I began this Fanfic just after 'Jus in Bello' was aired (in Australia), however by the time it was completed I had seen Supernatural episodes up to and including 'No Rest for the Wicked'. The basic plot was already set, and the story had to be told. So please forgive me any incongruities with Kripke's story line, I realize my theories on Dean's redemption are already a little obsolete. However I hope you enjoy my tale none-the-less.
Generally no spoilers.
Note; this fic follows directly on from 'Highway to Hell'.
oooOOOooo
A few hours later…
Little Rock, ARKANSAS.
Given Dean's close brush not only with death, but with Hell itself, Bobby and Sam were perhaps overly protective of the obstinate hunter. Both would happily have wrapped Dean in cotton wool and locked him away in a securely padded, and demon free room, or, if possible, universe, had Dean not maintained his firm stoic insistence that he was perfectly all right. Of course they'd both heard it all before from Dean. Usually the more he denied injury, the more concerned they should become…
A friend of Bobby's in Little Rock, a fully fledged doctor no less, tended to all their wounds. He was notably amazed by their incredible story of survival, as mind blowing as it was for the humble physician. He was well aware of what Bobby did as a 'hobby'; he was himself indebted to his age old friend for eradicating a violent, vengeful spirit from his century old home some decade ago. The short, rotund, grey-haired and jovial Dr. Frederick William Hayes was well known amongst the ranks of hunters, and although he did not hunt himself he had seen more than one battle-weary hunter in his time. His entire basement, now spirit free, had been converted into something of an exclusive clinic solely for hunters. Although he lacked all the modern, new-aged, fandangled equipment, scanners, monitors or pathology, Fred was as good as they came with intuition, innovation and experience. Most attractive of his services was that he would provide them 'no questions' asked, although he was never objectionable to a truly fascinating yarn. And in need of the obviously, medically related information he had become quite adept in prying pretty much the whole saga from his patients in a manner that left one eager to retell every last gory detail. But most enticing was that he provided his services free of charge, that didn't mean, of course, that he wouldn't gratefully accept the odd bottle of whiskey, age-old protection amulet or Confederate gold… This wasn't the first time Bobby had come to him for help, and probably wouldn't be the last.
Much to Sam and Bobby's surprise, and to their relief, Dean had actually been right about his condition. Although he had lost a scary amount of blood, Dr. Hayes was adamant his wounds weren't as devastating as both hunters had expected. Not really even close to life threatening. All in all, Dean had survived the ordeal miraculously well. His lacerations still had to be painstakingly sutured, by Fred, in a task worthy of a plastic surgeon. But, aside from an obviously fractured collar bone, Fred was confident Dean's wounds would heal within weeks. Even though Fred had suspected a few cracked ribs and a fractured forearm Dean had proved him wrong, able to bend and flex his wrist, with full mobility and very little, to no, pain or hindrance. And without an x-ray Fred had no reason to dispute it. It was his thigh that seemed to give Dean the greatest grief. It pained him no end, with deep muscle and tissue damage it wasn't surprising. However, his injuries hardly prevented him moving about, even if with a painful and debilitating hobble. Of course Dean's restlessness and impatient demeanor hardly helped his case when he insisted upon being up and walking around, rather than attempting anything close to bed rest.
"I'm just glad the Hounds' bite wounds aren't that bad." Sam admitted to Bobby with relief. They were exhausted, hurting and almost devoid of any kind of emotion. The overwhelming relief and awe of Dean's survival had drained both hunters dry of any other feeling. "I would have thought a Hell Hound could sever a limb… we must have stopped them in the nick of time."
"I can't argue with you there." Bobby replied as he blankly watched the doctor suture the deep gash to Dean's brow. Dean lay stoically upon Fred's examination table, immune to the pain that had previously wracked his shredded limbs, thanks to some powerful painkillers. It took some time before Bobby actually registered that the redeemed hunter had an intense expression across his face, indicative of frustration or irritation. Slowly concern crept into Bobby's sentiments. From the moment they had arrived at Fred's, all the eldest Winchester apparently wanted to do was leave, as soon as possible, defiant to the end that he was perfectly ok. And having his wounds tended to was nothing less than an annoying hindrance, preventing him from going to where ever it was he thought he wanted to be. He hadn't actually informed either of them of just what he was in such a hurry to do…
Fred was a patient man, accustomed to the trademark impatience and determination of most of the hunters that passed through his clinic. However Fred was a marvel at ministering medical attention, almost on the fly, with remarkably good results. So the doctor continued to swiftly administer the medical aid he knew the eldest Winchester was in need of, ignoring Dean's glare of resentment and his occasional venting.
