were going to have to settle in for a slight haul. Thankfully, the sun had been setting when they left, so Dean figured Sam would spend a good amount of that time sleeping. By the sound of his breathing now and the fact that his leg had been in the same position the last three times he looked back, he was pretty sure he was correct.
John seemed to be wide awake, his face not as perturbed as it had been when they left. Dean sat up, clearing his throat as a distraction as he purposely turned now to see his little brother's face. Sure enough, Sam's head was resting on the door, his eyes closed and mouth slightly open as he breathed, his face finally smoothed out from all the fury it had been possessing earlier. He was hugging himself as if to self-comfort and Dean wished he had a way to make everything all better for everyone.
"He still looks like an angel, doesn't he?" John asked in a low tone. "Even at 17."
Dean chuckled as he turned back around, watching the dark road before them.
"It was always one of my favorite things to do," John continued, looking over at Dean a moment. He gave him a small smile before he turned his eyes back to the road. "Watching you boys sleep. Even after…" John sighed. "After everything changed, it was the only time either of you looked truly at peace."
"Not really, Dad," Dean corrected him.
"What?"
Dean sat up straighter this time, looking shyly over at his dad before looking again out the passenger window, his own sorrowful eyes mirroring back at him. "Sleep was hardly ever peaceful. Not for me, anyway. For a long time, in the beginning, I would dream about Mom and I would wake up in the middle of night thinking I was home again and she was going to hear me and come check on me. Somehow she always heard me. It would be dark when I woke up, so it always took a minute for me to realize we weren't home. I wasn't in my bed. She wasn't coming."
"You never told me that," John said quietly.
"I didn't tell anyone anything for a long time, remember?"
John nodded. "No, no you didn't."
The two fell back into silence. Dean chewed his lip, concentrating on willing himself to sleep to escape the unease in the car.
"I still want that, you know," John interrupted suddenly.
"Want what?" Dean asked.
"Peace. For both of you. I want you both to be able to sleep without worry. I want you both to be safe. I have to make sure you're both safe."
"By holding us prisoner?"
John's brows furrowed as he looked over at his older son. "I'm not holding you prisoner, Dean."
Dean looked down at his hands, the fingers of one hand squeezed the others then switched. "Not me, so much, I guess. But Sam, Dad. You know Sam has always wanted…" Dean stopped himself as he looked over his father who was gripping the steering wheel a little tighter now. His face beginning to turn back into steel.
"It doesn't matter," Dean finished. "We know you want to keep us safe, Dad. We do."
John's wall crumbled just a little at that. "You know I'll always come for you, don't you, Dean?"
Dean glanced quickly at his dad, shifting slightly to his side as he folded his arms and leaned against the window. He then quickly sat back up, reaching back to make sure his sleeping brother's door was securely locked, then he tucked himself back into position in the front seat. "Wake me up when you want me to take over, Dad," he threw over his shoulder, not bothering to wait for a response, nor watch for John's reaction. He closed his eyes and imagined John and Sam apologizing to each other, John supporting Sam's wishes and Sam being considerate of his father's fears for him. It was a favorite visual of his to which he could never properly dream up a perfect ending before it melted into the insistent sleep that would eventually creep in.
(********)
After one pit stop so John could get a giant coffee and take a leak while his boys continued to sleep off their petulance, the Winchesters rolled into Singer's Salvage about 2:30 a.m. Rumsfeld announces their arrival, jerking Dean awake. He hit his head on the window. "Son of bitch!" he grimaced. Blinking into the darkness, he saw the dog jumping wildly at the end of his chain, looking the most animated Dean had ever seen him. "Oh. Hey, Rumsfeld. Stupid mutt," Dean grumbled.
"He's just saying hello, Dean," Sam chimed in, yawning and shaking as he sat up to regain feeling in his right arm. "What he ever do to you?"
"It's what he could do that worries me," Dean replied.
Sam shook his head and moved to open the car door. "You're an idiot," he said, climbing out of the car and stretching.
"Takes one to love one," Dean countered, opening his own door and throwing out both legs to stretch, but not yet standing while he taunted his lanky brother.
"Ya idjits need wheelchairs?" Bobby called out suddenly. Neither Sam nor Dean had even seen him come out of the house. "Hurry up and get on in here before Rumsfeld wakes the dead. I don't enjoy exorcising spirits in the middle of the night, ya know."
