Title: Call for help
Author: Dinofossil
Summary: Dean looks to Bobby for help to stop him going off the rails.
Author's Notes/Warnings: Warnings for season 2. Story is a little sadder than I would have liked. Not sure why it went that way, it just did. It also contains a punishment that might be considered a bit harsh in later chapters.
I appreciate that there are those who may be offended by this type of fiction, particularly if I have used your favorite or treasured fictional character. If you think this might be you, please do not proceed, and click the back button instead. I have on a number of occasions when accidentally stumbling on things that don't rock my world, and hey, it works!
If this fiction does appeal, then enjoy, and comments are always welcome.
Disclaimer: Don't own any of characters. They belong to Eric Kripke, and the CW, and anyone else I am unaware of. Not making any money from this either.
Within the first day there was an immediate change in Sam. Given a new outlet to vent his feelings, he'd spent his time talking freely to Bobby without fear of being ridiculed for being over emotional. Unburdened, he had enjoyed his first trouble free night of sleep, and his ingrained tiredness was slowly lifting.
Satisfied with the results he'd achieved with Sam, Bobby turned his attentions to Dean, but the older brother had unsurprisingly rejected any offers of help with his usual brash and cocky manner. Bobby decided not to push him, desperately hoping he would come round in his own time.
By the third evening of their stay, Bobby and Dean were busy clearing away the remains of a late evening meal. Sam was still obviously enjoying the novelty of sleeping again, and had made a yawning excuse, before disappearing to his bed for the night.
As Bobby finished drying up, he almost dropped the plate he was handling in surprise, when Dean asked if it was okay to sit with him once he was through. Bobby applied the breaks against his urge to immediately grab the boy, and nonchalantly carried on with putting the remaining plates away.
Once done, the two men retired to the cosy seating area beside the warm crackling fire, and sat in silent companionship. Clearly nervous, Dean repeatedly rubbed the palms of his hands along the tops of his thighs, taking long deep breaths as if trying to speak, but never quite seeming to make it.
With years of practice at sitting patiently while staking out hunts, the older man looked completely untroubled by the silence, allowing his body to relax and sink deeply into the old couch. Inside though, he was a mixed bag of nerves, as he tried desperately to will Dean the courage to speak.
It was a full half hour before Dean was able to break the silence. Leaning forward in his creaking chair, he rested his elbows on his knees and clutched his hands together in an attempt to still them.
"I need your help, Bobby, I've been acting way out of control lately, and I feel so angry all the damn time. I'll bet you already guessed I hit Sammy the other day, and I need to stop before it gets out of hand and I push him away for good."
"You always did shut your feelings away, even as a kid. It might help if you let them out once in a while, you know, talk a bit more about how you're feeling." Bobby offered.
"Sorry, but you know I'm no good at all that emotional crap, it's just not me." Dean tried to explain.
"At least try, because something's making you like this. I mean, you've never talked once about your dad, maybe all this anger is just a cover for your sadness?"
'Sadness!' Dean tried the emotion on for size, but found that it didn't fit. Truth was he felt nothing, not sadness, not hurt, or even any guilt at his behaviour towards Sam. He simply had a big hole where his feelings should be, and he was desperate to fill it with something, anything, so that he could start to feel normal again.
"Bobby, you have to trust me when I tell you that talking is not going to help. No matter what direction I approach to try and resolve this, I keep coming back to dad and how he would have dealt with my anger. So I know this is a strange thing to ask, actually, it's downright weird, but I need you to deal with me in the same way as dad would have."
Bobby looked at the expectant face staring back at him. "Are you asking me to punish you?" he asked incredulously, "because I'd rather we tried unlocking those feelings first."
"Oh, my feelings won't come out that easily…, believe me," Dean said bitterly. "They've been put in a room, lights have been turned off, curtains have been drawn, and a chair's been jammed underneath the door handle."
Not warming to Dean's suggestion, Bobby shook his head. "No, I'd still prefer it if we talked things through instead."
Signalling that he'd had enough of this conversation, Dean rose from the chair and made his way towards the stairs, his face full of thunder. "Yeah…, well I'm done with talking, so unless you've got any other brilliant suggestions I'm off to bed.
Unexpectedly alone, Bobby sat and listened to the creaks and groans of the house as it settled for the night. His talk with Dean hadn't gone like he'd planned, and not for the first time, he wished his old friend was around to offer advice.
At breakfast the next morning, there was a noticeable tension in the air, as the meal was consumed in silence. Sam exchanged a 'what the…?' look with Bobby, trying to figure out the reason for his brother's surlier than usual demeanour, but Bobby just responded with a shrug of his shoulders.
Stealing another glance at Dean over his cup, Sam couldn't help but feel worried. While he felt brighter by the day, the grey tinge that masked his brother face grew more pronounced, and it seemed he had become even more withdrawn.
