A/N: As you read this chapter, you will see that Bobby knows more than he lets on. I will use that in the next installment. The idea is very far fetched (believe me, it is, even by my standards, hehe) but i think it would bring he and Dean closer, and that way bring more Dean into the story...I have been seriously neglecting him this time around. So sorry about that.

Disclaimer: Eric Kripke owns all characters you know...any that are foreign to you, are mine!

Sam pulled the Impala into Bobby's drive. The older man was sitting on his front porch, his hat over his eyes, and a beer in his hand. The June sun was beating down on him, but he did not seem to care, or even notice. As Sam slammed the car door shut, Bobby gingerly tipped the lid of his hat off his forehead.

"Bad day at the office dear?" Bobby chuckled, but Sammy only glared. This made Bobby sit up. Only once had he seen Sammy like that, and he was prepared to get a holy water laced beer. Cocking an eyebrow at the boy, he watched him carefully. Sam sat down next to Bobby and sighed.

"I made that goddamned deal so Dean would be all right, and what does it get me? A brother who is still in fucking pain." He slammed his hand down on the wooden armrest, and grunted. Bobby shook his head.

"Samuel, if you keep that shit up, Dean won't be the only one in pain." He set the beer bottle down, folding his hands in his lap. He knew Sammy was being serious, but he was only trying to calm him, if that were in any way possible.

"Bobby, please." Sam leaned back in the chair. He stared up at the sun, letting it cause little blue and red dots in his eyes. He did not even blink them away when he looked back at Bobby. They almost made the other man look like a clown. Sam shuttered a bit, then instantly thought of Dean's crack about clowns. He was pissed all over again.

"I go to see Dean, and first off Henricksen is there. Turns out he is there to help Dean. He was uncle Denny's special contact, and none of us knew it." He looked at Bobby, who nodded. There was a look on the man's face, a look that almost meant that he knew that already. What else was Bobby hiding?

"While we were discussing Dean's case, something happened to him. His head began to hurt him, then he fell from his chair into a seizure. He was taken to the infirmary later. They said with a little sleep he would be okay. I just hate all this shit. No matter what we do, nothing gets solved."

Bobby leaned forward, biting his bottom lip. Sam was partially right. Molehills tend to develop into mountains in this family. So much garbage piles up you can no longer sift through it without a freaking backhoe. How anything ever got done was beyond him.

The other thing Sammy did not know, was that Bobby knew about Denny and Victor. Bobby did not do research for his own good. He had come across a file that had been reopened on Mary's death, and it said that she had two brothers, Jacob Kline and Denver Morales. Also it stated that her stepfather Hector had been stabbed when she was sixteen. He had been taken to St. Peter Hospital nearly dead. After hours of surgery, he came out with a severe limp. Something that had struck him as odd, was that only two months prior to this, Mary's birth parents had died in a car accident, hit and run. The man was never found that did it. Yet Bobby had put two and two together.

The other item he had found was, that the night Mary died, a young black man had been found down the block hiding in some bushes. The cops questioned him, and he kept claiming that John Winchester did it. Yet since John was so well liked in the community, no one believed him, so the accusation was tossed out. The boy was Victor Henricksen, later to become Special Agent Henricksen.

"Sam," Bobby looked at the young man to his left, and knew that this hidden information was about to bury him.

"I've always known about Denny and Henricksen, even before you told me. I just . . . it wasn't my place to tell you. I guess this happening was fate, in a way."

Sam furrowed his brows, not sure what to say. The man he had trusted all these years, thought of as another father, had just verbally slapped him.

"Fate? Fate?! Are you out of your fucking mind? Dean almost gets electrocuted, and I save his ass, again, and you call that fate? I call that a complete mind fuck." He stood knocking the chair backwards, kicking Bobby's beer bottle into the dusty drive. Bobby grunted, standing himself. Class A job Singer, right up there with Custer's Last Stand.

"Listen Sam, I am sorry, but don't take it out on me. The messenger is always the innocent party, or have you forgotten that?" Bobby watched Sam's expression change as he remembered when Dean told him about his destiny, his secret. He had wanted to shove his beer bottle up Dean's ass at that moment, but as Bobby said, the messenger had nothing to do with what was said.

"You could have at least told me, whether or not it was your place to. I had a right to know, as did Dean. We were so sure that all of the family we had was dead, and that you were all we had left."

Bobby placed a hand in Sam's face. He was agitated now.

"Look Sam. If I had, would the outcome have been any different? Seriously, would it?" Then he said something that he regretted before it even left his lips.

"No matter what I do or say, you two are going to end up just like your father, so why bother!" Sam's eyes went wide. He was enraged. For Bobby Singer to speak like that about him was appalling. He closed his eyes tight, trying to control his breathing. As his breathing slowed, the gravel in the driveway began to bounce, slow at first then jump wildly. Bobby watched in awe as the ground around Sammy began to crack, splitting ever so slowly.

"Sammy . . . what . . . " Bobby's words were cut off, as he was flung backwards, slamming into the front porch railing. Before the porch fell on top of him, crushing him, Bobby saw Sam's eyes. They were black as fresh coal.