Disclaimer: Kripke's toys, my sandbox.
Chapter 3
December 19, 2003
The east coast was a supernatural hotbed for the rest of the year, keeping Dean and John on the other side of the country. So it was a long time since Sam had seen his brother. Only two days in July – that was the last time he'd seen Dean. Not that that mattered much. Between working the whole summer as a night watchman at a local office building, and the two summer courses he was taking at the college so that he could keep his room, he hadn't had much free time anyway. But it was Christmas Break and Dean was on his way to spend it with him. Dean had actually told their dad to 'cram it' when John had tried to coax him into a job in Lincoln. But as if Sam believed that.
The location of their destination was still a surprise to the youngest Winchester. He was hoping it was to Pastor Jim's again. It didn't really matter… anywhere he could spend a couple days with his brother was perfect for him.
Finally, the Impala came into view. Sam came down the steps of his dorm and waited for his brother on the sidewalk.
"Dude!" Dean exclaimed, "Did you get bigger?"
Sam flipped him the middle finger salute. Dean knew he was a little self-conscious about his size.
"Freakin' Sasquatch!" The older brother muttered to the steering wheel.
"Screw you man," he shot back, dropping into the passenger seat of the Impala. "So where we going? Jim and Elsie's again?" He asked hopefully.
"Naw… I was talking to Jim a couple of days ago." Dean answered as he pulled back onto the road. "He said Elsie was a little under the weather and that a visit wouldn't be the best idea right now."
"Is she okay?" Sam asked, worry creeping into his voice. He'd never grown close to many people, so when there's someone close to his heart like Elsie is, and there's something wrong… it gets to him.
"Yeah, she'll be fine. You know how old people get – a cold hits them harder than others."
"So where we going?"
"Bobby's." Dean was wearing a self satisfied grin, and Sam could feel the corners of his mouth twitching up too.
"Dude, are you shitting me?" Sam hadn't seen Bobby in a long time and the older hunter had long ago won the title of honorary uncle. Sam had always been able to relate to Bobby better than his own father.
"Nope." Dean snorted at the steering wheel as he threaded his way through traffic. "Bobby got his ass kicked by a poltergeist last week and is holed up at his place while his arm mends. Said to make sure to pick up some beer before we get there or he won't let us in."
"Bobby's. Awesome."
The drive to South Dakota was a long one. Not as long as the one to Minnesota last year, but a long drive none the less. Sam thought back to when everything had really started to go to hell. He'd been sixteen and rebelling against his father. His attitude looked all the worse compared to Dean who followed orders to the letter, even picking up Sam's slack on hunts. But Sam wanted out. Wanted out so bad he could taste it. They had been at Bobby's when John had caught Sam looking at college brochures Bobby had collected for him. John blew a fuse, typically. He could barely say two words to his youngest son without starting an argument and leaving Dean in the middle, trying to defuse the situation. More than once he actually dragged one of the two away before fists were thrown. But Bobby had a hard time keeping his mouth shut to John when it came to the boys. More than once Bobby had told John that this was no life for kids, and told him the best thing for his family would be to give up on revenge and just walk away – alive. Those arguments never ended well either.
But that day, while Sam had been innocently reading about the University of Phoenix, John started ranting about how school was useless, there were bigger things to do with life than school, they had a job to do. It was the usual rant Sam had heard a thousand times. But it was all the worse because Bobby walked in from the kitchen, shouting at dad that he was 'an idjit and a damned fool' for trying to keep the boy under his thumb. That if Sam wanted to go to school, he should be encouraged to go. That set John off even worse, calling Bobby a meddling old woman and to mind his own fucking business. 'These boys are my fucking business,' had been Bobby's reply, which had touched Sam. He always knew Bobby cared about them, but words like that weren't said between them. John took off in a fit of rage, came limping back three days later and reeking of cheap whiskey. It had been a quiet and restful three days for Sam, not so much for Dean who was worried sick about dad being off on his own. The next couple of months had been hell – the shouting just never stopped.
