Chapter Twenty-eight

Sam blinked hard, the disorienting swirling sensation making him dizzier than he thought possible. The fingers digging into his arm hurt like a son-of-a-bitch, too. He stumbled back a step, the fingers digging tighter.

"Ow!" Sam whined, sounding too much like a little kid for his liking.

The fingers instantly let up, followed by the sound of something hitting the ground. Sam rubbed his eyes, the world around him coming slowly back into focus: the dark night with the pretty stars and a few nice, old trees in this older neighborhood. Even the houses with the peeling paint were pretty nice, too.

He searched to see what hit the ground, his eyes landing on Dean with a nasty grimace on his face. Damn it! Dean's back! Sam fell to his knees beside his brother, worry filling his mind.

"Dean, what is it? Are you okay? Is it your back?" Sam grasped his brother's shoulders, wondering if his brother needed an ambulance.

"Back," Dean ground out. "Crap!" The word echoed down the street, bouncing off houses with peeling paint, through cyclone fences and past dented, rusting cars.

Long legs appeared behind Dean and massive hands reached down for him. Sam started to swat those hands away, until his eyes connected with piercing blue eyes and a warm smile.

"It's all right, Sam." Warm, comforting words flowed over and through him. Sam relaxed instantly, but he kept both hands on his brother. Mike kneeled down behind Dean and Sam thought he saw that awesome light glowing behind Dean's back. The mask of pain on Dean's face drained away, replaced by relief.

"All right," Dean said after a few minutes, "enough, Mike. I don't want to have to tip you."

Mike grinned at Sam over Dean's shoulder. "Like what? Redheads are more fun?"

Dean chuckled, motioning for Sam to help him up. As Sam pulled his brother to his feet, Dean replied, "I don't know, I've met a few brunettes who could give them a run for their money."

A throat clearing attracted their collective attention. As if they were all controlled remotely, Sam turned his head in unison with Dean and Mike. Gabriel stood a few feet away, tapping her foot insistently.

"Not to break up this testosterone fest," she said with a sneer, "but some of us have real work to do." Gabriel spun around, fading out completely as her back turned to them.

"She does have a point," Mike said with a sigh. "I should be going, too. You two keep in touch." Mike still stood behind Dean. Now he patted Dean's shoulder, in much the same way Dean often patted Sam's when they were kids. "You did a good job there, Dean."

A smile lit Dean's face as his eyes focused on Sam. "Yeah, I know."

Sam grinned back, barely noticing when Mike disappeared. "You look like you're feeling better."

Dean stretched his arms straight up in the air, then he rolled his shoulders and craned his neck from side to side. "Yep, much better. Mike even took care of the headache." He chuckled, shaking his head. "You know, I never thought I'd ever like that guy."

"Me either," Sam said, turning his brother around to head back to the house. "So, feel like leaving tonight or do you want to wait until morning?"

Dean glanced over, one eyebrow raised. "Don't we still have a couple of movies to watch?"

Sam wanted to throw an arm over his brother's shoulders for that, but he hesitated. Why did he hesitate? For the life of him, Sam could not figure it out. So he grabbed his brother by the shoulders. "I'd like that. We'll head out to Bobby's tomorrow. Or the next day."

He felt Dean's shoulders slump at that.

"Come on, Dean." Sam shook his brother a little. "It'll be good to see Bobby, won't it?"

Dean sighed. "I guess. If he doesn't try to shoot us."

"Come on," Sam argued. "Give the man some credit. It's Bobby." Since when did Dean not want to see Bobby?

Dean gave him a glance and did his brother look guilty. "Okay. Tomorrow."

"Everything will be fine, Dean," Sam assured his brother. He felt a thrill at being the one doing the reassurances for a change. Dean nodded, but did not look any happier. "Come on, Dean. I'll show you."

"Yeah?" Dean pushed open the door to the house. "How?"

Sam beamed. "I'll show you tomorrow."

Well it was tomorrow. Here they sat in the Impala outside of Bobby's house, staring at the front door. Dean used to think of this place as his favorite refuge. So why did it scare the crap out of him now?

"Dean?" Sam gave him those wide, innocent eyes. "What's wrong? We're going to see Bobby!" Sam gestured at the house. "You love this place!"

Dean glared at his overly happy brother. "That euphoria thing still hasn't worn off, has it?"

Sam beamed. "Nope!" His brother's door opened. "Let's go!"

If being stupid-happy was his brother's way of providing reassurance, Sam could keep it. However, Dean couldn't let his little brother go in there alone. He followed slowly, noticing that Sam waited at the door. When Dean was nearly within reach, Sam knocked. Obviously the euphoria thing hadn't affected Sam's intelligence, despite the stupid way his brother acted.

Dean held his breath as the door opened. Bobby stared at them a moment before the grizzled face broke into a wide grin. "Sam! Dean! Well don't just stand there, c'mon in!"

Dean tried to make himself relax as he crossed over the threshold, but he couldn't.

"Dean?" One of Bobby's hands grasped his shoulder. "You feeling all right? You look kinda sick."

Dean also could not make himself shake off Bobby's hand. "It's fine, Bobby. Nothing for you to worry about."

