No More Mr. Nice Guy 4 of 7

Usual credits, Kripke, McG, etc. etc. No harm, no foul. Well, not much foul at least. Do I put 'em back like I found 'em? Heh.

Warnings? It's a GOO fic! If you've read any of my stuff you know what to expect. If you haven't, well . . . I worked hard to get my vocabulary, including the nasty parts. Now I need to pick up Chinese curses . . . but I digress. If you don't like raucous then you've probably bailed out already. The rest of you already know what to expect.

This is a nice, short one. Digestible!

Sam's gotten what he asked for. When a hunter gets in it, who's he call? Uhh . . .Bobby Singer?

Damn straight!


Bobby Singer stepped out on his sagging front porch as Sam pulled up to the end of his long, weed-grown drive. He seemed casual enough but his hands were definitely not in his pockets and he pushed back the bill of his cap to get a better view.

"Y'know, for a long time I used to wonder if he ever took that cap off, Sam. When you were still really little, I thought he probably slept in the thing."

"Well, he's got his reasons."

"But he's got such nice eyes and such a regal pate!"

Sam cringed. He thought maybe he should have given Bobby more of a head's up as Dean stepped out of the Impala and opened his arms in delighted greeting. Maybe not. For once Sam didn't have to hide the evil grin as he watched the older hunter back up a step, retreating onto his porch with wide eyes and a suddenly tense set to his shoulders. Dean had a real spring in his step as he jogged towards the house. Sam wasn't expert at reading lips but he sure as hell knew what "oh fuck" and "Christo!" looked like. He collapsed over the wheel in giggles.

Dean had wrapped pink-clad arms around Bobby's shoulders in a big, happy hug. Bobby was patting his back half-heartedly and glaring at Sam in the car. Sam got out of the big muscle car and gave Bobby his best innocent puppy look and who-me? shrug. He got the bird in return. And had to slide down the driver's door to sit on the ground, whooping in nearly-hysterical laughter.

"Hey. Laughing boy." The mild sting of a bill cap smacking him made Sam finally look up. He tried to restrain himself. For a moment. Until he got a look at the expression on Bobby's face. "Bwahahahah!"

"Yeah, yeah, fuck you and the horse you rode in on."

"Bobby." Dean's gentle reprimand took the last of Sam's control and he sprawled onto the ground in helpless giggles. Dean sighed noisily. "And Sam. Bobby, that's my car you're telling my brother to have illicit sexual congress with. I'd appreciate it if you'd respect my car, even if you can't bring yourself to respect the sanctity of intimate contact between two individuals. Ideally individuals of the same species and of consenting age and capacity."

Bobby turned very slowly to look over his shoulder at Sam's older brother. The whites shone all the way around his irises and Sam kicked a heel hard against the dry, late-spring dirt. "Welcome to MY world!"

"Right. Right. Uh . . . Dean. Why don'tcha . . . take yer luggage in. I know those fancy chinos gotta be hung up or they wrinkle, right?"

"That's true! Thanks, Bobby!" Bobby gnawed on his scruffy mustach and watched until Dean finished pulling out their duffles and retreated. Sam heard his steps lightly running up the front steps and then the slam of the screen door.

"Dimchester!" Another swat of the hat. "What did your daddy tell you about deals with demons? Hell, what did I tell you about deals with demons?"

"Uh? Just say no?"

"And do you see what happens when you hang out with the wrong crowd? Did you SEE him? He's wearing PINK!"

"But Bobby . . ." Sam climbed to his feet and leaned against the car, scrubbing his face with relief that Dean was alive. And, yeah, maybe that he didn't have to deal with Dean all by himself anymore. "Bobby. He was dead and damned. He's free and clear now and so am I."

"How?" Bobby grabbed his elbow and pulled him towards the house. "Tell me exactly what you did."

"You got it."

Dean had settled in front of the television. That might have been normal. But the glass of milk and the choice of educational programming . . .not so much.

"He said Mythbusters was too violent?" Sam kept his voice low.

"That's nothing. CNN and Meerkat Manor were too violent AND had too much sex. I just don't see it myself. Oh, the weasels sure, but Christiane Amanpour?" Bobby was gnawing on his mustach again. Sam had never seen him do that until now. But he supposed Dean in pink, watching Nova, could do all kinds of strange things to a person.

"So. Do you think you can fix him?"

Bobby glanced at him. "You might want to rephrase that."

"Oh, no." Sam picked at the label on his bottle of beer. Dean had given him a reproving look for it, but if ever Sam needed a beer it was now. "No, I'm not worried about him tomcatting around at this point."

"I guess I see your point." Bobby sighed. "So you didn't offer anything of yourself in trade?"

"Nope." Sam hesitated. Cleared his throat. "Uh. Remember I told you that Ava could control demons? That she'd learned?"

"Yeah." The word was grunted and there was an unspoken "So what?" Hanging in the air between them.