"So, Dean, what are your plans for today? Only I thought we could spend some time together. Maybe do a spot of fishing, you know, like we used to with dad?"
Dean's response was forced and clipped, "No…, thought I'd look out for our next hunt."
Sam sighed. "Have you looked in the mirror lately? Only you're starting to look like our next hunt. You're pale as a ghost, and your character is a bit too Jeckle and Hyde. I think it's time to talk about this…, why don't you try and let us help?"
Feeling it important to back Sam up, Bobby joined in the debate. "Dean, your brother's right, you're pale and withdrawn all the time. We should spend time talking this through; take it as slow as you want nothing too heavy."
"For Chrissakes, will you both stop peeling back the dressings and picking at my stitches, I'm okay."
Slapping a hand on the table in frustration, Sam loudly disagreed. "No, Dean, you might have given up on yourself, but I haven't. Not by a long shot, so get used to it, because I'm going to keep going for as long as it takes."
Taking them all by surprise, Dean suddenly sprang out of his chair and grabbed hold of Sam, hauling him away from the table. The cup that he was holding flew into the air, the hot contents spilling out in a small wave that rained down, causing him yelp as they splattered against his skin.
Ignoring the cries of protest at his assault; Dean kept a tight grip on his brother's shirt, and propelled him backwards, sending him tripping awkwardly over his own feet, until he had him pinned firmly up against the wall.
Releasing his right hand, Dean wrapped it into a tight hard fist, and drew his arm right back, ready to slam it into his brother.
Looking horrified, Sam cringed and tried to flinch away from the anticipated blow, but only succeeded in knocking the back of his head with a loud crack, as it made painful contact with the wall behind him. "Please, Dean, don't do this," he cried out trying to reason with him.
For the briefest of moments Dean held his position, muscles tense ready to strike. But the longer he stared into Sam's scared eyes, the more he felt his rage being replaced by shame at his behaviour. Looking at his arm as though it belonged to someone else, he paled, and allowed it to drop uselessly to his side.
With a face full of embarrassment, he took a step back and glanced round at Bobby. "I tried to warn you last night that this was going to happen, but you knew better." Turning back to his brother, he whispered him an apology. "I'm so sorry, Sammy, I've tried my hardest to change, but I can't. I'll pack up my things and be gone by the afternoon."
Shrugging off his brother's efforts to keep hold of him, he stormed out of the house to cool down, slamming the door behind him.
In desperation, Sam pleaded with Bobby. "Do something, please; he won't listen to me." Tears started to fill his eyes. "I don't want to lose him as well as dad."
Deep in thought, Bobby paced around the room a few times, his eyebrows drawn together in concentration. Coming to a decision, he muttered loudly to himself, and hared off out of the door after Dean.
Anxiously standing at the window, Sam looked on as his brother leant against the hood of the Impala, moodily scuffing the dirt at his feet, arms folded defensively across his chest. When Bobby reached him, he turned and attempted to move away, but found his escape route expertly blocked by the older man.
Straining to hear through the open door, Sam caught tiny fragments of their discussion, as the two voices rose, and then fell away again.
Sucking in a nervous breath, he watched as Dean poked an angry finger into Bobby's chest, and then forcibly shoved the palm of his hand against his shoulder. Not rising to the bait, the older man simply brushed away the attacks, as though shooing away an irritating but persistent fly.
No matter how many buttons Dean tried to push, Sam was relieved to see that Bobby maintained his calming presence, and eventually, the sparks of the argument seemed to fizzle away to nothing.
With heads bent together, they both stood quietly talking; throwing Sam occasional glances at the window. At last an agreement seemed to be reached, as Bobby placed a hand on Dean's shoulder, and led him back towards the house.
Striding purposely into the room, feet clumping loudly on the wooden floor, Bobby barked an instruction towards Sam. "Take the car and make yourself scarce for a while, me and your brother need to talk."
Dragging his eyes away from Bobby, Sam fixed them on his brother instead, desperately willing for him to return the contact. But his eyes never shifted from staring at a spot a few inches in front of his feet.
Giving up with his brother, Sam angrily turned his attention back to Bobby. "No Bobby, I think I can guess what's about to go down here. I know you are trying to help, but you're mistaken if you think I'm going to walk away and let you do this."
Sensing the conversation getting out of hand, Dean forced himself to quieten his brother's rising objections. "Its okay, Sam, I've asked Bobby to help me straighten out a couple of things. Just do as you're told for once, and leave us for a while."
Hesitating for a few seconds, Sam carefully considered the order, before reluctantly obeying. Grabbing the car keys from the table, he shot a final worried glance over his shoulder, and made his way out to the car.