"Dean."
Bobby glared at the young man in front of him, hand literally in the cookie jar, guilty yet insolent eyes staring back, holding his own.
"What? I was hungry, and you ain't as quick as I thought you were, old man. Taking forever to make a coupla hamburgers and I am starving enough to eat the whole food supply of Texas. You won't believe how much I can pay for a nice burger right now. The last time I ate, it was afternoon! You just love torturing innocent guys like me, don't you?"
Bobby almost grinned at the indignant look on Dean's face. That kid could always put a smile on his face no matter what crap the day brought. Both boys were almost like his own and he loved them both to death. Dean, however, had the tact of annoying him endlessly, and Bobby often wondered how Sam put up with it. Dean constantly demanded and craved attention without realising what he was doing, a mirror of the gaping hole in his being during his screwed up childhood. He was loud, brash and insolent, but that was just a firm mask on his vulnerability. John had always taught his sons that vulnerability leads to getting you hurt or killed in a hunt, though Dean just followed it in every aspect of his life. Bobby's eyes darted to Sam, sitting at the table and typing away on his laptop, eyebrows knit together in a concentrated frown. The kid looked pale and confused, eyes searching the web pages for what Bobby knew was the words that would break this damn deal that has been hanging over my head for long enough. Almost a year, and Sam still researched, still stayed up late at night with his computer, still read hundreds of books in the hope that he could save Dean. But Bobby could see the effect it had taken on Sam. He was losing weight fast, there was bags under his eyes, and his jeans kept sliding down his hips if his belt was not secured. Not wanting to spark another argument between the brothers about the deal, he kept his voice neutral. "Sam, come on and eat yer dinner, else this idjit brother of yours gonna leave us starvin fer the rest of the day. Grab some grub while you still can."
That elicited a smile from the younger Winchester as he stretched his long body and pulled himself out of the chair. He ambled over to the sofa and helped himself to a burger, careful to take the least greasy one. Bobby always made the greasiest burgers in town, and while Sam himself was more of a salad guy, he knew how much Dean loved these little things. His eyes were closed in relish as he slowly chewed the food, body completely relaxed and stretched out on the couch. Suddenly, Sam felt bile rising to his throat, and he swallowed hard as he tried to keep his face impassive. Twelve days. If his plan failed, twelve days was all he had with his brother. Shit, where did the time go? He would not fail, there was too much at stake.
Suddenly needing to get away from the stuffy living room, Sam stood up, mumbled something about taking a walk and strode out of the small house bordering the Singer salvage yard, the smell of car oil and grease doing nothing to help the state of his stomach. Walking down the path toward the narrow trail leading off into the adjoining forest, he could feel the air get pure and cool, he could see the moon peeking out between the branches overhead. It was late evening and there was a cool breeze blowing his way, ruffling his hair and pushing it into his eyes. Heck, while he was out, atleast he could get a good look at the surrounding area, and decide where he could pull off the ritual without Dean noticing anything amiss.
Dean chewed his burger slowly, wondering what was up with Sam lately, the "long walks" really pushing his curiosity and worry. Seems like Sam was either working off his anger (which seemed eager to pop up at a moment's notice lately) or scouting the area looking for... what? mutant squirrels and demon owls? Sam seemed to be more cautious and jumpy, though Dean wondered why he should be. The deal was on his head, he should have been jumpy, listening closely for any sounds that could signal the arrival of the hell hounds. Dean wanted Sam to talk to him, spill the beans, let the cat out of the bag, whatever. Damn that Winchester pride and the ability to keep secrets. Twelve days close to watch his sibling die might tear any person apart (and Sam was as sensitive as a month old puppy), but if he knew anything about his baby brother, that would just result in him becoming more clingy than being aloof. And an aloof Sam Winchester was never a good idea. The last time he had been cold and silent was after Jessica, and then the storm of emotions that came roiling out left Dean reeling with shock and fear for Sam. And now...
Besides, it was getting late. Where was that twit now and what was he doing alone in the woods? Jeez, some kids just didn't learn not to invite trouble. Dean was the chick magnet, Sam was the trouble magnet. Oh well, his talents came from inheriting the Winchester good looks (and face it, he was the most handsome of the lot, wasn't he?)
Watching the sun set among the trees, Dean slowly got up and decided to go searching for Sam, tucking his gun into the waistband of his jeans (it didn't hurt to be careful, did it?). It should not be very difficult, after all he was a hunter, and he could pretend that Sam was a gargantuan Sasquatch. This could be a good game, he could get some action instead of lounging around the house, and he could find his emo freak little brother. With these three goals in mind, Dean set off at a low ambling walk down the same path his brother had taken minutes ago.
Had he remained in the living room, he would have noticed Sam sneak into the house through the back door, run up the steps, grab his backpack, and exit the same way he had entered.
Sam knew that Dean would go out looking for him. He would try to follow his brother's tracks and chew him out for roaming in the forest late in the evening. Sam was careful to lead Dean away with false tracks, and doubled back to serve his purpose. He had found the perfect place for his ritual. He had never noticed it before, and he wondered if luck was on his side, it was the perfect place to perform a ritual without being noticed. It was about a mile away from the salvage yard, and Sam had thought that it was a small grotto at first. On further inspection, it turned out to be a small cave, its walls covered with dewy moss and litchen. The floor of the cave was dry, and it was spacious enough and open enough to light a fire without detection. Now his plan was on. There were butterflies in his stomach, and a light sheen of sweat coated his forehead as he suddenly realised that if he didn't die carrying out his plan, he would be scarred for life. But nothing compared to the thought of getting his brother out of his deal, just to have him back, alive, breathing, and well, where no demon bitch could get to him to drag him off to hell. So he settled down in the middle of the cave, sitting Indian style, dragging the edge of his jeans away from his ankles and rolling up the sleeves of his shirt. Opening his backpack and taking out a long, shiny knife, he slightly thumbed the edge, feeling its smooth sharpness. It was cool against his skin, belying its deadly capacities. Placing it carefully on the cave floor, he broke some thick, dry twigs from the trees outside, brought them inside the cave and lit a cozy fire. Taking special care, he took out some chalk from the backpack and drew the necessary sigils in a circle around the crackling flames.
It was a pity that it was fire that destroyed his life again and again.
What do you think? Will Sam do something stupid? Will Dean be able to stop him? If you want something seen in the next chapter, just review and let me know!