Sweet Bird of Youth – Chapter 1
Early January twilight, and the Impala's engine growled low as Dean guided her into Singer Salvage Yard. They'd come with a dual purpose: Sam needed research material that only Bobby's extensive library contained, and Dean planned to spend the night visiting old Sioux City haunts, possibly doing a little pool hustling. Bela's reward money wouldn't last them forever, after all.
"Well, here we are, bro," Dean put the car in neutral and casually put his right arm up onto the seat back. They were feet from Bobby's front door.
"You sure you don't want to pop in, just for a minute?" Sam placed his hand on Dean's thigh.
"Nah," Dean tossed his head. "Daylight's wastin'." He idly played with the hair at the base of Sam's neck. "I'll be back in the morning," he assured Sam. "Besides, once you get your nose buried in a book, I might as well not be here anyway." He leaned in for a quick kiss on Sam's cheek, but ended up lingering a little longer.
Sam raised both hands to cup Dean's face. "It's just a few hours," Sam's voice was barely a whisper. "Bobby has the Shifter information already pulled from his library. I just have to spend some quality time with it." Sam's dimple briefly popped with his half-smile. "You'll be bored out of your skull. Go make us some dough." Sam dove in, capturing Dean's mouth with his own. "And behave," he remanded, his thumb caressing Dean's cheekbone.
"Can't make any promises, Sammy," Dean popped the trunk, smiling mischievously.
Bobby had stepped out onto what served as his porch. He offered Dean a quick wave, which Dean readily returned.
"Take care, lover man," Sam whispered so only Dean could hear. Dean was glad he wasn't getting out of the car, as the words had gone straight to his dick. "And watch your back." Sam patted his shoulder affectionately and got out of the car. He grabbed a small duffel bag, shut the trunk and tapped the Impala's fender as a signal that Dean could be off.
A brief toot of the car's horn and a nod of his head, and Dean was navigating his baby back out onto the access road. Sam watched after him for a brief moment, then turned to Bobby.
"Hey man," he offered a warm smile, "long time no see."
Bobby held a beer in one hand, but caught Sam up in a one-armed hug with the other. "Good to see you, Sam," he gruffed. "We need time to catch up." He handed Sam the beer and a look passed between them.
Bobby chuckled, "This one has a double shot of holy water in it, just to be safe."
Sam grinned and raised it to his lips, "Cheers, Bobby," he downed a huge gulp. He turned to his host expectantly.
"C'mon in," Bobby opened the door. "I put some books and papers that I thought might help out on the library table," he motioned toward that particular room. "I actually have a little research I'm working for Ellen to get done, so I hope you don't mind if I camp out there too."
"Course not," Sam stowed his bag near the couch. He placed his beer nearby on an end table. He wasn't a huge fan of the beverage, only drinking it to placate Bobby and Dean. Bobby noted the discarded beverage.
"Something a little stronger, perhaps?" he cocked his head in the direction of the liquor cabinet. "Jack and coke?"
"How about mostly coke?" Sam smiled softly. "Until after I'm done reading?"
"You got it," Bobby swiped the bottle of amber liquid out of the cabinet and headed for the kitchen.
Sam used Bobby's restroom. The nine-hour drive had exhausted him, stiffened up his joints and over-taxed his bladder. He washed his hands and face, then made his way to the library.
Bobby was already seated on one end of the table, drink in one hand, ball-capped head buried in what appeared to be an ancient book. "I have a casserole in the oven," he informed Sam. "Mac and cheese."
Sam felt his stomach voice its approval, "Sounds great," he sat down by the mound of books Bobby had placed out for him, taking a huge swig of soda. He was happy to note it was whiskey-free. "I can only handle so much roadside cuisine." He raised his glass in salute to Bobby's culinary expertise.
Sam had just pulled the top book off the pile and was about to open it when Bobby spoke up, "Oh hey—I meant to tell you this when you got here. Found a cigar box full of photos you might want to see," he reached behind him to a shelf and pulled a faded red and white Swisher Sweets box onto the table. He opened it reverently and handed it to Sam.
"Oh, Bobby… wow," Sam marveled, drawing the first photo up into the light. It was a much younger Bobby and John, standing in front of the Impala. John was wearing a dark leather jacket. Bobby, without his signature baseball cap and beard, had a flannel-clad arm thrown affectionately across John's shoulder. Sam turned the photo over. Me and Johnny—1982, it read, in Bobby's scrawling handwriting.
"You sure were a couple of handsome devils," Sam remarked. He felt his eyes tearing up involuntarily, and he quickly looked away to try to quell the emotion.
"Had that affect on me too, Sam," Bobby said softly. He picked up his chair and pulled it around to Sam's side of the table. He sat down next to him. "He was my best friend."
Sam nodded. "You knew him in ways I never got the chance to," he admitted.
"Hunting brings people close, yeah," Bobby put a hand on Sam's shoulder. "I mean, look at you and Dean. The bond. You know," he gave Sam a meaningful glance, dark eyes burning.
Sam caught his drift almost immediately. He wasn't sure if Bobby's confession made him entirely comfortable. He wasn't even 100 percent sure what Bobby was confessing to.
"He looks a lot like you in this picture," Bobby picked up another Polaroid of John sharpening a knife against a whetstone. The smile John sported in the photo was huge, inviting. Again Sam felt a stab of jealousy. Obviously this photo was taken by someone John loved, trusted. Bobby.
"Can fight your genes, can you?" Sam sighed wearily. He reached back into the box and pulled out the rest of the photos. Most were of John, John and Mary, John and Bobby. Or the car. Three of the pictures had a young Sam and Dean in them. Sam chuckled at one in particular of Bobby and his younger self, elbows deep under the hood of the Impala. Both had smears of grease on their foreheads and cheeks. Me and Sammy under the hood—1989.
"You weren't very helpful, but you sure were cute," Bobby seemed to soften. "You never stopped talking. Chirped like a little bird all the time."
Sam blushed. "You never told me to shut up."
"Didn't want to. What a great kid you were, Sam. So sweet, affectionate too. You must have been starved for affection. Every time your dad brought you boys over you always latched on to me. Hugging, cuddling. God, you were like a freaking puppy dog the way you'd snuggle down on my lap."
"Hoooo, okay," Sam blushed and ran a hand through his hair. "That's way more than I needed to know." He chuckled nervously, but couldn't stop looking at the photo.
"I'm not telling you this to embarrass you, Sammy," Bobby said softly. "Meant a lot to me, you know. Your dad's trust of me with you boys. How you looked up to me. It's not like I had any kids to take care of. I was more than happy to do it. Still am. I'm always here for you," he lay his hand affectionately over Sam's.
The warning bells in Sam's head were quickly eclipsed by a rush of warmth. Suppressing a yawn, he asked Bobby, "You think we could get copies made of these? Dean would love them."
"Sure thing, kiddo," Bobby ruffled his hair. His hand lingered a bit longer than Sam felt it should, but due to the very chick-flickish moment they were having, he didn't complain. Bobby stood and stretched, then moved the chair back to the other end of the table. "Back to business," he nodded.
Sam nodded back, crisply. To be honest, he didn't know how much longer he could stay awake. Apparently the drive had taken a bigger toll on him than he'd thought. He took a few more swigs of the soda, hoping the caffeine would help. He took one more glance of the photo of John and Bobby in front of the car. His thoughts flew immediately to Dean.
He didn't notice Bobby watching him, or the silvery-yellow flicker that stole momentarily over Bobby's eyes before he turned back to his tome.
