"Tell me, Dean. Whats so damn important about this hunt that you two can't tell me about?" Bobby implored. He was getting impatient with the boys' reluctance to tell him anything about the hunt they have been on for the last week. It was only exhaustion that brought them to Bobby's house, and maybe a little guilt.
Earlier that day Dean told Bobby, as vaguely as he could about how he and Sam had gotten word about possessions occurring in Minneapolis, and leaving behind bloody messes. The boys managed to corner the demon in a house outside of Maplewood, but also managed to lose the damned thing after a botched exorcism. While Sam was reciting the prayer, the old woman, a Mrs. Johntson, who was serving as host, spit and spat idle threats, writhed in her rope ties. The usual demon theatrics. But
it was what she said next that gave them pause. Then abruptly, black smoke billowed out of the mouth of Mrs. Johnston, rushing past the boys and out the window. It was just past dusk when the boys drove through Singer Salvage's front gates.
"So, what'd she say?" Bobby asked. He didn't ask about the details on how the demon escaped, he knew the boys were having enough trouble deciding to tell him whatever the hell they weren't telling him.
Dean looked at Sam, who was sitting at Bobby's desk in front of the fireplace. He knew what Sam's position was in telling Bobby, so the look he got from his brother only made him hesitate even more. Bobby was sitting on his couch, looking at both of them with a well-ain't-someone-going-tell-me look. Before Dean could open his mouth, Sam spoke up.
"She said she knew who we were, and who you were."
"Aaaaand?' This was not news to Bobby, as it shouldn't have been to the boys. Everyone and their mother, if their mother was a hunter, knew how kneedeep the Winchester kids were involved with this whole end of the world drama. They also knew that Heaven and Hell were taking notes on what they did next. By default, that included Bobby Singer.
"She… It… said that it remembered being stabbed by you." Dean this time, the last part of the sentence trailing off into a whisper. Dean continued pacing the floor, not wanting to stop moving, almost afraid what he would see in Bobby's face. He was dead quiet.
Bobby just sat there, staring out in front of him. His arms were stretched out, hands on his knees, fingers straight and stiff. For Bobby, it felt like the room was frozen in time. He didn't notice Dean pacing back and forth, nor notice Sam's eyes darting back and forth from him to Dean. He just sat there, trying to control his own breathing. Since after the incident with his late wife, Bobby devoted himself to all things demonic and supernatural, driven as much by revenge as by the need to make sure no one else had to make the mistake, no, the decision, to do what he did. It took a long time for that fire in his heart to cool. Not completely, no, but a tiny ember. It was still there. Ever present, but tucked away far enough to make life bearable and his work able to supress it. Sometimes though, when working on a car, or sitting out on the porch watching the trees bend
in the wind, he allowed his mind to search for that little ember, to listen to it's little whine for attention. When he did, he was left wondering if he would ever come across that same demon, the one demon that made him do what he did. He would always shake it off as if it never happened, knowing it wasn't good for him, and he'd find something else to distract himself with.
He begged for any type of distraction right now. A meteorite or a shower of frogs from up high would do nicely.
That's when Sam stood up and positioned himself on the arm of the sofa, daring to get a little closer to Bobby. He also dared to say, "Uh, demons lie, Bobby, you always said to take what they say with a grain of salt."
Miraculously, to all three of them, this seemed to calm down Bobby a little bit, as his shoulders relaxed and he let a out a deep breath. He finally looked at each of them, and curled the side of his lip slightly, to show he was alright. The looks he got were a bit too sympathetic than he would've liked, so he looked down again sheepishly at his hands.
"Of course. You're right, Sam," Bobby's voice was gravelly and forced, like someone trying to tiptoe through broken glass.
"Yeah, yeah. It was definitely weird. You should've seen Sammy, he nearly pissed his pants," Dean chided as he shoved Sam off the side of the couch and plopped down next to Bobby. "But, yeah, you know, demons say all kinds of shit when their being ripped out of their meatbags. It wouldn't be far-fetched to believe that they knew what happened to you, and to use it against us. It's what they do."
