Chapter 2

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Hearing the front door close behind Sam, Bobby relaxed again into his chair, swirling his whisky around in it's glass thoughtfully. He understood where Sam was coming from when he said that Dean seemed different since the boy's return from Hell, but really? Chrissake...The boy had been to Hell! What Bobby honestly didn't get, was Sam himself. For four months Sam had cut contact. Sam really needn't have been alone, he'd chosen to be. Now he was back, and Bobby wondered what was it that was continuing to make him so different to the Sam that Bobby knew? He'd expected Dean's death to hit Sam hard. What he hadn't expected was the way that Sam was actually effected. Instead of crumbling into the hollow wreck of a man that Bobby had thought he would somehow have to glue back together, Sam had thrown himself wholly into hunting. He'd worked alone, rarely allowing himself to come into contact with other Hunters. He'd even cut Bobby out. He'd become more aloof, colder, more willing to take risks simply to make sure he took out his prey, rage seemed to have become his main driver. And the change wasn't restricted to the inside, externally Sam was different. He was close lipped, he rarely smiled, his physique had become harder, more toned and muscular. Sam was stronger, and he was much more easily drawn into a fight.

And then there was this odd behaviour, ever since Dean had come back. Bobby could swear that there were times Sam seemed to actually resent his brother's presence. He was quick to argue with Dean, often actually provoking it, and he sometimes acted as if Dean was an incumbent, as though Dean was slowing him down, holding him back from something. Bobby had seen the occasional look of hurt and confusion on Dean's face at Sam's attitude towards him, and there were a fair few times that Bobby had found it hard to keep his mouth shut, to stay under the brothers' cross fire.

Tonight Dean had wanted to go out, just him and his brother, have a couple of drinks together, maybe challenge one another to a game of pool at one of the bars in town. When Sam had refused to go with Dean, stating simply that he didn't feel like it, Dean had said nothing. Bobby had watched, furious on Dean's behalf, as the boy simply nodded, then turned and walked out of the house. Bobby sighed. That kid had willingly offered himself up to Hell in order to get back the brother he loved. The same ungrateful little jackass of a brother who, sometimes, acted like he wished Dean had stayed in Hell.

Every day now, Bobby was finding it increasingly difficult not to follow through on his growing desire to feel the satisfaction of punching Sam's lights out. Only by way of trying to knock some sense back into that thick skull of Sam's, obviously!

Red and Titch had to let Dean go one step in front, in order to allow them all to get through the exit door. Dean tried to make use of the meagre opportunity afforded to him and, the instant he was through the doorway, he shot off like a jack rabbit. Unfortunately, he didn't get far before one of the two legged hounds brought him crashing to the ground with a perfectly executed tackle. Winded, Dean had no defence, and so the world rocked and rolled as Dean was swiftly hauled back up onto his feet by a ridiculously oversized hand firmly grabbing hold of Dean's jacket collar.

"Where exactly did you think you were going, little man?"

Dean continued to squirm, hoping to maybe cause the bigger man to loosen his grip.

"Little boy's room?"

The hand shook Dean until his teeth rattled.

"Next time...If you're still capable...Ask."

Although when the pair had first walked up to him, Dean had harboured no illusion that Titch and Red had merely fancied showing him a different bar and sharing a drink with him, it didn't stop the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach when it was so convincingly confirmed that they weren't out to become mates with him. He had to find a way out of this.

"Seeing as how it seems we might be spendin' some time together, how about one of you freaks tell me who the frigg you are, why you're hassling me and what you want?"

The one on Dean's left, who Dean had named Red, looked down at him, the colour of his eyes changing from a dirty dish water grey, to completely black. The daemon grinned unpleasantly at Dean.

"We've got what we want...You. See, there's a very nice bounty been stuck on your pretty little head. You should be flattered. Somebody misses you, an' that somebody wants you back downstairs, where you belong."

Fear flooded Dean's gut. Before hanging out at that little fun factory known as Hell, Dean had rarely allowed any amount of fear ever to peer over the parapet. But that was before he knew, before he understood, before he had experienced it. Now, hearing Red's words, Dean could physically taste his own fear, and it tasted sickeningly coppery.

"I see. Well...Thing is fellas, I'm kinda busy for the next century, so I'm afraid you'll just have to give 'em my apologies. Ok?"

Red grinned, showing a set of extremely decayed teeth.

"Apologies are unacceptable."

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