I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry! I had no intention of taking this long to post the next chapter. It seems like all I've done is make excuses and I hate doing that. But I've been sick all week, and not really lucid enough to do much more than stare dumbly at the television screen before passing out into oblivion. And in case none of you have figured it out yet, I'm at the stage where I have run out of pre-written material and am now trying to pound something out on a weekly basis. I don't know why I do this to myself! Haha. ANyway, here is the next chapter. Hopefully it makes up for the extra week it took to post. And I promise to try and get another chapter out by next week.
As always, thank you so much for your patience and kind reviews. It really makes writing these things worthwhile, and makes me want to go faster and be better. Hope you all enjoy! nc
Getting Dean into the car to go to Bobby's proves to be easier than Sam had originally anticipated, yet he fears that his brother's compliance will be short lived. Right now Dean is silent, but the explosion is fast approaching. It's only a matter of time.
They've been on the road for an hour now without a word passing between the two, and before that half a day in the motel. It's the silence that tips Sam off to the fact Dean's furious, because normally Dean is all about screaming and berating Sam for stupid mistakes and misguided errors, but when he goes beyond mad to furious he stops talking altogether and commences stewing in his own juices.
At the rate Sam is driving they will make Bobby's in time to have a late dinner and he wants to have this argument over with by the time they pull up. It's not Bobby's fault Dean doesn't want to share his most recent misfortune with the older hunter, and the last thing Sam wants to do is make the man feel as though his offer to help is unappreciated.
"So are you ever going to talk to me?" Sam finally asks.
He glances over at Dean and feels another pang of remorse at the way his brother flinches when Sam's voice comes from out of nowhere. Dean's leaning against the window of the car, eyes open but staring at nothing out the windshield. His hands hesitantly grace the lines of the car, running over the smooth leather, fingering the plastic buttons and metal trim.
He blinks, but says nothing, barely acknowledging that Sam has even asked a question, too lost in his own thoughts.
It has been weeks since Dean has seen the dark interior of his beloved Impala, the vast stretch of highway spreading out before him, his brother's tentative smile. It's been weeks since the last sunset, the last greasy diner menu, the last dusty excuse for a motel room. Images of things Dean had previously taken for granted are now fading from his memory faster than he can keep up with.
He can barely remember now whether Sam has one dimpled cheek or two. Can't recall if the buttons on the Impala's radio glow white or yellow. Is his newest toiletry bag blue with red trim or is it red with blue trim? It didn't really matter before - before all that stuff was just there, right in his line of sight day in and day out. Storing those things didn't seem necessary because he could see them whenever he wanted.
But that was all before. Before Aberdeen, Kentucky. Before the Klower demon. Before he made a stupid mistake. The most fateful move of his lifetime. Of Sam's.
And now Sam wants him to just soldier up and move on with his life, pretend like he's not clinging to the barest shred of sanity, of security, of hope. Sam thinks that Bobby will help, and maybe he will - help Sam. But for Dean, going to Bobby's feels like giving up, admitting defeat. As long as the rest of the hunting realm thinks that Dean Winchester is whole, capable, still in the fight, then there is still hope for Dean. But the minute even one person finds out he's blind it suddenly becomes real. And now Bobby knows.
"How could you, Sam?" Dean finally asks, voice so low Sam has to strain to hear what he's just said.
"Dean?" Sam is all ears, ready for this regardless of how it's going to go down. Anything is better than silence.
"I asked two things of you. Give me space and give me privacy. You couldn't do either one."
"It wasn't what's best for you."
"You sure about that, Sam? Or is it that it wasn't what was best for you?"
Sam's silence is enough to give Dean his answer, and he chooses not to press for a confirmation. "We already had out the issue of space, so I'm not getting back into that one. But then we don't go five minutes content in our new understanding before you go and drop this bombshell on me about Bobby. I asked you not to call him and you promised you wouldn't."
