A/N: Thank you to everyone who left a review or put an alert on this story. I'm glad other people like the idea of keeping Bobby alive as much as I do.

Too Many Screennames: In answer to your question about the name Ellsworth, it's Jim Beaver's character in Deadwood (who ironically also died from a gunshot wound to the head.) In my story Ellsworth and Bobby are the same person just using different names in different centuries. So this is actually a triple cross: Supernatural, Highlander and Deadwood.

Sorry about the amount of exposition in this chapter, but Sam and Dean have a lot of questions for Bobby.

Disclaimer: I own nothing associated with Supernatural, Highlander or Deadwood. This story is offered up out of pure love for the shows and the phenomenal talent of Jim Beaver.

Chapter 2: It's a Kind of Magic

Bobby licked his lips and waited. The cat was out of the bag now and all he could do was hope the boys could handle it. He hoped that with all the supernatural crap they'd already dealt with they'd be able to accept that he was the still the same crotchety old hunter they'd always known. He hoped, but he was also a realist. He knew of others like himself who had been abandoned by family and friends when they were found out, some of whom were even hunted- accused of being witches or demons and driven from their homes. Then there was his own past... no, best not to go there, he thought.

His eyes flitted from one brother to the other searching for some sign of what they were thinking, but all he got was a blank stare in response. The only sounds in the room were the crackling of the fire they had lit in the hearth and the wind whistling through the cracks in the walls of the old house. As the minutes slowly passed, each feeling like an eternity, he finally couldn't take it anymore. "Well, damn it, somebody say something!"

Dean rapidly blinked. "I'm sorry... you're who from when and where?"

"You... you did just say... immortal...right, Bobby?" Sam was staring at him, his mouth slightly open and a confused look on his face.

"Yeah."

"Immortal." Dean struggled to process the information. "Immortal as in...?"

"As in, gunshot wounds?" Bobby pointed to his forehead. "Not so lethal. Neither is stabbing, hanging, drowning, electrocution-" He paced in front of them, ticking the items off on his fingers. "Poison, falling off buildings, car wrecks. I was partially eaten by a bear once," he said, then muttered that quietly to himself. "Now there's an experience I never want to have again."

The brothers startled and looked at each other wide-eyed. Bear? Dean mouthed silently to Sam.

"And as far as the 'occupational hazards' of hunting go," Bobby continued. "I'm immune to werewolf and skin-walker bites as well as vamp blood. So don't worry about me turning and whatever you do, do not chop my head off!"

Dean raised his hands in surrender. "I need to sit down." He staggered to the kitchen counter and hoisted himself up, gazing absently off into space.

"But... but how?" Sam shook his head and stared at Bobby as he took a seat by the table. "I mean... Bobby... what are you?"

He drew in a sharp breath, feeling like he'd been struck. 'What are you?' Sam had asked. It was a reasonable question, given their lives, but it hurt just the same. Not who are you. What. That was one of the main reasons he hadn't mentioned this before. One of the reasons his kind hid their existence from the rest of humanity. The knowledge that others would fear them; think of them as creatures rather than people. They feared that the witch-hunts would begin again.

Sam must have realized how what he'd said affected the older man (much, much older, he thought to himself) because he quickly backpedaled. "Bobby, no. I didn't mean... Look... Dean and I aren't exactly 'Joe Average' here either. It's just... I guess you kinda caught us by surprise."

"Yeah, well... I suppose it is a lot to take in." Bobby pulled up a chair and sat resting his forearms on his knees, fingers interlaced. "As for 'what' I am, I'm human." He saw the skeptical look they gave him and continued. "Look, I don't drink blood or eat hearts or... suck folk's brains out through their nostrils."

"Now there's a lovely image," Dean mumbled.

Bobby ignored Dean's comment and went on. "The only difference between me, you and John Q. Public is that I heal quickly from almost any wound and I've stopped getting any older."

"Kinda a big difference there Bobby," Dean said, letting his amazement show. "How exactly are you doing it? Is it a spell? Some kind of magic... or what?"

He snorted and rolled his eyes. "Nothing like that. I ain't a witch. Though some of us have been accused of it in the past. No, I was just... born like this."

"Like Wolverine from the X-Men." Dean offered, hoping that he was starting to understand.

