Yes, it's been a while. Thought I forgot about this AU, huh? I'm still not sure where it's going to end but, by request, we're going to take a serious detour from canon real soon. Really hope you continue to enjoy the ride!

Big thanks to Kanarah J and charis-kalos for their editing and constant and consistent support.

Chapter Sixteen: Junkyard Dogs

(Devil's Trap)

Dean clenched his jaw in an attempt to reign in his complaints. Sam drove his car to that damn salvage yard. Bobby Singer was one of the last people on Earth Dean would ever go to for help; he didn't care if the man was the utmost authority on demons.

"Look," Sam kept trying to convince him that this stupid idea was a good one, "I understand you have some issues with Bobby, but he's a good man. He'll help us."

Dean drummed his fingers on the armrest. Sam really expected him to buy that load?

"Dean? Can you just trust me on this one?"

Dean's head snapped to the side. "Sam. You know I trust you."

"Good." Sam's head bobbed. "Then relax a little, okay? Bobby's not going to come after us with a shotgun."

Dean snorted, but he tried to relax. He forced his fingers not to tap nervously. "Yeah, I'll believe that when I see it."

Sam shot him a smile that wasn't entirely reassuring, but it took the knots out of his stomach. He turned up the radio to drown out any more of Sam's platitudes. He trusted Sam plenty, with his life. But Bobby? Bobby Singer was the one he didn't trust. That man shouted some pretty nasty things as he and Dad ran off last time, firing that shotgun over their heads.

Sam pulled into the salvage yard, where nice old cars went to die a slow death by rust. Bobby met them outside the house, shotgun in hand. Dean reached for the glove compartment, where his extra piece was, but Sam stopped him.

"Hey, Bobby!" Sam called out the window as he parked.

Bobby had this confused look on his face. Dean couldn't help his glare. If Bobby took a shot at Sam, he wouldn't be responsible for his actions. One thing was for sure, it'd be the last damn time Bobby fired that shotgun.

Sam quickly explained the situation and then Bobby invited them inside. Dean had the nasty impression Bobby was giving him the evil eye, which made him wonder if you really could curse somebody just by looking at him. Well, if everything Sam said about Bobby was true, he'd know how to do it.

"Bobby? You've met Dean, right?" Sam asked as he crashed on Bobby's ancient sofa, a dust cloud erupting around him.

Bobby stared hard at Dean before answering. "We've met."

"Good. Then I don't have waste time explaining. We need to figure out a way to get Dad away from those demons." Sam had that almost-panicked tone to his voice.

"Uh, Sam?" Bobby tilted his head toward the kitchen. "Mind helping me grab a few cold ones before we get started?"

Sam started to get up. Dean moved to stand between them. "Maybe he does mind," he snapped, facing Bobby.

Bobby's eyes narrowed and he looked real similar to the way he had when he pulled the shotgun. "And maybe my aim will be better this time," Bobby growled.

Dean stepped closer, until he was in Bobby's personal space. "Maybe you won't have the chance."

Long arms pressed between them. "Back off!" Sam shouted. "Bobby! Dean! Back off!" Sam held them apart at arm's length, and with the length of Sam's arms Dean wouldn't have a prayer of landing a punch at this distance.

Sam faced him first. "Damn it, Dean! Remember what we talked about in the car? You're gonna trust me on this one. Cool it!" Sam gave Dean a shove that had him staggering back a few steps.

Little brother spun to face Bobby. "Bobby, you're like family to me, but don't you ever threaten my brother like that again."

Now Bobby's jaw dropped and his brows drew tight together. After a moment Bobby cleared his throat. "Uh, Sam? You don't have a brother."

"I didn't have a brother. Now I do." Sam stared defiantly at Bobby, as if daring the older man to contradict him. "Weren't you going to offer us a beer?"

"Yeah. Yeah." Bobby scratched his head, temporarily displacing his ballcap. He disappeared behind the kitchen door.

Sam blew out a breath. "You," he pointed at the sofa, "sit."

Dean shrugged and headed for the sofa. He pulled his pistol out of his waistband first, though, and set it on the armrest as he sat. Better paranoid than dead, Dad always said. Sam rolled his eyes but he didn't say anything, just sat down next to Dean.

Bobby returned with three open beers. They looked awfully good, it was a pretty dry drive here. Dean took his but he wasn't sure if he should drink it. He heard another sigh from Sam, then Sam switched bottles with him. Sam made a production out of taking a long drink from the bottle that had been handed to Dean. Bobby just watched, never saying anything. Well, if they were both poisoned, then he'd die too. If just his had been poisoned, Bobby wouldn't live to regret the day he first met the Winchesters.

The cold beer tingled down his throat, washing away the dust of the road. Before he knew it, Dean had drained his bottle. He set the empty down on Bobby's coffee table. Sam jerked his head toward Bobby a couple of times. Was he kidding? Sam glared. Apparently not kidding.

"Thanks," he said grudgingly, under Sam's glare, "for the beer."

"Welcome," Bobby ground out, "for the beer."

"Bobby? What do we do about Dad?" Sam asked.

Bobby continued to stare at Dean as he answered. "You're sure he's not dead?"

Dean's hand clenched reflexively. "He's not dead," Dean growled, matching Bobby's stare.

"We have what they want," Sam explained. "Dad is their bargaining chip. They won't kill him before they get it."

Bobby actually took his eyes off Dean at that. "What do they want that bad?"

"Never mind," Dean snapped, gratified when Bobby's suspicious eyes returned to him. He stood up. "C'mon, Sam. We don't need him."

Sam stood to face him. "Yes, Dean, we do." He glanced between Dean and Bobby. "But you two junkyard dogs are going to have to stand down first." He sighed. "How about we clear the air a little?"

