Okay, we're back from our brief holiday hiatus. Back to the story!!
Chapter Twenty-three
From its hiding place, it watched the others. They searched for it and if they found it they could hurt it again. It had been surprised the weapon hurt it. Even now the spots stung and burned. But it needed to wait until the others went inside before it could lick its wounds clean. It was not safe while they were out here. The others were more dangerous than the little boss had said, and now the little boss was gone.
Someplace in its mind, that tiny place where thought originated, the idea that these others might have done something to the little boss came. It shuddered at the thought. How could these creatures possibly do anything to the little boss? The little boss was very powerful, one of the most powerful of all the little bosses it had ever served.
Should it be angry? Should it be scared? It looked down at its wounds, tiny wisps of smoke drifting up from the small holes. Maybe it would decide to be angry AND scared. It would think about that, after the others went inside the house. It was glad it could not follow them there. When they were inside, that meant it was safe. So it waited, and it worried.
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Sam followed Dean's lead in checking out the salvage yard before they headed back into the house.
"Well, so much for my oil change," Dean muttered as they passed the threshold.
"You were planning to change your oil today?" Bobby asked, resting his shotgun against the wall.
Dean shook his head. "Sam promised to do it."
"Oh." Bobby's mouth twisted up on one side. "I'd pay money to see that."
Several comments sprung to mind, but Sam clamped his jaw shut. He did make that promise, but it was weeks ago. He honestly thought Dean had forgotten, or maybe he just hoped. Dean chuckled from beside him, confirming for Sam how both Dean and Bobby thought of him and cars. Sam headed back for his research, attempting to ignore the humor passing between the other two men.
"Lighten up, Sam," Dean's voice teased as Sam searched for the last entry he read on his laptop. Sam ignored it as his eyes hit the passage he wanted.
It was an article that hinted at tantalizing odd things in a small town within reasonable driving distance. As Sam wondered if the gremlin might be commuting, another thought struck him.
"Bobby!" His head snapped up to lock with their oldest friend. "That possession! Did you lose it?" Sam could not believe he forgot about that!
Both Dean and Bobby gave him the oddest look. "What possession?" they asked in unison.
Sam snapped his laptop shut, not breaking the collective eye contact. "The reason Bobby asked us to come in the first place. The job he needed a few days to go on?" Both Dean and Bobby forgot too? Okay, he could see Dean forgetting about Bobby's job, but Bobby?
"He finished that," Dean said quickly. That was the way his brother always sounded with an on-the-spot lie.
Sam's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Bobby wasn't gone long enough, Dean. He said it would take two or three days. We called him back in less than twelve hours and Bobby hasn't left since. How could he possibly have finished it?"
"Well," Dean faltered, his eyes darting to Bobby and back, "maybe it just didn't take as long as Bobby thought it would." Yeah, that was a lie. Hope once again surged through Sam.
"It was an easy one," Bobby added.
Sam spared a hot glare for Bobby this time. Bobby took it, but was definitely uncomfortable. "There are easy possessions?" Sam demanded.
Dean looked downright guilty. "Look, Sam, it's my fault. Don't blame Bobby, okay?"
"What's your fault, Dean?" Sam demanded, feeling equal parts hope and anger.
Dean sighed, sinking down onto the couch. "I got Bobby to call you, ask us to come out here." Dean waved a hand at Bobby. "He lied for me."
Sam nodded, refraining from speaking, hoping Dean would continue.
Dean fidgeted on the couch, a wince coming over his face so Sam guessed his brother moved the wrong way. Sam waited. When it came to Dean, he could be both patient and impatient. He could plan for weeks, devising ways to get Dean to willingly go along with whatever he wanted. He could also just snap, scream at Dean out on some empty road and take off on foot when Dean refused to do things his way. Maybe he deserved this deception, maybe it was exactly what he had coming.
Dean cleared his throat. "I'm sorry, Sam. But if we kept up that pace, one of us was going to get really hurt." Dean's head shook in that way he had, the mannerism that looked so much like Dad and conveyed the exact same sense of authority. "I couldn't allow that."
That made the anger flare just a little higher than the hope. This was exactly what he hoped for, that Dean was just being his annoying, overprotective, big brother. So why did it make him see red?
"Dean!" Sam stood, shoving his laptop aside on the rickety endtable he used here instead of a real table or desk. "You tricked me! You couldn't just say something? Like, oh, I don't know: Sam, let's take a break?"
Dean glared back as he stood, his face no longer impassive. Dean looked pissed. "I did, Sam." His brother advanced on him, but that did not scare Sam. Other people should be scared when Dean had that particular look in his eye. Sam had seen Dean take on four big guys in a bar fight right after Dad died. This was what Dean looked like that day. "But, as usual, you didn't listen."
Sam knew no amount of yelling or screaming would make Dean back off. Not now. Not when his brother had that particular expression on his face. That expression had Armageddon, doomsday, war, and death all rolled into one. Anyone who stood up to it had to be either insane or stupid. Sam wondered which category he fit into right now.
"You didn't say one word about taking a break that day, Dean," Sam replied, attempting to keep his voice calm and cool. "Not one word."
"It wouldn't have made a difference, Sam," Dean snapped, his voice more of a snarl than anything. "I'd been suggesting slowing down, maybe taking a break, for weeks!" Dean was close enough for Sam to see the green flecks in his brother's eyes widen, engulfing his irises. Full green, Sam knew from considerable experience, never meant anything good.
"You never insisted," Sam replied, standing his ground. "You never even said, Sam, let's take a break."
