Dean talked all the way to Bobby's house, filled with a wild, manic happiness. He ran the radio full blast, singing along to the music and using the steering wheel as a drum set, barely able to sit still in his seat.
Sam kept a few spell books open on his lap during the drive, flipping through the pages, looking for whatever he could find to help pry the demon out of their father, pretending that's what was keeping him so quiet.
A couple hours out from Bobby's Dean pulled off the highway into a small strip mall and parked the Impala in front of a Radio Shack. "We need to get back on the radar," he said to Sam. "I'm gonna pick us up a couple new cells."
Sam hadn't even had time to get used to being off the radar yet. He watched Dean bop into the store with something like regret for that untasted freedom.
Phones purchased and under way again, the boys christened both phones, calling Bobby and staying on for several minutes, talking about nothing in particular. John would have his ears out and word would get to him his sons were heading there.
When they finally pulled into Bobby's in the early evening, he gave them each an assessing stare, then sat them down at the kitchen table and put bowls of stew in front of them, with a big plate of biscuits between them.
"Eat, jackasses."
Dean groaned when the smell of the stew hit his nostrils and fell on the food like a starving wolf. Sam didn't have much of an appetite, but when Bobby gave him the stink-eye, he gave in and started in.
After a few minutes of silent eating, Dean mumbled, mouth full of stew, "We gotta talk about how we're gonna find Dad, Bobby."
"That's not gonna be a problem. I've had something stuck to my shoe the last couple days. Gotta be John, or someone connected to him."
Dean swallowed. "Shit, already?" he said, astonished.
"Most likely someone he put on me, just in case you two came back."
"You haven't seen anyone?" Sam asked.
Bobby shook his head. "Could be anyone. After what happened at Pam's, pretty clear John's put the word out about you two."
"Huh. Well, that's good, I guess." Dean snagged another biscuit and smeared it heavily with butter, staring into space as he chewed over the situation.
"How is she?" Sam asked, stirring an idle spoon around in his stew.
"Pretty shook up," Bobby said frankly. "Just knowing demons exist is scary. Coming face to face with one – well, she's stayin' with friends 'til we get this taken care of."
"Hiding won't save her. She'd be better off helping us, especially after what her boyfriend pulled."
"You mean the man she killed to save your ass?" Bobby snapped.
"Come on, Sam," Dean said, surprised at his brother's snarky remark. "She was only helping us out in the first place 'cause Bobby asked her to."
Sam cut a sideways glance at Bobby and shut up, crumbling a piece of biscuit in his fingers.
Dean cast around for a quick subject change. "Hey, Bobby, did you know Pam's got a supernatural panic room?"
"A what?"
Dean's face blossomed with enthusiasm.
"Shit, can't believe I didn't tell you before. Pam has this panic room in her basement – salt, holy water, iron walls. Completely warded against anything supernatural. It's freaking AWESOME!"
"No shit!"
Dean grinned at Bobby's astonishment. "I told Sam you'd be making one of your own as soon as you heard about it."
"Damn right I will," Bobby agreed with a far-away look in his eyes.
Sam kept quiet, listening as Dean and Bobby talked over the ins and outs of putting together a panic room in Bobby's basement, then moved on to discuss various wards and sigils, whether or not they'd work to keep demons out of humans.
He was ashamed of his earlier outburst. Pam had done her best. She'd just been over her head. Pam wasn't the problem. He was the problem. Him and his damned addiction to his brother.
Sam stared longingly at Dean's smiling face, imagined the feel of his body tight against him, the taste of his soft, plush lips. He needed to taste those lips, needed to feel those arms around him, needed it so badly he could hardly think.
He needed to know that they were going to be all right, no matter what happened with their father. Cause right now, it sure as hell didn't feel like it.
Seeing Bobby's gaze on him, Sam flushed and rose, taking his bowl to the sink.
Dean broke off from his conversation with Bobby. "Where you goin'?"
"Thought I'd go check out some of Bobby's books, see if there's anything we can use for, uh, Dad." Sam stumbled a little over the word.
"There's a pile next to my desk I was working through," Bobby said helpfully, willing to forgive Sam's earlier dickish behavior. "I went through my library, those look like they got the most to offer."
Sam managed a small smile. "Thanks, Bobby."
Bobby watched the boy leave, then looked sternly at Dean, who was staring after his brother. "What's going on with him?"