The hurt in Dean's voice is unmistakable and Sam can't help the churning in his gut as he realizes just how betrayed his brother is feeling right now. That was never his intention, but then again it wasn't as though his call to Bobby hadn't taken days to work up to. It wasn't like he hadn't known Dean would be pissed beyond words to find out he'd called the man in the first place. So, in some ways, Sam realizes he is getting exactly what he'd asked for.
"Bobby can help you, Dean," Sam all but whines. "He can help both of us. Going to his place means better research, more connections, stability that you won't get moving across the country from motel to motel. It's a good idea."
"I hate to break it to you, Sam, but Bobby ain't exactly a neat freak. You've seen all those books he's got lying around, and the junkyard...I might as well put on the body amour now. It'll save me from a few thousand bruises."
Sam sighs, a loud, lengthy, sound of frustration. "Could you just give this a chance? You like Bobby, you know his place probably better than anywhere else we could go, and it's not like he's gonna go blab this all over the country. The rest of the world will be none the wiser."
Dean has to give credit to his little brother; he hadn't realized the kid was quite as perceptive as he clearly is, having just touched on the highlight of his reason for not wanting to go to Bobby's. But still, just cause Sam can still channel his psychic boy talents doesn't mean Dean's about to let him off the hook.
"And what happens when one of his buddies stops in for a chat, or...or needs some help with research on a hunt? What happens when someone calls him to check in and one of us accidentally answers?"
"That's not going to happen, Dean. How often do people just drop in at Bobby's? How often do we answer his phone for him? Come on, Dean, use your brain for once. I know you've got one."
Damnit, point 2 for Sammy. I must be off my game. "I just don't like it, Sam. What more do you want me to say?"
"I want you to say you'll give it a chance," Sam cries in exasperation. "I want you to tell me that I'm right, that it was a good idea for me to get Bobby in on this one. I want you to stop arguing with me!"
Turning his body around to face in Sam's direction, Dean throws his hands up in the air. "And how the hell am I supposed to do that when you blatantly ignored my request for you to not do exactly what we're arguing about now? How is that fair?"
Sam sighs, frustration obvious as the sound of a palm slapping against something (steering wheel, Dean figures) sounds against Dean's blackened backdrop. "I'm sorry if my trying to help you comes as inconvenient, but I'm not going to stop just because you've got your panties in a twist."
"So...in other words, I don't have a say in this regardless of what I want. Is that basically what you're telling me?" The anger in Dean's voice is unmistakable, tension thick in the air, but he still seems to have deflated just a tad and Sam uses that to his advantage.
"If you're asking me to not go to Bobby's, then no, you don't get a say in this. But if you're asking me to go to Bobby's on your terms...well, give it a shot. Tell me how you want to arrive there."
"How is that fair, Sam?" Dean demands huffily.
"Look, I'm giving you a choice. It may not be exactly what you want, but it's a choice none the less. I'm trying to give you the opportunity to do this your way. I want you to want to do this, Dean. I want you to want to get better."
Another silence graces the tension in the Impala, although this one isn't nearly as strained as the others have been. Even Dean can't argue with the pitifully desperate tone his brother has taken on, and if he could see he knows he'd be looking into those weeping Sammy puppy-dog eyes his brother is so good at making. Damn it if even blindness can't protect Dean from his little brother's most effective weapon.
"My way, huh?" Dean finally asks, conceding to the deal. He knows when he's beat.
"Your way." Sam agrees.
Dean nods and the deal is set as tension flies out the window.
When the sound of tires leaving pavement and pulling onto dirt and gravel reaches Dean's ears he knows they're close. And Sam's right, Dean does know the layout of Bobby's well enough even to know where they are within the twists and turns that lead back to the older hunter's out of the way house and junkyard. A feeling of dread and anxiety wash over him as it finally hits that 'this is it, no turning back now,' and Dean grips the door handle tighter, fingers immediately achy and tight from the pressure.