"Well. A quick glance guaranteed that Dean was still engrossed in public television. "She was right about something. You practice and you can do a lot."

"More visions?" Bobby sounded confused, not connecting the dots. Sam suspected he didn't want to connect the dots.

"Not since Dean killed that yellow eyed son of a bitch." He shook his head. "But I really only had visions about people he'd touched, so if he's dead . . . but Ava said that we do more. She started with just the visions too."

Bobby growled deep in his chest. "She also said you had to accept the demon's control!"

"Nooo . . .maybe not totally. She said she HAD accepted it, but that practice gave her her skills."

A narrow, blue stare scanned him. "And?"

Sam took a deep breath. "And before the year was up . . .well. I started practicing. A lot."

"Annnd?" Now it was Bobby drawing out his word.

"And I wasn't sure until I summoned her, but it's true. I can control demons."

Bobby's bottle hit the table with a thump loud enough to draw Dean's attention. Both of them plastered smiles on their faces, waved and Bobby called, "Nothing going on!"

"These are not the droids you want," added Sam. Dean rolled his eyes but went back to his show. Sam turned back to Bobby. "I summoned her and ripped the demon half out of its host. She gave me back Dean in exchange for its life."

"Those things aren't alive to start with!"

"You know what I mean!"

Bobby slumped and took a long draw on his beer. "And you asked for . . . what? Exactly, Sam."

Sam shut his eyes, thought back, though he'd replayed the scene so many times in his mind that he knew he wouldn't recall anything new. Sighed. "I asked for Dean, alive and whole. And then I thought about what demons are like, even if you're just possessed. So I asked for him to be free of hell's touch."

"Shit." Bobby put his bottle against his forehead like he needed to soothe a headache. "Congratulations, Sam. You've got the first human since Eden who's completely free of sin."

"Oh." Sam peered out into the living room. Swallowed. "Hell."

"You only wish."

"Huh." Bobby had glanced up towards the living room. "I kinda thought that would have been ruled out by the sinless thing."

"What, sleeping on the couch?"

"Is that what you call what he's doin' ?"

Sam looked up, then covered his eyes fast, moaning, "Oh, God. I so did not need to see that."

"...though I'm not sure I ever saw humping the couch on a list a sins. Or maybe it's just sex without meaning . . . Damn. The opportunities for research are fucking amazing!"

"Ooooh, that's another five years of therapy."

Bobby snorted. "You still squeamish, boy?"

"About my brother and his . . .uh, amorous pursuits?"

"That's my couch you're talking about."

Sam smothered a grin. "Sorry to insult your couch's honor, man. But if that's not sex without meaning, what is?"

That got another snort out of Bobby, who shoved away the book he'd been reading and rubbed at tired, reddened eyes. "I gotta say, other than deflowering my couch, I think your brother might have the right idea. A crash and burn sounds awfully good to me."

"Yeahhh." Sam yawned widely, jaw cracking. Sagged back in his seat. "I dunno about you but I got nothing. I found plenty of people brought back from the dead," he briefly held up his hand like he was answering roll call in school, "Usually by demonic intervention but not always. But guys brought back after a demon takes 'em? Again, unless it was for a deal . . ."

"Only one real story in the myths for something like that. And I know you ain't him. You want another beer?" Sam nodded and pulled Bobby's notes towards him as Bobby dragged himself onto his feet and slouched over to his fridge. "But the back from the dead thing, that's the easy part. The sin thing . . ."

Bobby's voice had trailed off as he opened the door and reached in. "Sam?" he said in a strangled voice.

"What?" Sam looked up, startled by the tone. "Bobby?"

"Sam? What happened to my refrigerator?" He sounded like he was forcing the words out.

"Oh. Yeah. Remember? I was heating up dinner and you were pulling out -" Sam thumped a knuckle against a stack of books. "Dean thought he'd help out and clean your fridge. He got all that fuzzy leftover stuff you had in there. Y'know, some of that looked like it'd been in there for years."

Bobby straightened up and shut the door with immense care, slumping forward to rest his forehead on the white enameled metal. "It had."

"Huh?" Sam shook his head, wondering if he was more tired than he'd thought.

Bobby sniffed loudly. "I'd been growing that mold for years. Decades, some of 'em. I used 'em in . . . " He waved a hand towards the back of the house were bottles and powders lined the walls of a small, dark, evil smelling room. "Years! I had one yogurt of virgin's milk . . "

"Oh." Sam felt his eyes go wide. Glanced in at Dean, who'd stopped doing obscene things to the couch in his sleep, and back to Bobby, who was leaning against his fridge with a posture of abject misery. "Oh. Uh. Whoops."

"That's it." Bobby Singer straightened and pulled his shoulders back, and sucked gut. "That. Is. It. Tomorrow, Sam, we start planning how to raise a little bit of hell just for your brother. God help us all."


Yummy yummy totally enjoying the reviews! I'll try to reply to 'em all sooner or later. Thank you!

TBC