"What?" Dean said, a little defensively. "He's fine. Maybe a little tired? It's been pretty rough."
"Rough? Dean, Sam's father tried to kill him. A couple of psycho hunters tried to kill him. The kid's got demon blood inside him and a demon's been haunting his dreams. And now maybe that same demon is on its way here to claim Sam's soul." Bobby reached out and gave Dean a quick cuff on the back of his head. "Rough."
Bobby could practically see the wheels turning in Dean's face, the quick reevaluation of the situation. Guilt and shame surfaced. "I'll talk to him, Bobby."
"Good."
After a moment, Dean stood and, mumbling something about getting their duffels out of the car, left the house.
With a rueful shake of his head, Bobby stood up from the table and started ferrying the dirty dishes to the sink.
Hell. And he hadn't even brought up the thing that he was damned sure was bugging Sam most of all.
The boys' "special" relationship.
He was surprised Dean hadn't picked up on that aspect of breaking their father free. Bobby could see traces of it in Sam's eyes every time he looked at his brother. Grief and what maybe looked like betrayal.
Things had changed.
These two boys had always been all about the touching. Even before sex had entered the mix, they were always hanging on to each other - little pushes and shoves, casual hugs and touches, wrestling, sparring, the occasional violent battle.
Brother stuff. Normal, for them.
Not today. The two hadn't touched each other at all since they'd got here.
Bobby was dead sure Sam was aware of it. He was even more sure Dean wasn't.
Bobby shook his head. He was on board with getting that bastard demon out of John. No question. But that other stuff? No way in hell he was getting mixed up in that snarl.
The boys would have to deal with that shit on their own.
SUPNSUPNSUPN
Kubrick lowered the binoculars and let out an excited laugh.
It was the Winchester boys, all right! Black Impala with two boys in it, one blond and one dark.
He gave a fist pump and a little happy dance. Ten grand, here I come!
Didn't need Gordon to do it, either, Kubrick thought maliciously. Gordie really dropped the ball on this one.
Not wasting any more thought on the missing hunter, Kubrick pulled out his cell phone, searching through his contact list. When he found the name, he punched it in and waited, listening to it ring on the other end, foot tapping impatiently.
After about eight rings, the other end was picked up and a deep, gravelly voice answered. "Yeah."
"That reward still good?" Kubrick asked coyly.
There was a short silence. "Did you find my boys?"
"License plate KAZ 2Y5, right?"
"Where are they?" The tone was menacing.
"Not so fast, Winchester." Kubrick grinned, bouncing on his toes, positively gleeful at having the legendary hunter at his mercy. "What about my money?"
"You'll get your money." The deep voice had turned flat and expressionless. If Kubrick's brain hadn't been pickled by booze years ago, he might have been able to read the promise of death in that voice.
"Tell me where you are. You'll have it as soon as you show me my sons."
SUPNSUPNSUPN
Sam closed the book and shoved it across the desk to join the fifteen other rejects he'd already pored through.
The material was interesting, yes, but it held nothing he hadn't seen in the others. The most interesting, if not effective, spell he'd seen all night had been one for summoning a leprechaun.
He yawned; exhausted, but in no way inclined to go back to their bedroom.
Sam had seen Dean watching him when Bobby had finally bullied them upstairs to bed. He'd thought, hoped, that Dean wanted to talk. Or, something else.
But when Sam came out of the bathroom after his shower, Dean was sprawled across his bed in his boxers, already sound asleep.
After lying awake for hours listening to Dean breathe, Sam had finally given in. He'd stumbled downstairs and dug into Bobby's library again, determined to find something, anything, that would give this rescue a fighting chance.
He might even be willing to give that leprechaun a shot . . .
With a weary sigh, he leaned over and pawed through the books on the floor next to the desk, searching for the tattered grimoire he'd seen earlier but hadn't cracked open yet.
"Sam?"
Bobby, ball cap still on even at this late hour, stood in the door of the study, shotgun in hand. "What the hell, boy? Thought you went up with Dean."
"Sorry, Bobby," Sam said guiltily, eyeing the shotgun.
Bobby shrugged. "Told you I'd keep watch tonight."
"Didn't mean to wake you up," Sam apologized. "Couldn't sleep."
The older man looked at the half-empty coffee cup on the table. "Might be easier to sleep if you weren't fulla coffee."
