Chapter 2

Sam hated to admit it, but Dean looked more relaxed than he had in weeks just driving out to Bobby's. The windows were down and his music blared from the speakers. Dean's left arm stuck out the window, fingers tapping a steady rhythm on the roof. Sam tried not to smile at the sight, secretly relieved that his brother took the idea of this break so well. From this side Sam could see the red welt on his brother's jaw was already darkening, threatening to become one large, nasty bruise before too long.

Sam sighed to himself, wondering when being so damned driven started to feel normal. He felt like he had to outrun this destiny, beat it to the punch. With another glance at Dean's ragged face, Sam sunk deeper into the seat. It would be nice to see Dean actually heal up before they went after something else, especially since this was all because of him. He also knew waiting that long would be really, really hard.

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Dean tried hard not to grin like some maniac, but it was difficult. They were taking some time off! He was going to be able to give his baby some proper attention, of which she was in desperate need. He could hear a slight miss when he started her up, so needed to check the plugs. Well, he would start there anyway. After the plugs, Dean planned to change the oil, check the transmission and the carburetor, and anything else that would allow him to tinker around under the hood. He figured he could make some stuff up, Sam would never know the difference anyway. Maybe he could even invent a problem to buy them a few extra days at Bobby's.

The Impala hummed along the road, like it anticipated some renewal time at Bobby's too. Damn, his jaw hurt. He wished he could remember the moment that shovel connected with his jaw so he would know if there was that telltale sound of bone cracking. The way it hurt, Dean figured he had at least a fracture. Not that there was anything that could be done about it.

Sunlight glinted off bare metal and cracked windshields as they rounded the road toward Bobby's. A deep breath brought in scents of ragweed, rust and oil. Ah – home, sweet home.

Dean parked next to the house, nearly vibrating with excitement. A few days without worries, ghosts, spirits, demons or possessed people. It was like a dream come true. He might even be able to forget about that damn promise Sam tricked him into making. When Bobby walked out of the house to greet them, Dean did not realize he was hugging the old man until Bobby thumped him on the back. Hard. He let go, feeling rather embarrassed.

"Good to see ya, Dean. Sam." Bobby threw him a wink before greeting his brother. Sam shook Bobby's hand, shooting him a surprised look. Dean stepped back, shrugging. Seeing the other two men greeting each other as a distraction, Dean grabbed his bag from the car before heading inside.

"Where do you want us, Bobby?" he shouted, heading for the stairs.

"Your room," Bobby hollered. Dean grinned at the stairs. His room. Man, that sounded good. When was the last time anyone called a room his? Not since he was four, that was a safe bet.

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Bobby grabbed Sam's arm as Dean charged up the stairs. "Sam? What the hell happened to you boys?"

"What do you mean, Bobby?" Sam asked, sounding perfectly innocent.

Bobby tore his eyes from the stairs to glare at the younger Winchester. "You know exactly what I mean, Sam. Why does Dean look like he just went ten rounds with a pissed off gorilla?"

Sam looked away, one foot shifting uneasily over the floor. Bobby knew that look: guilt. He waited, hoping Dean would take his time upstairs. When Sam's shoulders slumped down, Bobby knew he would get some answers. "Our last job didn't, uh, go too well."

"I can see that!" Bobby hissed. "I asked what happened."

Sam glanced toward the stairs. Bobby's eyes followed. Still no sign of Dean returning. "Well, after the spirit threw him across the graveyard, it hit him with a shovel."

Bobby felt his jaw drop. "With a shovel? And he just stood there and took it?"

Sam cleared his throat. "Not exactly. The shovel was, uh, coming at me." Sam rubbed the back of his neck with one hand. "Dean knocked me out of the way, but I guess he wasn't fast enough to dodge it himself." He sighed, checking the stairs again. "He was out for about fifteen minutes, Bobby. I don't mind telling you, it scared the crap out of me. Your call couldn't have come at a better time."

"How's that?" According to Bobby's memory, which was damned good, it was Dean who called for his help, not Sam.

"We really need some downtime. Dean…" Sam sighed, shaking his head. "Well, you know how he is."