As a result of John's refusal to allow Sam to go off on his own and have a chance at a normal life, Bobby and John had a bit of a falling out. They still remained in contact, just to let each other know what hunts they were working and that they were alive. But other than that, the two friends had little to do with each other. And since John wasn't going to South Dakota to hang out at Bobby's between hunts, or going hunting with the seasoned hunter, the boys didn't see Bobby after that.
So the fact that Bobby was expecting them for a few days over the holidays buoyed Sam's mood. Bobby never pushed them into researching jobs, or memorizing spells and incantations or exorcisms. Bobby didn't make them do blindfolded weapon assembly or grappling exorcises. Bobby was just Bobby, and Sam couldn't wait to see his pseudo-uncle.
"Bout damn time you idjits got here!" Bobby's heavy boots echoed across the weathered planks of the porch. Rumsfeld, the giant Rottweiler, plodded along at his heels. Bobby Singer was not a larger man than any of the Winchesters, but he was an imposing figure regardless. Grizzled beard, trucker hat and greasy vest… it was as if the last three years hadn't happened and they had only seen Uncle Bobby a month or so ago. The only thing that had changed about the elder hunter was a graying around the ears and deeper wrinkles about the eyes.
"Hey Bobby!" Dean called making his way to the trunk and opening it. Dean struggled to pull the two two-fours of Bud out of the trunk without launching their duffel bags into the frozen dirt in the process. "We come bearing gifts!" Dean plastered a shit-eating grin on his face, hoisting the beer like the Stanley Cup for all to see.
"You damn well better have. Else you'd 'ave been haulin' ass back to town." Bobby ambled down the porch steps to greet them. Mindful of the sling around his injured arm, Bobby wrapped a meaty arm around Sam's shoulders and gave him a back-thumping hug. "Damn good to see ya boy!" He growled.
"You too Bobby," Sam replied, returning the back-thump and looking over Bobby's shoulder at the old run down house. Though not cozy like Jim and Elsie's farm, Bobby's had been a place of solitude and learning while the boys had been growing up. A sanctuary almost. Bobby had a quieter way of teaching and talking to the boys in a way that John never acquired. It was a way that Sam responded to better than his drill sergeant of a father's demanding orders. And while Bobby liked to fly under the radar and have people assume he was some dumb mechanic and tow-truck driver, Bobby possessed an intelligence and wit that would surpass some of the professors he had back at Stanford.
"What do you say we break up the love fest and break into the holiday cheer, huh?" Dean thumped Bobby on the back and lifted the cases of beer.
"That's a damn fine idea boy. Come on in." And they followed Bobby into the warm, dusty house.
They got wasted that first night. The kind of drink your face off, falling over, everything is funny, drunk. Dean and Bobby traded stories back and forth about their latest hunts, Dean bragged about barroom conquests and Bobby and Sam got into a longwinded theological debate about the similarities between Christianity and Paganism. Though they were slurring their words terribly, each knew exactly what the other was talking about.
It was good to be back with his family.
December 24, 2003
It was Christmas Eve. A sling-less Bobby was just pulling the Christmas frozen pizza from the oven when Rumsfeld started barking at the door. A moment later headlights flashed over the cluttered and dusty shelves of Bobby's front room. Sam looked out the window to see who had pulled in, but the front light wasn't on and it was too dark to see. Bobby came in from the kitchen just as heavy footsteps crossed the porch. Sam came back from the window to stand next to him, while Bobby's hand strayed to the shoulder holster he wore under his ever-present vest. Whoever was out there was an unexpected guest – and in the family business – that was bad.
Dean came running into the room and grabbed Bobby's gun arm, stopping him from pulling his piece. "No. Don't."
There was no knock at the door, it just swung open and standing in the gently falling snow was John Winchester. "God damn!" He exclaimed as he rigorously brushed snow from his dark hair. "It's colder than a witch's heart out there."
Sam stumbled forward, pushing Dean out of the way. "Dad?" He breathed. It had been fifteen months since he last saw his father. And here he was, larger than life and in the same room.