"You boys here to check up on me after that visit from your friend, Mike?" Bobby asked, eyeing Dean. Dean swallowed hard. "Well, how about a beer?"

Relieved, Dean nodded. Bobby disappeared into the back where the kitchen was.

"See?" Sam whispered. "No shotgun."

Dean glared back when he realized something. "Dang! I forgot to stop by The Grind. I really wanted some more of that coffee."

"What coffee?" Bobby asked, returning with three beers.

Dean resisted grabbing his and downing it. He felt a little more comfortable with the beer in his hand, though. "We met this cute chick on our last job who makes the best freaking coffee you've ever tasted. If I'd been thinking, we would've grabbed a couple of pounds for you."

Bobby shrugged. "Maybe next time. Drink your beer."

The first sip went down so smooth, Dean had to double-check that it was beer. It definitely had more kick than any beer he ever had.

"Whoa, that's some good stuff." He looked at Bobby. "Where did you get it?"

"D-d-dean?" Bobby took a shaky step backward.

Sam stepped up behind Bobby, preventing him from moving further away. "It's okay, Bobby. He can usually control it." Sam grinned from ear to ear. Dean felt a sickening sensation in his stomach.

"Control it?" Dean looked suspiciously at Sam and Bobby. "Control what?"

Sam waved his beer at Dean. "Looks like you might still need your sunglasses."

"Crap!" Dean rushed past them for the only mirror Bobby had on the first floor, in the bathroom. Yep, he had freaky glowing green eyes. "Damn!" The mirror shattered in its frame, splitting into three large fragments.

"Cool," Sam said from behind him with awe. "Dean can actually damn things."

Dean hung his head. This was not how he envisioned this visit. Then again, in his best scenario Bobby chased them off with a rocksalt shotgun. So, yeah, maybe this was an improvement. "Bobby," he started, turning around slowly, "I know you're probably…"

Bobby stood in front of him, mouth hanging wide open. "I think I need to sit down."

Bobby wandered down the hall. Sam grabbed Dean by the arm, dragging him along. They followed Bobby into the main room, where Bobby sunk down on his faded couch.

"So…" Bobby's head shook slowly. "You're a…" He looked up at Dean, squinting. "But how? And what the hell are you?"

Dean winced as a stabbing headache punctuated Bobby's words. He felt Sam's hand tighten on his elbow.

"Bobby," Sam said and his voice was serious for a change, "you're going to have to watch your language now."

"Uh, sorry. But what's going on here? What happened?" Bobby peered up at them, clearly wanting some sort of explanation.

Dean shrugged. "Honestly? I'm not sure."

"Dean beat Michael," Sam said.

"Michael?" Bobby asked, still staring. "As in the archangel? The guy you sent over here the other day?"

"I didn't send him," Dean protested. "He asked to come see you."

"Wait a minute." Bobby stood to face Dean. "Let's start at the beginning. How did this all start?"

Dean sighed, holding up his beer. "Can we get a couple more of these first?"

"Uh, Bobby?" Sam spoke up. "Hold the holy water if the eyes bother you."

Dean eyed his beer as Bobby left the room. "That's why it tasted so good?"

Sam laughed at him. "Of course it was. Bobby always adds holy water to the first beer he gives you."

"He does?" Dean shot his brother an incredulous look. "And how would you know that?"

Sam cleared his throat, looking away. Yeah, there was a story there someplace. It could be fun dragging it out of Sam later. Oh, wait. Was that how Bobby caught Sam the time that frigging demon Meg possessed his brother? That would make sense.

"Why would he do that if it changes the taste so much?" Dean asked.

Sam gave him a funny look. "Most people don't notice, Dean."

"Oh. Right. Water." He took another sip. Oh yeah, that was definitely the best beer he ever tasted. "Guess I can't drink it like this in public, huh?"

Sam laughed at him. "Guess not. I wouldn't mind if you did it at home, though. It doesn't bother me."

"No?" Dean picked an old easy chair to sit in. "I thought it freaked you out."

Sam grinned, sinking down into the couch. "Not anymore."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Euphoria."

"Euphoria?" Bobby asked, handing out fresh beers. "Is that something else I should know about?" He sat on the couch next to Sam. "So, who starts?"

Dean motioned to Sam.

"Well, it started right after we took out the demon," Sam said. He went on to explain how Michael took an interest in them, finding them special hunts, and showing up to harass Dean from time to time. "Then Dean got fed up and when Michael started one of those staring contests," Sam shrugged, "Dean won."

"And?" Bobby asked.

"And when you beat an angel in any kind of contest, there are repercussions," Dean explained.

"And when you beat an archangel?" Bobby's voice dropped suspiciously.

"Bigger repercussions," Sam answered for him. "He even has a job for them now."

Crap. Sam and his big freaking mouth.

"What kind of job?" Bobby asked, watching him curiously.

"Morale…" Sam started to answer.

"So, Bobby," Dean interrupted, not wanting to discuss what his current job might or might not be, "what did Mike want to talk to you about?"

The way Bobby shifted in his seat made Dean's stomach do a little lurch. He had the distinct feeling he was not going to like this.