Finally the car stops. "Just hold on a second, I'll come get you," Sam's voice calls out from the void, making Dean have to stop and consider his options. He doesn't want help, doesn't want Bobby to see Sam leading him from the car into the house, but is that really worse than the image of Dean stumbling and tripping his way without the assistance? He wants to be sure of himself, cocky and confident. But clearly that's not going to happen today.
Grudgingly, Dean finally elects to listen to his brother for once today and wait, but he does open the door and collect himself before Sam gets there - just to prove that he's not entirely up to listening. That this is still his show - just as they'd agreed. He's got the cane unfolded and gripped in his hand when Sam falls in at his side, and Dean is actually surprised at the gentleness and discreetness with which Sam helps him from the car. Dean's free hand finds the halfway point between Sam's shoulder and elbow and he latches on, waiting for his brother to go all grab-handy, surprised when Sam does nothing more than take a step forward and wait for Dean to do the same.
They get only a handful of steps away from the car when Dean hears the sound of a door slamming from somewhere up ahead, and the sound of panting and lumbering footsteps as Bobby's dog Rumsfeld comes bounding down the front steps toward the brothers. Instantly Dean tenses up and he feels Sam do the same, neither one certain if the reaction comes from having the dog run at them or from Bobby getting his first glimpse of Dean in his weakest hour.
"Whoa, whoa guys, hold up there," Sam says to the dog in a slightly panicky voice, mimicking the voice in Dean's head. It's not that Dean's ever been afraid of dogs, but having a hundred pound rottweiler come at you from out of nowhere with all the enthusiasm of a 10 pound puppy is enough to give anyone a heart attack. Sam jerks away from Dean's grip, leaving the older Winchester floundering in empty space, and then Dean feels the whoosh of air as the dog impacts with his brother, narrowly missing Dean himself.
"Rumsfeld, Dante, get off," Bobby's gruff voice breaks in. He's close, closer than Dean had realized, and wait - there's two of them? Last he checked, Bobby only had one dog.
The confusion lasts only a second or two longer as the two dogs respond to Bobby's order and back away from the brother's. Sam returns to Dean's side, nudging his bicep back into Dean's grasp as Bobby's attention returns to the boys.
"Sorry 'bout that. New pup just loves new people, and Rumsfeld seems to be picking up his bad habits - go figure. You alright?"
When Sam doesn't answer immediately Dean realizes the question is actually aimed at him, and he nods, trying to appear as unruffled as he possibly can. "Yeah, no problem. Just wasn't expecting another dog. How long you had him?"
"About six months. He's close to a year now. Don't worry 'bout him. He'll calm down just as soon as you're settled. Come on now, lets get you two inside."
Dean feels Sam start forward and he stumbles after, tapping out a pattern on the ground with his cane as he seeks out the obstacles he figures he's bound to run into in the seemingly disorganized junkyard that Bobby keeps. In reality, Dean's always known that Bobby's junkyard is actually organized chaos, that the older hunter has strategically placed every single bit of junk, every hulking shell of a car, to provide the best possible protection in the event of attack. Regardless, without being able to see, the junkyard has just become one giant stumbling block.
But Sam is good, and Dean makes it from the car to the steps without tripping over anything. Sam issues a low warning about the steps just before they hit them, and then individual counts of the five stairs to the porch. The going is slow, and Dean has to feel out the edges with his toe to know how high to lift his foot, but in the end that obstacle is conquered without a hitch either.
They walk through the door, the dogs rushing past them into the house, and then follow Bobby inside. Dean feels Sam guide him to the right, into what he thinks he remembers is the living room, and his thoughts are confirmed when Sam pulls him down to the couch and helps him get settled against the cushions.
The whole way in Bobby has been talking, yammering really, about the dogs and the junkyard and a couple of hunter friends who ran into an interesting hunt the past week. But the one thing Dean realizes Bobby hasn't mentioned is his sight, or anything at all to do with his appearance. Bobby's created so many circumlocutions around the pink elephant in the room they're going to need a map to find their way back. And Dean's not sure what to make of it, or how to deal with it.
