"Hey, Sammy!" Head under the hood of an old Mustang, Dean's voice was muffled. "Hand me the socket wrench, would ya?"
"Which one's the socket wrench?"
There was a short silence, then Dean emerged from beneath the hood and glared at Sam. The force of the glare was somewhat weakened by the smear of grease on his forehead.
Sam handed over the wrench with a grin. "Just kidding."
Dean retreated back under the hood with a snort. "Turn the radio on, will you, baby?"
"Sure, Dean." Completely aware of and not in the least worried by the sappy smile on his own face, Sam turned on the radio perched on top of the car, listening contentedly as his brother started to sing along with Freddie Mercury.
Damn, but he felt good!
Sure, it was partly because of the awesome sex he and Dean had been having in the few days since Bobby left, but it was a hell of a lot more than that.
It was being off the road and not stuck in a motel room or the Impala for hours on end.
It was being in a place where he truly felt at home, and safe.
It was feeling like things were normal; or, at least, as normal as things ever got for them.
Also, something Sam would never admit to his brother, it was being away from their father.
Sure, it was hard knowing their father had left because of Sam's bullshit. But nowhere near as hard as being around John's relentless suffocating fear of what was happening to Sam.
Another thing he would never admit to his brother was that Sam kind of hoped that John would stay away until he came to terms with having a freak for a son. It was hard enough dealing with his prophetic dreams and all the rest of it without his father treating him like an unexploded bomb.
"Sam! Needle nose pliers!" Dean's impatient tone made it clear it wasn't the first time he'd made the request.
"Sorry." Sam bent over and rooted around in the toolbox, located the pliers and handed them to his brother, accepting the wrench back in exchange and dropping that back into the toolbox.
Yawning – they really hadn't got much sleep the night before - he caught a movement from above and looked up, squinting against the glare of the winter sun. A bird, big and black, was floating in a wide circle over the property in back of the scrap yard.
Sam watched it idly. Carrion bird. Probably checking out a dead animal. Rabbit, maybe.
Then he saw a second bird making its own circle.
And a third.
An uneasy feeling settled in at the back of his neck. Straightening, he rapped on the Mustang's hood. "Hey, Dean."
"Yeah?"
"Back in a minute."
"Okay. Where you going?"
Sam didn't answer, already out of earshot and heading through the scrapyard at a quick trot.
It took just a couple of minutes to reach the back of the yard. As he neared the fence, another bird joined the party overhead and he heard the sound of growls and yips. Quickening his pace, he nimbly monkeyed up the side of the back fence and looked over into the total chaos on the other side.
Blood, a lot of it, soaking into the ground and splashed across the sparse winter vegetation. Part of a blue-jeaned leg over here, a gnawed arm over there, and two coyotes having a fierce tug of war over what looked to be a human torso. And there, just a little further into the brush, a third coyote gnawing on what looked like a skull, held securely between its two front paws.
"Oh, shit. Shit, shit, shit!'
Fighting back his quickly rising nausea, Sam slid back down the fence, landing on his butt. The impact shook loose the little control he had over his stomach and he started to gag, barely managing to get to his hands and knees before vomiting into the weeds.
Some dreary time later, he heard Dean calling his name. He didn't answer, just continued taking deep breaths of cold air, until his brother crouched down beside him, his hand gentle on Sam's shoulder.
"Sammy?"
Pretty sure he was done puking, Sam spat into the dirt, then sat back on his haunches and jabbed a thumb at the fence, where the sound of growling on the other side was growing louder.
With a last worried glance at Sam, Dean scrambled up the fence.
One long, fraught minute later, Dean said venomously, "Are you fucking kidding me?"
ΩΩΩ
"Forget it. Bobby said he'd be back sometime tonight. There's no point in calling. We'll just wait until he gets here. It's not like he could do anything about it." Dean's head dropped back against the top of the couch and he let out a resentful huff. "Damn it, why does this shit always happen to us?"
Sprawled on the other side of the couch, Sam said snarkily, "It's only surprising when this shit doesn't happen to us."
"Yeah, but we've been having such a great time," Dean said, moodily kicking at the worn carpet. "Is it too much to ask for just a little bit of normal?"
"Dude, that's my line." Sam scooched over next to his brother and leaned into him.
Grumbling discontentedly, Dean hauled Sam onto his lap and nuzzled into his neck. "The only thing that's gonna make this shit fest any better is if we fool around some more before Bobby gets here."
Sam was definitely on board for that. He eagerly offered his mouth for a kiss, then froze at the sound of an approaching vehicle. He sighed. "Damn it."
"Oh, man." Dean groaned. "Back to sex in the back seat of the Impala."
"In the middle of winter? We'll freeze!"
"Well, Sammy, maybe if you weren't such a screamer!" Cackling, Dean dodged Sam's punch, then dumped his brother off his lap and onto the floor.
"Dean, you jerk!" Not quite able to hide his grin, Sam accepted a hand up from his snickering brother and the two headed for the front door.
Taking a final squeeze of Sam's ass as they reached it, Dean slipped in front of him and flung open the door.
No Bobby. They could see a car parked in the middle of the yard, but beyond that, just a faint shadow of movement in the cold night.
Uneasy, Dean kept hold of the door, ready to slam it shut if necessary. "Bobby? That you?"
"Damn it!" Bobby roared out from the dark. "Turn on the damned outside lights!"
Sam obeyed, reaching quickly for the light switch, and the yard lights blazed into life, revealing Bobby easing someone out of the back seat of his Chevelle. Not Rufus. A man, tall and slim, head sagging and long dark hair obscuring his face, leaned heavily against Bobby, clearly unable to bear his own weight.
"Dean, gimme a hand!"
A quick startled glance between the two boys and Dean ran out to help the old man, Sam with him.
"Dean, help me get him into the house," Bobby rapped out. "We're gonna put him in the room back of the library."
Dean nodded and put a shoulder under the stranger's arm, taking most of the weight from Bobby. "Okay, buddy. I got you."
The young man raised his head and blinked dazedly up at him. "Dean?"
Dean took a closer look. "Holy shit! Wiley?"
"Surprise," Wiley said faintly. His eyes turned to Sam. "This must be your brother."
"Maybe you girls could have this little reunion inside!" Bobby snapped. "Sam, take the car and park it in the barn back of the garage. Be quick. We don't have much time."
Sam didn't ask questions. With one last curious glance at the stranger, he slid into the Chevelle and drove it around the side of the garage and into the big barn.
By the time he got the barn locked up and ran back to the house, the yard was vacant and dark.
In the distance, he could hear the sound of an approaching siren.
ΩΩΩ