Glass was literally strewn all over the bathroom. Blood was splattered on the mirror and puddled in small droplets on the counter and tiled floor. Bobby sighed heavily and stepped over the worse of the blood and glass until he was standing in front of the bathtub. Small shards crunched under his boots as he began to sweep up the mess that had been caused by a vision. The kitchen had still been quiet when he had reached the top of the stairs a few minutes ago and he had paused to listen, fully intending to head back down if those two idjits hadn't opened up their mouths and started communicating. Fortunately he did not have too as the soft sound of murmured voices floated up the stairs. Bobby had let out a long breath he hadn't even realized he'd been holding. It was a baby step to get those two to open up ever since John died but it was a step he would take. He was tired of the separation, the individual lives they were pretending to have so they could side-step each other's feelings. Bobby felt like they had all been walking on eggshells for the past week. Hell, not eggshells. Glass.
Glass.
Bobby shook his head in dismay and with a little sadness as he scooped up the glass in the dustpan and dumped it into the wastebasket. He stood up straight and leaned the broom against the wall and grabbed a rag he had stuffed into his pocket from the hall closet. He turned on the faucet and wet it and then began mopping up the drops of blood.
His thoughts drifted to the boys downstairs. They had been dealt a bad hand since they were young but they had grown into the two of best damn hunters Bobby had ever seen.
They had their Daddy to thank for that. There were times Bobby wished him and John's relationship hadn't been so strained but in the end the two had a mutual understanding: The boys.
John had made that clear the last time Bobby had seen him. And it wasn't when he had threatened to blast John full of buckshot. Dean believed that and Bobby let him believe it. But the last time Bobby had seen John was in the hospital right after the accident…
A few months ago…
"The car is at my place. It's beat to all hell but it's there."
John's eyes opened into slits and he saw Bobby standing at the foot of his hospital bed.
Bobby stood with his arms crossed and his expression grim. John stared at him for a moment and then looked him up and down. His mouth quirked up into a wry smile.
"You didn't sneak any shotgun in here did you? Not gonna blast me full of buckshot old man?" John's tone was gruff. He sat up gingerly in his bed and regarded his old friend in silence. Bobby's lips twitched.
"Do I look like I smuggled a shotgun in my pocket you son of a bitch?"
John let out a bark of laughter. Bobby scowled.
"So what are you doing here then? Come to check up on me? I don't by that for a second." John glanced around the room. His focus shifted. "Where is Sam? How's Dean?"
Bobby unfolded his arms. He hesitated.
"Sam is in Dean's room. I passed by on my way here. He didn't see me. Dean looks bad. Still in a coma."
A flicker of pain flashed in John's eyes. He maneuvered his way across the bed until he was sitting on the side. He cradled his injured arm and stared hard at the halfway open hospital room door. He didn't speak for several minutes. Bobby watched as a shadow seemed to pass over John's face and uneasiness immediately began to uncurl in the pit of his stomach.
"John-"Bobby began but John cut him off.
"Bobby, how long has our pissing contest gone on?"
Bobby blinked.
"What?"
"Long enough I hope," John replied.
"John-"
"I can use someone on my side right now." John glanced over and stared right into Bobby's eyes. "I could use someone on my side."
"What the hell are you talking about?"
John slowly got to his feet and walked around the bed until he was standing in front of Bobby who regarded him warily.
"I know we don't always see eye to eye but we do have one thing in common, don't we? My sons."
The uneasiness in the pit of Bobby's stomach now raged like a fire. He stared at the man in complete confusion and yet something flickered in his brain, something telling him he already knew what ultimate decision John had come too. But one Bobby refused to believe.
"Yes," Bobby finally said and his voice was slightly hoarse, "Yes your sons."
John reached over to the hospital tray and for the first time Bobby saw the folded paper that was lying on top. John grabbed it and held it up.
"I want the boys to read this. Not now. Not tomorrow. But in time I want them to have this. Can you do that for me?"
"Why don't you give it to them yourself?" Bobby said. John smiled. His smile was sad and yet fierce at the same time.
"A Hunter's life is unpredictable. Who knows what the next day, hour or even minute can bring any one of us? You of all people know this Bobby. And because I trust you old man. Despite the buckshot you threatened me with, I trust you. Will you make sure they get it?"
Without hesitation and without a word, Bobby took the piece of paper and shoved it into his pocket.
John stepped back and smiled briefly. He reached out and put his hand on Bobby's shoulder and then turned and went back to his bed. He sat down and then leaned back slowly, his head resting on the pillow.
Bobby watched him silently.
John broke it with a gruff, "Thank you." And he meant it. Bobby saw it in his steady gaze and he nodded.
"Now get out of here. I need to rest."
"Yeah, you look like hammered crap," Bobby replied.
John closed his eyes. Bobby snorted as he knew he had been dismissed.
"Son of a bitch," He grumbled as he headed for the door.
"I heard that," John said from the bed, eyes still closed.
"Well, at least the accident didn't scar your hearing," Bobby shot back.
"If I ever get back to your place-"
"You set foot on my property and I will still pump you full of buckshot."
"Thought so" John said, "Thanks for stopping by. It's good to know you care."
"Don't you wish."
"You take care of that car," John said sharply and his eyes flew open to meet Bobby who was standing in the doorway, one hand on the doorknob.
Bobby nodded curtly and closed the door quietly behind him, wishing to high heaven he could slam it.
John stared at the closed door silently for a moment and then whispered, "And take care of my boys…"
Bobby shook himself out his reverie and scrubbed hard at the blood on the bathroom counter and tried to shake the rush of guilt that had just swept over him. His breathing had increased rapidly and paused to wipe a hand over his face.
"Damn you John Winchester," Bobby growled into the silence. He had forgotten the letter John had given him. He had pushed that whole damn memory out of his mind because he hated keeping things from those boys. He hadn't known what John was going to do the next night. Hadn't he?
John's behavior had been suspicious in the hospital room but before Bobby had left the conversation had turned back to the pissing contest John had said he hoped was over. But now, months later, Bobby knew it was just a ruse to keep him from knowing his plan. And he didn't know until it was too late. He had given Sam what John had asked for the very next day and he hadn't lied about what the ingredients were for: summoning a demon.
So why didn't the plan click then? Why didn't Bobby pick up the phone and call one of the boys, call John himself? He didn't know John was going to sacrifice himself for Dean. Didn't he?
Bobby swore violently and raked the rag into the trash, the blood gone now from the counter and floor. He dragged a hand over his face and took a deep breath.
"You didn't know," He said to himself, "You didn't. Stop over analyzing every damn conversation you had with that man. What's done is done. It's over."
Bobby grabbed the brook and dustpan and walked out of the bathroom.
He flipped the bathroom light off, closed the door and then turned around to face the bedroom.
"Bobby…"
The smell nearly sent him staggering. He coughed, he choked. The broom and dustpan fell from his hands as he stumbled forward towards the bed.
Sulphur. Demon. Damn.
He braced one hand on the edge and looked up.
"Bobby…"
The demon stood in front of him, eyes closed, blocking his way to the bedroom door. Bobby felt rage begin to burn inside of him. He loathed demons.
He steadied himself against the smell of Sulphur and stood, ready on his feet.
"How the hell did you get in my house?"
"Bobby…"
"I'll send you straight back to hell."
"Bobby…"
The demon smiled. He opened his eyes.
Bobby stumbled back, his face draining of any color.
"You son of a bitch," He whispered.
"Bobby…" The demon breathed.
"You son of a bitch," Bobby whispered again.
The yellow-eyed demon smiled.