Bobby considered the analogy for a moment. "Well, yeah I guess. Minus the claws and bad haircut. Immortality, it's... uh... it's sort of a dormant trait at first. We start out like everybody else- we're kids, we grow up, get older, get hurt and sick. It doesn't kick in right away."

"So... what then?" Sam asked. "You just decide one day to flip the switch?"

"Oh yeah," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "'Cause I had the choice of when to freeze-frame myself and instead of doing it when I was young and in my prime I waited until I turned into this sorry sack of bones." Bobby scowled at him. "No, Einstein, I didn't get to pick. Hell, I didn't even know about it until after it happened. None of us do. There's nothing that really sets us apart from the rest of humanity. We can even die of disease or old age at first and then that's it, we're gone for good. But if..." He paused and raised one finger for emphasis. "If we die a violent death, then the immortality gets activated. We don't get sick anymore. Wounds close up almost instantly. And whatever age we were when we bit it, that's the way we look from then on."

Dean nodded slowly. "So you 'died' bloody and then woke up Immortal."

"Confused the hell out of me at first, let me tell you." Bobby shook his head. "I was a prospector in what you'd call the 'Old West.' Had a working gold claim in Deadwood, South Dakota. Not overly rich, but it paid out enough to keep me in food, whisky and whores."

"Bobby!" Dean exclaimed, wrinkling his nose in disgust.

"What?" he asked, sounding annoyed. "You thought I was a monk? I had needs just like any man."

"Dude...too much information! That's as bad as thinking about 'Dad sex'. Come on!"

Waving a dismissive hand in Dean's direction he continued. "I also managed the widow Garret's gold mine, and it was a pretty lucrative one too. Biggest individual claim in the territory. About a year after I started working for her we were married. A few months after that someone offered to buy the mine from her and Alma, my wife, didn't want to sell... Let's just say my death was intended as a negotiating tactic." He grimaced at the memory of that day, his eyes taking on a faraway look. "One minute I've got a gun pointed right at my head, and the next thing I know I'm waking up at the Doc's place with the worst headache of my life and my face covered in blood but no wound. And that was just the beginning: after that, things really got weird."

"So, if you didn't know you were Immortal beforehand how'd you figure it out?" Sam asked.

Bobby sat up and poured himself another drink. This was going to be a long night, he decided. "Doc Cochran, the town physician, he'd met an Immortal during the war. The Civil War, that is. When he saw me wake up after taking a bullet to the brain he figured I was the same as his friend and sent off a telegram asking him what to do about me. I'd spent a couple of months hiding in the woods before someone finally showed up."

"Hiding?" Sam was trying his best to wrap his head around all of this. "I don't get it. Why were you hiding?"

"Because the whole town saw me with a hole in my forehead," he answered with a frown as if to say: Isn't it obvious? "If I'd come back before anybody had known I'd died it'd have been different. I could have gone on with my life as it was, at least for a while. But I got shot up at the mine and my 'body' was driven into town straight down the main thoroughfare. In front of everybody. Can you imagine the reaction there'd have been if I started walking around after that?"

He frowned and nodded. "Yeah, I guess I see your point."

"Finally, after what felt like forever, this fellow shows up and starts explaining to me what I just explained to you two." Bobby fumbled with the mug in his hands. It had been a while since he'd thought about his first teacher. "He offered to take me on as a student and show me how to survive as an Immortal. He taught me how to create a new life, how to hide what I was. And how to... deal with the others like us."

"So how many more are there?" The hunter in Dean took over and he felt the need to know exactly what they were dealing with. In all the research he'd done for hunts over the years he'd never once found anything like what Bobby was telling them and that bothered him. In his experience a lack of knowledge meant trouble in the long run. "And are they dangerous? The others I mean."

He shrugged and took a long gulp of whisky. "I don't know how many for sure. Don't think anyone really has an exact count on it, but maybe a few thousand worldwide. As for them being dangerous, some are. Most aren't though."

"A few...?" Dean's mind was reeling. The drink in his hand forgotten as he realized the man he'd thought of like a father was really a mystery to him. "Ok, well, here's another question for you: why are you all here? You know…I mean…what is it you want?"

