So sorry for the long delay – lotta stuff going on. Hope it was worth the wait.

CHAPTER NINE

"Balls!" Bobby grabbed up his keys and his shotgun and barreled out the front door.

"Rumsfeld!"

Cursing angrily, Bobby let the big dog jump into the truck's cab ahead of him, then got in himself, shoved the dog to the other side and gunned the truck out of the yard.

OOOOOOOOOO

Gordon watched from his eyrie in the scrap yard as Singer roared down the long drive and disappeared down the road. After a short, internal debate, he climbed out of the car and maneuvered carefully down the stack-o-cars. Keeping an eye and ear on the road, he went to the house, picked open the lock on the back door and disappeared inside.

OOOOOOOOOO

The Impala pulled up in front of Bobby's house in early afternoon. Dean slid out of the car and surveyed the front of the house and what he could see of the yard. Nothing seemed out of place.

Stretching, he walked up to the front door and knocked. There was no answer. He knocked again and when there was still no answer, tried the door. It was unlocked.

Dean opened the door and went inside. "Bobby?"

The house was silent, except for the ticking of the clock in the study, and the hum of the refrigerator from the kitchen. He walked further into the house. "Bobby, we're here!"

Behind him, Dean heard footsteps in the kitchen and he turned to see a stranger standing in the doorway. Big and black, more than a little ragged around the edges, he carried a sniper's rifle slung across his back and a Luger in his hand, pointing at Dean's chest. "Where's your brother?"

"Not here," Dean replied easily, showing no discernible alarm.

The man's eyes narrowed. "Where is he?" He took a threatening step forward, then froze at the sound of a shotgun being racked directly behind him.

Bobby stepped into view behind the intruder and Dean stepped out of the line of fire, pulling his pistol out of his jacket. "You got him, Bobby?"

Bobby didn't answer. Face expressionless, eyes hard, he pulled the trigger. The blast of the shotgun took Walker in the back and blew him forward into the hall.

No second shot was necessary.

Shaken, but trying to remain calm, Dean moved to stand beside Bobby as they stared down at the body. "Jesus, Bobby - "

"When you're gonna shoot someone," Bobby said flatly, "Shoot. Don't talk."

Knowing Bobby was right, but sickened at the bloody mess the shotgun had made of the man, Dean nodded jerkily.

"Sam in the car?" Bobby asked.

"Yeah. Laying down in the back seat, just in case –" Dean motioned to the sniper rifle. "You were right about that."

"Saw it when I ran him off before. Didn't like the idea of him lying in wait somewhere, taking a shot when you two drove in. Figured if he saw me leave, he might take a chance and come in for a close kill."

"Any sign of his partner?"

Bobby shook his head. "I took a look around; found Walker's car and where he was holed up the last couple of days. No sign of anyone else. I'm thinking Walker dumped him. He looked pretty much like dead weight to me."

Dean was still shaking a little from the adrenaline of the blast. "Shit, I'm sorry about all this, Bobby."

"No sweat, kid." Bobby gave Dean a hard grin. "That's what shovels are for." He crouched down next to Walker's body and rifled through his pockets. Pulling out a cell phone, he looked through its call history, grunted and handed the phone up to Dean. John's phone number took up all of the recent history – six calls over the last two days. With a rising sense of rage and fresh betrayal, Dean saw that the two men had spoken not long after John had called their motel room and screwed with Sam.

"Son of a bitch," he muttered.

Bobby was leafing through a notebook he'd found in Gordon's jacket pocket. "He's got some stuff in here about Yellow Eyes. The Impala's plate number. And a description of you two boys."

Dean heard a step behind him and, turning swiftly with gun raised, saw Sam standing in the doorway, Rumsfeld panting beside him.

"I told you to wait in the car, Sam," Dean said, trying to hide his irritation. "I almost shot your ass."

Sam didn't answer. Holding Rumsfeld back from the body, he stared down at the dead hunter, eyes dark with some undefinable emotion.

"Tie him up outside, will you, Sam?" Bobby said, not looking up.

Without answering, Sam turned and left the kitchen, a hand on Rumsfeld's collar. After the two had gone, Bobby said, "He gonna be okay with this?"

Dean started to say yes but then settled for a non-committal shrug. "He's gonna have to be, isn't he?"

"Well, then," Bobby answered simply. "Let's get this party started. Corpse ain't gonna burn itself."