For all his astonishment at Dean's miraculous survival, Bobby was deeply apprehensive. And as he chatted to Fred, whilst he had his own wounds tended to, Fred revealed that he too had some underlying concerns: The young hunter had obviously sustained a high impact blow to the head. The deep gash to Dean's brow was accompanied by some spectacular bruising across his forehead and haloing his eye. His main worry was a suspected, and possibly major, concussion. He wasn't altogether prepared to rule out a potential skull fracture or hemorrhaging either. However, Dean was defiantly adamant about not going within a mile of an actual hospital, so without proper medical equipment to perform a thorough scan, Fred had to rely on Dean's physical reactions for an assessment. It was only that Dean seemed lost and disorientated when in discussion with either Sam or Bobby, as if huge slabs of his memory had disintegrated, that had given rise to the doctor's concerns. Still weary from his ordeal, at the jaws of the Hell Hounds, not to mention tossed into the depths of Hell, it wasn't overly surprising, except that Dean's mental alertness seemed unhindered in any other way. But, if nothing else, Dean had at least notched up another impressive scar that ran across his brow, along his hair line.
None of the hunters thought to mention aloud, the fact that a head injury had almost claimed him once before, after one of Azazel's minions had rammed a semi trailer into the Impala… But then, it was only Sam, John and Bobby who had been forced to endure Dean's tentative clutch at life then. Dean was as oblivious to his near death ordeal then, as he apparently was now. Bobby was seriously starting to wonder if Death now took a sadistic pleasure in dangling him so close, and then casting him back into the world of the living…
Sam and Bobby faired much better, only having sustained a few bumps and bruises, and some nasty rock-salt abrasions and superficial lacerations from the shattered stained glass windows. Bobby's gashed brow required little more than a few butterfly strips. After Dean was given a number of precautionary shots, from tetanus to rabies, a dose of antibiotics and some pretty decent pain killers, Fred was cautiously compliant for the hunters to leave his vigilant care, and besides, he knew trying to prevent the obstinate patient could otherwise very well result in an all out revolt. He would rather ensure Dean would return for further examinations, than to infuriate him into refusing to come back at all. So, for good measure, and on Bobby's insistence, the hunters booked themselves into a motel a half hour drive from Fred's house. So that Dr Hayes could give Dean regular examinations to be sure there were no surprise after effects of his injuries; still much to Dean's resentment.
oooOOOooo
A week later…
Hightop Motel,
Little Rock, ARKANSAS.
Their room at the Hightop Motel was reasonably priced, and considering its rather dubious location, was of quite a decent standard. It suited Bobby's wallet, though, and it had the luxury of a small kitchenette, a comfortable lounge suite, a color TV and a lavish bathroom. With the possibility of a prolonged stay, should Dean's condition deteriorate in any way, they would be comfortable. And they were, at the very least, stuck there until Dean's sutures had to be taken out.
"How's the patient?" Bobby queried after having shopped for basic groceries and fetched the trio of hunters' dinner. With their battle finally over, and with things quiet, and all concerned declared almost fit and sound, Bobby had thought it appropriate that he prepare something special, to finally celebrate their victory over Kalfu. All things considered, Bobby was even prepared to let Dean have a beer, if he behaved himself; and that would be the real battle! Having kept Dean confined to the motel room, for his own good, had not been the most pleasurable of experiences for any of the hunters concerned. Deanwas like a caged beast, with a very sore head. He lashed out at both Sam and Bobby for even the most trivial reasons. He wanted out, pure and simple, to live his new lease on life, to the fullest! Dean had argued incessantly that he was perfectly alright, and that he wanted to 'really' celebrate. Even Bobby knew that his meager celebration meal wasn't quite what Dean had in mind.
Bobby had sighed with relief after their earlier visit with the doctor, that morning, and couldn't suppress a grin of elation when Fred had given Dean a glowing bill of good health. The only dampening to the good news, however, was that the doctor still had minor concerns about Dean's head injury. With repeated instances of the hunter having obvious memory lapses, he was concerned Dean was perhaps suffering from more than a bad concussion. Fred warned him that he should still try to take things easy for a while. His other wounds were healing remarkably well, although Dean was reminded that patience was necessary: His fractured collar bone would take several weeks before it was completely healed, and it seemed his lacerated thigh would also take some time. Dean hadn't seemed overly impressed by the doctor's advice.
