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Weekend at Bobby's
John banged his bloody knuckles on the wooden door for the fourth time shouting, "Bobby Singer! Goddamnit, where are you!"
"Are you sure he's even home?" Sam asked. He was sixteen and had endured a huge growth spurt these last few months and was the same height as his father already, taller than Dean. "What if he's not here?"
"Of course he's here, Sam, that's why we're here," John replied gruffly. "I called him before we left Bismarck."
"How long are we going to be staying with him anyways? School holidays finish in three weeks," Sam said. He shivered as another gust of biting winter wind crawled down his collar.
"Yeah I know," John replied. School was really becoming more and more of a hindrance. It had never been a problem with Dean, his eldest had hated school, was running out of the building before the last bell had even rung. John had to talk him into staying through the tenth grade but he'd dropped out soon after preferring to get a GED and be happy with that. "We'll go somewhere else soon, okay?"
John banged on the door again. He saw something out of the corner of his eye and grabbed Dean's collar before his son collapsed. He gave Dean a shake, trying to keep him on his feet. "You still there?"
"Yeah," Dean croaked out, putting a bloody hand on the wall to steady himself. The shake John had given him sent twinges of white hot pain through his left shoulder. He seemed to remember hitting a wall with it but the gash on his head was making every blurry.
Tires squealing made John turn around to see Bobby's old Chevelle speed into the salvage yard and pull up in a cloud of dust behind them. Bobby climbed out of the old 1971 muscle car and took in the three Winchesters in front of him.
"What the hell happened to you three?" he asked.
"Demons," John replied. "We're gonna need patching up, well Dean for sure, me and Sam are alright."
Bobby pulled his keys out and made for the door just as Dean dropped. Both Bobby and John rushed to catch him. John tried pulling him to his feet but he was out cold, blood dripping down his face.
"Christ, what the hell happened?" Bobby asked again.
"Just get us inside would you?"
Sam helped his father carry Dean into Bobby's house and they laid him gently on the couch in the library. Dean groaned as injuries were jostled and bumped. John crouched down by his face.
"Alright Dean, you gotta try and wake up now, okay?"
"My head…hurts so badly," Dean whispered. He opened his eyes a crack and the room spun in front of him. He bit his lip. "I'm…gonna be sick."
"Sam, get a bucket now."
Sam was back lightning fast with a bucket just in time. Dean emptied the contents of his stomach until he was dry heaving then laid back down on the couch coughing. A glass of water was pressed into his hand.
"Let's take a look at that head of yours," John said. He dragged a chair over to the couch and proceeded to examine the cut on Dean's forehead that still had blood oozing from it steadily. He gently cleaned it with a damp cloth causing Dean to wince and pull away. "Stay still," John ordered.
When he'd finally cleaned the blood away he sighed in relief. Dean wouldn't need stitches and the blood was already starting to clot. "Alright Dean you know what's coming," John warned grabbing the disinfectant. "It's gonna hurt."
John pressed the iodine-soaked cloth onto the cut making Dean hiss in pain. The iodine stung like hell and was unrelenting. After what seemed like forever, John took away the cloth and Dean let out the breath he'd been holding.
"Is it alright? That cut?" Sam asked worriedly.
"It's gonna be fine, won't even need stitches, just a bad hit," John replied. "Anything else hurt?"
Dean exhaled trying to breathe through the pain. He nodded.
"Well where?" John asked impatiently.
"Dad go easy on him," Sam said, surveying his wounded brother. "He's concussed as all get out don't forget."
"Yeah and you know why, Sam? Cause he put himself in the line of fire, that's why," John replied angrily. "It's his own damn fault he's hurt."
"How can you say that, Dad, he was protecting me, that demon was going after me!" Sam shouted, his temper rising. Bobby just stood there watching the entire thing unfold. He couldn't understand why John could be mad at one of his sons for protecting the other.
"And if Dean had just done what I told him, the demon would be exorcised and he wouldn't be lying here all banged up."
"He'd probably still be lying there all banged up," Sam retorted. As soon as the words came out of his mouth he knew he couldn't possibly have said anything worse. John started to stand up, his hands balling into fists and Sam took a step back.