Sam faced Bobby. "We have a gun that will kill anything supernatural, even a demon. Why did you chase Dad and Dean off with a shotgun?"

It seemed to take Bobby a minute to catch up with Sam. He jerked his head toward the kitchen. Sam remained by Dean. Bobby jerked his head again.

"I can't protect you if you leave me here," Dean hissed.

Sam gave him a pained look. "I'll be fine, Dean. I swear. Back in a minute."

Dean picked up his gun, crossed his arms over his chest.

The glare Dean sent Bobby gave Sam chills. Sam motioned to Dean to stay there, near the sofa, before he followed Bobby into the kitchen. The instant the door swung closed, Bobby was on him.

"What the hell, Sam?" Bobby demanded. "You actually brought that man in my house?"

"Why not, Bobby?" Sam tried to stay calm, to let Bobby vent. "What happened? Why did you chase them off with a shotgun?"

Bobby took off his ballcap, wrung it in his hands. "Your daddy showed up here, needing some supplies. He introduced me to Dean, his new partner. Seemed like a nice enough kid." The hat twisted back and forth in Bobby's meaty hands. "But then I heard it. John ordered Dean to grab something from the car. Up til then he always said 'yes, sir.' That time, that time he said, 'okay, Dad.'" Bobby looked at the walls, the floor, anywhere but at Sam. "I guess I just…snapped."

Sam waited, but Bobby seemed to have run out of words. "Why? Why did you snap?"

Sam was not accustomed to seeing Bobby in such an emotional state. "He replaced you, Sam. I, uh, I couldn't take that."

Sam smiled at Bobby, finally understanding. He was getting there, closer to where Dean and Bobby were. "Dad didn't replace me, Bobby," Sam said gently. Bobby tried to turn away but Sam held him firm by both arms. "He gave me back the big brother I've been missing my whole life."

Bobby had the most lost and confused expression Sam had ever seen. "Do what?"

"I'm not trying to defend Dad, but he found that guy out there. He made him part of our family." Sam couldn't help the small laugh that escaped. "Dean's the closest to normal we've ever had, Bobby, which is really ironic because he's seriously screwed up. But he's the best friend I've ever had."

Sam tried to catch Bobby's eye. "Think you can cut him a little slack? Give him a chance?"

Bobby shrugged, still not looking at Sam. "I guess I can try." Then Bobby did look him in the eye. "But I still don't trust him."

"Do you trust me?" Sam demanded. Bobby nodded slowly. "Then you need to trust my judgment, and I trust Dean."

As Sam headed for the door he heard a soft squeak of floorboards, then nothing. He smiled to himself at Dean's protectiveness. Careful to blank his face before pushing open the door to the den, Sam stepped through. He heard Bobby mumble something about 'damned Winchesters' as the older hunter followed.

Dean stood a couple of steps away from the couch, gun still at the ready.

"Put that away," Sam ordered. He noticed Dean move instantly to obey, only hesitating when he was actually shoving the pistol in this waistband. "Bobby doesn't carry a gun, just the shotgun. He's not armed," Sam insisted. Dean nodded, releasing the gun at his back.

"So, are we ready to get Dad back, or are we going to waste more time with you two being macho jerks?" Sam demanded.

Dean rolled his eyes and motioned to Bobby, as if to say it was up to him. Bobby shook his head, like Dean was the thickest guy he ever met.

"I'll get the holy water ready. Sam, maybe you and your friend can clear the room under the trap." Bobby headed back to the kitchen.

"Your friend," Dean mimicked. He turned to face Sam. "What trap?"

Sam pointed straight up, at the Key of Solomon painted on the ceiling. "It traps demons. They can't get out from under it."

Dean studied it for a moment, that child-like expression of wonder on his face again. "Really? A demon trap, huh? That's cool. I like that."

"If you like that," Bobby said, blowing back through the room, "you're gonna love this." He tossed a book at Sam.

Sam caught it, flipped through a few pages. "Bobby, I know these exorcisms. I thought you had something new."

"It's not for you," Bobby snapped. He spun around to disappear back inside the kitchen.

Sam rolled his eyes, holding the book out for Dean. "I think this is his way of making nice. I don't suppose Dad taught you any Latin?"

Dean shrugged. "Just how to read and pronounce it. Can't understand a damn word."

"Yeah?" Sam grinned at that. "Good. That's all you really need to know. How good is your pronunciation?"

Dean shrugged again. "Dad said it was good, but I don't know if he was just being nice."

Sam couldn't help the short bark of a laugh that escaped. "Dad is never just being nice. You must be pretty good. Come on, help me move this table."

Between the two of them, it took a few hours to clear the center of the room from all of Bobby's piles of books. Sam noticed that the book Bobby left for Dean kept moving around the room, like Dean would forget it if he didn't keep finding a new spot for it. Then again, considering how terrible Dean was with names and sometimes directions, maybe his memory really was that bad.

"You can put that in the car," Sam suggested when the center of the room was clear.

Dean looked torn. Finally he shook his head. "Nah. You'll remind me if I forget, right?"

"Sure." Sam found it difficult to swallow as he remembered the fact Dean was once beaten badly enough to put him in a coma. The lack of a good memory did explain why Dean always needed to search through everything they owned every time he couldn't find something.

Sam started at the sound of one of Bobby's dogs barking outside. Dean moved to stand beside him. Sam could literally feel the energy pulsing from his brother. Then the dog suddenly went silent. Sam shared a look with Dean. They moved out from under the sigil, out of sight of the front door. Bobby set down a bucket of water near the kitchen door.

"Plenty more where that came from," he said, tilting his head toward the kitchen.

A knock sounded on the front door. Showtime.