AN: Would this science actually work? Probably not, but I'm good at pretending. Shout out to Kathy, who sussed out this solution many chapters ago!
So, how about some Bobby POV to shake things up? Jenjoremy gave me permission and even said, "I love seeing the boys through others' eyes," so it's her fault that Bobby got introspective.
* * *
Take it back to the place where you know it all began,
We could be anything we wanna be,
You can tell by the noise the boys are back again,
Together making history.
The Boys Are Back by Zac Efron
* * *
Bobby looked in the rearview mirror and felt contentment settle deep in his bones. He hadn't admitted, even to himself, just how much had been missing from his life when these two idjits weren't in it.
Sure, Sam had kept in touch, but Bobby hadn't seen the kid -- man -- in person since he'd headed to Palo Alto. The few times they'd spoken over the phone, he could hear the guilt in Sam's voice. Sam was convinced that it was his fault that the family was estranged; he acted like he didn't deserve to have Bobby in his life. And Dean, likely out of loyalty to his pain in the ass father, hadn't contacted Bobby once after the latter had his falling out with John -- over Sam's decision to go to college, no less. They'd crossed paths from a distance a few times, and beyond a deferential nod, Dean hadn't even acknowledged Bobby, though his eyes had belied his cool actions.
Bobby rolled his eyes. If Winchesters came with warning labels the first one would say: stubborn moron.
Bobby sent another glance at the rearview mirror and allowed his expression to soften since there was nobody to call him on it. Their warnings would also include stupidly heroic, completely lacking in self preservation, will push you to the edge of insanity regularly, and two outta the three would also have will work their sneaky way into your heart.
Those two were currently stretched out on the back two seats of the van Bobby was borrowing, the seats installed to face each other. Bobby could keep an eye on them anyway, because some creative soul had installed a mirror above the rear door for that very purpose.
To Dean's absolute disgust, the Impala, plastic taped over the missing window, rode on a trailer behind the van. Despite the shot out window and the fact that her tires had sunk several inches into the parking lot asphalt, the car was the healthiest member of her little team.
Dean had added a concussion to his tally, and made his broken ankle significantly broken-er. His doctor had angrily told him in was "almost miraculous" that he wouldn't need surgery. He had a hard cast and crutches and orders to stay quiet and calm while his concussion healed.
Sam had re-dislocated his hip, causing enough soft tissue damage that he was completely non weight bearing on that side for another entire week. He also could stand or lie down, but was not supposed to bend at the waist for more than a few minutes per day. Hence, the van.
The medical staff, led by Stella, was collectively furious with the heroes they wanted to coddle.
Dean had called Bobby from a cell phone in the car, and they'd hastily cobbled together a story before help descended, alerted by the gunshots.
As far as the good people of Green Bluff were aware, Dean had gone to the car to make sure his weapons had been secured. (Bobby had laid a stripe on him for it, even knowing the real reason he'd gone. Words like "meathead" and "dipshit" were used liberally. Stella had laid into him too, and Bobby was pretty sure the only reason Sam had kept his peace was because of the glass house he was living in.)
Dean had been ambushed in the parking lot by the serial kidnapper and killer they were pursuing, Norman Mumra (see also: Dean's a moron), who had thrown him into the side of the car.
But Sam had followed on a gut feeling. He'd luckily been able to hold the guy long enough for Dean to wake up, get to the car and get his gun. Then Dean had shot and injured said bad guy through the window and called Bobby, er, AD Willis, who had pursued and apprehended the suspect. (Sam had also endured getting chewed out by Bobby, Stella, and his doctor but, oddly, not by Dean.)
The story was true enough in its salient parts. Of course, "Norman" was actually the gooey black pile on the parking lot, and he was the reason the asphalt had been melting from underneath, but nobody expected the FBI to explain that.
It was assumed that fake Norm had also been responsible for the other crime committed in the town that night. Though why he would have broken into the power substation, disabled the alarm, overridden every safety protocol, and run tens of thousands of volts into the ground, directly into the magnetite vein, which was now no longer magnetic, nobody could explain. Bibby had said, "probably a cult thing" with a straight face and the local cops had nodded sagely.
In any case, the Winchesters were still heroes, if stupid ones, and as penance for their stupidity, Bobby had made them stay in them in the hospital for two entire days under the very watchful eyes of the staff. The brothers had been surprised at the level of anger Bobby had directed at them and had acceded to his direction with uncharacteristic ease.
