If getting Dean to agree to check out New Orleans was difficult, getting him to agree to take a break at Bobby's was nearly impossible. Sam was keeping a wary eye on the calendar, hating how close the new moon was (they still had to get to Bobby's) and wanting it to hurry up (a real chance to finally save Dean) at the same time.
Sam had decided early on, pretty much as soon as he had realized what it would take to truly break the deal, that it needed to be done at Bobby's. He knew the older hunter would take them in, and he knew that Bobby had a wealth of knowledge about many things supernatural. Most importantly, Sam trusted Bobby to take care of Dean if the chips fell and everything went to hell - literally.
There had been a week and a half until the new moon after they left New Orleans. Which was plenty of time to get to South Dakota, if only Dean would stop stonewalling him. They'd gone on a hunt in Indiana first, and another in Wisconsin. The only reason Sam hadn't already snapped was that the hunts were basically on the way to Bobby's.
However, when Dean had found a hunt in Arizona, Sam finally had to put his foot down. He played a card he hated; one he knew took advantage of Dean in a manipulative way Sam was loath to resort to. Sam had begged off - he was tired, worn. Couldn't they just take a break? Just for a few days.
In the end, Dean caved just as Sam knew he would. He only hoped that when everything was said and done - if they were both still alive - Dean would forgive him for the exploitation.
The sun had long since set when they pulled into the drive at Bobby's, but a light was still on in the kitchen, which was a promising sign. Sam had called when they were a couple of hours out, to make sure it was okay to drop by. He hadn't been sure what he was going to do if it wasn't. Luckily, Bobby had agreed in his usual gruff manner and told them to get a move on, it was getting late and he wanted to get to bed.
Getting out of the car, Sam felt as though he was made of lead. All of a sudden, his pleas of exhaustion didn't seem so far off the mark. A sideways glance at Dean, when the other wasn't looking, showed this to be the case for him as well. Even if Dean would never admit it.
They grabbed their bags out of the trunk of the car and crossed the small area that might be described as a lawn if one was generous, and knocked on the front door. Barking answered them before the door finally swung open, Bobby looking at them expectantly.
"What's wrong?" he asked, stepping aside so they could come in.
Dean looked startled, glancing at Sam before saying, "Something have to be wrong to come say hi?"
Bobby gave him a 'cut the crap' look before looking at Sam. "So you tell me. What's wrong?"
"Nothing, I swear," Sam said, holding his hands up in mock surrender and smiling. He convinced himself it wasn't a lie, since the intent behind the visit was to fix what was wrong.
Bobby continued to look at them warily, closing the door and gesturing toward the sitting room. His reaction was almost enough to make Sam laugh. He could only imagine what possibilities had been going through Bobby's head since they'd called. The last time Sam had been there, he had recently been dead and had shocked Bobby by suddenly being very much alive. Thanks to Dean.
"You know where the extra room is," Bobby said from behind them after locking the door. "And there's food in the kitchen, if you're hungry."
Turning, Sam smiled, touched by how much the older man had taken them in over the past couple of years. "Thanks, Bobby," he said quietly, hoping the man understood how much his friendship meant.
In response, Bobby pulled his ever-present trucker hat from his head, and ran a hand through his hair. "Yeah, yeah. Come on then, put your stuff up and come get something to eat." He turned then, disappearing into the kitchen.
They watched him leave and Dean turned to Sam. "I don't think he trusts us, Sammy," he said, but the smile on his face revealed it for the joke it was.
Sam laughed. "I can't imagine why."
"Raise one guy from the dead..." Dean began, still smirking, but stopped when he looked at Sam and saw the stricken expression on his face. Sam swallowed roughly, his stomach clenching at the reminder of what had happened. And why they were there. "I was just kidding..." Dean began, trying to make amends, Sam knew.
Clearing his throat, Sam shook his head. "It's fine. Lets go put our stuff up, okay?" he asked, turning toward the stairs. He didn't look back, trusting Dean to follow. While it was rare Sam led and Dean followed, matter of habit as much as age, Sam knew he would be there all the same.
He had to admit that it was a comforting thought. And one that he hoped, after the next night, would continue to be true long after his one year was up.
The room looked much like Sam remembered it. Two small beds that had long since seen better days filled the bulk of the room. Since Bobby didn't have any kids, Sam had wondered in the past about the reason for the beds - he'd slept on them often enough growing up - but he had never dared to ask. They were too short for him anymore but oddly enough, the small room was as much home as any apartment they'd had when he was younger.
