Singer's Salvage
K Hanna Korossy
"Tell me again how weak I am, Sam, huh?" I heard Dean say as I came through the stairwell door. "How I hold you back."
Sounds like I'd missed one major-league argument. Looked like it, too, if Sam lying on a busted door and Dean holding a fire ax was any sign. Well, at least I'd made it for the grand finale.
There was no question who the Siren was. I'd been expecting a buxom blonde in a bikini, but the ordinary-looking guy smirking calmly over Sam practically glowed with malice. Whatever he'd offered Dean, it must've been a doozy.
Then Dean raised the ax, taking aim on his little brother, and the time for thinking was over. I grabbed the ax handle with one hand and stabbed down with my knife with the other.
The Siren started running, for all the good that would do it. Without its siren song, it was as cowardly as the rest of its kind.
Dean hissed when I pulled the blade out, but I couldn't pay attention to that. Surprised me a little, though, when it was Sam who started shouting "No, No!" as I moved to get a clear shot on the Siren. Huh, guess both the boys had been dosed. Just made it all the easier to take aim on that son of a bitch and let fly.
It died fast and bloody, which suited me just fine.
After I made sure it was maggot food, I turned around to check if its effects died with it and the Winchesters hadn't started butting heads again. But my irritation petered out pretty quick.
Dean had gone down on his knees, hand still clutching the shoulder I'd stabbed. He looked over at Sam, who was sitting up against the wall across the hall from him, blinking back at Dean like he'd just woken up. And their expressions… Sam looked guilty, and hurt, and a couple other things I couldn't quite make out. But Dean…the boy was devastated.
Can't say I'm surprised, considering how close he'd just come to chopping up the kid brother he'd given his soul for not too long ago. I hadn't even seen the fight that'd come first, but I could guess. Those Winchesters, they never do things halfway, even without Siren juice.
Sam pushed himself up a little more, wincing when he moved what looked like a bad shoulder. Dean immediately leaned forward; he's got help Sam set as his auto-pilot. But Sam pulled back just as instinctively, and Dean stopped.
Slow as mole asses sometimes, those two.
"Well," I said dryly, "considering we've got a dead body in the hallway and a broken-down door, I think we should probably take this little party someplace else."
They staggered to their feet, both of them, looking a little like after they'd come back from burning John's body. I softened; chewing out wasn't what they needed right now. They both knew plenty well what they'd done.
"Why don't you two head out to your car? I'll grab your stuff and meet you there."
"Thanks, Bobby," they said quietly, almost but not quite in sync.
I shook my head, grumbling under my breath until they staggered out of sight, a good six feet of space between them. Then I sighed and went to pack them up.
They were sitting the same way in the car when I got outside, like there was this invisible wall between them. I'd say they were acting like the other one wasn't even there, but that wasn't the truth: they kept sneaking peeks at each other, like kids who were afraid they'd get caught. And they probably didn't even realize it, but when Sam hitched an injured shoulder or shifted uncomfortably on bruises, Dean mirrored him the next second, and vice-versa.
I rolled my eyes, then headed over to Dean's side and rapped on the window.
He jumped and rolled it down.
"Keys?" I held my hand out.
"Oh. Yeah." Dean yanked them out of the ignition with his right—okay, yeah, I was feeling a little guilty now about stabbing him like that, even if it had to be done—and handed them over without a word while Sam pretended we weren't there. I ignored him, too, just went back and tossed the bags into the trunk, then dug out the first-aid kit.
They both startled when I opened the back door and slid inside.
Dean turned, arm starting to lift to the back of the seat, then dropping as he winced. One eyebrow went up in a look that didn't fool me for a second. "Bobby? Got something you want to say?"
"Not really," I said, and held out the kit to him. "Just wanted to make sure you two got cleaned up. You want me to take a look at that shoulder?"
Dean shook his head. "No, I got it." He reached for the box with his right, too, then eased out of his jacket and flannel with a small hiss of pain.
Sam had been watching him from the corner of his eye, but I think it was that sound that did it. When Dean stretched to probe at the bloody wound over his shoulder blade, Sam suddenly turned sideways in his seat and reached across the no-man's land between them to push Dean's hand away and start treating the injury.
He was so focused on that, I'm not sure he saw the startled look Dean gave him, or the way his face changed right after, that pinched look disappearing.
I sat back in the seat and chewed on a smile.
Sam tore his brother's shirt to get to his shoulder and cleaned out the wound a lot more gently than I would've. Then he studied it with a critical eye, as I was doing. Like I figured, it would need a couple of stitches to close it up right, and Sam proceeded to do it all in that cramped front seat with an ease that said this wasn't his first time at the rodeo, from numbing to threading the needle to tying it off. He was good, too. Dean didn't make a sound, hunched motionless over the steering wheel except when he would shiver a little. When Sam was done, he helped Dean put the flannel shirt back on, then turned up the heat in the car.
I leaned forward to take the kit back. Sam's neck was still bleeding.
Wasn't too shocked when Dean beat me to it.
He didn't go for the neck first, though. It wasn't a bad cut, and Dean's a good enough fighter to know what damage he's done. He checked out Sam's shoulder first, feeling along the joint until I guess he was satisfied there was nothing broken or dislocated. Then he went to the cut. Gash looked like Dean had put a knife to Sam's throat, and there was an image I could've done without.
Sam wasn't flinching away from him this time, though. He turned his shoulder toward Dean to give him access, tilted his head back when Dean cupped a hand under his jaw. They didn't even have to talk, just knew what the other wanted and did it. I'm guessing they'd said enough that day. But I saw, even if Dean didn't, the way Sam's hand crept across the seat, then stopped just short of his brother's knee, twitching like he was just itching to touch.
Dean finished taping down the bandage, leaned Sam forward so he could shove his shucked jacket behind the kid's black-and-blue back as another layer of padding, then put the supplies away and shut the box. Everything still quiet as a grave, and without even a second of eye contact. At least with each other; Dean gave me a glance as he handed the kit back, and what I saw there made my heart twist in my chest.
I cleared my throat. "Head for Sioux City. We can meet there in the morning to tie things up." And for me to make sure they were doing all right and remind them this wasn't their fault. I looked 'em both hard in the eye. "Figure we can all use a good night's sleep." I also wanted a drink, bad, but it's been water and soda ever since Dean came back. I don't wanna live in the bottom of a bottle like that again.
Dean nodded, and Sam said a dull "Sounds like a plan."
I left the kit and the keys and climbed out. Dean started up the car. When they pulled away, that barrier was back smack between them again.
"Idjits," I muttered under my breath. Those boys loved each other like nobody I'd seen, the car as thick with it as with their silence, but Winchesters were mighty good at punishing themselves. I just hoped it wouldn't take something like the Apocalypse to knock some sense into their heads. To see them hurting each other like this…
Those two were breaking my heart.
The End