"He must be ok, 'cause he took off." Sam snapped back with obvious animosity. His blank, steadfast expression screamed 'I should have known he'd pull this kind of stupid stunt!' Trying to deal with his own confused, battered and bruised emotions was exhausting enough; dealing with Dean's obstinate denials of anything out of the ordinary was far too overwhelming. Playing the role of his brother's keeper was grueling; playing Dean's keeper was near impossible!
"He what?" Bobby grunted in disbelief as he dumped the bags of groceries on the small dining table by the window. "When?"
"About an hour ago now. I went to take a leak…" Sam sighed, "and when I came out, he was gone."
"Damn it!" Bobby exclaimed. There was no denying there was something very off about Dean. It had had Bobby concerned almost from the moment they'd arrived at Fred's. To think of him wandering the streets was troubling to say the least. Aside from his obvious injuries, Bobby still couldn't entirely ignore that he may have a possible brain injury, not to mention his traumatized psyche. Dean just hadn't seemed himself since the ordeal. He simply wasn't quite right! The kid could lie to all and sundry, 'til Hell froze over, but Dean wasn't fooling anyone! He had a lot of healing to do, physically and emotionally.
"Well, he's on foot, if that's any consolation." Sam explained, pulling the Impala's key's from his jeans pocket in way of proof. "So he won't get far. And we're still totally and utterly broke so…" Sam shrugged his shoulders; what Dean could possibly be doing was beyond him. He had no money, or usable credit cards and he was still hobbling around like an old man with gout.
"I suppose that's something…" Bobby mused. "Where the hell would he go?"
"I don't know." Sam sighed. He'd already checked in a few of the bars and clubs, problem was, the motel was smack in the middle of the seedy side of town. Dean could have been anywhere! "I went looking for him, but he completely Houdini-ed me!"
"So what do we do?" Bobby remarked. "Just stick our thumbs up our asses and wait?"
Sam shrugged, he'd run out of ideas. "You think that… He will be all right… won't he?" Sam, beneath his obvious annoyance at Dean's thoughtlessness, was clearly worried.
"He's a big boy…" Bobby remarked trying to reassure them both. "Did he take his phone?"
"He may have, but it's switched off." Sam frowned, already having tried to call him from the motel phone. "Even if he tried to call me, Ruby took my cell, remember. I doubt he'd remember the motel number."
Even though they'd tried to contact Ruby over the past week, Sam's phone rang out with every attempt. Bobby was pretty sure she was long dead. He'd tried scrying for her, they'd tried summoning her, but every attempt had come up empty. At best Ruby had disappeared… at worst she was dead.
Bobby nodded. If Dean wanted to get in touch with them he had Bobby's number on speed dial, so chances were Dean had done another intentional disappearing act. Something he was becoming a master at.
"Damn him…" Bobby muttered. "I wish I could damn him to Hell for this little prank, but I suppose, under the circumstances, I'd just be tossin' him outta the frying pan!"
oooOOOooo
Dean had made his way to 'Lenny's', a small pool hall three blocks down from the motel. Even as he limped into the dark and dingy establishment his hobbling form caught the attention of a number of patrons, the female portion quite happy to allow their eyes to remain fixed on the handsome, if not disheveled, new comer. Fred had graciously acquired a walking stick for him, as his leg was still more than a little hindrance in mobility for him, so he lumbered in with a defiant, debonair swagger. The motel room, the monotonous midday garbage the TV had to offer and the stifling, molly-coddling attentions of Sam and Bobby had become tiresome. He was alive and he was free, and he was damned well going to enjoy himself!
Lenny's was bustling, to say the least, at the rather early-evening hour. Aside from a dozen or so pool tables, there were numerous booths boasting their fair share of patrons enjoying the loud music, munching on hamburgers and baskets of fries. The dance floor hadn't quite got them hopping yet, however the bar was doing a fair trade with thirsty customers. Dean made a beeline for the pool tables, where a number of games were in progress, most of which seemed highly profitable.