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Sam stared down into the shallow grave. He watched as Dean sprinkled gasoline and salt over the corpse. Watched as Bobby threw down a lit match. Watched as the flames took hold.

We don't kill humans. No matter what they do, let the cops deal with it.

John Winchester. Words - rules - to live by.

This death – his responsibility. And the other two? Undeniably his.

His hand, his naked blade, plunging into human flesh. Blood pouring forth, covering his hands, his arms – a shudder ran over him. His soul, tainted by the blood the demon had fed him as a child, now further darkened by the human blood on his hands. A little more of his humanity burning away with every lick the fire took at the dead hunter's body.

Stinking of smoke and gasoline, Dean put an arm around his shoulders and it took everything Sam had not to start crying, to beg Dean to save him, save him from whatever he was becoming.

Dean's big brother radar was good. "You okay, Sammy?"

Sam leaned into him, not answering.

"You do get that none of this is your fault, don't you?"

Eyes lowered, Sam nodded, albeit not very convincingly.

From across the grave, Bobby growled, "Now, you listen to me, Sam Winchester! Gordon Walker was a Grade A lunatic and a son-of-a-bitch. If I hadn't killed him, he'd have killed you, your brother and me." He looked into the fire at the blazing corpse and snorted contemptuously. "Hell, he'd have killed Rumsfeld, too, just for spite!"

"So don't you go feeling guilty about something that wasn't your fault. You got enough on your plate right now without addin' that." Bobby watched as Dean's arm dropped down and around Sam's waist, pulling him in comfortingly.

Dean met the older man's eyes squarely. His arm stayed where it was.

"I talked with Pamela and told her what's going on with you, Sam," Bobby said.

Sam stiffened and Bobby amended that quickly. "I didn't tell her about the demon blood, just that you were having trouble keeping someone out of your head. You two can decide when you meet her how much you want to tell her. If you'll take my advice, though, you'll tell her everything. She knows how to keep her mouth shut, and the more she knows, the better she can help you."

He took a set of car keys out of his pocket and tossed it to Dean. "When you leave, take asshole's car with you and dump it between here and there. And make sure you wipe it down."

Dean nodded. "Sure, Bobby, no problem, but do you have any idea how Dad got my phone number? I know you'd never have told him, but it was a new cell and I hadn't called anyone but you. You think he might have some kind of trap on your landline?"

At the thought, Bobby cursed John roundly. "If he did, I'll find it. In the meantime, I got some Tracfones; you can take a couple. Don't use 'em to call anyone but me, though. We don't know who else your daddy might have got his hooks into."

Dean felt Sam flinch and then his little brother pulled away from him, saying tightly, "We better get going. Okay with you if I get the Tracs out of the house, Bobby?"

Bobby nodded. "The desk in my study, bottom drawer."

"Thanks." Sam walked toward the house, head down.

Dean looked apologetically at Bobby. "He's not really sleeping."

"I understand." Bobby looked after Sam for a second. "Tell me about John sending rapists after you two, Dean."

Dean looked away, caught by surprise.

"Come on, Dean."

"Two hunters," Dean said with difficulty. "Dad sent two hunters to kill Sam."

Bobby stared at him. There was a long pause. Finally, in a very tightly controlled voice, he said, "And?"

Voice halting, not liking to even think about how close he'd come to losing his brother, Dean told Bobby what had happened that horrible night.

When Dean was done, Bobby looked down at the grave. The flames were starting to die down. He sprinkled some more gasoline into the hole and it flared up again. "That would be Jack Deuce and Frank Sprague. I heard they were found dead somewhere down south. You sure they didn't -?"

"Sam says no. I believe him."

"Damn it," Bobby said softly. "Poor kid. I'm not gonna ask if he's okay, cause I can see he's not." He sighed. "Listen, wasn't sure I should say anything in front of Sam, but I talked to Jim yesterday."

"Pastor Jim? What did he say?" Dean was almost afraid to ask.

"Your dad called him, told him what was going on. Pastor Jim forgot his collar and told John to go fuck himself." Bobby chuckled. "Jim's never been a man to mince words."

Dean smiled faintly. "I'll tell Sam. Might make him feel a little better to know Jim's behind us."

"Well, about that," Bobby hedged slightly. "He's not too thrilled about you and Sam, uh, being together."

Dean nodded. Not too surprising, Jim being a reverend. "But he doesn't think Sam's demon spawn."

"No."