John slammed the car's trunk, getting his boys' attention for the first time since they had arrived. Sam and Dean both turned in his direction, the trio facing off for a brief moment before John stepped back around to the driver's side of the car to get the last of his things.
"Thanks for taking us in for awhile, Bobby," John said. "I know it was last minute."
"No thanks needed. Always here to help when I can," Bobby said, waving a dismissive hand.
"Sam, Dean, get your stuff," John ordered.
"And step on it, damn it," Bobby quickly interjected, seeing Sam about to respond. "It's late and you two need your beauty sleep."
"I'd say I'm ahead of the game, Bobby," Dean smirked, grabbing his bag from Sammy, who had hauled it out from the backseat. Dean threw the bag over his shoulder and headed up the steps to grin at Bobby.
"I'd say you don't know what game you're playing yet, boy. Why don't you go rest on that for a spell," Bobby grinned back. He briefly grabbed Dean in a hug, nodded at the boy, then lightly pushed him through the door.
Sam followed after grabbing his own bag and slamming the car door. Ignoring his father, who had stopped at the bottom of the steps, he climbed up to the porch and stopped shyly in front of Bobby, who was holding him now at arms length. "Every time I see ya, boy, you must be another inch taller. Are you planning to stop any time soon?"
The younger Winchester smiled as he looked down, then over at his father, his smile faltering as he caught John's eye. "A boy's gotta do what a boy's gotta do," he replied looking back up at Bobby. "Right, Uncle Bobby?"
Bobby simply smiled, brought the boy in for a hug, kissed his forehead, then nodded toward the door. "Get on, now. You know where your room is. Someone's gotta make sure Dean gets tucked in." Sam chuckled and stepped into the old home.
Moving into the doorway, Bobby crossed his arms and looked down at the oldest Winchester with a sigh. "What'd you do now, Winchester?"
"What? I can't bring my boys for a visit to their favorite uncle?"
"Not without a fight, no."
John snatched up his own bag that he had set by his feet and took a couple of steps up toward the older hunter. "I thought they could use a little break," he said.
"Them? Or you?" Bobby asked, narrowing his eyes suspiciously.
"Both?" John asked smiling, stopping one step below Bobby in an obvious display of submission to the man he had hoped would be their intermediary for the little while John needed to think. Smiling his disarming Winchester grin, it was clear where Dean had inherited the charm that neither women - nor men - were impervious to. But Bobby was very aware of the conniving abilities of the Winchesters. It's just that he chose to play along because more often than not, it was worth it to have them as a part of his life.
"You need some rest too, Winchester. We'll talk about this in the morning," Bobby said, stepping aside so John could enter. "That's a promise," Bobby added, stopping John for a moment to look him in the eye.
John nodded his understanding.
"You know where your room is," Bobby said, letting go of John's arm. "I'll call ya when breakfast is ready."
"Thanks, Bobby."
"Unh huh," the old man grunted, watching the last Winchester ascend the stairs to the bedrooms, before he looked back out into the dark, out of careful habit, to be sure nothing and no one was skulking about. He got the feeling, though, that this time, the fight would be under his own roof.
(********)
"What the hell do you mean, 'you'll be back'? Where are you going John?" Bobby demanded in hushed tones, trying not to wake the sleeping boys.
"Out. I'll be back," John replied tersely, taking his now empty breakfast dishes to the sink before heading for the living room to gather his things once again.
Bobby followed him, checking the area by the stairs to make sure the younger Winchesters weren't lurking about yet.
"Back when, John?" Bobby hissed.
John turned on the man, startling him in his tracks. "What are you? My mother?"
Bobby scrunched his nose at the suggestion. "If I were I'd be taking you over my knee right now for your insolence!"
John rolled his eyes before resuming his trek to round up what he needed for his departure. Bobby Singer's bark tended to be way worse than his bite. His own father had been an abusive drunk and Bobby never got physical if he thought his sharp tongue could also do the trick.
"What about your boys?"
"What about them? They are in good hands, aren't they?"
"Of course -"
"Well, then," John interrupted. "You watch out for them and I'll be back!"