It wasn't long before he'd 'silver tongued' his way into a game of pool. With his obvious injuries Dean hardly appeared as much of a threat. His sleek black cane was a sure indication he had a bung leg of some sort, and he was still sporting a spectacular pallet of color across his eye and brow, although much of the now healing gash was just hidden beneath his hair. The bandage around his right forearm peeked out from his jacket sleeve. He had already removed his sling, before entering the pool hall, which was meant to support his busted left collar bone, as it was more of an encumbrance, than help.
A short, stocky, rusty haired man, who'd introduced himself as Mike, was swiftly and easily suckered into a wager without Dean so much as having to show proof of the staked funds. Of course he didn't actually have any funds. Dean swapped his cane for a cue stick, lumbering awkwardly, but defiantly, to the opposite side of the pool table. Even as Tom broke, and proceeded to pot three balls, a confident, victorious glimmer remained steadfast in Dean's eye and played upon his grin. Twenty minutes later he smiled contently as Tom handed over a crisp new fifty. It was like shooting fish in a barrel.
A small group of women, dressed far too scantily and seductively for a pool hall, hovered close to him, and he smiled and flirted with them, despite the envious and resentful glares from the men. It only helped to fuel the competitive nature of his potential opponents; they couldn't, after all, engage in a brawl of retaliation with the obviously debilitated Casanova. But there wasn't a man in the pool hall that wasn't keen on whippin' his ass at the pool table. And there wasn't one that wasn't left out of pocket after the experience. The elder Winchester was a gifted pool player but an even shrewder hustler. In this instance his cocky and blatantly arrogant persona only stimulated his competitors' desire to challenge him.
Some hours later, with his pockets fully lined he graciously declined further challenges and made his way to a darkened corner. His limp had become pronounced and his leg was obviously troubling him more than he'd like to admit. He took up comfortable residence in a booth, with well-worn couches and a crudely graffiti-ed table, and proceeded to indulge his thirst for alcohol and a couple of admiring, fine looking women. One could be forgiven for thinking some of the girls had been riding on the wagers as well, much to the angry distain of the disgruntled men left both fleeced and unaccompanied. Hustling as a rule tended to be frowned upon, and most of the defeated men in the pool hall were resentful of Dean's out right, arrogant sting. For the time being he was reasonably safe from reprisal: No real man could save face by challenging him to a fight, at least not so long as the men were sober enough to maintain such valor. Had he been in perfect health, odds on he'd already be swinging fists by now.
As he indulged in a cigar, he savored a double-bourbon with delight. He had two sexy women by his side, pandering to his every whim. They were regulars if their obvious acquaintance with most of the staff and many of the patrons was anything to judge by. As the night wore on several of the men requested a rematch, a chance to win back their losses, however Dean had simply cast them a roguish grin and declined. He'd played enough and now he was content to relax and enjoy the admiration of his two pretty admirers. He leaned back with a smug grin of audacity on his face, puffing out smoke circles like an expert. He raised his glass in a mock toast to his irritated audience. The open affections of the two prettiest women in the place had gained him no Brownie points either, and his antagonizing leers of victory directed at the disgruntled men even less so. Unfortunately, his injuries, although they maintained a certain degree of protection, were steadily becoming but a paltry defense. He gazed cautiously at the men, who glared back at him angrily from across the room. The more they drank the angrier they were getting and it wouldn't be long before their vague restrained gallantry evaporated with their sobriety. It was, after all, a seedy pool hall, and a good brawl was often upon the night's agenda. Fists would probably soon swing!
With something of a death wish he blatantly nodded at the men with a conceited smirk of smugness, almost as if he welcomed the physical challenge. As he inhaled, with relish, upon another cigar, he glared back defiantly at the stares of resentment from the small group of mostly inebriated men. With growing concern for her claim upon him, it was one of his female acquaintances who urged Dean to leave.
"Baby, let me take you home…" She whispered in his ear with a velvety smooth tone. "Looks like the boys are wantin' to play rough. I just know we can have so much more fun doin' somethin' else…"
She flicked her shoulder length, auburn hair from her face, blinked her overly shadowed eyes at him and pouted her cherry-red lips seductively. She made sure to lean forward just enough so that he could see straight down her low cut top to the sight of her perfectly shaped breasts. He had become something of a prize between the two, seductively, yet scantily clad, women; each vying for his every attention and his newly stuffed wallet.
"What makes you think I accept lifts from just anyone?" Dean teased, openly challenging her morality.