It only took a few minutes to drop their bags off before going back downstairs in search of food. They found Bobby waiting on them, nursing a cup of coffee. He gestured toward the stove with a tilt of his head. "It's nothing fancy."
Sam lifted the lid from a pot and found what looked like macaroni and cheese and hot dogs. He grinned, they hadn't had that particular meal in years but growing up, it had been a staple. In fact, it was one of the first things Dean had learned to cook. It hadn't hurt that the ingredients were cheap and readily available.
"Dude!" Dean cried, not faking his enthusiasm. "You used to love this stuff, Sammy," he said, looking at Sam, his eyes light. "Used to beg me to make it till I couldn't stand it anymore."
Sam laughed. "Admit it, you liked it too."
"Yeah, yeah," Dean muttered, grabbing a plate and piling an almost obscene amount of the food onto it.
Once he was out of the way, Sam did the same, albeit a more reasonable amount. He grabbed a couple of drinks from the refrigerator and they both sat at the table across from Bobby.
Bobby looked from one of them to the other before asking, "So, what really brings you boys up this way?"
"Francis here is tired," Dean said around a mouthful of food, tilting his head at Sam. "Needed some beauty sleep."
Luckily for Sam, Dean was preoccupied enough with dinner he didn't catch the flash of emotion Sam felt burn his face. Unluckily for Sam, Bobby did. Sam glanced at Bobby while playing with his food more than eating it. He almost winced at the piercing look the other man leveled on him. There was no way Bobby was going to let that one go, but at least he seemed willing to do it away from Dean.
Dean burped loudly, pushing his plate away with one hand and patting his stomach with the other. "Thanks, Bobby. That hit the spot."
Smirking, Bobby asked, "You don't say? You always did eat like a horse."
Sam grinned when Dean at least had the decency to look slightly abashed. "Sorry."
"No worse than when you two were teenagers," Bobby said with an exaggerated shudder. "Just the sight of you two and all my food seemed to disappear."
Dean laughed. "Heh. Good times, man."
Although there was still food on his plate, Sam stood and scraped it into the trash before running water over the dish. He left it in the sink and turned to Dean. "I'm gonna head on up."
Sam glanced at Bobby, knowing his actions were only postponing the questioning, not avoiding it entirely. But the new moon was the next night, so he only needed to avoid the discussion until sometime the next day. Sometime Dean wasn't in earshot.
Dean nodded. "I'll be up soon."
"Good night, Bobby. Thanks for dinner," Sam said before leaving the room and trudging up the stairs.
He tried not to think about the fact it very well might be the last normal night of sleep he would ever have. The spell was going to work. It had to.
--
Sam slept in the next morning, waking to the sound of metal clinking against metal and knew that Dean - who was nowhere to be seen - was outside tinkering on the Impala. Working on the car, even if nothing was wrong, had become something of a tradition anymore. Anytime they were at Bobby's and not in the middle of one disaster or another, Dean would jump at the chance to touch up the car.
And although Sam wanted to spend as much time with Dean as he could (just in case...) he also needed the time to prepare. He needed to go over the incantation again; though he could probably recite it backwards, he'd practiced so often.
He had also decided that he needed to write a letter, hide it under his pillow so that Dean wouldn't find it if everything worked out, but would if it didn't. Sam could imagine the level of mocking Dean would subject him to, if everything worked out and he found the letter. But Sam couldn't bring himself to risk dying - risk leaving Dean forever or worse, Dean following him - without leaving something behind.
Paper was rarely in short supply around Sam, so it only took a few minutes to find the supplies he would need. The problem came when he sat on the bed, pen in hand, and stared at the empty sheet. What in the world could you say, in a letter, to someone who made up most of your world?
Sorry it didn't work was far too trite, if nonetheless true.
Please don't follow me was quite possibly pointless, if even more true.
I love you was... not something they said. Ever.
Sam sighed. The decision to leave a letter was easy, but he was beginning to think it would take all day to actually write it. Fiddling with the pen, he thought about it for a few more moments before pressing it to the paper.
First let me say that I know you're pissed. I know how I felt when I found out what you'd done for me - how you had saved me - and worse, I know how you felt when Dad saved you. It's okay that you're pissed, Dean.
