Here I am again, I hope you enjoy! Thank you to lenail125 again, reviews mean a lot! I appreciate them all!
Warning: Swearing
Enjoy~
Bobby's mind had been running a mile a minute since he'd hung up with John. Turned out his instincts wouldn't let him not have a plan. He got the boys something to eat, though Sam mostly just pushed his food around his plate, and started working. He didn't like this idea. There was a good chance it'd get him killed or thrown in jail, but something in him wouldn't let him stand aside and see this happen. Definitely not. Besides; he was Bobby Singer. He could do this.
The first step to any good Hunter's plan; forgery. He'd perfected his techniques over the years, and though he'd helped other hunters when required, he never gave away all of his secrets. Not completely, anyway. He began forging documents as quickly as his resources and hands would allow. He'd acquired a few tools to do this over the years, with the benefit of being one of the few if not only hunters that still had a home and wasn't bouncing from motel to motel with all their possessions in the trunk of their car.
By the time he was done, he'd committed a nice felony. Documents stating he was Uncle Bobby- well, technically he was Uncle Bobby to them, but this made it official- and had temporary custody of the boys. This was a horrible, horrible plan for having to involve the law but what could he say? This was somewhat his last resort. He didn't want to take two boys away from their father, even if it was temporary, but he didn't have a choice. Not this time.
Bobby was good at covering his tracks. The impersonation of FBI and CDC bosses could never be traced to him, much ado to a private phone line Rufus has help him set up many years ago. He still paid taxes and still ran his salvage yard under his own name. He was, when you looked at it properly, one of the cleanest hunters out there. If anyone could risk getting notice by Big Brother, it was going to be him.
John wasn't that lucky. He probably had a whole string of charges attached to his name that would get thrown back at him in the wrong situation, not to mention apparent neglect and inability to offer a stable environment for his children. Someone could probably throw a psych evaluation in there something and say he suffered a mental breakdown after his wife died coupled with PTSD from serving in the Marines and the boys would end up in a foster home indefinitely while he was evaluated for mental stability.
If he could swing this, he was going to change things. Get the boys enrolled in school, the same school for more than two months, mind you. No more hunting, no more weapons training, no more hunter life for teenagers who should be worried about prom dates and zits, not ammo and "did you remember the salt at the door." He was going to do his damndest to make things right. The was John should have done it.
The more Bobby thought about it, the more faith he had in his plan. He actually had the upper hand. Hot damn, when did that ever happen? Hunters were usually the unluckiest sons of bitches to ever live. This was definitely a new feeling to him. Bobby Singer, lucky. Who'd of ever thought it possible?
Definitely not him.
Dean had stayed upstairs with Sam while Bobby did what he had to in his makeshift office space that took up the entirety of the living room. His first reaction would have been to offer to help, see if Bobby needed anything, but he knew taking care of Sam came first, making sure he was okay. Bobby understood perfectly. Dean's first priority was always to look out for his little brother, make sure Sammy was okay. Everything else could come second or last for as much as he gave a damn.
Dean had lead them over to the guest room, sitting his brother down on the bed, and was then quickly pulled with him. Dean gladly obliged, leaning back against the head of the bed, Sam in his arms, holding onto him for dear life, ever so slightly rocking him back and forth in an attempt to be soothing, to calm him down.
Sam had calmed down some, but really, not much. He was worried about facing John. Worried about him showing up. No matter how much Dean tried to assure him and soothe him, Sam was having none of it. Sam could feel his heart beating in his chest, like thunder in his ears, his nerves numbed and his hands shaking. It was inevitable. John was going to show up and they were going to get it. They were going to be punished for even leaving the motel room that night, let alone going to another motel and then leaving that one with Bobby. It was just a wait now. Just time until John showed up and hell rained down on them.
Dean wanted to kill John for this. What he'd done to his little brother. The mess he'd become because of what he'd done. He knew Mary wouldn't have wanted this. How could a mother want this for her children? Mary wouldn't have wanted John to do this. She couldn't have. She would have wanted him to try to make the best of a bad situation and keep on living, take Dean to his first day of school and raise him and Sam in the house they'd bought together.
The elder brother didn't know what to do. So he did the best thing he did know how to do; he held onto his brother and tried his best to calm him, to let him know that everything was going to be okay, that he was going to protect him and so was Uncle Bobby. It was all going to be okay, even if he had to make it that way himself.
Dean didn't give a damn about himself- he never had, it was how he had been raised. He didn't care how many bruises he ended up with, so long as they were on his body and not on his brother's. He'd been raised to put Sammy above himself, and honestly, he didn't need John to tell him. The difference was that Dean didn't get wasted and switch opinions. Violently.