Bobby couldn't help glancing at the boys again. They were down a father figure at the moment, he reminded himself. Not to mention they knew worry disguised as anger very well. And maybe they recognized Bobby's deep guilt, too. If he'd taken out the oneiroi years before, there wouldn't have been these deaths, and the boys wouldn't be casted up and limping around. They didn't blame him, but that was par for the course; they happened to be the most loyal men he'd ever known. But Bobby knew he'd never forgive himself for not figuring something out. It had taken Sam all of an hour to think of something.
Sam stirred as if he'd sensed the direction of Bobby's thoughts. He might be drugged to the gills for the relatively short trip, but it still couldn't be comfortable. Dean said something quietly to Sam and Bobby resisted the urge to turn down Tennessee Ernie Ford. Acoustics brought most of the sound right up to him, but he wouldn't go out of his way to eavesdrop.
But he wouldn't try not to hear, either. If they assumed he was going deaf, they deserved to be overheard. And his weary old soul was still absorbing every second with them, every word, like rain in the desert. Gah, he was turning into a sentimental old lady.
Seeing the boys together again, though, fixed something that had been fundamentally wrong. When Bobby had heard that the brothers, closer than any two people he'd ever known, were estranged, it was like the world tipped slightly off its axis. Peanut butter and jelly, eggs and bacon, Butch and Sundance, Sam and Dean. Some things were just meant to be together.
Behind Bobby, the brothers were lying on their sides facing each other. Dean leaned forward to pat Sam's chest. Sam batted at the hand a beat too late; clumsy from the drugs or deliberately? Bobby had his theory.
"You idjits okay back there?" called Bobby caustically, because they handled compassion about as well as they'd perform Swan Lake.
"Yes, Bobby," they chorused and Bobby grinned because they couldn't see it. He had it on good authority that even John was amused when they did that.
"Alright. I'm stoppin' for coffee -- and you two don't get any -- so if you need to empty the tank, let me know or miss your chance."
Dean muttered something that included the word "tyrant" and made Sam smile slightly. Sam didn't answer, but laid a forearm across his eyes. He was in for a few more days of major pain and, while he didn't complain, Bobby could tell he was feeling it. For all he wore his heart on his sleeve -- at least compared to the rest of his family -- Sam had always been stoic about physical pain.
"You feeling sick, Sammy?" Dean asked as Bobby pulled into a McDonald's drive-through.
"I'm fine, Dean," came the slightly muffled response, with a deliberate note of irritation injected into the words that fooled exactly no one in the van.
It was so familiar that Bobby could almost pretend that the boys were the same as the 17- and 21-year-olds who'd been snowed in at his house for four days in December. It had been some of the more enjoyable days in Bobby's entire life, certainly since Karen had...died.
But they weren't the same, were they? Tragedy had left her bruising fingerprints on the Winchesters yet again. Sam's grief was draped over him, coloring every action and expression if you knew what to look for. He was still resilient, and he'd grown into a man while at school. His temper was farther from the surface, and he was more reserved, too. In love or not, Sam had been lonely at Stanford, Bobby could tell. And he'd built up some walls.
The natural wonder and optimism Sam had had as a child were completely gone, or buried deep. And the gentle ebullience that had been such a compelling part of him barely made an appearance any more, only ever coaxed out by his brother, and as much as he loved the strong, hurt man, Bobby mourned the child. Still, the quick mind and curiosity remained untouched, and perhaps, with Dean at his side, Sam would rediscover some of who he'd been.
John, in his grief, had turned his back on every friend he'd ever had, deciding he was completely alone except for his young sons. And as strong as the oldest Winchester was, he was all or nothing -- he wouldn't break, but he wouldn't bend, either. Sam's situation was different. He knew he wasn't alone, and he was (in Bobby's opinion) stronger than his old man, because he could bend in the storm without breaking.
Dean was different, too. At 21, he'd often been like an overgrown toddler. It was Bobby's private theory that he'd been denied a real childhood in many ways, and he'd subconsciously decided to indulge in the fun he'd missed out on. He was serious about hunting and whenever else he had to be, but he laughed often and found pleasure in the little things. Difficult hunts weighed him down, but he bounced back quickly every time. That lightness had left with Sam. Dean still smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes any more, and Bobby's contacts (informants) admitted that he didn't laugh, ever. And the guy who'd hated being alone began taking on solo hunts, drinking more, and getting into a whole lot more fistfights. He was acting like the Hunters who were outwardly inured to the horrors they saw, but inwardly self destructing.