"Oh, I'm not just anyone." She whispered in his ear in a soft sultry voice. "I'm your every fantasy. Believe me, you won't regret it."
"Well. I don't know…" Dean grinned as he coveted the blonde on his other side. "I'm not sure what I'm in the mood for." It was like choosing between Scotch and Bourbon.
The blonde grinned, casting a victorious grin in Mandy's direction. However, Mandy was not about to give in that easily. "Mmm, but I'll do anything you want me to." She offered as she gazed at him from upturned, seductive, brown eyes as her hand caressed his upper thigh.
"But if you want real thrills… if you wanna try something so different it'll blow your mind, and…" The blonde smiled, raising her eyebrows with zealous suggestion. "… well let's just say I'm very flexible… I do yoga…"
Dean leaned back and contemplated his choices. "Hmmmm… I don't know. What's in it for me?" His eyes glimmered mischievously from one to the other.
"Ohh Baby! Anything you want!" Mandy did not hesitate.
Dean simply smiled at her in recognition of her triumph.
oooOOOooo
"You know, now-a-days people will sell their souls for nothing more than a good parking space." Dean muttered as they drove the few minutes back to the motel. He had first hand experience of the raging trade in souls… and Mandy's would be no different. Mandy was clearly expecting to alleviate him of a fair portion of his night's winnings. She had a definite experience about her that suggested she was one of the many who could claim to be part of the world's oldest profession. If only she knew where she was headed, because she'd pretty much already forfeited her soul…
She glanced at him briefly, oblivious to his inference, but presuming he was speculating on just how much his night with her would cost him. Haggling was, after all, all part of the business…
"You want a parking space or me, Baby?" She whispered coyly. "Cause I promise, you ain't gonna stay parked for long!"
He grinned at her, from ear to ear. "Oh, Mandy, I want you… All of you." His eyes were fixed on her breasts as her chest heaved, intentionally, with every breath.
"I want you too, Baby." She gloated at her victory. The usual, low-life, Neanderthal prospects at the Pool Hall were pretty piss-poor, however the clientele were certainly reliable; her bread and butter so to speak. Dean was definitely the cream!
"So…" He peered at her with a roguish smile still playing at his lips. With the colorful bruising around his eye transmuting through all the colors of the rainbow he had a definite wounded hero, bad-boy appeal. His green eyes sparkled deviously in the dim street lights as they remained fixed on hers with an unwavering desire. "Just what do I have to pay, to buy you, body and soul?" He pondered.
She contemplated for a moment, speculating just how high a price she could demand. Knowing that he was well and truly cashed up, she aimed high. "Two hundred." She glanced at him from the corner of her eye, wanting to appear confident, and worth the price, whilst still gauging his response.
He smiled playfully in response as he chuckled with glee. "Sold!"
oooOOOooo
Even before Mandy had turned the ignition off on her bright yellow Honda, once they had parked outside the motel, Sam had launched himself out of their room door.
"Damn it Dean…" He demanded angrily ripping the car door open and confronting Dean as he endeavored to unfold himself out of the compact hatch back. "Where the hell have you been?"
"Yeah… Hell!" Dean retorted sarcastically. "So now I'm livin' it up. You got a problem with that Samuel?" He sneered with a hint of resentment; Sam was definitely an all-round party pooper!
Sam fumed, however the same injuries that had only just saved Dean from a pool hall brawl, were working their enchantment on the younger brother as well. Dean gazed at Sam, his green eyes seeming even greener with the contrasting background pallet of colorful, fading, bruising. He sneered at his brother as he protectively supported his injured arm and collar bone in his grasp. Sam clenched his fists angrily as he glared back at Dean, contemplating his brother's callous thoughtlessness. However, it was hard to be too tough on him as he struggled painfully to alight the car.
"Hey listen, I don't do gang bangs!" Mandy huffed angrily at Sam as she made her way to Dean's side. Sam gazed back at her with a confused expression.
"Course not, I don't like to share either." Dean whispered to her. "I think maybe we should find ourselves our own room…"
"The hell you are!" Sam objected. "You think Bobby's gonna fork out for that? For her?"
Dean chuckled confidently. "I'll pay." He tried to pull himself up to full height whilst leaning heavily on his cane as he retrieved his small wad of notes from his pocket as proof.
"Where the hell did you get that?" Sam demanded.