John looked up sharply at his voice. A scowl crossed his face. "What the hell are you doing here?" He demanded.
"I invited 'im," Bobby rebuked him, "which is more 'an I can say for you." Coming to stand between John and his son, "What the hell are you doin' here?" Sam could feel white hot anger creeping up from his stomach. His hands balled up into tight fists as his jaw clenched as his father continued to stare furiously at him.
"Dean called me yesterday. Told me he was here and to stop by when I finished my hunt." John glared as his oldest son for a moment before turning said glare on his youngest. "He didn't tell me you'd be here." There was an undeniable hint of disgust in his voice when he looked at his youngest son.
"All this time," Sam ground out, "…and that's what you got to say to me?"
"What should I say?" John seethed. "You walked out on me and your brother. Turned your fucking back on us when we needed you!"
"I only turned my back on you, you fucking dick!" Sam yelled back. Dean was in front of him, pushing on his chest to put some distance between the two titans.
"Dad! Sammy! Stop it!" Dean shouted.
"No Dean, no no no no no. Junior and I are gonna talk about this." John took a step closer to his boys.
"What do you have to say old man?" Sam taunted him.
"Shut the fuck up Sam!" Dean growled, still trying to push him into the other room.
"Let the boy say what's on his mind Dean," John said in a soft but dangerous voice. "Let the big man get it off his chest. You know he's dying to." And Sam had seen his dad before when his eyes went black like they were now. And he'd heard before when his dad's voice got all soft and calm like it was now. And Sam knew what a powder keg his dad was when both those things came together. But right now – Sam didn't fucking care.
"Back off John," Bobby warned.
"You're such a fucking asshole, you know that?" Sam shouted over his brother. John's eyes narrowed with menace.
"Sam!" Dean pushed him.
"You're pathetic! All you've ever cared about was hunting and revenge!"
"Sam!" Dean yelled and shoved him again. John bristled and took another step closer.
"Dean and I were never anything but fucking cannon fodder to you! You're a piss poor excuse for a father and you know it." Sam hissed. "You think mom would have wanted…"
Sam said the magic word and John charged, knocking Dean out of the way and grabbing his youngest son by the collar, pushing him against a bookcase. John pressed one meaty forearm against Sam's windpipe, cutting off his airway and pinning him to the shelf. John had his fist cocked back, ready to strike, his eyes black with anger.
"Do it." Sam grunted against the force on his throat. "You know you're dying to."
"Dad, don't." Dean pleaded.
A long black metal barrel appeared by John's head. Bobby was at the other end of that barrel, his face grim and determined.
"Stay out of this Singer." John growled.
"Time to go John." Bobby said with all the calm authority of the most seasoned hunter.
"You won't do it." John didn't take his eyes from Sam. Dean was watching the display from his position on the floor, horror stricken.
There was the deadly hiss and double-click of Bobby cocking the shotgun. "Let go of the boy, and get off my land." Bobby pressed the barrel against his friend's temple. "Now."
John glared at Bobby, but he released his hold on Sam and stepped back. Bobby slid into place between the oldest and youngest Winchester, keeping the muzzle of the shotgun on John's chest, and effectively walking him to the door. John looked around the room. From Dean on the floor, to Bobby's calm face, to Sam standing red-faced and panting, curled fists at his side.
"Well this has been fun." He scoffed. "Thanks for the hospitality Bobby. Bye boys."
"Dad! Wait!" Dean called out, but John turned the knob and swept through the door with a speed and grace that belied his size. The door slammed shut with an echoing silence that filled the room. Sam stood there, quivering with anger and adrenaline. Dean's arm was still outstretched towards the door as if his will alone would bring their father back.
Sam walked towards his brother, gripping his wrist and hoisting him to his feet. Sam threw a vicious right hook at his brother's jaw as he stood, knocking him back to the floor in surprise.
"What the hell Sammy?!"
"You called him!" He shouted with indignation. "You called him and told him to come here!"
"Of course I called him!"
