Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural.
Please excuse my grammatical and spelling errors.
AN: I feel unbelievably guilty for not updating for such a long time. Please don't kill me. Needless to say, but my "update whenever I get the chance" plan didn't exactly pan out.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa! What the hell, Bobby?" Dean yelled hastily, as the older man pulled out a rather deadly looking iron knife. The blade was jagged, sixteen inches long, and caked in rust. And Dean had no intention whatsoever to get skewered by that thing.
Bobby had attempted to bash Dean's head in with the barrel of his gun but quickly abandoned his efforts when the only visible result of his actions was the now slightly dented gun barrel. And this was after Bobby had shot Dean multiple times to no avail.
To say that Bobby Singer wasn't happy would be an understatement. He was downright pissed. He had been trying to have a normal Tuesday evening, well as normal as it could get for him, and he even thinking about tinkering around with a few of the old trucks out back when what looked like one of Dean Winchester's clones appeared on his front porch.
Whatever that thing was, it was a dead ringer of the elder Winchester. He really hated those damn shapeshifters. Always sneaking around, stealing other folks' faces, and overall causing a whole shitload of trouble. True, being downright irritating was sorta in the job description of monster, but that didn't mean they couldn't take just one teensy little break every once in a while.
Dean backed away, his eyes still on the knife. Their little scuffle had taken them inside the rather windswept living room. He'd already had a several very narrow misses with the numerous devil's traps drawn into the floors, walls, and ceiling of the house. Only his prior knowledge of the placement of the symbols prevented him from getting stuck. He'd forgotten how paranoid the old hunter was but the thought was swiftly pushed to the back of his mind as the old man got angrier and angrier by the minute. This was not going to end well.
"What the hell are you?" Bobby roared, advancing on Dean who was slowly backing away, mindful of the devil's trap etched in to the wood floor a few feet to his left.
"Bobby, it's me," Dean said slowly, all the while chiding himself for being so stupid. Bobby wasn't going to listen to him. The second that the grizzled hunter found out what Dean was, he'd waste no time in ganking him or kicking his ass into next week. Dean hadn't had to worry about Sam's reaction as his little brother was too shocked to retaliate. But Bobby was different and would not hesitate to rip him a new one. He was screwed either way as most of the possible outcomes included at least one dead body and ending up on the wrong side of a thorough ass-kicking.
"Like hell ya are!" snarled Bobby, quivering with rage. It wouldn't be long before he fully blew up. "You're not Dean," he snarled, eyes narrowing in rage, "Go to hell!"
Dean gave a humorless snort, his eyes flashing pitch black and back to green again, as he said, "You know, I would, but you usually need to wait for an invitation. Bossman doesn't like when too many people pop down under unexpectedly." He stood there waiting for the inevitable explosion. With luck he might actually be able to shag ass before things got too out of hand.
If the situation hadn't been so tense and if times were different, Dean might have laughed at the almost comical expression on the older hunter's face. The look didn't last very long as Bobby recovered from his shock fairly quickly. Pointing the knife at Dean once again, the grizzled hunter opened his mouth and said something the demon had not been expecting.
"How could you let them do this do ya, boy?" the hunter said softly. His face was unreadable, but his eyes betrayed hints of what might have actually been sadness.
Dean blinked in surprise, stepped backwards and almost got himself caught in yet another devil's trap. Struggling to compose himself, Dean forced a smirk on his face as he said, "You must be getting soft in your old age. I was expecting a little more homicidal rage and little less gaping like a fish out of water. Take a picture, it lasts longer."
Bobby visibly bristled at this and stepped closer to the demon, retrieving a shotgun from the table that was most certainly loaded with rock salt. "I stand by my earlier statement," Bobby said, his voice steady, "You're not Dean. Dean would've never let this happen. He would've been stronger than this. He would've fought this. He would've found some way to hang on. So no, you're not Dean. Not anymore. Now you're just another ugly to put down."