"Ok, Terminator! Stop right there!" Bobby yelled now, forgetting his concern about being overheard by prying ears.
John let out a huge sigh, turning around to face Bobby once again. "What is it, Bobby?"
"What is this all about?"
"What is what all about?"
"Your sudden need to pay a house call. Sam looking at you like you just killed his puppy." Bobby looked back now at the stairs. Not seeing any odd movements, he stepped closer to John, calming himself so as not to throttle the fool man in front of him.
"What happened between you two?"
The wall came down over John's face just then, but only a little. "It's not your business, Bobby."
"Oh you brought it here," he replied, pointing to John. "This is my house," he continued, pointing forcefully at the floor. "Those boys are like my blood," he added pointing back toward the stairs now. "This is my business. You made it my business," he finished.
John tilted his head just a bit, near sneering now as he stepped into Bobby's space. "Maybe that was a mistake."
"No, John," Bobby said. "That was the thing you did right. I'm trying to keep your foolish ass from making a mistake!"
The two men stood brooding at each other. The quiet around them palatable as they waited to see who would break first. For the sake of not losing the boys as soon as they had arrived, Bobby decided to be the mature one. He sighed, stepping back one step. "Look, John, whatever it is, let me help."
John lifted his chin, acknowledging the mutual agreement to tone down the anger. He drew a hand down his face, then looked toward the stairs as if he too was expecting to see either boy any minute. He shook his head, turning back to his waiting bag.
"Bobby, don't worry about it. You are helping, but I've got this. I just need a minute and I will be back." John zipped the bag as he spoke, lifting it now as he turned back to Bobby. "I promise."
"What are they going to say, John? What am I going to tell them?" Bobby asked softly.
"They aren't kids, Bobby," John argued.
"Yes, they are, damn it! Can't you see that?"
"Fine," John conceded. "But they are my kids and I will handle this. We just needed a place to crash. We won't take up too much of your time. I will be back and we'll keep this moving."
"No," Bobby quickly answered, reaching out to stop John as he turned to leave. John stopped, but this time would not turn around. "They are safe here," Bobby said. "I will keep them safe. They are welcome to stay here as long as you need them to. Whatever it is that is broken, I'm sure it can be fixed. Just do what you need to, John, but don't do anything foolish."
John stood still a little longer looking toward the door as Bobby watched to see what he would decide. He got a nod for his answer, then watched John walk quickly to and out the door with a careful click behind him.
"Stubborn ass," Bobby muttered, heading back to the kitchen to finish getting breakfast ready before the two human vacuums finally woke up.
"Good riddance," Sam whispered at the top of the stairs where he and Dean were crouching in the shadows trying to be quiet, lest Bobby, their Dad or both heard them and decided to teach them a painful lesson about eavesdropping. Dean elbowed his flippant brother.
"Ow!" Sam cried out, trying to keep the noise down. "What? They can't hear us, jerk."
"Yeah, well, I can hear you, bitch. Now shut up and get dressed. I smell food."
(********)
"What's cookin', Bobby?" Dean asked as he sauntered into the kitchen, swiftly turning a chair toward himself and throwing a leg over it to sit backward at the table. He leaned over the back of the chair and picked at a plate of bacon, managing to snag, then drop one piece, when Bobby slapped his hand with the clean wooden spoon he was holding.
"Ow! What was that for?" the offended boy asked, rubbing the back of his hand.
"Wait for your brother."
"What? Why? Don't you know no plate is safe when that dude is around? Jabba the Hut would starve with him around!"
Bobby whipped around, leveling the spoon at his second obstinate Winchester of the day. "Look, boy, don't play with me today. If I say wait, you wait!"
Dean's head snapped back. "OK," he said, raising his hands in surrender. "OK, Bobby, I'm sorry."
Bobby sighed lowering his spoon and looking anew at the younger version of John sitting before him. "You haven't had a lot of normal in your young life, Dean."
Dean looked quizzically at the man, but couldn't debate him.
"When you're here," Bobby continued, "I just, well, I just want to give you something normal, boy."
"Like waiting for Sammy?"
"Like eating together as a family."