"I earned it." Dean smirked as he pulled the girl close to him and flirted with her with a teasing brush of his lips over her brow. Her tacky bright red stilettos almost brought her up to Dean's chin; and it placed her almost bare ass just within his appreciative grasp. His eyes remained defiantly on Sam.
"What? How?" Sam queried.
"Baby, you don't have to tell him…" Mandy interrupted, holding her arm around Dean in a protective sign of possession. "Who does he think he is?"
"Relax Mandy… he's just … my brother." Dean explained. "My very over protective, molly-coddling, brother!" Dean spat the relationship out with noticeable loathing.
"Damned right!" Sam snapped back. "You're hurt Dean, you nearly died! And if you're not gonna look after yourself, I'm gonna do it for you!" Sam insisted.
"Great, get us a room then, will you?" Dean smirked mischievously.
"No Dean, I'm not getting you a room!" Sam spat at him with growing frustration. "And there's no way you're well enough for…. umm… any kinda… this!"
Mandy glared at Sam vindictively for attempting to interrupt her intended transaction with Dean. "Let's just go…" She urged the elder Winchester.
"Dean, I swear to god, if I have to, I'll tie you up and drag you back in here!" Sam snapped angrily, hazel eyes blazing with frustration.
"You thinkin' Mandy might like a bit of kinky… Yeah… bondage!" Dean smirked, as Mandy giggled at his quip. "Why Sam, you rogue!"
"Mandy…" Sam addressed her directly, with a stern frown. She was definitely dressed to impress, with a tacky vinyl miniskirt far too short for the chilly night, and a gaudy crimson wrap-around top that left nothing to the imagination. "I think it's time you go."
"What?" She objected, prepared to stand her ground. "No way!"
"I said GO!" Sam snapped angrily at her as he towered menacingly over her and reached for Dean's elbow. She cowered backwards, looking to Dean to raise an objection.
"Why Samuel…" Dean grinned, "getting a little testy are we? Or jealous? Maybe Mandy should invite her friend over… Sally. She was pretty hot. You could use a little therapeutic release…" Dean smirked at Sam as he cradled the woman in his arms and then proceeded to lavish her with a long passionate kiss. She was excitedly impressed and began to lay her arms about his neck in a tight embrace; however Dean stepped backwards, away from her. "Actually, you'd best head on home Mandy, party's over. I don't think my brother's gonna let us have that room. I think this should cover what I owe you…" He grinned with a wicked glimmer in his eyes and tucked a number of folded fifties into her cleavage. Then he slapped her on the ass and shoved her back towards her car. She gazed back at him with apparent confusion; she'd definitely had more amorous intentions in mind…
"Will I see you again?" She stammered hopefully. "At Lenny's?"
"Maybe…" Dean grinned. "If you're lucky."
"No, you won't!" Sam stated defiantly, to both Dean and the woman. "Are you outta your mind?" He snapped at Dean, scrutinizing him with an examining glare, almost ready to drag him back into the protection of the motel room with force if need be. Dean returned his glare with a cool stare of his own, he wasn't about to be intimidated by his overly protective kid brother, even if he did stand a half head taller!
Dean winked at Mandy before he hobbled back towards their room. Bobby was at the door, with a frown of frustration and anger plastered across his face. "You pulled some stunts in your time, Dean Winchester, but this…" Bobby was so angry he hadn't the words to convey his disappointment in his pseudo-son.
"What?" Dean snapped back conceitedly. "I went out for few hours! I am a big boy you know; I'm perfectly capable of…"
"The hell you are!" Bobby roared. "You selfish little shit! You got any idea how worried we've been? That crack to your skull has really screwed you up! Do you even realize that you could have bleedin' on the brain? And you go off gallivanting with some two-bit hussy? Since when did you ever have to pay for a cheep bit of gutter-trash like that?" Bobby spat out with loathing. "And… the hell if you don't even smell like a brothel too! You been drinkin'… and smokin'?"
"None of your business!" Dean retorted furiously. "Like I even give a damn what you think! Just who the hell do you think you are? You interfering old coot! You're certainly not my father! You don't even come close!"
If the breaking of a heart could be heard, all those, in a 50 mile radius, would have been deafened by Bobby's. It was more than just broken, Dean had, in those few words, annihilated it. Bobby's face dropped in complete grief. He was crushed. "Ain't never thought I was…"
"Damn it Dean, you didn't mean that!" Sam retaliated. "You didn't…"
Dean simply glared back with a vicious sneer to his mouth. "Yeah I did. Who the hell does he think he is? Freaking Team Mascot or something?" He hobbled to the kitchenette and opened the fridge. "I'm hungry, got anything to eat?"