"Yeah. I do." Bobby tried not to frown. Not only were those boys exhausted, they were completely out of sync with each other. Never thought he'd see that day. "Why don't you see what's keeping that brother of yours. I'll go fire up the grill. We're having steak tonight."

Sam grinned at him. "You're the best, Bobby. Thanks. We really do owe you."

Bobby was trying to light the grill when Sam came outside. "Bobby? I think that can wait. Dean fell asleep."

Bobby laughed, picking up his platter of marinated steaks. "In that case, I'll go put these away. Beer?"

"Yeah, sure. Thanks." Sam said, sinking down into one of his lawn chairs. Inside, Bobby popped open two beers and added just a dash of holy water to Sam's. Sam certainly was not acting suspicious, but being cautious never hurt. Bobby handed Sam his doctored beer before taking the seat next to the boy. He watched Sam take a swig, no reaction other than to slump down in the chair a bit. Relieved, Bobby took a long pull on his own beer.

Sam shifted in his chair, staring out over the wrecks shielding his house from the big, bad world outside. "Something on your mind, Sam?" Bobby asked.

Sam sighed. "It's my fault, Bobby." He slumped further down in the chair, long legs stretched out. "I've been pushing too hard lately. I think Dean even suggested taking a break a week or two back, I don't remember."

"Why didn't you?" Bobby tried to keep the recrimination out of his voice, but it was difficult.

Sam shrugged. "I thought he just wanted it for me. Sometimes I forget, you know?" Wide, hazel eyes turned to him.

"Forget what, Sam?" Bobby took another swig of beer.

"Dean's not indestructible either." Sam sighed, eyes drifting back over the salvage yard.

Bobby chose not to comment on that one, focusing instead on his cold grill. "You know, I was having some trouble lighting that grill. Want to take a look at it?"

Sam hunkered his large frame over the grill for ten or fifteen minutes, trying to get it to light. No luck. Sam shook his head in frustration. "That's more Dean's thing." He checked his watch, settling back into his chair. "I'm sure he'll be up in about an hour."

"Or what? You'll go wake him up?" Bobby asked, knowing the answer when Sam's eyes lit up and a sneaky grin crossed the younger man's face. Bobby chuckled, taking a swig of his beer.

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Dean woke in a darkened room, alone. His first thought was to wonder where the hell Sam might have gone, and if his brother would be back. Sam promised not to do that again, but…better safe than sorry. He should call. Attempting to sit up, a sharp pain shot through him taking his breath away.

Grasping the edge of the bed, Dean tried to catch his breath. Yep, that cracking noise in the graveyard was definitely his ribs. Okay, now he needed Bobby to come up with a reason to keep them here for at least a few weeks. Wasn't Bobby just going to love that? The pain ebbed away to the point he could take a breath and hold it. Not good enough to actually walk downstairs and look for Sam if he didn't need to, but he could make that call.

Dean pulled his cell phone out, pressing the button to dial Sam. It rang twice before his brother answered.

"Dean? What are you doing?"

He took another breath before answering, "Hey Sam. Just wondering what you're up to. Still at Bobby's?"

"Yeah, Dean. But you'd know that if you'd bother to come downstairs instead of calling." Sam sounded pissy. Damn it. "Or is there a reason you're staying in bed?"

Uh-oh. "Nope," Dean pushed himself to a stand. "Be right down." He heard Sam about to protest as he snapped his cell shut. Now he had to make it downstairs before little brother decided to come check up on him. Fortunately, so far Sam had been so concerned with his jaw, his ribs managed to escape undetected. If Sam caught him wincing when he got out of bed, that might change.

Funny how much easier it was to walk upstairs than it was to go downstairs. Each step jarred his ribs, sending a blast of pain to envelop his ribcage. Life was so unfair, but what else was new? Dean concentrated so hard to make it downstairs, he did not notice Bobby watching him from the kitchen.

"Dean?"

Well, that clinched it. He was definitely exhausted if an old guy like Bobby could get the drop on him like that. "Hey, Bobby. Any dinner plans?"

Bobby frowned at him. "Dean, is there anything wrong with you other than that jaw?"