Bobby had worried that Dean would turn into a version of his father: deadly, driven, and living just to kill monsters until one killed him, unable to open himself in a meaningful way to another person.
And as strong as John was, Dean was stronger than him too. Dean hadn't lost his protective nature or the deep well of love and compassion that he'd have denied to his last breath. And just maybe, having Sam back, and needing Dean, would help Dean remember how to be the playful hedonist overlaying a robust hero complex.
Bobby claimed that hope was foolish and set you up for disappointment, but for these two, he'd have hope.
They were cruising again when Dean spoke up the next time, quietly but carrying to the front of the van. "I shouldn't've left you."
A snort. "No shit, Sherlock." Bobby almost spit out the last sip of his coffee. "The dreams would've gotten better after Bobby and Irv killed the oneiroi. It was stupid to go to the car."
"I had to be able to fix something," Dean snapped back, instantly sounding irritated. Naturally, nothing pissed off Dean quite as much as Sam being hurt or menaced and Dean being unable to fix it. "But that's not what I meant."
"What...?" Sam trailed off as if in realization. "You mean when I was trapped under the tree?" Now he sounded incredulous. "You shouldn't have gotten me help and saved my life?"
Bobby smiled again, probably using those facial muscles more on this trip than in the previous weeks. You tell him, kid.
"I should've been able to..."
"What? Move a ten ton tree? Kill the oneiroi with a dirty look and your bare hands? No, I know. You should've been able to carry me a dozen miles back to the car." Sam snorted again.
"Listen --"
"Actually, you should've used your super Hunter abilities to magically make your phone work."
"Hey!" Dean sounded mildly indignant. "I am a damn fine Hunter!"
"Yeah." Sam said it simply, without a hint of sarcasm.
In the ensuing pause, Bobby knew what expression would be on Dean's face without looking: brow furrowed and jaw slightly forward. It was the look he wore when he didn't quite believe something...but he was trying. Finally, he just quietly said, "shut up, Sam" and Bobby knew the younger man's meaning had penetrated, at least a little.
But he had to smile -- again -- when Sam couldn't help but add, "But you're still a moron."
They rode on in silence for a while after that, and Bobby was fairly certain that Dean at least dozed. But then Sam began to grow restless. He didn't move around a whole lot, and he didn't make any noise, but it was still enough to rouse Dean.
"You wanna ask Bobby to stop for a bit, Sammy?" he asked with a yawn.
"No. It's fine. I just wanna get there." Bobby winced a little at Sam's answer. They were still over an hour from Singer Salvage.
"Want somethin' for pain?" Dean pulled his pack out from its spot under his seat.
"Can't have 'ny yet."
"Close enough." Dean pulled out a pill bottle and waggled it enticingly. Sam shook his head, but Dean was undeterred. "C'mon, you know those are general recommendations. You're a big boy, and you always burn through that shit fast."
"I'm okay, Dean." Bobby might even have bought it if not for Sam's white knuckled fists.
Dean said something that had Sam smiling genuinely, if a little wanly. "No, really. I want to take them as soon as we get to Bobby's, then sleep for a week."
Dean didn't look appeased, but he put the pills away. "You want us to throw food at you once in a while during your hibernation?" He sat up and stretched.
"Nah. Just roll me once in a while so I don't grow any moss."
Dean smirked. He wedged his back against the driver's side wall and carefully extended his legs at a diagonal so he could prop his feet next to Sam's. Sam was on his back with an arm across his eyes, but he slid his feet over to make room without looking.
Bobby watched as carefully as he could without dumping them in a ditch and deduced that Dean wasn't in much pain from the busted ankle, at least at the moment.
"You called me a moron," Dean said out of nowhere.
"I've called you a lot of things," responded Sam, who had learned to speak smartass at his brother's knee. "I stand by the moron thing."
"For going to the car, right?" Dean clarified. Sam made a noise of assent. "What does that say about you, then? I didn't think ornery would be there, and I was allowed to move around on my crutches -- the nurse even knew I was using the stairs and was okay with it. You on the other hand, at least suspected the ornery was out there, and you weren't even supposed to get out of bed alone." Despite the headache he certainly had, Dean was just getting warmed up.
