AN: Here are the much requested Bobby scenes! We even get the rare Bobby POV. I love Bobby, don't you?
ETA: this was supposed to post last night, but apparently I screwed the pooch somehow. Oops.
* * *
Bobby wasn't hovering like an anxious mother whose teenager was out past curfew. He wasn't. Just like he hadn't panicked when the boys had abruptly gone radio silent for two days. He'd been ready to go out and find them, but he'd do that for any hunters. Of course he would. And when Dean had finally answered his phone, Bobby had sat down because he was tired, not because his legs gave out from sheer relief.
Yeah. Bobby was a good liar, but even a politician couldn't have sold that pile of shit.
He paced to the front of the house again even though he hadn't heard the distinctive grumble of the Impala. No, he wasn't worried at all.
It was true that he'd sent the boys out on a hunt when they should've been taking a little down time. A one-eyed, color blind moron could've seen they were still outta sync, and that the haunted kidney case had 'em reeling. Time was, Bobby'd be forcing 'em to stay put, not pushin' 'em out the door.
But after the third time he woke up gasping from the memory of Sam's implacable face as he raised the knife, Bobby figured he needed the Winchesters out of his house for a little while. And they truly were the best choice to go to the Ibejis for help. Bobby stared, unseeing, out the window. Dean had asked -- had briefly believed -- that Bobby had sent them on this particular hunt to test Sam somehow.
That stung, but not as bad as the acknowledgement in Bobby's own mind that Dean had been justified to wonder. Since when did Bobby let his own hang ups stop him from looking after the boys that were like his sons? He snorted in disgust. Get over it, Singer. After all, what was more important -- 20 plus years of lovin' the kid, or one moment when Sam wasn't even in the driver's seat?
I'm an ass, he decided. The fear for the safety of the boys, his boys, had reoriented his his priorities pretty damn fast. Dean had told him all of this flat out before they left.
Dean tapped the side of car Bobby was under with his foot. "Special delivery," he called. When Bobby emerged, Dean handed him a beer.
Bobby nodded his thanks and waited. There was no way Dean had just wandered out there. Not with that look on his face, the same too-casual expression that he'd always worn when he wanted something but wasn't quite ready to ask.
"You look like you're bout to try 'n' con me outta Oreos or convince me you're old enough for a beer."
Dean grinned, but only for a second. Then he grew unusually serious. "No con today, Bobby. Since I was seven years old, you've told me I have permission to call you on your bullshit when I need to."
"That sounds serious." Bobby leaned back against the truck he'd been cannibalizing. He had a pretty good idea where this was going.
"It is serious, Bobby. You're one of the fairest people I know, but what you're doing to Sam..." Dean shook his head. "How fair is it to punish him for something he can't even remember doing? When his soul was MIA?"
"And how fair is it to me that my reward for bein' like a father to him nearly earned me a knife to the heart?" Bobby snarled. He knew he was being petulant but couldn't seem to stop. "Or that I see them dead eyes every time I close my eyes?"
"I know it's shitty, Bobby. Hell, I have plenty to hold against him, but when it comes to family, you suck it up!" Dean was pissed, using a tone he'd never leveled at Bobby before. "You thought about how much guilt he's heaping on himself? Or that constantly reminding him of his soul vacation could put him in danger?" Dean's voice was downright dangerous. Nobody got to put Sam in danger. Not even Bobby.
"I'm tryin', boy!" Bobby was yelling. "I'm workin' on it, but it ain't that easy." He ground his teeth in frustration.
"Do better," said Dean softly, intensely. It was a John Winchester phrase that left no room for excuses. "Because you know who is the fairest man I know? Sam. And same situation, he'd've forgiven you by now."
Dean had walked away, his words devastating.
Damn, Bobby wished he'd listened. He knew the boys were okay ("nothing's broken" Dean had said over the phone, which meant they were probably not in danger of bleeding out), but that didn't ease his guilt. He'd sent them on this hunt because he couldn't get his head out of his ass. And they'd almost...