"How could you do that to me Dean? How? You know how I feel about the man!"
"I thought after all this time, you'd be at least able to make peace with him for a fucking day!" Dean struggled to his feet, holding his jaw and wincing.
"That is the stupidest thing I've ever heard come out of your mouth! I put up with years of his crap, and it's supposed to fade away like it never happened just because I've been gone?"
"Sammy," Dean growled, "Tomorrow, Dad could be dead. Hell, tomorrow I could be dead, and you would rather go the rest of your life knowing you never tried to make it better with him? That's selfish of you."
"There is no making it work with that man Dean and you know it. It's his way or no way – and it's always his way." Sam said through clenched teeth, towering over his brother.
"Well forgive me if I wanted to try and piece my family back together, Princess." Dean was toe to toe with his younger brother and the both of them were beyond pissed.
"Boys…" Bobby cut in, trying to break them apart.
"I can't believe you did that to me," Sam shook his head in disbelief. "What did you think was gonna happen? How did you think that was gonna turn out? You know what? Stay away from me." Sam stalked down the hall to the room he'd been sleeping in. Grabbing his duffel, he threw everything into it and was ready to leave sixty seconds later. He stormed towards the front door and wrenched it open.
"Aww Sammy… What are you doin'? Don't leave," Dean wheedled derisively.
"Stay. The fuck. Away. From me." Sam ground out and headed out into the snow.
"Sam!" But Sam slammed the door on his brother's voice. He couldn't even remember the last time he'd been so angry.
Yes he could. It was the day he walked away in the first place.
He wasn't at the end of Bobby's long driveway when headlights flashed over the fence posts and trees. It wasn't the Impala though, it was Bobby's primer riddled Chevelle. "Where you offta son?"
"I gotta go Bobby. I'm sorry." Sam was still walking swiftly on the side of the drive.
"Where you gonna go? It's Christmas Eve, come back before yer idjit brother does somethin' stupid."
"What? Like call dad and tell him to come hang out for Christmas? Jerk."
"Your brother didn't want that to happen. His intentions were in the right spot."
"His intentions," Sam huffed. "You know, it's just not the holidays until someone pulls a gun, you know that Bobby?"
"Happens in lots a families – not just ours." Bobby's car was crawling along in pace with Sam's long angry strides. And Sam didn't miss the our family – not your family. Just goes to show where Bobby really stands with them. "Come back to the house kid. Don't walk off angry like this."
"I can't Bobby, I just can't."
"So what-cha gonna do?"
"I'm gonna go to town, and catch the first bus west."
"There won't be any bus until at least tomorrow… maybe the next day," Bobby tried to reason with him.
"Then I'll wait."
"It's twenty miles to town. You can't walk all that way in the cold."
"Watch me."
"Jesus Sam! Will you stop being so God-damn stubborn?!" Bobby pounded the steering wheel. He sped the wreck up and cut the wheel so that the car blocked the drive.
"Let me go Bobby."
"You can't walk away from your brother like this. It'll kill 'im. You know how he holds onta everything you and your daddy throw at him – lets it eat at 'im."
Sam set his jaw and looked the other way. He was so mad right now that he didn't care how much it would hurt his brother. Having your father pin you to a bookcase and ready to beat the snot out of you does that to a guy.
"Look…" Bobby said a reasoning tone. "I'll drive you to town myself – right now. Just stay at a room in town and calm down. I'll come back in the morning and get ya when you've cooled off and yer ready to come back."
Sam huffed, 'fine,' and made his way to the passenger seat. He sat heavily in the old car, and the twenty mile drive was a silent one. Sam wasn't mad at Bobby, he obviously hadn't been in on Dean's scheme. But he didn't want to risk saying anything to tip off the wily hunter, or risk saying something to offend a man he deeply admired.
Bobby dropped him off at the Berkley Shades motel, with a promise to come for him in the morning when he was ready. "Thanks for the lift Bobby, appreciate it." Sam shut the door and walked into the office. The first thing he did after paying for the room was to ask the clerk for a bus schedule.