Dean looked at the back of the chair, a half smile on his suddenly shy face. "We eat together," he said quietly. Bobby said nothing, simply looking at the boy. "Sometimes," Dean amended. Bobby crossed his arms this time. "OK, maybe it's usually just me and Sammy, or we're all eating on the run."
"Uh huh," Bobby said, finally turning back to his pot of slow cook oatmeal. "You're here now. We're waiting," Bobby pronounced.
"Waiting for what?" Sam asked suddenly, roughly pulling out a chair and falling into it, looking from Bobby to Dean and back again.
"You, slowpoke," Dean replied.
"Dean," Bobby warned, turning to glare at the smartalec across from him.
"Sorry, Uncle Bobby," Dean said.
"Don't apologize to me," Bobby replied, gesturing toward the other boy in the room.
"Sorry you're such a slowpoke, Sammy," Dean said reaching back for the discarded bacon.
Sammy slapped at Dean's extended arm, but Dean ducked in time to only feel the brush of Sam's fingers against his wrist. Dean darted for the bacon again, this time to throw it at his gangly brother, who easily caught it and bit it in half before throwing the other half back at his grinning tormentor.
"Boys!" Bobby thundered.
"Sorry, Uncle Bobby," the duo sheepishly replied in unison, this time settling down as Bobby brought bowls to the table.
"Don't make me tan your hides before breakfast, you two. You know for a fact that I wield a mean brush and I have no problem taking you both on," Bobby threatened.
"We know, Uncle Bobby," Sam said, picking at another piece of bacon while Bobby slid some of the oatmeal into his bowl.
Sam clearly remembered a time a few years back when Dean was the one who was 17 and he was 13. They had started out playing in the kitchen before breakfast, light tussling before things turned serious, names were called, slaps were exchanged, then jabs, then harder jabs before Dean got the better of Sam and had him in a chokehold, but not before Sam had knocked him into the table and sent a mason jar of preserved peaches crashing to the floor. Bobby had quickly snatched up the bigger boy on top ordering the other one to start cleaning up, if he knew what was good for him. Suddenly Dean was unable to get his feet all the way under him before he found himself face down on Bobby's desk, pantsed and yelling holy hell as Bobby laid into him with an unyielding flurry of heavy whacks from a rather large and very solid wooden hairbrush - a treasured possession from Bobby's late wife. It had been after Bobby's third and final warning that he and Sam knock it off in the first place.
Dean seemed to be recalling the same memory as he looked over at Sam, remembering how he had kneeled on the floor crying after Bobby had soundly spanked him, nursing a hot bottom when he saw a very penitent Sammy begging for forgiveness as he was pulled in next. But Bobby had pointed toward the kitchen then, ordering Dean to take his sniffling and return to finish the cleaning job Sam had started. Bobby had told Sam because Dean was old enough to know better, he had gotten the worst of it with 15 solid licks, but Sam was still getting 10 of his own. That set Sam to wailing before Bobby could lay the first hand on him. Dean had found himself wiping up spilled fruit and cringing at the sound, hating that he had brought this pain down on his little brother, vowing to not let it happen again. And it hadn't. Until the threat of it just now.
"We know all too well," Dean added. "By the way, did we ever thank you for not telling Dad?"
Bobby had set glasses on the table and was rummaging in the refrigerator for orange juice. He slammed the door shut and was opening the carton spout, a crooked smile on his face as he started to pour into Sam's glass. "The situation was resolved. There was no need to bring your daddy into it. Even though I think he knew something was up when neither one of you gave him lip about going out for your morning run."
Sammy looked at Bobby and smiled his silent thanks, taking the glass of juice as Dean handed his over to Bobby.
"Eat up now," Bobby said. "There's work to be done."
The mention of the run made Sam's head shoot up first, his eyes wide with worry. "We don't have to run first, do we, Dean?" he asked.
"Your daddy said you needed a little break," Bobby answered as Dean sat up straight, the worry now falling over his face. "So, you're taking a little break. Now eat your breakfast."
Dean looked relieved. When John was away, Bobby had the final word. Dean raised his glass to take a sip while sending a brief and painless jab into Sam's leg with his knee. Bobby just shook his head. He had never seen two boys more old before their time than these two, and yet there was clearly plenty of youthful spark left in them both. Bobby was determined to keep that spark going as long as he was around to make sure they could be the kids they were supposed to be.