Bobby's head came up as a familiar growl heralded the arrival of the boys. He was put on the porch in a heartbeat, uncaring that it gave away just how anxious he was.
Dean was out of the passenger seat before Sam was on his feet, the former undoubtably aided by all of the bags of half melted ice that fell off him.
"Well, you boys look like hammered crap," burst out Bobby, taking in their stiff movements and impressive, matching black eyes. "Keys. I'll get the bags."
"You should see the other guy," smirked Dean as Sam obediently tossed the keys over. It looked like the motion hurt. It also looked like physical soreness wasn't the only reason for the awkwardness of Sam's posture.
Yeah, Bobby had some work to do there, but maybe after the boys no longer looked just a few steps above collapse. He walked toward the trunk and Sam and Dean headed slowly onto the porch. "Get upstairs. You're movin' like octogenarians. You need anything 'sides painkillers?"
They chorused that they were fine and Bobby watched them for a moment with fond exasperation. "Walkin' slower 'n a constipated snail," he muttered to himself. "But sure, you're fine."
Bobby brought the bags upstairs, easily passing Frick and Frack. He went back down and gathered the first aid supplies, including a couple of heating pads. When he walked back into the bedroom, Bobby stopped in surprise. Dean had his sweats on and was painfully pulling on a tshirt. The action bared his torso, revealing a massive, deep purple-black and red bruise that covered a good half of his stomach.
"Freeze!" barked Bobby, and Dean reflexively obeyed. "You could have internal bleeding, moron! Sit down and take that shirt off!"
With an inaudible grumble, Dean pulled the shirt off and sat. As Bobby felt for anything loose, Sam took a step into the room, froze, and began to back out. "When Eshu hit one of us, it hurt both of us, so Sam's stomach looks just as bad," Dean tattled quickly.
"Sit down, Sam," ordered Bobby grumpily. "Shirt off."
"Dean hit his back, too," Sam tattled right back, and Bobby tried not to notice that he gave Bobby as wide a berth as he could in the small room. "But, uh, we checked each other over. We're fine."
"Sam hit his right leg and sprained his wrist," snipped Dean, hissing a little as Bobby felt a tender spot.
"Idjits," complained Bobby. He checked Dean's back, then Sam's ribs and wrist. Sam was so obviously uncomfortable with the attention that Bobby didn't look at his leg.
Then he forced both Sam and Dean to take painkillers and muscle relaxers, plugged in the heating pads and went downstairs. He went to bed, knowing he'd hear the clanking of the pipes when either of the boys used the bathroom in the morning and hoping that a big breakfast would help grease the wheels of a long overdue conversation with Sam.
WINCHESTER * WINCHESTER
Bobby yawned as he mixed up pancakes. He even added some blueberries. He wasn't above bribery. Or softening Sam up.
Except only Dean came downstairs, hair still wet. "Where's Sam?"
"What?" Bobby was momentarily thrown. "How'd he get past me?"
Dean gave him a flat look. Right. It was far more impressive that he'd gotten past Dean.
"Window?" asked Bobby doubtfully. The window off the upstairs storage room that opened above the porch roof had spent the majority of the boys' teenage years nailed shut after Bobby caught them sneaking back in early one morning.
Dean scoffed. "With a sprained wrist, bum leg and," he waved a hand at his torso. "No way. Kid ninjaed his way right past us. Some hunters we are!" He looked like he couldn't decide whether to be disgusted or proud.
"I'll go find him," Bobby offered quickly when Dean turned toward the front door. He knew he read people very well, but he had nothing on Dean, who gave him a knowing look.
"Check the southeast corner of the yard," Dean suggested. "No way he's up for a jog, so he's probably watching the sunrise, the pansy."
Bobby wondered if Dean had any idea how easy it was to hear the affection in his voice. He hesitated for one more second, and Dean stole the whisk out of his hand. "Go, Bobby. I can make pancakes and bacon."