In my defense, I think this will work. I don't want to die, Dean. I don't want to leave you. And I if I have any say in the matter, I won't. You'll get the chance at the life - the years - you deserve and I'll be there with you. Please believe me.
But if something does go wrong. If I screw this up, then all I can hope is that at the very least the deal is broken. That way my dying (again) will mean something. That's really all I have the right to ask for, though I'm asking for so much more because I don't want to die. Not back in Cold Oak, not today.
I'm going to do my damndest to live for you, Dean. All that I ask is you do the same for me, no matter how this goes.
Sam
Sam looked at the letter for a long moment, hating how sappy it sounded but knowing it all needed to be said. As an afterthought, he added:
P.S. If you follow me, I will hunt you down, and I will make your afterlife hell, big brother. Don't think I won't.
He grinned, albeit morbidly. It might not accomplish anything, might very well be pointless, but it needed to be there.
With a last glance at the words, Sam folded the paper into thirds. Turning, he slid the paper underneath his pillow, tucked out of sight. Just in case, he threw his bag on top of the pillow in the hopes it would keep both Dean and Bobby away from it.
He had just finished when a knock on the door made him turn. Seeing Bobby standing there, looking anxious, he said, "Hey, Bobby."
Walking into the room, Bobby pushed the door closed behind him. "Now would you care to explain whatever fool idea it is you have in your head?"
Sam tried to smile, but failed. "Have a seat," he said, gesturing toward Dean's bed. "Just watch out for Dean's socks. They might bite."
"Sam..." Bobby said with a sigh as he sat. "Please tell me you're smarter than your daddy and your brother." Surprised, and almost offended, Sam opened his mouth to reply but the other man cut him off. "And don't go getting all hot over that, you know what I mean. First your daddy trades himself for Dean. Then Dean for you. Whatever you've got planned, nothing good can come of it."
Clenching his jaw, Sam shook his head. "Something good can and will come of it, Bobby. If I don't do this, Dean'll die in just over three months. I can't let that happen." His voice broke on the last words.
"Do I want to know?" Bobby asked several moments later, giving Sam an unreadable look.
Laughing humorlessly, Sam said, "Probably not, but I need you to, anyway. It's why I wanted to come here."
"I gathered."
"I know I can count on you, Bobby," Sam said as if the other man hadn't spoken. "I trust you."
He paused, looking at Bobby and seeing the moment realization dawned. "With Dean."
"Yeah, with Dean." Sam rubbed his hand through his hair and then over his face. He felt drained, so many months of searching and chasing had finally come down to one day. It seemed unreal. "I really think this will work. And Dean will be free."
"And you?" Bobby asked, his rough voice surprising Sam. Sometimes it was easy to forget that Bobby had watched him and Dean grow up, that this would shake him up, too. Bobby was always so unflappable, it was hard to imagine.
"This can't be as easy as a ritual or a spell," he said, interrupting Sam's thoughts. "You wouldn't need to be here for that. Something's up." And sometimes it felt like Bobby knew him a little too well.
Sam turned and pulled the notebook from his bag. "I did find an incantation. One that I think will break the deal."
"But..." Bobby prompted when Sam stalled.
Shaking his head, Sam continued. "But I found out a while back that there's a catch. Dean doesn't know that I know, but the demon put a retainer on the deal. If Dean escapes - and lives - I die again."
"Damn it, Sam," Bobby interrupted, standing abruptly and towering over Sam.
Holding out a placating hand, Sam gestured for him to sit. "Bobby, I know that if I die saving him, Dean will do something stupid. He'd probably consider it noble and heroic, but to me, if it ended up with him dead, it'd be stupid. So I did some research. It's what I'm good at, right?" he asked the last with a feeble grin. "I swear I think I have a way around it."
The last thing Sam wanted to do was spell out the details of his little work around. It made for less implication on Bobby's part when Dean's anger came to the fore after it was over.
"And if you don't?"
Sam cringed. "That's what you're here for Bobby. You have to keep him safe if I... If I can't."
Bobby seemed to deflate in front of Sam's eyes. Sam couldn't help finding it a rather shocking picture. Sam had never seen the other man look so small. "You're not asking for much, are you?"
"I know you can do it," Sam said with a half-grin. "But hopefully you won't have to."
"And I can't talk you out of it?" Bobby asked, sounding as if he knew the answer already.