"Sam…please…not now," Dean said, his voice scratchy. He put a bloodied hand on his midsection and, using his other arm for leverage, pushed himself up to a sitting position. "Dad's right…it's my…my fault. But please don't fight now."
Sam's face immediately softened when he saw his brother's green eyes, one surrounded by a growing bruise plead with him. Sam backed down at that. He pulled up another chair and sat by the couch.
"Pretty sure my left shoulder's….dislocated," Dean said, unhappily.
"Let's set it then." John said. Instead of putting Dean through extra agony by getting him to take off his leather jacket and his shirt John grabbed his son's left hand and placed his other hand on Dean's dislocated shoulder making Dean grimace. "Okay, on three." Dean nodded. "One," John said and promptly set Dean's shoulder making him cry out.
John immediately let go of his son's arm and Dean hugged it against his body breathing hard. Setting a dislocated shoulder was one of Dean's least favourite things. After a couple of minutes, the pain subsided from all-consuming torture to a dull ache that felt as if it would last a good couple of weeks.
"Anything else?" John asked.
"I think that's it," Dean said, his right hand gently massaging the tendons in his shoulder. "My ribs are pretty sore still but…" he trailed off. He was about to say that the pain in his ribs wasn't the demon's fault. He looked up and caught his father's eyes. It was almost as if John knew exactly what he'd been thinking.
"But what Dean?" he asked, his voice taking on a menacing tone.
"But…uh," Dean looked over at Sammy. The look on his brother's face was something Dean never wanted to see. He was ashamed of his brother. Ashamed of the fact that Dean couldn't say that it was John's fault that his ribs were almost always sore. That he couldn't say it in front of Bobby, the only person that could maybe change their situation for the better. "But they'll be fine," Dean finished.
"Good," John said sternly. "You got any beer Bobby?"
The question brought Bobby out of the trance he'd been in. He'd seen John interact with his sons before, but something seemed way off in this situation. "Yeah, yeah I got some. Come on in the kitchen then. You boys happy with pizza for dinner?"
"Sure Bobby," Sam replied, moving to sit down on the couch next to his brother.
"Whatever's easiest," Dean replied. Bobby nodded but inside, Dean's whole attitude was breaking his heart. At least if he got John into the kitchen, he could try and find out what was going on.
"How you doing?" Sam asked his brother.
"I'll be fine, Sam, really," Dean replied. He took a long swallow from the glass of water Sam had handed him earlier. The water took some of the edge off. He'd probably been dehydrated too.
"Yeah that's what you always say," Sam replied, some of that forgotten anger falling back into place. "You always say you will be fine. You never say that you are fine."
"Well, Sam, right now, what do you think?" Dean snapped. "My head hurts like hell, and my shoulder's gonna ache for days if not a couple weeks. I'm pretty goddamn sore right now."
"And your ribs?" Sam pressed.
"What about them?" Dean asked uneasily. He hated it when Sam got all hot under the collar about their father. It wasn't as if Dean would ever fight back. If he did, John would just go hell for leather and then move on to Sam. It hadn't happened yet, but if Sam kept going the way he was going, it was bound to happen soon.
"You were gonna say something," Sam said, hope springing to his eyes. "You were gonna say that Dad busted your ribs with his boot. Cause maybe, if you actually did"- he gave his brother a pointed glare –"then Bobby could say something to him, set him right."
"I'm not gonna go saying things to Bobby about Dad, Sam," Dean replied. Every time they'd swing by Sioux Falls, the same conversation would take place. Sam would want Dean to say something to Bobby about John beating on him and Dean would never say it. And he'd never for the life of him let Sam say anything either.
"Why the hell not?" Sam said, his voice getting louder.
"Sam, keep your goddamn voice down," Dean said in hushed tones. The last thing he wanted was for Bobby and John to walk in on this conversation. "I'm not gonna say anything to Bobby because it wouldn't achieve anything alright? I'll be fine, I'm always fine, but if I go saying things to people that I shouldn't, Dad might go for you, and I'm not letting that happen."