"Like I said, Sam, let's take a few days to think? Or Sam, Dad's an ass?" Dean's eyes flashed.
"You never said it that day," Sam repeated, attempting to ignore the things really bothering his brother. The voice in the back of his head told him that these were the issues bothering Dean, making his brother act this way. He should face these head-on, clear the air. Instead Sam told that voice to shut the hell up. "And those have nothing to do with this."
As the words left his mouth, Sam knew they were a mistake. All the emotion drained from Dean's face, leaving icy features in their stead. His brother's eyes were bright green, but the fight drained out of Dean quickly. One hand rose to press against Dean's side, but those green eyes never wavered.
"I'm going upstairs for a nap," Dean said in a soft voice, eyes throwing daggers at Sam.
That familiar guilt crept up Sam's spine, wrapping itself firmly around his ribcage, as Dean retreated up the stairs. The bedroom door slammed with a finality that the argument was over. Sam was pretty sure he didn't win, but he was just as certain that he did not lose either. If it had been win-lose he would not feel this lousy. It was definitely a lose-lose situation.
Sam dragged his eyes from the empty stairs to rest on Bobby's hot glare.
"I got something to do in the workshop," Bobby said, turning away. The stomp of those boots was undeniable anger.
Sam sunk back down into his chair. Now how the hell did he screw that up so bad? Wasn't Dean pulling a fast one, taking over as Big Brother, exactly what he wanted? So why did it make him so mad, so fast? Sam lowered his head into his hands in a desperate attempt to pull himself together.
When he finally lifted his head again, something about the room struck him as odd. It was not until he counted the shotguns that he realized what it was. Dean's shotgun was missing. Sam searched his memory for when Dean put it down, but he could not find it. A thorough search of the room turned up nothing. He listened intently for any sounds coming from upstairs, but he heard nothing. Sam contemplated whether he should check on Dean upstairs or go ask Bobby if he knew where Dean's shotgun was. After all, it wasn't like they needed any weapons inside the house.
Bobby seemed pretty angry with him, but not nearly as angry as Dean. Sam chose to head for the workshop. That seemed to be the safer route at the moment, but probably not by much.
He found Bobby making more holy water bullets, even though they had not had the chance to test them out yet.
"Silver this time?" Sam asked, trying to sound conversational.
Bobby grunted, not bothering to answer him. Sam did not really blame Bobby, but at the same time he wanted...
"Sam, you can be a real ass," Bobby announced, eyes glued to the task at hand. Bobby put the rest of the bullet mould together so he could pour the rest of the silver in on top of the tiny holy water canister. "I guess some things are genetic."
Hot silver, glowing with molten heat, poured with a steady hand into the moulds. Sam watched, eternally fascinated by the process of bullet making despite how often he complained about being forced to learn it. Sam sank down to sit on a nearby chair.
"That, uh, didn't go the way I planned," he admitted, knee bouncing nervously.
"You sure?" Bobby's words cut deep, though the older man did not even spare him a glance. Bobby concentrated on the task at hand. Sam knew the bullets would need to be released from the moulds soon, or they would stick and ruin the mould. Bobby popped the silver bullets out onto the waiting stone hearth were they still glowed with heat. Iron bullets were even more impressive, glowing that fire red straight out of the mould.
"I, ah, was wondering. Did you notice what Dean did with his shotgun?" Sam asked, eyes darting from the cooling bullets to Bobby's face. The skin around Bobby's eyes tensed, causing new wrinkles to appear.
"Why?" Bobby asked. The tone was casual but Sam was not fooled. Bobby was not happy with him.
"Because he shouldn't need it inside and I couldn't find it downstairs," Sam explained. "So I wondered if you saw….."
Bobby's eyes widened. "Shit!" The older man, about Dad's age, spun around and raced from the workshop without waiting for Sam to finish his sentence. Sam ran after him, not understanding what had Bobby so fired up. Bobby took the stairs two at a time, breathing hard the whole way. It could not be that hard on Bobby, so the panting was worrisome.
"Dean! Dean!" Bobby shouted from the top of the stairs as he ran flat out for Dean's room. Bobby beat a fist on the door, still hollering. "Dean, open up!" Bobby stopped, glaring at the door. He twisted the knob; it turned easily, not even locked.
Sam followed a few steps behind as Bobby walked into Dean's room. His bed was neatly made, Dean's was messy, the covers pulled down and pooled on the floor. What it wasn't was full of Dean. It was empty. Sam put a hand on Dean's mattress. Cold. His brother never even laid down. Stupid, stubborn moron.
Sam moved to the open window, looked out. "He wouldn't have jumped," Sam reasoned. "Not with those ribs."
"Wouldn't have to," Bobby said, his words clipped and short. He lifted the window seat, which Sam never realized was storage. "The emergency rope ladder is missing."
"The what?" Sam asked, looking down into what he thought was just a window seat. Since it was Bobby's house, he should have known better.
"The rope ladder," Bobby repeated. "The holy water flask is gone, too."
Several other items littered the bottom of the box and a couple might even be useful against a gremlin. "Dean probably didn't know what the rest of this stuff was for."
Bobby turned on Sam then. "Instead of tearing him down," Bobby said with a distinct growl, "I think I'm going outside to make sure that gremlin hasn't taken him out already."
Bobby shoved past Sam to head back downstairs. Sam only had his handgun on him, but it was loaded with silver rounds. He did not have any of those holy water bullets and the rest of the weapons were downstairs. Oh, well. Sam climbed out the window after his brother, hoping that Dean did not have time to do anything seriously stupid.