"We'll stay away from him anyway, unless we don't have any choice. I don't want him preaching at us."

"Yeah, well, you couldn't go there anyway."

Confused, Dean stared at him, then understood. "Dad's got someone watching Jim's place, too?"

"Yeah. Jim didn't realize what was going on at first. Then when I told him what John was up to over here –" Bobby shrugged. "That's why I didn't want to tell you in front of Sam. Hard for him to hear. Hell, hard for you."

Dean ignored the reference to himself. "I'll tell Sam that Jim's behind us," he decided. "But not about the guy watching for us there."

"You don't want to be keeping secrets from your brother, Dean," Bobby warned him. "It'll bite you in the ass, for sure."

"I know, Bobby, it's just – he's had a hell of a lot to deal with lately. And – he's worried about what the demon blood means. He's afraid ..." Dean trailed off hesitantly.

Bobby waited.

"He's worried it's going to turn him into a monster or something," Dean finished, green eyes pinned anxiously on Bobby's face.

After a long minute, choosing his words carefully, Bobby said, "I don't know what that demon's got planned for Sam, but I do know that Sam's a good boy –" he corrected himself – "a good man. I've known him practically his whole life and I've never seen anything that would change my opinion on that."

Dean nodded, listening hard.

"The demon blood – that's some scary shit. But Sam's got you on his side," Bobby continued. "And he's got me. No matter what happens, he's going to be all right."

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

It had been a long day and they were now well into the night.

About an hour after they'd dumped Walker's car, Sam fell asleep in the passenger seat of the Impala. He'd been sleeping now for almost two hours and Dean was loathe to wake his exhausted brother, but he was drained himself. He had to get some coffee and food or he'd be falling asleep at the wheel.

When Dean shook his shoulder gently, Sam roused slowly, looking around with bleary eyes. "Are we almost there?"

"We're about four hours out, but I need to stop and eat. What about you?"

Sam yawned. "Not really hungry. Coffee, maybe."

They chose a bar just off the highway in a town called Harvey. It was a dump. Actually, calling it a dump was being kind. But it was full of people drinking hard and dancing badly and the owner had apparently never heard about carding minors, so it worked for them. They managed to find an empty booth near the back and the two ate a quiet dinner.

More accurately, Dean ate. Sam mostly pushed the food around on his plate while Dean pretended not to notice.

There was a pool table in the back of the room and a game was winding up, the victor trying to talk the loser into another game but not having much luck. Sam saw Dean watching the byplay longingly. "Go ahead," he said impulsively.

Grinning, Dean raised an eyebrow. "Yeah?"

"Sure." Sam gave him a grin. "Not like we're going anywhere important."

Dean's smile faltered a little and Sam inwardly cursed himself. "I was just kidding, Dean. Really, go ahead. We could use a little down time."

Dean's face cleared. "Just one game." He started away and then wheeled around and came back to the table, leaning down and planting a soft kiss on Sam's lips. "Thanks." He ruffled Sam's hair roughly and then pulled away, laughing. Soon he and his opponent were playing, no big money involved, both men just enjoying the game.

Sam watched them play for a while. It was good to see Dean having fun for a change. Relaxing a little, he indulged himself, watching the play of the muscles in his big brother's sinewy arms as he set up his shots; the tight curve of his ass as he bent over the table.

Glancing over, Dean caught him staring and blew him a kiss. Sam smiled at him and then rose, jerking a thumb towards the bathroom. Dean watched as his brother walked back toward the bathroom, and then turned back to his game.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Sam used the toilet and washed up after, splashing cold water on his face. The couple hours sleep he'd grabbed had given him his second wind. Thinking about the pool table, and Dean's sweet ass bending over it, he wondered if he could talk his brother into staying over for one night, and going to the psychic chick's place tomorrow.

Or if Dean wouldn't go for that, they could drive on a little further and he could ambush him at a rest stop. Sam laughed a little, imagining Dean's surprise.

"What's so funny?"

Startled, Sam turned and saw a man standing behind him. Shit! How the hell had he not heard this guy come in? Dean would be pissed. If he told him. Which he wasn't going to.

"I said, what's so fucking funny?" The man repeated irritably.

Sam shook his head slightly and started to slip past the stranger.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Dean and his opponent shook hands, smiling. "Sure you won't stay for another game?"

Dean shook his head. "No, thanks, we've got to get back on the road. Places to be."