"Dean you don't know for sure that'd he do that," Sam countered.
"Pretty sure I do, I know the man well enough to know he'd beat me to hell for saying something to Bobby, and right now, I can't really take another," Dean said, his tone measured. It was as simple as that.
"Dean, how can you think like that?" Sam asked, astounded at his brother. "If we were to tell Bobby, he could protect us from Dad. Or at least protect you. I'm so tired of seeing you so hurt all the time, Dean."
"You really think I want this cycle to keep repeating?" Dean asked his brother rhetorically. "I said no, Sam. We're not saying a word to Bobby. And if you say anything to him, I'll beat you to hell myself." There was no power behind the threat though and Sam knew it.
"Why do you keep doing this to yourself Dean?"
"Cause I've gotta protect you, Sammy, you're my brother. It's my job."
"Yeah but your job doesn't have to mean that you've almost permanently got bruised ribs," Sam said sadly.
"As long as it's my ribs that are bruised and not yours I'm happy," Dean replied, draining the glass of water. He started to massage his painful shoulder again.
"Why does Dad never go for me anyway?" Sam asked. Dean looked up at his brother, trying to judge his face but his brother's expression was unreadable.
"What?"
"Dad always beats you to hell but he's never hit me. Ever. Why?"
Dean sighed. Did he really have to go through all of this now? His head was throbbing, there was a residual sting of iodine in the cut on his hairline and the bruise around his eye was starting to make itself known with every facial movement.
"Why?" Sam pushed.
"Because I made him promise."
"Promise what?"
"Promise to never hit you, that's what," Dean replied. "Now please, can I just lie down for a while, I'm bone tired."
"Yeah sure Dean," Sam said, slightly shell-shocked. He picked up a nearby book on spirits and pulled Dean's legs onto his lap. His older brother gave him a puzzled look. "Just making sure you're comfy."
Dean shrugged and winced at the pull on his injured shoulder. He made himself comfortable as best he could on the lumpy couch. "Wake me when food's here."
"Sure thing."
Four hours later at 8pm, Sam gently shook Dean awake. Dean awoke with a gasp and an angry glare at his brother as he grabbed his injured shoulder. "Damnit Sammy, be gentle," he said, his words slurring somewhat from sleep.
"Crap, Dean, I'm so sorry," Sam said, his face shadowing with guilt. "I thought I was being gentle."
"Clearly not enough," Dean replied. He took a deep breath and some of the pain from his recently set shoulder started to ebb away. "Why'd you wake me up? I was having the best dream…"
"Pizza's here," Sam explained. "You want a hand up?"
"Dude, I'm not a complete invalid, I can stand up by myself," Dean said. He went to push himself to his feet using his uninjured right arm, but his ribs on that side were worse off than on the left side and he fell back against the couch with a pained groan. "Okay, fine, help me up." Sam went for his brother but Dean flinched back. "Be gentle," he warned. Sam helped his brother to his feet with only a couple half-suppressed gasps and the two of them walked slowly into the kitchen. Sam lowered Dean into one of the chairs Bobby had arranged around the kitchen table and he placed his left arm in his lap.
"How you feeling Dean?" Bobby asked as he opened up the pizza boxes. "Back from the dead?"
"Better than I was when I first walked in," Dean said. He paused. "At least I assume I walked in. Kinda can't remember. Did I?"
Bobby exchanged a look with John who was already seated opposite Dean. "More or less," Bobby answered. "Your daddy tells me you were after a demon in Bismarck."
"Yeah," Dean said trying to recall the exact events. "We'd tracked him to this abandoned farmhouse outside town and…that's where it goes black." He looked up with a wonky smile, trying his best to make light of the situation for Bobby and Sam's sake.
"I'd made sure we all had salt rounds, holy water, the usual," John explained. "But the demon was a damn son of a bitch. He knew we were coming. Threw me up against a wall and went for Sam. Dean was supposed to exorcise him but instead of that"- John glared at his eldest who looked down –"he decided to pick a fight with the damn thing. No wonder you're so sore now."
"Well aren't I glad my brother will fight a demon to save me then?" Sam said angrily.