"But did you ring for help? Or maybe call Bobby? No, you waltzed down the stairs and came at a monster that had already almost killed you without so much as a letter opener!"
"I wasn't unarmed," Sam's calm was in complete contrast to Dean's borderline yelling. "I threw a binder and one of your crutches at it."
Bobby didn't know whether to wince or smile. Sam had no apology or conciliation whatsoever in his voice. Bobby began to look for an exit to pull off in case he had to break up world war three. With amusement, Bobby remembered one time when the Impala came screaming into his yard. Sam, about six years old, was flying out the door almost before it had stopped moving. Dean had been half a breath behind him until John had dived across the car and held him back for about five seconds. It was a very Winchester way of parenting: if you couldn't get away with a five second head start, you didn't deserve to get away, even if you gave up four years to your pursuer.
Current Dean was actually sputtering in his disbelief.
"Besides," Sam continued calmly, "I couldn't risk a civilian getting killed, and I couldn't call Bobby when he was in the middle of a clandestine job."
Bobby could practically hear Dean rolling his eyes at Sam's use of the word clandestine.
"You couldn't walk because of your fubar'd hip and didn't have a weapon -- and don't be an asshole about that, it's true -- and we knew it couldn't die until Bobby was done. What the hell did you plan to do? Ask it nicely to please not hurt you? That has to be the stupidest thing I've ever heard of! And don't give me that pile of shit you fed the doctor that the meds made you confused. "
"Really? It was stupider than jumping out of a tree to tackle a werewolf?"
"That was --"
"Stupider than grabbing a cherufe that was literally on fire?"
"When --"
"Stupider than egging on a poltergeist when you're unarmed?"
Dean growled and Bobby wasn't ashamed to admit that he was glad the sound wasn't aimed at him. Sam, however, didn't even open his eyes. Maybe that's why Winchesters were so brave; they'd survived each other, so nothing else frightened them.
"You can go through my greatest hits all you want, Sam. It doesn't --"
"How about walking twenty miles on a broken ankle, Dean?" Sam raised his voice for the first time. He dropped his arm and propped himself up on his elbows, and his eyes were blazing just as fiercely as Dean's were. Maybe WWIII was still on the table. "How about if my brother was in danger? And don't you dare tell me it's different, or I'll kick your ass!"
Well. That was definitely a page out of Dean's playbook.
"Like you could! And I'm kicking your ass for that stunt, as soon as you aren't an invalid any more."
"Will you be doing the kicking with the foot that has the cast, or will you sit down so you can kick with your good foot?" asked Sam sweetly, flopping back down and covering his eyes again. Somehow, neither brother looked angry any more. Bobby didn't really know what had just happened, but he guessed they'd just needed to blow off some steam, because neither had given an inch, and they hadn't resolved anything.
Dean leaned forward and picked up Sam's arm off his face, then stared intently at him. They spoke entire volumes that Bobby couldn't follow in that one, long look. Then Dean leaned back and Sam didn't cover his face again, and both brothers' body language relaxed. Bobby stopped looking for exits.
"I don't need two good feet to kick your skinny ass," said Dean, picking up the conversation, but this time it was completely without heat.
Sam replied in kind. "Yeah? Laid up or not, I saved your ass."
"With a redneck offering to Nyx and happy thoughts! And you couldn't even remember the incantation!" Dean nodded like he'd scored a major point.
"I guess we had to work together. And I got you into the car."
"Which meant I had to shoot out her window. I'm so sorry, Baby." The last Dean said over his shoulder.
"Like I said, you're a moron."
"Bitch."
"Jerk."
"Asshat."
Bobby stopped listening for a while after that. He focused on driving and listening to the music as the boys chatted about this and that, Dean's effort to distract Sam from his discomfort. Then Dean called his name. "Hey, Bobby, I've been meaning to ask you this. You told us not to go past those two trees growing together. The ones that caught that big pine. And the ornery didn't attack us or any of the search and rescue team. So, what's with those trees, anyway?"
"Is it something about inosculation?" added Sam, naturally knowing the correct word.
Bobby was immediately transported back way too many years.
The two years that his mom's grandfather lived with them were the best of Bobby's life. It would be many years before he'd learn that his father had spent the time in jail and that Pop, despite his advanced age, was trying to fill in the gap.