The day eked on by agonizingly. Sam tried to get some sleep but it wasn't working out well for him. Dean stayed awake as long as his brother did, almost dozing off a few times; he didn't really remember what day it was and which was the last one he got sleep on, but in situations like these, adrenaline, rage, and above all the need to protect his brother kept him awake just fine. That, and excessive amounts of coffee.
Around eight that night Sam had managed to drop off to sleep, physically and mentally, emotionally completely exhausted. He'd refused to eat anything all day and barely left Dean's side, mostly because he was too nervous or scared to do otherwise. Dean stayed with him the entire day. They'd drifted from the guest room to the couch to short walks around the property to stretch their legs all day, and by that night, they'd ended up asleep on the couch, Sam holding onto Dean.
Bobby had watched them all day, unsure of what to say, other than the silent look he gave Dean that said, "I've got it under control, don't worry." Though telling Dean not to worry about what happened to his little brother was like telling him not to breathe; impossible.
The boys had managed to sleep for a couple hours then, Bobby still awake and downing coffee, contemplating whether or not he should just stick it in an IV and if that would be more effective, when headlights were seen pulling up into his yard, the dull white lights gleaming through the front windows. Dean, the lighter sleeper of the two, woke up first, holding Sam a little tighter on instinct.
John.
Bobby moved from his desk, freshly forged papers in reaching distance, "Dean, take Sam upstairs. Don't come down unless I get you." he said, voice calm, cool, and controlled. Dean nodded in silent "yes sir," not wanting to wake Sammy, so he simply picked him up like he used to when he was a child, quickly and quietly carrying him upstairs to the guest room, closing and locking the door behind him.
John stormed up to the screen door, yanking it open violently as he banged on the solid storm door behind it, "Bobby, open up! I know you've got them!" he yelled. Bobby silently hoped that his voice didn't carry and Sam wouldn't wake up. "Now or never, idjit." he thought, grabbing the stapled stack of papers and walking to the door, opening it to face John. The eldest Winchester looked angry to the point Bobby thought he might bust a vein in his head or stroke out.
"If you want to talk, we do it outside, and you'd do best to not raise your voice at me." Bobby said, waiting for John to step back before walking out on the porch himself. He knew John wouldn't hurt him- there was a code of honor among hunters you didn't break unless you were absolutely suicidal.
Bobby closed the door behind him, eyes locked on John, "Now you listen to me, John Winchester. Dean calls me up and tells me you've kicked the snot out of Sam and then I found out you've done the same to him when he gets here. Do you honestly expect me to leave those boys there?" he asked, trying to keep his voice controlled.
John snarled at him, "Don't talk about things you don't understand, you old drunk." he snapped, fist balled up at his side and ready to strike. Bobby eyed it, as if planning out his own form of defense should John decide to actually attack him. Bobby ignored John's comment and went on, holding up the papers in his hand,
"You know what these say, John? These say I'm Uncle Bobby. That you're off doing god knows what and only god cares, and I've got temporary custody. Do you know what that means, Johnny boy?" he asked, trying to keep snide sarcasm out of his voice
John went livid, entire frame shaking, "How dare you. What right do you have! I'll call you in for kidnapping and forg-" He didn't get to finish before Bobby cut him off.
"Is that so? My name's cleaner than yours, you idjit. Let's see what comes up with your name when you take me in. I'm dying to see, princess." Bobby spat back. Alright, so he couldn't entirely keep the sarcasm out of his voice. What could he say? It was who he was.
John didn't want to admit it but he knew the man was right. The law was a risk he couldn't take, then he'd really be in deep shit. He wasn't going to give up his boys just like that, though. John was violently stubborn among many other things. "Get the boys out here." he snarled.
"No. I'm not doing anything for you. Go clean up your act if you can and then come back and we'll talk. I'm not giving you anything." Bobby said firmly
John was fuming. He refused to leave here empty handed, "Boys! Come out here! We're leaving!" he shouted, hoping they'd hear him wherever they were
Dean heard. All the way upstairs he heard his father's booming voice, trying to cover Sam's ears so he didn't hear it. He wasn't taking his brother down to that man, he'd sooner swim through lakes of fire in hell than do that.
When no response came, John practically growled before turning on his heels. "This isn't over, Singer. You just fucking wait. I'll get what I want." he snapped as he got in the Impala, speeding out of the driveway- or what passed for one- seconds later, probably off to the nearest bar in town. Bobby actually hoped the sheriff would be stalking the bar tonight, and he hoped John would get thrown in jail for a night or so. That gave them more time.
Oh, he knew John would be back sooner rather than later. He knew this was far from over. But as for this small battle, this first little triumph, he had won, and the boys were safe, even if only for now.
That was what mattered. He just wished John would see it that way.