Bobby nodded his thanks. It could be the opportunity he'd been waiting for. As he jogged down the porch steps, he called back over his shoulder, "do NOT make more than two pounds of bacon! If you make all five, I'll call Loretta and tell her we don't want a cherry pie after all."
Sam was perched on top of a hollowed out Toronado, naturally in the southeast corner, just like Dean had said. Bobby was about to clear his throat to avoid startling the kid when Sam said, "Dean taught me to do donuts in this car."
The memory surprised a smile out of Bobby. Winter had come swiftly to South Dakota that year, right on the heels of a very wet fall. Combined, those conditions turned the field behind Singer Salvage into an ice rink, and local kids drove out sometimes to spin out and do "donuts."
Dean decided that Sam should learn, too, and they'd taken the old junker out there.
"It wasn't working very well, and Dean was convinced that I was doing something wrong," Sam continued. He knees were drawn up and he never looked Bobby's way. Bobby kept walking slowly toward him. There was no fear of Sam now, subconscious or otherwise. He was just Sam, thinking too hard about some thorny problem and needing Uncle Bobby to bring him back to Earth.
"But you weren't," said Bobby, both to encourage Sam to keep talking and to warn him of how close Bobby had moved. Bobby might not be spooked, but he didn't know if Sam was.
"All of a sudden, we heard you yelling, and we thought we were in deep shit. Cuz we were supposed to be cleaning the weapons." There was just a hint of a smile on Sam's face as he reminisced. "But you just made Dean climb in the back, got in, and explained that Toronados are front wheel drive, so you have to do everything backwards. So I did it full speed and the car whipped around and around until we smashed into a snow pile. Which I'm sure you put there so idiots like me wouldn't hit your fence. And I thought, well, now Bobby's gonna kill me. But..." he trailed off.
"I said, 'Tomorrow, we'll learn how to turn into a spin.' Then I made you two finish cleaning the weapons. 'S I recall, the driver's door was so bent, you had to climb out the other side."
Sam's head was hanging forward now, using his old trick of hiding behind his hair. Bobby didn't know where he'd lost the kid. It wasn't in his nature to beat around the bush, though, so he took a breath and took the plunge. "I know I had my head up my ass for a while for a while, but I forgive you, Sam."
"I didn't just crash your car this time, Bobby."
Okay, Sam wasn't going to make it easy, but when did he ever? Bobby leaned one shoulder against the frame of the car. One of the things he'd learned watching Dean tend to his brother over the years was that you couldn't allow Sam too much space, or he'd keep those walls up nice and high and you might as well try to storm the Gibraltar keep armed with a broom. "You corner a wild animal and get bit, is that the animal's fault?"
"I'm not -- I wasn't an animal. I knew better. "
The tone was vintage John Winchester and most people might have been scared off. Bobby was not most people. "Actually, you didn't. You had no idea what was right or wrong 'cept what we told ya." Now to pull that formidable intellect into it, make Sam temporarily forget the fraught emotions that were involved, again a blueprint Dean had demonstrated for years. "All good and evil...originates in the soul and overflows from there."
Sam's head came up and Bobby knew he'd successfully baited his trap. "Plato, Bobby?"
"Hey! I read things other than lore!" Bobby complained, mostly because Sam would expect it but also because he needed to keep the kid off guard. "Ol' Plato was batshit on some stuff, but when it came to human nature, he weren't no dummy. And, yeah, without your soul you mighta had all your smarts and memories, but you didn't have what really makes you Sam. The only emotion I ever saw outta you was fear, and believe me, you were scared outta your gourd to get your soul back." Bobby swallowed, remembering Sam chained down and screaming for help when Death prepared to put his soul back in place.
"An' then someone told you I was the only thing standin' between you an' safety. Not real surprisin' how you acted."