There was one bright and early. He would not be going back to Bobby's and his traitor of a brother.
January, 2004
"Damn it Sam! Will you pick up the damn phone and talk to me?" Angry.
"Sammy… Look, just call me back, okay?" Pleading.
"You stubborn sonofabitch! You know who you get that from, right?" Insulting.
"Stop ignoring my calls Sammy. I'm starting to feel like one of my one night stands." Joking.
"Sammy… just… damn it! Aarrghh! Call me back." Frustrated.
Three weeks and the messages were all the same. Sam deleted them every time his brother called – he was still too angry at Dean. He had spent a nearly three day bus trip back to California just going over the whole thing over and over again. It was like scratching at a mosquito bite, the more you do it, the worse it gets – and that was what was happening to his anger at his brother. What was Dean thinking to tell Dad to come to Bobby's? Bobby and John were barely on speaking terms as it was and Dean told him to show up? For a smart guy, that was a dumbass move on his brother's part.
"Sam," Bobby's gruff voice came out of the tiny speaker. "If you wanna be mad at yer idjit brother, fine. But answer his damn calls before I hunt 'im down myself and beat the tar outta him. Fool's driving me crazy."
Sam deleted Bobby's message too. It was just like Dean to try and use Bobby into guilt tripping him into talking to him again. What low would he sink to next? Pastor Jim? Elsie? All his life, he'd known he could always trust Dean, and Dean had sold him out. He'd tried to trick him and his dad into talking again and it backfired terribly. And every time he looked in the mirror and saw the angry bruise on his neck, he got angry all over again.
Sam recalled the look in his father's eyes as he pinned him against the shelf. It should have induced fear into him, like it did when he was a kid. The only difference now was that Sam was a grown man now, out from under his father's thumb and used to being on his own. His dad couldn't invoke the same fear that he used to.
Sam wasn't crazy. He knew his father was still a dangerous man and not to be trifled with, but that childhood fear was gone. His dad was an angry, driven and hurtful man. Completely single minded and military to the core – distant, with no room in his heart for anything other than his revenge. He had even raised his sons to hate all things supernatural, to fight them, to put themselves in danger. Dean was his perfect soldier, always striving to please the man, garner some kind of praise. But praise was a price too high for John Winchester to pay, so Dean gave everything he had and got nothing in return from the man he idolized. The whole thing was sickening, and Sam was glad to be out of it. He wouldn't be drawn into that circus anymore, so he pressed delete on every message.
The phone calls came less frequently now. Instead of a couple a week, they were reduced to one a week, then one every two. Letters showed up from time to time, Sam tossed them into a drawer in his desk – unopened but unable to throw them away. He went to school, did well in his classes, and kept to himself – just like always.
In March, while in his room studying, his cell rang. It showed Dean's name on the display so he let it go to voicemail. This was his habit now. Dean would leave a message, telling him a quick summary of a job, and then hang up with a talk to ya later. It was kind of comforting – these check-ins from Dean. It let Sam know where his brother was and that he was alive without having to actually talk to him.
When the light started blinking on the display, Sam picked the cell up and punched in the buttons to retrieve the message. His brother's voice was strained, emotional even – which was strange for Dean. It made Sam sit up straight and listen intently.
"Hey Sammy. Just got word from Pastor Jim. Remember Elsie wasn't feeling well a couple months ago? Back when… well… never mind. She passed Sam. It was lung cancer, can you believe it? Woman never smoked a day in her life and now she's gone. She's gone. Just… just thought you should know."
The line went dead and Sam replayed it. Dean's pain and remorse was clear in the way his voice hitched and broke as he spoke. Elsie was dead. Sweet, kind and generous Elsie. Queen of the kitchen. Gone. Sam felt a heavy weight settle in his stomach, and he felt his throat tighten as tears burned behind his eyes.
Sam buried his face in his hands and wept.
Sorry for the downer ending, but here's something to cheer you all up… season six confirmed!! Happy dance!!