"No."
Nodding, Bobby asked, "So when are you going to do this - what ever this is?"
"It has to happen at the new moon. Tonight."
"Hell, Sam. I hope you know what you're doing."
"Yeah," Sam said in a small voice. "So do I."
The day passed faster than Sam would have liked. As sure as he was that his plan would work, there was enough uncertainty to make him nervous. So, he spent as much time out at the car with Dean as he could without arousing his brother's suspicions. The small voice of "just in case" was driving him to make the most of the day.
By the time dusk fell, Sam was hot and sweaty and covered in brake dust from helping Dean rotate the tires. His willingness to pitch in, bordering on eagerness, had earned him a perplexed look, but grateful thanks, all the same. And Sam couldn't help liking that they'd spent the day doing something so... normal together.
Finally finished, Sam wiped his hands on a work towel as they headed into the house. They'd barely taken two steps into the kitchen when Bobby, who was nursing the ancient coffee maker, pointed toward the stairs without a word.
"We'll just... go get cleaned up," Sam said, pushing Dean - who was snickering - ahead of him.
Walking up the stairs, the back of Dean's head filling most of his line of sight, Sam felt oddly at peace. Dean should have never had to trade his life for Sam and in only a few hours, Sam would finally have a chance to make it right.
He entered their room to find Dean already digging through - and sniffing - his clothes. Sam made an absent-minded mental note to do laundry before they left, not consciously thinking about the inherent hope in his plan. He knew Bobby wouldn't mind if they did, but he also knew Dean would avoid the chore until the clothes were walking on their own, which left it up to Sam.
"I know you're not used to dirt, Sam," Dean said, breaking Sam from his thoughts. "But he meant you, too. You stink." He gave Sam a measuring glance. "Besides, you're staring again. This new habit of yours is starting to get a little creepy."
"Yeah, right," Sam said, moving toward his own bag and pulling out a new shirt. He ignored the last part of Dean's comment. "Just because I don't find every piece of dirt in a three-county area - and go roll in it - doesn't mean I'm not used to dirt."
He flashed Dean a grin, happy to see it returned. Their normal banter from when they were younger was strained at times since Stanford. Sam was relieved that this wasn't one of those times.
"Just for that," Dean said as he left the room, "I'm leaving you no hot water."
Laughing, Sam shook his head and returned his attention to his own clothes. Sam paused and gave his own shirt a sniff. Dean wasn't kidding, he thought, I stink.
With nothing to do but wait, Sam sat on his bed and thought over his plans for the evening. He had already decided to wait until Dean was asleep. The slightest threat would wake Dean, but when it was just Sam there, and no danger, Dean would sleep like a rock. Another reason for choosing Bobby's place was Sam knew it was one of the places Dean felt most safe, and should sleep on, unaware.
That last part was important. Sam didn't want Dean waking in the middle of the ritual if he could help it. If he was lucky, everything would be said and done and Dean would be none the wiser until he woke in the morning and the deal was broken. At that point, Sam would handle the inevitable explosion of temper he knew would come.
"What's with you?" Dean asked, causing Sam to jump. He looked up to find Dean looking at him, perplexed. "I shouldn't be able to sneak up on you so easy, Sam."
Sam could hear the hint of annoyance in the curious question. If there was one thing Dean couldn't stand, it was Sam letting his guard down when he was conscious to help it, and sometimes, not even then.
Shaking his head, trying to clear the cobwebs the heavy thoughts always brought, Sam forced a grin. "Sorry, just thinking."
"Well, stop that," Dean said, dropping his dirty clothes onto the bed before grimacing, and pushing them onto the floor instead. "I'm not waiting for you to finish thinking before we eat."
Smiling, for real this time, Sam picked up his clothes. "I'd better hurry then. I know better than to get between you and food." He left the room, hastening into the bathroom and closing the door before Dean could respond.
Ten minutes later, and blessedly dirt free, Sam left the bathroom, dropped his own dirty clothes on top of Dean's pile and went downstairs. Not surprisingly, he found both the other men in the kitchen. What was surprising was the sight of Dean peeling potatoes with a wicked looking, curved knife.
"Don't say it," Dean said before Sam could comment.
Holding up his hands, Sam bit back a laugh. "Not a word." Sam waited a beat before he was unable not to egg his brother on. "But you know that dulls the blade even faster."