Sam flushed, then gave the older man a rueful smile and gestured at the books on the desk. "I've been trying to find the best way to exorcise the demon. There's a few exorcisms that look good, but who knows if they'll work or not? We can get him inside a devil's trap, but if it doesn't work, what are we gonna do?"
"We keep him inside it until we figure it out," Bobby said. He went to the desk and turned off the lamp, leaving nothing but the faint glow from the fireplace.
"Come on, back to bed. Won't do yourself any good staying up all night."
Sam got up reluctantly. "I don't want to wake up Dean. I'll sleep on the couch."
Bobby shifted the shotgun to his other arm and studied the boy's shadowed face. After a minute, he said gently, "You're gonna have to talk to him about it sometime, boy."
Startled, Sam ducked his head. "Bobby . . . "
"That's all I'm sayin' on the subject," the older man said hurriedly. He went to the closet and pulled out a blanket, tossing it to Sam. "Here. Now get some sleep."
SUPNSUPNSUPN
The couch didn't prove to be any more conducive to sleep.
Toward dawn, Sam found himself standing over his brother's bed.
Eyes intent on Dean's sleeping face, he unbuttoned his shirt and dropped it to the floor, toed off his shoes and socks, then wriggled out of his jeans and slipped naked onto the bed.
Hovering over Dean, knees planted outside his brother's thighs, trying not to wake him, Sam gently worked Dean's boxers down over his thighs and calves, pulled them over his feet and tossed them to the floor.
Dean made a little murmured protest at the sudden chill, but did not wake.
Sam breath grew heavy in his chest at the sight of Dean's cock lying asleep between his legs. He bent over and reverently took the tip into his mouth, gently sucking at it, reveling in its familiar and slightly bitter taste.
He took in more, humming as Dean murmured and arched under him. Sucked harder, working up and down its length, tongue slipping along the thin vein on the underside, moaning as Dean's cock thickened in his mouth and nudged at the back of his throat.
"Sammy?"
Dean raised himself up on his elbows and stared down at Sam in heavy-eyed confusion. "What – shit, Sam, not here!" He pushed Sam's head away, pulling his dick out of his little brother's mouth with a wet, slurping pop.
"Dean, it's okay, the door's locked," Sam said, eyes dark with passion. "Don't worry." He leaned down to take Dean's rapidly deflating cock back into his mouth, then fell back in surprise as Dean rolled away and off the bed.
"Damn it, Sammy, not – I'm just – not here!" Quickly locating his boxers, Dean pulled them back on. "I'm sorry, man."
Sam stared at him for a long minute. Then, without a word, he jumped up and pulled his clothing back on, sitting on the edge of the bed to pull his socks and boots back on.
Dean sat down next to Sam and put a tentative hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry, baby, it just feels wrong here."
Sam didn't look at him. He stood up and started for the door.
"Sammy, don't leave, man - "
Sam spun on him, the words he had been determined not to say spilling out of his mouth. "Are we done?"
"What? No! I just don't –" Dean fumbled for words. "Not in Bobby's house."
"Fine," Sam bit out. He turned for the door again, then back. "When's it gonna be right? When Dad's back?"
Dean flinched and Sam gave a bitter laugh. "You think he'll be okay with us together? You think he doesn't already know?"
"Sam, please, don't," Dean whispered.
Part of Sam was screaming for him to stop, but hurt and rejection kept his angry words going. "You think he's gonna be fine with us sharing a bed, Dean?"
Dean shook his head dumbly.
"Yeah, I don't either." Sam's voice was shaking. "Are we gonna leave him, go out on our own again, after we get him free?"
The stunned look on Dean's face was its own answer.
"Shit." Legs giving out, Sam sat down hard on the floor. "Shit."
"Sammy," Dean said, begging his brother to understand, "Dad's gonna need us, at least for a little while."
Sam shook his head, breath hitching, tears starting. "You, Dean. He's gonna need you. He's not gonna want me anywhere near him."
"That's not true." Dean crouched down beside him. "Sam, we're not –"
"Never mind. Sorry. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said anything," Sam said, voice drained, not looking at him. "Should've kept my mouth shut."
"Sam, don't." Feeling helpless, not knowing what the hell else to do, Dean sat down beside Sam and tugged him into his arms.
The two sat there for a long time.
At last, exhausted and wrecked, they stumbled back to Dean's bed and lay wrapped around each other until morning. There was no more talk of everything being okay.
How could anything be okay if every breath they took felt like good-bye?