Bobby couldn't help but laugh. "Boy, you sure don't ask easy the easy questions do you?" Taking off his hat he pushed a hand through his hair and searched for the best way to explain. "Dean, you gotta remember we're people just like everybody else. So we all want different things. Most of us just want to live out as normal a life as we can get. Others choose to try and make the world a better place. They become doctors, scientists, lawmen or holy people. Some even become hunters."

"Like you," Sam said, smiling.

"Me and a few others." Bobby carefully chose his next words. "But of course everybody's got their bad guys. Just like mortals we have our psychos too. Immortals who run the gamut from petty criminals to flat out crazies to megalomaniacs who want to rule the world and see mortals as insignificant pawns to be used however they want."

"Awesome. Another group who thinks of us as mud monkeys." Dean glared and finished off his drink, slamming the glass down beside himself. "Ok, let me recap just to make sure we're all on the same page here." Dean slid off the counter and walked slowly towards Bobby. "You've been alive almost 200 years. There are thousands like you all over the place, some good, some bad. Your kind doesn't get any older, they can't get sick and they can't be killed. That about cover it?"

"Well..." Bobby hesitated. "There is one way we can die."

Sam was deep in thought for a moment, and then grinned slightly, another puzzle piece fitting into place. "Decapitation. Right?"

"How'd you figure?" Bobby wasn't really surprised. Sam had been researching ways to kill various things since he was a boy, so naturally his mind would automatically try to work it out.

"When you were talking about the vamp blood," Sam said smiling widely, "you were pretty adamant about us not taking your head off. So, I figured if that was just another temporary inconvenience like getting shot you wouldn't have gotten so upset."

"Yeah, you're right." Bobby blew out a breath, feeling uneasy. He was trusting the boys with his 'Kryptonite', but he knew they'd have trusted him with the same. "If something like an arm or a leg gets cut off it stays off. We don't grow a new one. And if we lose our head? Game over."

"So your bad guys," Sam continued. "What do you do about them? I'd imagine a guy serving a life sentence and never aging or being sent to the electric chair and walking away after would kinda get noticed."

"You don't need to worry about them." Bobby said, finishing off his drink. "We police our own. If any immortal starts causing trouble someone will step in and handle them."

"By handle you mean…?" Dean drew a finger across his throat and grimaced. "Guess no one can accuse you guys of being soft on crime."

"If it's a minor problem, like stealing, we let the regular authorities deal with them. But if people are getting hurt then it's like...putting down a rabid dog. It's just something that needs to be done." He searched his memory for a good example. "There was a serial killer back in the 20's up in Washington State. Used to kill pretty blonde girls by scalping them. He was one of us. A friend of mine was the one who stopped him, as well as several others over his lifetime." He smiled at the thought of the older Immortal. "Mac's helped a lot of people over the centuries."

"This whole thinking in terms of centuries is freaking me out, Bobby," Dean said, pinching the bridge of his nose. "But it sounds like he was a pretty good guy."

"Still is." Bobby paused and considered bringing Mac into the conversation. He could use some back up when he told the boys the rest of it. Maybe a phone call was in order. "He tries to help people wherever and however he can. Started hunting a few years back after running into his first demon in four hundred years."

Dean froze in shock. Did he really just say four hundred years? "Like I said, sounds like a good guy," he said slowly then wrinkled his forehead in thought. "Let me ask you something. You're around one-ninety; this 'Mac' is centuries old. So how long do you people live anyway?"

Bobby shrugged. "We don't really have an expiration date; we just keep on going until we lose our heads somehow."

"But that's pretty rare right?" Dean seemed to be getting excited now-his eyes were bright as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "I mean, how often do you hear about death by beheading? So, odds are unless you do something to call down 'Immortal justice' on yourself... you're never going to die."

Bobby smiled sadly and bowed his head. He'd known these two for most of their lives and had gotten good at reading between the lines. He knew what Dean was really saying: I'm never going to lose you. He looked up and watched Sam and Dean's faces carefully. In them he saw something he hadn't seen in years. He saw hope. He couldn't take that away; couldn't tell them the rest of it. Not yet.

"Boys, I wish I could promise you forever. I really wish I could. But it's not just other Immortals that can take my head, it's anything. Some demon or ghost might get lucky, or a vamp might decide to turn the tables. I just don't know." Taking a deep breath he continued. "What I do know is that I'm a hell of a lot harder to kill than most folk. And I've been around long enough to know how to keep myself alive." He smiled warmly at them. "So I guess what I'm saying is... you two are stuck with me for the long haul."