"But you know that dulls the blade even faster," Dean sing-songed, tilting his head back and forth as he did. Glancing at Sam, he said, "Dude, I'm not an idiot." He must have noticed the amused look on Sam's face, because he rolled his eyes. Dropping a skinned potato into the sink, he added, "You're more than welcome to do it instead. And at least I can cook."
Sitting at the table beside Dean, Sam snickered. "Dean, there were times growing up that you could burn water." Looking at Bobby, who was standing at the stove and apparently doing his best to ignore both of them, Sam said, "Bobby, you should know, whenever Dean had to peel potatoes when we were little, more of the potato ended up left on the skin, and in the trash, than in the pot."
Dean elbowed Sam in the ribs, before Sam moved out of the line of fire. "Oh shut up, Sam. Like I said, you're welcome to take over." While the words were harsh, Sam could see the humor in Dean's eyes. He was enjoying the lighter moment as much as Sam, even if he would never admit it.
"Yeah, yeah," Sam said, holding out his hand for the knife. "Here, let me have a turn. You help Bobby with..." He looked once more at Bobby's back, surprised the older hunter was still ignoring them. "Bobby, anything for Dean to do?"
Bobby turned then, giving Sam a searching glance before shaking his head, the awkward look disappearing from his eyes as if it had never been. It wasn't quite soon enough, however, because Dean looked from Bobby to Sam and back again.
"What's up?"
Shaking his head again, though his face was twisted as if he smelled something foul, Bobby said, "Nothing, Dean." Bobby looked at both of them, letting out a long breath. He held out another knife to Dean and gestured behind him by tilting his head. "Mind finishing up the meat?" he asked without really asking.
Sam could tell Dean wasn't entirely convinced nothing was wrong, but he nodded anyway and took the knife Bobby offered. "Sure thing."
"Thanks," Bobby said, running his hands under the tap before drying them and leaving the room.
For a long moment everything was silent and still. Eventually, Dean said, "Okay, that's not nothing. What's got him so spooked?"
Sam shrugged, trusting in his finely tuned lying abilities to get him through the last couple of hours before bed. "Dunno. Probably something to do with the junkyard, or maybe someone else's hunt. Who knows?"
Dean didn't appear convinced, but as there was nothing he could do, short of chasing Bobby down, he finally turned his attention back to dinner. "Yeah, I guess," he mumbled.
All Sam could do was hope that Bobby wouldn't let slip what was going to happen - and he trusted him not to, especially if he was going to avoid them all night. Bad enough Dean's hackles were raised even a fraction when Sam needed him thinking nothing was out of the ordinary. That was partly because he didn't want to be discovered, but also partly because he wanted one last completely normal day with his brother.
Dean had just pulled the meat, which Sam was pretty sure was venison, out of the oven when Bobby reappeared in the kitchen. The peculiar look from before was gone, leaving Bobby looking, well, like Bobby again.
"You managed to not burn the house down, I see," he said gruffly, but with the slightest hint of a grin.
Dean smirked. "Well, Sammy tried, but I managed to get it under control."
"Not even close," Sam said, finishing the mashed potatoes and placing the bowl on the table. He wiped his hands on a rag before taking a seat across from Bobby. "It was all Dean trying to burn the place down, Bobby. Not me."
Sam flinched when Dean smacked him on the back of the head with a towel. "I did not slave over a hot stove all day for you to bad mouth me like that," Dean said, sighing melodramatically, giving Bobby a wink.
"Technically, it was the oven. I was the one using the stove," Sam said, rubbing his hand over the back of his head. "And it was hardly all day."
"Whatever, Sammy," Dean said, placing the steaks onto the table beside the potatoes. Looking at Bobby, Dean put on what Sam thought of as his long-suffering face. "See what I have to put up with?"
Groaning, Bobby looked at each of them in turn before grabbing a plate and beginning to pile potatoes onto it. "Some days I think you boys never did grow up."
"Hey!" the cried, simultaneously.
Bobby laughed, a surprisingly unrestrained sound, the likes of which Sam hadn't heard from him in a very long time, if ever. "That's what I mean," he said before digging into the food. "Eat up before it gets cold." He paused and glanced at Dean. "You did slave over a hot stove all day, after all."
"I get no respect," Dean muttered. Sam laughed once more, able for the moment to forget (or try to forget) about what was coming.
tbc...