"Looks like I'm not welcome any more." Bobby muttered as he moved to his duffle. He glanced at Sam, who tried to convey a consoling gaze, however Bobby shook his head grimly as he shoved his belongings into the bag with trembling hands. He just didn't know how to face Dean now. The elder Winchester had been out of sorts for the last week, certainly not himself. He'd been short-tempered and irritated, like a bear with a sore head. Both Sam and Bobby had put it down to his injuries, and the close call with death… and Hell. But as time passed Dean's attitude was spiraling downwards, into hatred, loathing and full-on rage. Bobby shouldn't have been surprised by Dean's scathing verbal attack; it had cut to the bone. But now he'd had enough, right now, no amount of apologies was going to make amends. Bobby was hurt.
"Bobby, please… he's just drunk." Sam begged. He couldn't face being left to contend with Dean on his own, not this new, conceited, out-of-control, self-consumed Dean. "Don't go."
Bobby shook his head, and mumbled softly to himself, something along the lines of 'Freaking Team Mascot! I know who the hell I am!... Help save his damned ass… all the thanks I get…damned pig-headed, self consumed, shit-head… just like his damned father… ain't gotta hang around for this!'
It was breaking his heart, Dean was breaking his heart. He really didn't want to leave the brothers, but they all had issues they needed to resolve, he just wasn't sure he had the strength to watch Dean's death wish blossom, not after all they'd been through. Dean, it would appear, needed to deal with more than his latest escape from death, something far more sinister was eating away at his psyche. Bobby just couldn't hang around and watch as he self-destructed, taking down everything, and everybody around him in the process. His little jaunt to Lenny's and his attempted fling with Mandy was simply the tip of the ice berg. Dean Winchester was in one hell of a tail spin, apparently straight back into Hell!
"Please Bobby…" Sam pleaded. "Please don't go… I need you..."
"Damn it Samuel let him go!" Dean snapped. "Interfering, old…"
"Shut up Dean!" Sam shouted back. "You inconsiderate, ungrateful…" Sam stammered for words to convey his anger. "Bobby just hauled your damned ass outta Hell, and this is how you show your thanks?"
"Huh!" Dean huffed with exaggerated surprise. "Samuel, you're the one who pulled me out! So what, now I gotta be eternally grateful? What happened exactly, I somehow sell my soul to the old man instead now?"
Bobby glared at Dean as he gritted out the only retaliation he could think of. "I ain't old!"
"What the hell is wrong with you?" Sam demanded.
"Exactly…" Dean snipped. "Damn Samuel, I just got outta Hell, I'm alive! So from now on I'm gonna enjoy every last minute I get Top Side! I'm not hangin' around here, day after day, cooped up like some freakin' helpless invalid! You wanna tell me what's wrong with that?"
"Damn it Dean, can't you at least wait 'til you're better first?" Sam demanded. "Look at you, you hankering to bust open your sutures, or aggravate your collar bone? And where's your damned sling?"
Sam moved to physically search his brother for the gauze sling. Just how Dean had managed to wander around without it, Sam had no idea. Sam figured he must be in agony by now. Dean cast him a glare worthy of a vaporizing machine, however conceded to at least pull the sling from his jacket inner pocket and made a flourished display of putting it back on.
"Happy now?" Dean demanded.
"No!" Sam snapped back. "You'd better apologize to Bobby, or so help you…"
"Or what? What you gonna do? Chuck me back into the infernal pit?" Dean mocked. He paused and contemplated Sam's flushed face. Sam was fuming, beyond words, and verging on snapping Dean physically back into some semblance of common decency. Dean smirked back. "Been there, done that, what's next on the itinerary?" He knew just how to push Sam's buttons!
Sam cuffed him by his jacket collar and shoved him against the wall. "Yeah, maybe I should!" He snapped angrily. "What's wrong with you? Your brush with Hell, turn you into a complete asshole?"
Dean made a point of wincing at Sam's manhandling, clutching at his mauled shoulder and fractured clavicle. "Huh?… Who's being… the asshole… now?" He groaned trying to pry Sam's firm grasp away. "What happen Samuel… you finally grow some?"