It was as if Christmas had come early for the Winchesters. The look of pure joy they both wore was truly a sight to behold. Finally. Finally something good had happened to their family. Something that didn't depend on deals, spells or bargaining with a supernatural entity. Dean clapped his hands once and reached for the bags of take-out that had been all but forgotten after Bobby's revelation. "Ok then! Anybody else hungry?"

Bobby closed his eyes for a moment in relief. He knew this wasn't the end of it, but at least the hard part was over. "Sure, just so long as you don't have a Turducken in there."

"Dude!" He pulled a face and shuddered as he passed out the Styrofoam containers that held their dinner. "Seriously, do not remind me of that!"

"Maybe now you'll be choosier about what you eat." He laughed at Dean's reaction, then paused briefly to examine his order, wondering if he'd ever be able to look at diner food the same way again.

"You know I just thought of something," Sam said, interrupting his thoughts. "You said you were born in 1822? That means you were alive during the Civil War. I mean, you actually witnessed all that history?"

Bobby grinned. He'd expected Sam, with his love of learning and research, to latch on to the "I was there, I saw it happen" aspect of immortality. "Well, I was busy prospecting during the war, so it's not like I had a front row seat. But yeah, I was around then. I lived through the abolition of slavery, the annexation of many of the states. I saw the Eiffel Tower being built in Paris in 1888 and I was in London during the Blitz. I've lived in dozens of different places all over the globe, met all kinds of people."

"You meet anybody famous or do anything big?" Dean's curiosity was piqued now. He took a big bite of his burger and asked through a mouthful of food, "You know, sail on the Titanic or attempt to assassinate Hitler or anything?"

"No, that'd be Mac that tried to take out Hitler; I was busy working with the Red Cross as a translator at the time." Bobby was starting to enjoy seeing the looks of shock Sam and Dean gave him and decided to toss out another piece of personal history. "The closest I ever got to fame was serving as a juror on the Jack McCall murder trial back in Deadwood." Bobby chuckled softly at the wide-eyed look Dean was giving him, remembering Sam's comment about Dean's 'western fetish.' "Oh, and Jane Cannary took a shine to my stepdaughter Sofia, so I'd see her around a lot."

"Jack McCall?" Dean was practically salivating now. "You mean the guy who killed Wild Bill Hickok? And 'Calamity' Jane Cannary? You actually knew them?"

"Well, not Hickok." He reached into one of the bags and pulled out a bottle of water. Now that he didn't need 'liquid courage' anymore he decided to quit for the night. "I'd seen him across the way a few times but I favored the Gem Saloon; Hickok preferred Tom Nuttall's place. Plus he was only in the camp for ten days before he was shot and killed, so our paths didn't have much of a chance to cross."

"Shot in the head from behind during a poker game." Dean huffed and shook his head. "Shot in the head, that seems to be the theme of the day."

"Apparently." Bobby nodded at first, then got a thoughtful look on his face. "Actually, I'm kinda glad it happened this time."

"Excuse me?" Sam dropped his fork in surprise, unable to believe what he was hearing. "You're... you're glad Dick shot you?"

"Well, not specifically that," he replied. "But at least now I know for sure I'm still Immortal."

Dean was confused again. It was like every answer Bobby gave created twenty new questions. "You can lose your immortality? Other than being decapitated that is?"

"Before that year I spent playing 'Ironsides' I'd have said no. But everything changed when that happened." Bobby frowned and dropped his sandwich, his appetite lost at the memory of that nightmare year. "That stab wound I gave myself to kill the demon should've been nothing but a paper cut for someone like me. Once you pulled that blade outta my gut I should've started healing and been up and running before you even got me to the car. But Zachariah... he suppressed my ability to heal somehow … stuck me in that chair."

"So you're not immune to everything supernatural?" Dean was back to being worried again. He'd been thrilled to learn Bobby couldn't be killed by most means. But if there were things out there that could still jerk him around then he wasn't as safe as he'd hoped.