"Sam," Dean admonished. The last thing he wanted right now was for John and Sam to start arguing. That had been happening more and more lately. It just wore him down.
"Come on Dean, don't you think it's a little ridiculous?" Sam asked. "Instead of watching a demon take out your little brother while you stand there reciting Latin, hoping it'll just stick around and listen, you come and help me. And Dad gets pissed at you for it."
"The demon wasn't going to hurt you Sam," John said. Dean, Sam and Bobby turned to John at those words.
"What do you mean, John?" Bobby asked. "How would you know?"
"Cause…I uh, I exorcised one a little over a month ago," John stammered. Dean and Sam were wide-eyed; they'd never seen their father at a loss for words. "It…it told me that it was…uh, how do I put it? It was after you, but not to kill you."
Silence reigned for a couple moments. Then all hell broke loose.
"What are you talking about?" Sam shouted. "What do you mean, it was after me? Why didn't you tell me? What were you"-
"Sam, enough," John said, in a tone of voice that meant business. Sam clammed up. "I haven't had a chance to tell you. That's why we're at Bobby's. I wanted to find out everything I could about why this demon was after you."
"Well don't leave me in the dark next time," Sam snapped.
"Why don't you boys finish your dinner in the library?" Bobby suggested, throwing a pointed look John's way.
"What? After that bomb that Dad just dropped?" Sam replied, incredulously. "I don't think so."
But Dean was already struggling to his feet and grabbing one of the pizza boxes. "Sam get up," he said wearily. He almost dropped the pizza box when a painful twinge went down his side and Sam snatched it before it hit the ground. "It'll be comfier on the couch anyway."
The two of them went back into the library and Bobby pulled the sliding doors shut behind them. He turned around to face John opening another bottle of beer. "You wanna tell me what's going on, John? With these demons?"
"I know its name," John replied.
"Whose name?"
"Azazel. The demon that killed Mary."
"Why do you have to be so weak Dean?" Sam said angrily.
"Excuse me?" Dean really didn't have the energy for another fight. He just wished Sam would just leave him be for once.
"You do exactly as they tell you all the time, it's painful to watch." Sam knew his words stung. He could see it the instant he said them. Dean's face fell and he started to study the floor.
"Shut up Sam," he replied softly. "You don't know what you're talking about."
"Of course I do," Sam replied. "You do everything Dad tells you and if you put one foot wrong he'll just beat you anyway. But do you tell Bobby? No."
"Sam, drop it, I'm too tired for this."
"Yeah you always are, cause Dad's forever hitting you goddamnit!"
"Lower your voice Sam, you don't know what you're saying," Dean said, his green eyes locked onto his brother's. "If I wasn't around, then Dad would be hitting you and do you really want that?"
Sam sighed. It was a battle he knew he'd never win. The relationship between his brother and his father was as screwed as it was ever going to get and no amount of talking about it was going to make it any better. "How's your head?"
"What's that supposed to mean?" Dean snapped back.
"It's not supposed to mean anything. I'm just asking," Sam replied, in an apologetic voice.
"Sorry." Dean shook his head. He wished Sam wouldn't bring up these topics of his; it was too painful for him. Their lives were already hard enough, why make them harder? "I'm sorry Sammy, I didn't mean to jump down your throat. My head's doing better I guess. Think I'm gonna have a hell of a headache for a while though."
"Well you can take the couch tonight then. I get the feeling we're gonna be staying for a little while," Sam said. Dean nodded in appreciation. A puff of icy South Dakota winter chill went down Dean's spine and he shivered. Sam jumped up and grabbed a threadbare blanket off a pile of books and draped it over his older brother's shoulders.
"Thanks Sammy," Dean said, in a slight state of shock at the change in his brother over the last couple minutes.
"Don't mention it." Sam smiled at his brother, hoping Dean would believe the façade he was putting up. Sam wasn't going to let his father off the hook for everything he'd been keeping from him and for the sadistic promise he'd made Dean years ago to only hit his older brother. No, he'd wait until Dean got his strength back from this latest round with the demon in Bismarck. Then they could both stand up to John together.
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