Sitting there, trying to wrap his mind around the way Bobby's reacting, Dean feels a cold nose on his hand and he jerks back in surprise before he registers it's a dog.
"Dante," Bobby grumbles to the pup as Dean lowers his hand back down, seeking out the rottweiler's thick head and offering a heavy pat.
"It's alright, Bobby. Just surprised me. No worries."
"Yeah, well he shouldn't be surprising you like that."
"It's really okay, Bobby. I'm not going to break just because I didn't see him coming."
A heavy silence fills the room when Bobby isn't sure how to react to Dean's blase mention of 'seeing' anything. It's clear the older hunter is suddenly out of his element, has no knowledge of how to deal with a formerly gung ho, take no prisoners hunter who suddenly can't see his own hand in front of his face. Within a matter of minutes Bobby has turned any word related to seeing or visualizing, blind, eyes, whatever, into taboo subjects.
Problem is, aside from his own slip ups, Dean really has no desire to mention them either. And he really doesn't feel like playing therapist or mommy to an overgrown junkyard owner who isn't sure how to deal with new situations.
So that really doesn't leave many other options on who's going to solve the 'hear no evil, speak no evil' problem.
Several more seconds pass in what seems like hours before Sam breaks the discord the only way he can think of. "It's been a long drive, Bobby. Maybe we can go settle into our room? Freshen up a bit?"
There is an audible sigh of relief, Bobby's for sure, and maybe some of Dean's mixed in for good measure, and the next thing Dean knows he's got Sam nudging him in the side with his elbow. Once again, Dean grips onto his brother's arm and they rise from the couch in one fluid motion.
The cane isn't as good inside smaller buildings where walls are so closely spaced together and furniture and other obstacles make it difficult to complete a grand sweeping motion, so Dean keeps the cane tucked up under one arm and relies on Sam's sense of navigation to get him out of the living room and up the stairs to the bedroom they always stay in. Along the way he listens as Sam gently explains to Bobby about some of the obstacles in the way, how certain things will need to be moved if there is any chance of Dean finding his own way through the house, and that once Dean learns the house nothing can be changed. Bobby doesn't say much, and Dean figures there's a lot of head nodding and grimacing going on in place of verbalization, and he wants to see those expressions. He wants to know how Bobby feels about having his life and his house turned upside down for him.
"I'm sorry, Bobby. I know how much of an inconvenience this must be for you," Dean finally interjects as the three hunters clear the landing at the top of the stairs and make their way down the hallway. "I didn't want to come, didn't want to impose on you. I'm sor–"
"Nonsense," Bobby interjects, before Dean can do any more damage to his already bruised ego. There's a hint of nervousness in the tone, but through it all he's still the same Bobby that helped raised the boys, and the words calm Dean down. "You're not imposing at all. I wanted you to come. Now, it'll take me a little bit to learn what needs to be done differently, but that don't mean I'm not willing to try. You just gotta speak up if there's something you need that I'm not doing, yeah?"
Dean nods in agreement, still feeling like a squeaky third wheel, but this is the closest Bobby's come to even acknowledging there's something different about Dean. And even at that, he's not really treating him all that different. It helps, in an oddly comforting manner.
"And maybe," Bobby continues, slapping Dean on the back, "maybe once you're settled a bit you could give me a hand out there on some of those old cars. Thought maybe you could take a listen to the engine on this old GTO that I just towed in here the other day. Something don't sound right about it, but I just can't place my finger on it."
Trying to remain nonchalant, Dean shrugs and turns in the direction he thinks Bobby is standing. A part of him knows Bobby's just trying to be nice, get him involved. The mechanic is better than anyone Dean's ever known with a car, himself included, and there's nothing Dean knows about cars that Bobby Singer didn't teach him. But this sounds like something he can still do, a job he might still be able to help out with. And that's more important than admitting it sounds like a charity case. So Dean shoves those ideas to the side and accepts an offer for what it is. "Yeah, I think I could do that."