Pop was the one who taught Bobby about hunting and tracking, especially in the woods. His mother, he told Bobby, had been Lakota, and they were the world's best trackers.
Pop also taught Bobby some of the beliefs of his mother's people. Even though his own mother didn't believe any of it, and his father was derisive, Bobby listened avidly. He would wonder later if that had helped him be more open to the supernatural as an adult.
Pop pointed at a pair of trees that were connected at the trunk about six feet up. "Look at those trees, Bobby. See how they grow together. They choose to lean on each other, and they are stronger for it. There are still two trees, but you'd have to damage them to separate them. Do not ever try to break trees like them apart. The brother trees are lucky. They are blessed."
"Just somethin' I heard once about brother trees repellin' evil," said Bobby simply. He wondered if it was really blind luck that a pair of "brothers," stronger together because of their bond, had saved Sam's life. But he couldn't prove anything, and he wasn't some sappy old woman, so he didn't say more.
Though as he looked back at the Winchester brothers once more, and thought about the connection between them, like nothing else he'd ever seen, Bobby wondered.
* * *
AN: Dean named the fake bad guy after Mumm-Ra, the main bad guy in Thundercats. Why Norman? Maybe for Norman Bates, maybe for no reason at all. Who knows with Dean?
Tennesse Ernie Ford is a singer my dad likes, so I decided that Bobby likes him too, since they both love Kenny Rogers.
I know that stupider isn't a word, but Sam was angry, and went for impact rather than correct grammar.
The symbolism of the inosculated trees was something I had intended to use in the Ibeji story, but I forgot. I liked it too much to drop it entirely. They aren't actually called brother trees, but if a fiction writer can't make stuff up, who can? I made up the connection to the Lakota people too.
BruisedBloodyBroken: I am so sorry to hear that you are in the hospital and I hope it doesn't last long. I know you and I share the challenge of having a chronic condition -- I hope so hard that you aren't feeling frustrated on top of physically icky. BTW, your "always do, always will" brought tears to my eyes. Thank you.
Lena: I may have squealed a little to see lots of comments from you! You could never disappoint me, my friend. I actually rubbed my hands together when I posted the chapter with the Dean whump, knowing that you'd love it! I think I'll have to put Barb and Bobby together again, you're right. They are too funny together! That is right about where Stella's name came from. Off topic, the big Walker ep with Hoyt was on my birthday and my sisters came over to surprise me and I missed it! I had to find out what happened on line. Anyway, I'm jealous but excited for you to go to a con! Please please share pics! I'm glad Sam thinking of the Impala as home gave you warm fuzzies. Happy anniversary! I'm so glad you weren't affected by any tornados. And how did I know that you'd love the inadvertent cuddling? *g*
Jenjoremy: I would say you know the way I write Sam, which is hopefully in character! I had promised more flashbacks and this was my way of doing that. I liked your comment about the medical staff so much that I incorporated it! I tried to be subtle with the schmoop, but, yeah, I don't really do subtle!
sfaulkenberry: Ooh, that would have been good to have the nurse in on it. The mutton busting thing cracked me up! Yup, Dean is not pleased about the window! Or with his baby having to ride on a trailer.
writingtrainingwheels: I'm glad you like the little brotherly moments. I do love the schmoop! Now there are plot bunnies hopping all over the place about John and Bobby hunting together, maybe with the boys, maybe not...oh, dear. The "family bonding bar fight" is too good of a phrase! And also what you said about the family crest...I'm still grinning about it! There is so much to love about your comment.
muffinroo: I ran a daycare for a number of years and I still catch myself saying "go potty" or something like it. (My teenagers think it's hysterical!) Bro time and teamwork are like catnip to me. So, uh, can I have some visitation rights with Sam?
Kathy: It didn't actually control the pavement, just the magnetite under it, but I didn't make that very clear. Sorry! You totally figured out the electricity thing way back at the beginning of the story! Oh, and the per turtle made the story too. :-)
stedan: Your snail story is so adorable! I grew up on a farm, so I got my animal fix pretty much every day. I loved to read so much, so I'd put a blanket down in the yard and all the farm cats would end up hanging out with me.
MewWinx96: Muchas gracias!
supernaturalsammy67: You're just the sweetest! There is not much better than writing what I love and having someone else love it too. And I appreciate you taking the time to comment. Many hugs!