A story for you for my birthday. :) -KHK

Beautiful Boys
K Hanna Korossy

"I've come across a lot of hunters in my day."

Bobby hadn't intended to say that out loud, but, well, why not?

"Ex-military. Ex-high school teachers. Couples that fight each other as much as the monsters. One guy was a hunter by day and drag queen by night. Another's a hunter by night and an office drone by day."

He sat back in his chair, eyes going a little distant as he reminisced.

"Then there's the siblings. Twins're common, for some reason. Sean and Shep Vorhees, identicals whose own mother probably wouldn't've been able to tell 'em apart until Sean lost an eye to a werewolf claw. Edwin and Elwin—Ed and Win—who finish each other's sentences. Lori and Jim, who pretty much hate each other's guts until one of 'em's in trouble. Jack and Jackie—swear to God—who don't even look like they're related and only hunt bloodsuckers. Chrissy and Kevin. Chrissy's the muscle and Kevin's the bookworm in that pair."

Bobby took a sip of tepid coffee. Awful, but he needed the caffeine. He eyed his audience.

"And, of course, there're brothers. Dave and Abe Silverstein, only Orthodox Jew hunters I ever met, though I kinda doubt most of their people spend Sabbaths the way those two do. Murray and Joel Hibbett, the "Lennie and George" of the hunting world. Don't read that book, by the way—you wouldn't like the ending." Hopefully the Hibbetts would have a better fate than that. "Alec and Colin, about as different as you can get, but livin' off the grid in their own little world."

He lifted his hat enough to scratch an itch, then rubbed his hand over his face with a yawn. It'd been, what, about twenty hours now? He'd grabbed a few winks, but mostly he'd just been sitting there, talking to himself. It'd gotten old nineteen hours ago, especially the alone part.

Bobby grimaced. "But none of 'em, and I mean a big, fat zero, have had worse luck than you two. I mean, how many times have you both died? Or had to sacrifice everything to save this sorry-ass world? Or," he snorted, "ended up on a first-name basis with angels and demons, all of whom pretty much want to end you bloody?"

A pretty lady in scrubs appeared in the doorway. "Any change?"

"No," Bobby said grimly. "That's not so good, huh?"

"It's not necessarily bad," she soothed. "Give it time. Are you their father, Mister…uh…?"

"Singer," he provided.

"Like the sewing machine?" she asked, smiling.

He bit back a sigh. "Yes, like the sewing machine. And, yeah, these two idjits are mine."

"Okay. The doctor will be by in about an hour. Let me know if you need anything."

"Thank you."

She left. Quiet again except for the beeping machines.

Bobby's gaze moved between the two beds, the motionless figure in each. "Then again," he said more softly. "I've never seen anybody, hunter or not, pull as many wins out of the fire as you two. How many times have you saved my ass? Or each other's? Most people, quarter of the things happened to them that have happened to you two, they'd be curled up in a ball in some loony bin, gigglin' to themselves. Beats me how you two take every lickin' and keep on—"

"Bobby." A whisper.

He lurched to his feet, over to the bed on the right. "Sam? Son, you in there?"

Sam Winchester's eyes were only half open, but they were looking at Bobby. "Dean?" he murmured.

Bobby's throat was tight, relief and worry. "He's over here. Sleepin' in as usual, but doc says he should be okay." More or less.

With the lump of gauze on his temple, it would've been hard to turn his head, but Sam lifted a bandaged arm. "Need t'…" He immediately started drooping, weak and exhausted.

Bobby nodded, giving his good shoulder a careful squeeze. "Gotcha. Gimme a second, kid."

He considered the situation carefully, then grabbed the nightstand between the two beds and rolled it into the corner by the bathroom. Then he lowered the inner railings on both beds and slid one bed over as far as wires and tubes allowed, followed by the other, until they were side by side. Really, he probably should've done this in the beginning.

"He's right here," he said to Sam, picking up the boy's hand and laying it on the one beside it.

Sam's fingers curled around his brother's. He licked his lips. "Dean." It still came out soft. "Hey. Dean?"

Their fingers wove together. Bobby looked away, focusing on Dean's face.

"Dean. Talk t'me." Sam swallowed, clearly marshalling strength. "Hey. Need t'hear you, man."

Bobby swore the other figure didn't move, didn't flicker an eyelash. But damned if Dean Winchester didn't answer his brother after a few seconds. "'M'ere." Kid sounded like a rusty hinge. "Shuddup 'n sleep, S'mmy."

Sam eyes slid shut and his body melted back into the bedding. "'Kay," he sighed, already half under.

Dean's hand twitched around his brother's. "Bobby?" he slurred.

Bobby knew what he was asking. "He's okay, son. You both just rest. I'll keep an eye on Sam."

Dean turned his hand enough that one thumb was briefly up. Then he was asleep again, too.

Bobby eyed the two of them, half in disbelief, half in awe. Here he'd talked his fool head off for the last day, rubbing hands, arms, cheeks, trying to get through to these two. And it just took a handful of words and a touch from Sam to get his brother to wake up. And neither of them had even asked about themselves.

Bobby groped behind himself for his chair and sank into it. He should tell that nice nurse that the patients were awake. But it could wait a few minutes.

He took a breath. "Well, you two probably just answered my question." He didn't know another hunter—or person, really—who could wake up a loved one from a coma just by asking. Bobby would've bet money that by this time tomorrow, they'd be making fun of each other and competing to see who could get out of bed first.

Truth was, there were no other hunters out there like the Winchesters. And it wasn't because of what their daddy taught them, or how good they were, or their pit-bull tenacity, or that they were ready to throw away their lives like yesterday's newspaper.

It was this, Bobby eyed their two hands, lax now but still intertwined even if that would have embarrassed the crap out of them if they'd been awake. Not just being brothers, because he'd seen brothers who hated each other, were indifferent, were joined at the hip. But none with this kind of sacrificial, unconditional, soul-deep love they had, where they didn't even need to be conscious to connect. Where just needing each other pulled them back on their feet.

Bobby rubbed his blurry eyes. His over-grown, amazing, soft-headed, beautiful boys.

He breathed out a long breath. "I'll be right back," Bobby told them, pushing to his feet to go find the nurse. "Don't go anywhere," he added wryly at the door before he walked out.

But he knew they'd look after each other just fine until he got back.

The End