hope the last few chapter weren't that bad...
wishing this was all a dream...
OUTSIDER'S POV
Sam was still holding Dean close to him when he fell asleep, unaware that Dean had fallen asleep only minutes after he had been in Sam's arms.
And that's how Bobby found them in the morning, with Sam still sleeping against the wall, with Dean also fast asleep in his arms. Bobby takes a good look at both of them, and knows something isn't right. Sam had his arms wrapped around Dean in a way that clearly states, even to the unknown stranger, that if someone so much as tries to move Dean, their arm is going to come off, and become that tool they would then get hit with.
Bobby knows better than to even try to move Dean, so he decides to try with Sam. The results aren't good, but they aren't as bad as they could've been.
Sam jerks awake, the arms that were wrapped around his brother wrapped even tighter around him, and Sam's eyes glinted so dangerously that Bobby backed up a few feet. Sam relaxes when he notices that it's only Bobby, but doesn't remove his arms from Dean.
"Sam, are you alright? What happened?" he knew the answer to his first question was a no, (why else would they be asleep on the floor?), so he hoped he could get a good answer from the second.
Sam shakes his head, looking down at Dean with what could only be described as overprotective fondness. He gently cards a hand through Dean's hair.
"No, something happened last night," he whispered, and pulled Dean closer, if that was even possible. Bobby narrowed his eyes.
"John's passed out upstairs," Bobby's narrowed eyes grew wider and wider with each second Sam spoke.
"What?!"
"He...he almost killed Dean. And I was fucking sleeping. He could've killed him, and I wouldn't have known, cause I wouldn't fucking wake up," Sam broke off after that, too overcome with emotion to continue. Bobby was fine with that, he heard enough. He patted Sam's shoulder, telling him softly to go sit and wait for him in the living room. When he saw Sam stand up, still not letting Dean go, he walked up the stairs.
He walked to the boys' room, noticing the shut door, he opened it up, and stepped inside.
At first, he didn't see anything, but he felt something.
He felt a sharp, almost excruciating pain in his side. With a grumbled curse, he went down on a knee, clutching his side with both of his hands. They came back bloody. He heard someone walk up to his injured side.
"I don't see why you help him, he's a monster. We hunt monsters, and we kill them," Bobby's eyes widened. That really was John Winchesters voice. John started walking in a circle around him, it pissed Bobby right off.
"He ain't no demon, you idgit. He's your son," John stopped moving in a circle. He stopped moving all together. Bobby wouldn't have been surprised if he stopped breathing. Nonetheless, John's eyes narrowed dangerously, and he strode toward his old friend. He bent down, and punched the still bleeding wound on the older man's side. Bobby couldn't help the mangled scream that came from him.
"You listen and you listen good Singer, I only have one son, and that one son is Sam. My poor boy had already been corrupted by that Thing," he spoke the last words with enough disgust and hatred that it could probably have a poltergeist go running. Bobby's kept his mouth shout, not sure if he would be able to talk without another scream coming from him. So John continued.
"Maybe to the point of no return, I can't let it get you too. I need help to kill it, it killed Mary, Bobby!" He was almost yelling by the end of it. Bobby couldn't stop shaking his head, even if he wanted to. He couldn't believe he would ever be friends with someone like this. A man who abused his youngest son almost to death, and then claimed he wasn't even his son. He truly was a fucked up man.
"Fine, then," John growled. He pressed a hand into Bobby's bloody side once more, this time with more force, and Bobby would be lying if he said he didn't gasp and scream a few curse words along the way.
"I'll get rid of It myself," he whispered, and with one glance back at his old friend, bleeding out on the floor, he walked down the stairs. Intending to finish what he should've eighteen years ago.
Kill the beast that killed his Mary.