"It's not often I get my ass handed to me as quick as you did," the other man said jokingly. "If you come by again, look me up. We'll have a rematch."

"You got it."

"Hey!"

Both men turned at the shout. A large group of people was crowded around the door to the men's bathroom. Shouts and curses resounded from inside and as Dean suddenly remembered that Sam had gone in there just a few minutes before, a big man, a very big man, was suddenly catapulted out the bathroom door. He plowed into the crowd, taking several of them down to the ground with him.

Before any of them could get up, Sam plunged out of the bathroom after him, face contorted with rage.

"Shit! Sam!" Dean plunged into the crowd.

Snarling, Sam threw himself on top of the fallen man, ignoring the cries of those underneath him and started pounding his face, blood spurting as one of his blows broke the man's nose and split his lower lip. Dean grabbed him by the shoulder and Sam swung around, cursing, ready to pop him one.

"Sam, damn it, it's me! Knock it off!"

Panting, Sam let his brother pull him up and away from the man on the floor. Dean could see the bouncer coming through the crowd and he started to pull Sam toward the front doors. "What the hell happened, Sam?"

"Nothing!"

"Sam," Dean said warningly.

Sam jerked to a halt. "Fine! You want to know what happened? The asshole didn't want to take no for an answer!"

"No?" Dean repeated, confused.

Still furious, wanting to go back and finish kicking the jerk's ass, Sam spun around and shouted back at the man, still on the floor. "No, I don't want to suck your dick for fifty bucks! No, you can't fuck me! And yes, I do think I'm too fucking good for you!"

Dean's mouth dropped open. The bouncer, who'd come up to them just in time to hear Sam's tirade, grimaced and touched Dean's arm. "Cops are coming. Better get him out of here."

Dean nodded, casting a furious glance at Sam's assailant. Sam jerked away and headed for the front door. "Let's just fucking go!"

Outside, they got into the Impala, leaving the parking lot just as a patrol car was pulling in. Not wanting to risk trouble from the local cops, Dean kept to the speed limit and took the exit to the highway, Sam stewing angrily in the seat beside him.

After several minutes of tense silence, Dean asked cautiously, "Did he hurt you?"

"No," Sam answered shortly. "I hurt him."

"Did he - "

"I am so sick of this shit! I must have a sign on my back that says 'Hi, my name is Sam. Fuck me!"

Dean tried to hold it back, but a snort of laughter burst out.

"Stop the car!"

"Sam, I'm sorry, it just sounded funny –"

"Stop the fucking car!" Not waiting, Sam's hand went to the door handle and Dean pulled hurriedly over to the side, bringing a barrage of angry horns from the vehicles he cut off. Sam jumped out of the car, Dean scooting out right behind him.

Out of the car, Sam's anger and adrenaline drained out of him and he slid down the side of the car to the ground and sat with his arms clasped tightly around his knees, face pressed against them. Dean sat down on the ground beside him, careful not to touch him, and waited.

"He pissed me off," Sam said at last, voice muffled.

"Yeah, I got that."

They were silent for another couple of minutes, the only sound that of cars passing by on the highway.

"I'm really tired."

"I know, Sammy."

More silence.

"I don't want anyone but you touching me that way," Sam said, leaning wearily against Dean.

Dean took Sam's hand and rubbed his thumb gently over the palm. "I feel the same way, baby." He continued his slow stroking, smiling slightly when Sam's eyes closed and his breathing quickened.

"In fact," Dean continued, "I was thinking about checking into a motel, taking your mind off of all this demon bullshit. But instead, here we are, sitting on the side of the highway. Cars passing us." He paused, and then added, "Where anyone might see us."

Sam snorted and opened his eyes. "You're a fucking perv, Dean."

Dean shrugged and started to rise. "Well, if you're not into it . . ."

Sam's hand shot out and grabbed Dean by the jacket, jerking him back down. "Who said I'm not into it?"

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

I had planned for the boys to have some hot monkey sex, but this chapter is getting way too freaking long. So, next time.

Oh, for those of you planning to give me shit about Bobby shooting Gordon, remember what he said in "Are You There, God? It's Me . . . Dean Winchester". 'If you're gonna shoot, shoot. Don't talk.'

Yeah, I know, those were ghosts, not a living person. But Bobby Singer is a pragmatist. I firmly believe he would kill Gordon Walker, because not killing him would mean living with a cocked pistol pointed at your head, never knowing when the sucker's gonna go off. And that's just dumb. Idjit.