Dean tried to look pained that Bobby would ask such a thing. "I'm fine, Bobby."

Bobby's beer clunked as he slammed it down on the table. "Dean." The older man glared at him. "Where are you hurt?"

Dean scoffed, rolling his eyes. "It's nothing, Bobby. I'm fine." He headed for the kitchen door, intending to claim a chair outside.

Bobby's arm blocked his way. "Dean, did I ever mention to you that I've redone my priority list?" Dean's stomach plummeted. Bobby wouldn't dare. "Guess what number one is now?"

He looked over, meeting Bobby's glare. "Helping us kill that yellow-eyed bastard?" he growled, trying to make it clear that was the only answer he would accept.

"That's number two. Want to guess again?" Bobby's eyes narrowed. Really, if Bobby for an instant thought that he could…

Dean glared back. "Not especially."

Bobby pointed to a corner of the room. "That's nice and secluded over there. So, Dean, how're you feeling these days?" Bobby's face was hard and unyielding. The old guy was not kidding.

Dean looked over at the corner Bobby pointed out. It was the same spot Dad once made him strip down to be checked over after a hunt. Dean swallowed hard. "Couple of cracked ribs, and you can see the jaw," he admitted. "But don't tell Sam."

"Why not?" Bobby demanded, concerned eyes gauging him. "Don't you think he ought to know about your ribs?"

Dean shook his head, worries spinning through his mind. "He, uh, has plenty on his mind already. I don't want to dump anything else on him."

Bobby frowned. "You trying to tell me this isn't just typical Dean Winchester downplaying his injuries?"

Dean tried to grin, but his heart wasn't in it. "It's just been tough lately, Bobby. I need Sam to know he can always depend on me, no matter what."

"Why?" Bobby turned to the fridge, pulling out a fresh beer. He offered it to Dean after opening it inside the fridge, which Dean thought was a little odd.

Dean accepted the beer gratefully. Maybe it meant the inquisition was over. He shrugged, taking a long pull on the bottle. Man, that tasted good. "I just do, Bobby. Sam found out that I was keeping a secret from him. Pissed him off."

"Was that when he took off on you?" Bobby asked, leaning against the doorframe.

"Yeah," Dean admitted. "I guess I had it coming."

"Why?" Bobby's eyes bored into him.

Dean sighed. "Because I told him what Dad said."

Bobby rubbed a hand over his face, looking at Dean sympathetically. "The one about you needing to save Sam?"

Dean nodded, taking another swig of his beer. Bobby stared at him. "You know I never thought your daddy should have laid that on you."

"Yeah." Dean shrugged. "Me either. You were right about Dad. He was an ass to do that."

Bobby chuckled, taking a deep pull on his bottle. "Yeah, I know. Just wish I'd figured it out before you beat the crap outta that car of yours. You have any idea what it took to replace that trunk?" Bobby headed into the other room. "Be right back."

Dean leaned against the doorframe, waiting for the older man to come back. He suspected Bobby was looking for some painkillers or something.

"Dean? What's keeping you?" Sam's tall, lanky frame appeared in the screen door. The sight was so familiar from their previous visit, Dean had to suppress an urge to yell at Sam for being outside by himself.

"Just talking to Bobby," Dean said. "I'll be out in a minute."

Sam frowned, pulling the door open. He stepped inside, his intense gaze evaluating Dean. Dean leaned casually against the doorframe, sipping on his beer. "Problem, Sammy?"

Bobby chose that moment to walk back in, opening a pill bottle. He poured a couple of white pills out into Dean's hand. "Take those."

Dean nodded, not bothering to ask what the pills were. Whatever it was, it had to be better than submitting to an examination over in the corner.

"What was that?" Sam demanded, reaching for the pill bottle in Bobby's hand. Bobby handed it over.

"He should probably take two of those about three times a day. At least until you can get him in for x-rays and his own prescription." Bobby explained as Dean winced. Didn't he just finish explaining to Bobby that he did not want this?

"Dean," Bobby pointed out the door, "do me a favor. Go see if you can light my grill. I couldn't get it to catch earlier."

"Sure," Dean headed for the door, "no problem." Finally, something he had control over.