Title: Rage Unleashed
Author: KatiKat
Disclaimer: All the characters belong to the CW and Eric Kripke.
Genre: Gen
Characters: Sam, Bobby
Spoilers: For AHBL 2
Warnings: Bad language
Rating: PG-13
Words: Around 950
Summary: Bobby feels somehow... disquieted... about what Sam did.
Notes: My big thank you goes to my beta yamitai!
Notes2: You know the feeling when you have this great idea but no matter what you do, it doesn't come out right? Well, that's the fate of this ficlet.

Sam watches as Bobby stumbles into the kitchen, bare feet, shorts and a washed-out t-shirt, for once without his customary cap so the thinning hair on his head is clearly visible. The older man pads over to the fridge, opens it and reaches in for something to drink. But when he turns around to drink the juice or maybe milk or whatever directly from the carton, he jumps almost a foot high because it's the first time he notices Sam, the light from the fridge illuminating his figure, still dressed in muddied jeans and a shirt, holding a steaming cup of coffee and watching him with dark eyes framed by shadows in a too pale face.

"Sam, Jesus! You scared the shit outta me. What are you doing here in the dark?" Bobby asks gruffly, holding the fridge open for it's the only source of light in the room besides the moonlight fighting its way inside through the dirty windows.

Sam looks down at the cup in his hands, turns it around and around, then he rasps: "Hey, Bobby."

Sam doesn't exactly know what to say. There has been a strange tension between them since he emptied his clip into Jake's body, Bobby giving him strange looks like he doesn't recognize him anymore, like he isn't sure Sam is their Sam, the one who died in the ghost town just two days ago. It bothers Sam but he keeps his silence, not knowing how to prove to their friend that it's really him and only him, that he doesn't have a stow-away along for the ride.

Bobby transfers his weight from one foot to the other, almost shuffling his bare feet. Obviously, he doesn't feel comfortable either. "Uh... How is Dean?" he asks finally, finding a safe topic to talk about, something they have in common.

"Asleep," Sam answers with a slight smile on his lips. "I wake him every hour because of that concussion of his and if his colorful language can be taken as any indicator at all, he'll be alright."

Bobby nods, then nods again, returning the carton back into the fridge without even taking a sip. "Uh... I think... I think I'll go back to bed. Uh, g'night."

He closes the fridge, the room sinking back into an oppressive darkness, then he heads quickly towards the door and the room behind it. Just as he steps on the threshold, Sam speaks though, stopping him in his tracks.

"I would do it again," Sam says, his voice low and raspy but oh so cold.

Bobby freezes in place and he doesn't say anything but he doesn't pretend ignorance either. They both know what stands between them.

And so Sam continues, turning the cup around and around, the chipped china making quiet scraping noises on the scarred table-top. "I would kill the fucker again, over and over if I could. One clip wasn't enough for him," the last words he almost growls. "And do you know why?" Sam asks but doesn't wait for an answer. "If my death was his only crime, I might have just shot him in the head - I wouldn't let that son of a bitch go this time no matter what. But back there, at the crypt, it wasn't just about me anymore. When he said... what he did, I realized it all. I realized what Dean must have done to bring me back, there was no other way for me to be alive. When Jake stabbed me in the back, he sentenced Dean to an eternity in Hell... and for that, he deserved to suffer far more than he did!"

This time, Bobby speaks and his voice reaches Sam as if from far away. "It was Dean's choice to-"

Sam barks out a harsh laugh. "Dean's choice? His choice..." He shakes his head. "As if there was any choice at all for him..."

Silence settles over them and for the first time, Sam notices the ticking of a clock somewhere in the house. Bobby doesn't answer but he doesn't leave either. He is listening. Obviously, he is as desperate to repair the chasm that has opened up between them as Sam.

Suddenly, Sam feels inexplicably restless. He fidgets in his chair. "I... I just wanted you to know that there was no... supernatural reason, no demonic influence behind... all… that." He waves his hand even though he knows that Bobby can't see it. "No matter what the Yellow-Eyed-Demon said. It was pure and raw rage." He chuckles. "As if that's an excuse..."

Again, silence settles and it grows longer and more oppressive by the second and Sam is almost sure that had he some knife at hand, he could cut it into neat tiny slices. Sam has run out of words and Bobby... Well, Bobby did see one of the boys he has known since they were kids kill a man in a cold blood so he is bound to feel somehow... disquieted about it. Maybe... maybe they need some time for the whole thing to grow less vivid.

Finally, Bobby sighs and speaks in a tired voice: "Sam-"

But the younger man jumps to his feet, the cup with the now tepid coffee in his hand, already heading for the doorway and the stairs in the hall behind it.

"Ah... I need to check on Dean again," Sam interrupts Bobby quickly, deep down afraid of what the man might say; he has always held Bobby's opinion in high esteem and now he fears that they won't be able to find the correct words to make it all right again between them. "Uh, see ya in the morning, okay?"

Sam doesn't wait for an answer and even in the dark, he takes the stairs two at once, the lukewarm coffee splashing on his hand and the safety of the room that holds his brother calling him like a beacon.

The End