Dean grinned at this. Two could play at this game. "And you're just another old hunter to slaughter. You hunters don't know how pathetic you really are. I mean you all think you can save the world, like what you're doing really is of any importance. Hell, I was like that too. But you can't fight a war that's already been lost. There's too much of this so called "evil" in the world. You can't fight back and the best you can do is try not to drown in it. It's useless, but you're just to blind to see it," he said tauntingly.
"I see what's going on here," Bobby spat, trying to appear more confident than he looked though he actually had noticed something. But, this wasn't exactly a situation you could feel self-assured in.
"Oh, do you," Dean snorted derisively. "Well then, enlighten me, old man," he said with a mocking smile.
"You're stalling," Bobby said with as much conviction as he could muster. "If you really wanted me kill me, I would've been dead before I even opened the door. But I'm still standing here breathing. You didn't come here just for a chat, but you're not quite up to killing me or whatever it is that you came here to do."
"I got my reasons for coming here," Dean lied smoothly, all the while mentally cursing himself. If he had only paid the slightest attention to where he'd been going then he would not be in this situation.
"Fine," Bobby said sharply and slammed the knife point down onto the table where its tip of the blade embedded itself in the wood and shook quietly as if noticing the almost tangible tension if the room. Dean frowned at Bobby, wondering what the hell had gotten into the old hunter.
"What's gotten your panties all in in a twist? Cause I have to say, you've lost me," Dean said, preparing himself for an attack.
Bobbly glared at Dean before responding. "We ain't getting anywhere with all this jibber jabber, and you sure ain't up to killing me, and I'm not quite up to ganking your sorry ass either. We're at stalemate and at this rate we'll still be at it till trumpet day comes."
"Let me get this straight," Dean said, a grin rising to his face. "You're going to let me go, pretend this never happened?"
"As I said, we ain't getting anywhere with all this nonsense. So I'll let you go this one time. Anything else would've been a waste of a whole lot of my time and energy. But next time, I'm warning you, you'll be looking down the barrel of my shotgun. Now get out of my house!" Bobby finished the last few words in a roar, raising the said shotgun threateningly.
"Same goes for you, Bobby. Till next time," Dean sneered before walking toward the open door. Before leaving, he grinned in Bobby's direction and then stepped through the door, vanishing before he had fully passed through the doorway.
Bobby cursed loudly and stomped back through his house to his living room, planning to mull things over with a little rotgut. Before he even sat down though, the phone rang loudly from the next room. Bobby sighed and trudged through the room, snagging a bottle from the counter before picking the phone up and answering. "Hello?"
"Bobby, it's Sam," was the frantic reply the grizzled hunter got in turn. "Dean's back."
"I know," Bobby cut in, "As a demon. He just dropped in on me."
There was a short pause before Sam responded, "I have a feeling that none of this will turn out well."
"Ya think, boy," Bobby said wearily into the phone before settling back on the couch. "Hold on for a second, Sam, "he said into the phone. "I'm definitely gonna need a drink first."
Laughing, Dean strolled down the sidewalk of some random town in Mississippi, marveling at how well the situation had turned out. He should've known that Bobby didn't have the balls to even pull the trigger. The hunter really had gone soft in his old age. While Dean did harbor a few reservations about killing Bobby, he, unlike the grizzled hunter, could've actually done it if the situation had come to it.
The only problem Dean was worried about was how messy the job could've and would've gotten. Bobby, no matter how old he was, was still a hunter and more than capable of doing some fairly extensive damage. The killing would've attracted attention which happened to be the very thing they were all trying to avoid.
But that didn't mean they couldn't have a little fun every once in a while. Hell, random chaos was usually encouraged. As long as it was low profile. To the humans at the very least.
A plan was already forming itself in Dean's mind. It wouldn't require too much effort and he hadn't been given any new orders yet. Might as well do something with the spare time while it lasted as he wouldn't be getting another break for a very long time. It was time to see how long his sudden burst of good luck was going to last.
I know some of your were probably expecting a big fight between Dean and Bobby, but my opinion is that especially at this point of the story, none of them would be up to it. On the other hand, I'm just glad I was able to post this. You know I actually planned to post Chapter 7 in January if you can believe it.