Sam was looking down at Bobby now. His face was earnest, and he was focusing on the logic of the argument. If they'd been boxing, Bobby would have stood Sam up to line up a roundhouse. "Understanding my motivation doesn't excuse -- "
"You're forgettin' the most important thing, boy," interrupted Bobby evenly. He silently apologized to Sam for the hammer that was about to smash into him. But if you were going to hit a Winchester, you better make sure the first hit did the job, cuz you probably weren't gonna get a second hit. "You don't get to tell me who to forgive. Or who I count as family, son."
Sam sucked in a harsh breath and for one second, all of the burdens of fear and responsibility were stripped away, leaving a child struggling to believe he really was wanted. Oh, that blow had struck, all right. And while Bobby didn't hesitate to fight dirty when it was necessary, he wasn't gonna kick Sam when he was down. He'd made his point, and the rest was up to Sam.
Bobby allowed Sam a moment to collect himself and watched as he tucked everything back in its designated place. He couldn't keep the emotions out of those expressive eyes, though.
"Get down from there and let's get inside before your idjit brother starts my kitchen on fire. Again." Bobby stepped back just far enough to hold a hand up. C'mon, kid. Take it. The hand and the absolution.
After a long pause and a wash of even more emotions across his face, Sam grabbed Bobby's forearm so Bobby could grab his. Sam slid down without much more than the smallest wince and didn't need Bobby's help after his feet hit the gravel.
Bobby didn't let go immediately. Dean had conditioned Sam his whole life to understand and accept such gestures as affection. He let go before he had to turn in his man card, but he knew Sam'd got it.
"So where do you fall on Nietzsche's views of humanity?" asked Sam, but he'd earned the right to deflect now. Bobby hid a smile as they started back toward the house. Dean would have insulted Bobby or dropped an innuendo, but the Winchester MO of moving past an emotional moment was the same even if their execution was radically different.
"Unnecessarily convoluted. And not reasoned out -- written to encourage the kind of actions he wanted to see," Bobby said disparagingly. It was an unpopular opinion and sure to open up the purely logical discussion Sam obviously craved.
"You mean like letting a couple of teenagers blow off some steam so they were more likely to do a good job on their chores?"
Smartass. They were going to be okay.
* * *
AN: Would Bobby really quote Plato? I personally wouldn't put it past him. This quote is from Plato's Theory of Human Nature.
"Doing donuts" is a popular activity for small town kids in areas that get enough ice and snow. You drive forward in a large open area, then crank the wheel and slam on the brakes so the car spins in circles. Front wheel drive cars don't work well unless you go backwards. And you should never do them on a frozen field unless the last crop was plowed under, you're positive the ice is thick enough, and you know with complete certainty the location of every ditch in the field. PSA over. :-)
Lena: I somehow knew you'd like the way they took out Eshu...and disposed of him! It occurs to me how odd my writing is...bathroom humor one minute, philosophy the next. Promise to rein me in if I ever get too out there? *g*
Kathy: Yes, Dean finally got to stab something! :-) I'm glad you liked Kay and Letty's last jab at Eshu. Was this enough Bobby for you? I know, never too much Bobby!
Shazza: Not gonna lie -- I'm kinda jealous about how you're getting back to normal. Where I live the COVID restrictions are some of the strictest in the US. However, this too will pass, right? I'm glad you liked the little gas station scene. I almost took it out because it doesn't advance the story, but I liked Clarence (as I called gas station guy in my head). Brother moment coming up soon.
Christine: Thank you!!!! There is nothing I want to convey more than that bond. I also believe it's the essence of everything. And I really wanted to emphasize that it's chosen, which makes it more meaningful, IMO.
Jenjoremy: Thank you for your comments on Moments: Sam and Sisyphus Rests! Sorry for unintentionally hijacking part of your weekend when you're so busy! I hope you also enjoyed the Bobby schmoop(ish). He doesn't let me get schmoopy with him very often unless Weechesters are involved, so it was a bit of a challenge to write.
Kat: I consider that a tremendous compliment and am looking forward to reading your story! I thought the last resting place of Eshu's head was very Dean. And here's some Bobby moments for you!