Dean was trying really hard to lighten the mood and looking like he failed miserably at it. Bobby was never the recipient of such charity, but he has witnessed it a few times when Sammy was small or when John made the room quiver in his presence. Bobby nodded and smiled as best he could, not wanting to belittle Dean's effort. Sam returned from the kitchen with some cold beers and handed one each to them. The three of them just sat there for a minute, drinking in silence. That was enough for Dean, as he grabbed the TV remote and flipped through the limited channels Bobby's basic cable provided. Bobby never watched TV, but he kept paying the fee knowing certain frequent visitors needed such distractions.
Bobby got up with a groan and cleared his throat, "You boys want pizza? I'll pick some up." It was more of a statement than a question. Dean gave a inquiring glance to Sam, who looked at him back like he didn't know what he meant. Dean stood up, hoping to offer to go along, but Bobby was already in the kitchen, grabbing his keys and jacket.
"You guys relax. One of ya call ahead to Gino's and tell them what you want," Bobby said over his shoulder, as he walked out the back door. The rumble of Bobby's Chevelle and tires on gravel was heard a minute later.
"What?" Sam was referring to Dean's weird look he gave him earlier.
A shrug and a "Nothin'," was all he got back.
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Bobby took a little longer than expected as driving in his state of mind was not safe. He arrived at Ginos, and sat in his car for a few minutes before going in.
What was that demon doing back here after all these years? What were it's plans? Demons always had ulterior motives to anything they did, and the chances it was back just to wreak havoc again for no reason was slim to none. Bobby managed to bury the memory of that night deep down into himself, locking it up and, almost, throwing the key away. Now here it is again, breaking through his mental defenses and rising up like bile in his throat. He did not want to get out of the comfort
of his car just then, but he knew the boys would worry if he took any longer. He brushed the thoughts out of mind as he walked into Ginos, paid for the two large pizzas (two large pizzas? There better not be leftovers, and those two are paying me back me back for both, Bobby said to himself) and got back in his car.
Just as he pulled out of the parking lot, he wondered what the boys were so worried about. Why had they been so hesitant in telling him? He figured it was because they didn't want to stir up those memories again. It had to be something else though, Bobby mused. Sam couldn't look him in the eye for more than a few seconds, and Dean looked
downright scared. Neither of them had trouble asking him questions or bringing up any sort of subject, even when they were kneehigh, so their odd behavior tonight, hell, these past couple of days was disconcerting. Bobby had to admit it was kind of nice they both worried about him. It's just not like his life was on the line here. So why all the fuss?
When he got back Dean was still on the couch laughing at some stupid commercial, and Sam was galloping down the stairs.
Not much more was said that night. Only small talk and dirty jokes were the subjects around tonights pizza dinner. Soon after, Dean was glued to the TV, a Baywatch rerun on some random Spanish channel, and Sam had retired early to his room upstairs with his laptop and a small stack of books from Bobby's library.
Bobby stayed for a bit at the kitchen table, crunching numbers for the past month's sales for the salvage yard. It wasn't much, but it was always enough. Plus he liked to be organized when it came to finances, a practice he never had to worry about until his wife's death.
Dean was fast asleep on the couch. Bobby turned down the volume, making sure to leave it loud enough for background noise. Bobby also made a mental note to put the electricity bill on the boys growing debt they owed him. Bobby walked the ground floor of the house, turning off lights and checking locks and windows. He paused and realized he only did this when the boys were visiting. Not like he didn't care for his own safety any other time, but he was sure he only made it a point when the Winchesters were here.
As he climbed the stairs and crossed the hall to his own bedroom, his tired mind tried to fend off the troubled thoughts of the days events, as they scratched and gnawed at the mental cage bars he set them behind.
In the early morning, Bobby was gone.