"You're really on a roll aren't you?" Sam sniped, his grip firm. "Enough with the 'Samuel' already, it's really not funny!" Sam retorted irately. Dean seemed to find some base, childish, amusement out of taunting him with his proper name, only because the Crossroad Demon, Kalfu, had done so. And it was working extremely well; it had finally got an angry rise out of him.
"Believe me Samuel, I don't do 'funny'!" Dean retorted with a penetrating glare, verging on malevolent.
Sam hesitated for an instance at Dean's mock claim. Dean didn't do 'funny'? 'Goof-Ball' was practically his middle name! He frowned with confusion, was this how Dean was going to be from now on?
"It's Sam, all right!" Sam released his grip on his brother's jacket, prepared to be the one to back down, and hope that things might return to some kind of normal – Winchester normal at any rate. Dean was never good at dealing with emotions, or injury… Sam just had to wait until Dean could process everything, or so he tried to convince himself.
Dean shoved Sam's shoulder in reprisal as he pushed past him. "Fine 'Sam'… Shoulda known you wouldn't have the balls!"
Sam glared at him intensely. "That's what all this is about? You're actually buckin' for a fight?" Sam demanded.
"Trust me Sam." Dean rebuked. "If I'd have wanted a fight I coulda had one back at Lenny's, with some real men…" He grimaced with pain, as he limped past Sam, his hand clutched at his injured shoulder. "Just interested in how much 'man' you actually got in you."
Sam gulped with duel emotions and he shook his head in disbelief. His rage still boiled, however guilt flooded him for having hurt his brother. He knew that he had to let himself calm down, had to let Dean calm down. He had to distance himself…
Sam staggered away, pausing to glance at Bobby as he slumped onto the small couch, running his hands through his thick brown mane. He wondered how their lives could have turned so ugly, so fast. It was almost as if Hell had followed them, or more precisely had followed Dean, out of the raging inferno.
"Well… this ain't quite how I'd pictured us celebratin'." Bobby muttered.
"Celebrate? Great! So, where's the beer and what's to eat?" Dean grinned at them, not quite with his usual roguish innocence, but rather a conniving attempt to settle the dust.
With Dean in pain, Sam couldn't bring himself to continue confronting his brother about his childish stunt. He had to concede; he and Bobby both, had been smothering him. And Dean was never one to accept buckets of TLC; usually he couldn't even bring himself to admit when he was hurt!
Sam forced himself to let it go. Once Dean stopped hurting he knew things would get better, or he hoped so. He knew from experience there were things Dean had to sort out for himself, in his own time. Things that Dean would usually bottle up for so long they would explode of their own accord, and then things could settle again… Sam wasn't looking forward to that eruption, not if all this were the initial tremors. Instead of pushing the issue Sam resigned himself to prepare Dean what was left of Bobby's celebratory meal.
"Please Bobby, stay." Sam pleaded with his trusted friend as Dean demolished the inch thick steak. "Dean just needs to accept everything's ok."
"Sam, Dean needs a good kick in the ass." Bobby glared at him with all seriousness. "I don't know what's gotten into him, but it ain't good. I know he can be a conceited, arrogant, pig-headed, self-righteous shit at times, but right now he's outta control… and it ain't gonna end well."
"What can I do, Bobby?" Sam begged giving Dean a brief glance. Dean seemed content to ignore them, wolfing down the medium rare morsel with delight.
"I wish I knew…" Bobby sighed. "Maybe he'll calm down eventually… maybe if we just get him back into some kind of normal."
"What, you don't mean like a hunt?" Sam frowned. Dean was hardly up to brushing his own teeth, let alone tackling some kind of evil or handling a deadly weapon!
"Well… no, not yet." Bobby seemed to agree. "But maybe get him into, I dunno, lookin' for one… researching?"
Sam's dumbfounded expression said it all. Dean, doing research? That really was so not the right tact.
"Yeah, you're right. Look Sam I dunno…" Bobby sighed, softening to Sam's pleading. "I guess we're all getting a bit of cabin fever stuck in here all day long."
Sam nodded. Cabin fever was right. Being stuck with a troubled, hurting, cooped up Dean Winchester was bordering on a fever of Black Plague proportions!
Outside another storm began to rage, with a dazzling display of lightning lighting the skies, as thunder ripped through the noise of the down pour that accompanied it.
oooOOOooo