"Nope. Angels and demons can't kill me, but they can still screw with me. And let me tell you, old Zach did a real number. Even after you killed him that angel's mojo kept working. Until this happened," he said, pointing to where the gunshot wound had been. "It was almost like I was mortal again. Cuts took a long time to heal and I started getting new scars."

Bobby stood and began to pace, clenching and unclenching his hands. Being paralyzed would have been enough for any man to deal with. Add to that his sudden vulnerability after more than a century and he'd been pushed to the breaking point. "Immortals don't scar. We get cut and three minutes later it's like nothing happened. Or at least, that's the way it's supposed to happen."

"Damn," Dean said. "I knew Zach messed you up, but I had no idea."

Bobby nodded and continued. "Then there was that poker-playing witch. I figured what the hell. I got an unlimited number of years, so if I lose, no harm, no foul. Didn't figure he could actually age me. Well, you know how that turned out."

"So, witches too, huh?"

"Yeah," Bobby said, grimacing, "I'm as vulnerable to spells as anyone. I asked a friend if she knew of some kind of charm or amulet we could use for protection, but she hasn't come up with anything." Need to get in touch with her too, he thought. She might've come up with something to help with the current monster problem. "Let me borrow a phone. I lost mine when the Leviathan grabbed me."

"We got it back." Sam pulled the phone from his pocket and flipping it open passed it to Bobby. "Found it on the roof where it fell."

"Excuse me for a minute." Wrapping his fingers around the device he gave Sam a smile of thanks and walked out to the front porch, staring out into the darkness as he mulled over what to say. Bringing mortals in on the secret always carried risks, but he was fairly confident that the two groups would be able to get along. Hitting the speed dial he tried first one number then another, then another, all of them going straight to voicemail.

He tapped the phone against his palm and gave a heavy sigh, considering his next move. They needed to get as far from Dick Roman and the other Leviathan as soon as possible. Somewhere safe. Somewhere where the boys could process not only what he'd just told them but also what he still needed to. Somewhere that couldn't be connected to the Winchesters or Bobby Singer.

He knew just the place.

"Well, if you boys are up to it I got a little road trip in mind," he said as he re-entered the room. "I've got a house; it's got Fort Knox security and is warded up the wazoo. Plus copies of nearly every book, scroll and scrap of paper we lost in Sioux Falls and then some. We'll be safe there from most everything and it'll give you two a chance to breathe, regroup and... wrap your heads around everything I just told you."

Dean frowned in confusion and glanced at his brother who had a similar look. "Sounds great, but if this place is so perfect why didn't we go there when your house burned down?"

"A couple of reasons. First of all I've got souvenirs and pictures from the last one hundred and thirty years of my life there. Between losing Cas and Sam's wall coming down I wasn't sure you could handle knowing the truth about me then. Speaking of which," Bobby said as he looked over the both of them, "How are you two holding up? This is some major crap I just unloaded on you."

"We're good," Dean volunteered a little too fast, smiling a little too widely.

Sam didn't waste time either. "Honestly, Bobby. We're fine."

He arched one eyebrow at them and frowned. "Really?"

"Yeah." Dean nodded emphatically at first then sighed and covered his eyes with his hand. "No. Not really. To tell you the truth... I feel like my brain is turning into tapioca pudding."

"Already there," Sam admitted, raising his hand. "Honestly, of all the things I thought you might say…"

He knew what Sam would say next. "This never even made the list, huh?"

Sam shook his head. "Not even close.

"Don't get me wrong," Dean added, "I am thrilled that you're ok and that you're probably going to stay ok until long after my bones have turned to dust. But this?" He waved his hands in a gesture of helplessness. "I don't even know what to think."

Bobby sighed and nodded in understanding. "Then I should probably hold back on the rest until after you've digested this bit?"

He slumped his shoulders and hung his head in defeat. "Oh, God, there's more?"

"Yeah, there's more." He couldn't decide whether to laugh or offer sympathy. On the one hand the expressions they wore made them look like lost puppies. On the other, his boys were suffering. Because of him. The simple fact that they hadn't mentioned the Leviathan even once all night alone spoke volumes. "Look, I don't want to fry your circuits anymore than I already have. The two of you finish your food and try to get some sleep. We'll get moving first thing tomorrow and I'll give you the rest of the story. All of it."

And then God help us all, he thought.