To Those Who Know You
K Hanna Korossy
He found Dean on the porch, leaning against one of the beams, arms and ankles crossed. There was a small, contented smile on the boy's face, and following his gaze, Bobby could see why.
Sam sat in the dirt of the junkyard, playing with Bobby's latest pup like he had when he'd been decades younger. As Sam tickled him, Cheney turned so quickly, he sprawled on his back, and Sam laughed brightly, happy.
Bobby had so many regrets.
Watching Dean watch his brother pushed him to address at least one of them.
"Dean…I'm sorry, boy."
Dean didn't really startle—he was too good a hunter for that—but he did sort of come back to himself, straightening up to face Bobby. Then lazily smirking. "Hey, we all have boxes like that under our beds, Bobby, nothin' to be ashamed of."
Bobby rolled his eyes, making a mental note to clean out the downstairs bedroom he'd been using while he'd been stuck in that chair. "I'm talkin' about Sam, you idjit."
Dean sobered, glancing quickly out at the yard, then back to Bobby. "What about Sam?"
Bobby pushed his hat brim back and scratched his head, uncomfortable. "I should've told you he was topside again."
Dean's face hardened a little. "Yeah," he said simply. "You should have."
Okay, so he wasn't going to make this easy: fair enough. Sam had been back for a year—without a soul, as it turned out—before Dean found out, and Bobby had known most of that time and kept Dean in the dark. Bobby had admitted his foolishness one night over drinks, but it hadn't been a true apology, and Dean hadn't offered an easy absolution. Bobby didn't expect one now, either, not for this. "I swung by your girl's place a few times, you know, checkin' up on ya. And…you looked good, Dean. PTA and golf games and 9-to-5 was agreeing with ya."
Dean snorted softly, arms crossing again over his chest, this time in anger. "I went to bed every night drunk, Bobby. I was there for Lisa and Ben, but that was it, just going through the motions. Sam wasn't just gone, he was in Hell. You don't think that was screaming in my head 24/7? No way I was ever going to be happy like that."
"I know," Bobby said quietly. He nodded. "Hell, I've known that since you first showed up here, luggin' around a toddler half your size. I knew you wouldn't go all Ward Cleaver with Sam in the cage. Guess I just…" He shrugged. "…hoped you'd fake it 'til you made it. That at least one of us would get out."
Dean's expression softened a little; Bobby didn't often mention Karen even indirectly, for good reason.
He hurried on. "And I knew something was wrong with Sam. If I'd've said something sooner, he—"
"We don't know that," Dean quietly cut in, too decent to let Bobby wallow in the what-ifs. "Maybe we wouldn't've been able to get his soul out any sooner."
"Still…I knew better," Bobby pushed on. "I know you better. And I'm real sorry, son."
Dean paused. He was usually unforgiving when something jeopardized his brother; Bobby had seen him cut off friends for less. And it wasn't like Bobby didn't deserve the censure. But these were his kids, and he didn't know what he'd do if they walked away and never looked back.
Sam's cackle crossed the yard behind them again, drawing Dean's eyes like a magnet.
When he looked at Bobby again, his face had thawed, and his arms dropped. "I get it," he said roughly. "God knows I was tellin' myself Sam would find a girl, too, do the white-picket-fence thing, after I went downstairs." Grief crossed his face; he'd been the one to leave Sam that time.
Bobby snorted. "I don't know what you two see in each other, but anyone ever tell you you're a mite co-dependent?"
Dean barked a laugh. "Only every angel, demon, and monster we ever met."
Sam thumped up the stairs behind Dean to join them, cheeks red and hair mussed. Bobby saw Dean clock the wind-tunnel look with amusement and affection.
"What's going on?" Sam asked, looking between the two men with curiosity.
"Bobby was just tellin' me what an idjit he was." Dean smirked at Bobby.
Bobby made a face but didn't deny it.
"Is this about the box under his bed?" Sam said brightly, the jackass.
Dean cracked up at that, sharing a look with his little brother that Bobby had missed more than he could ever say. Even if it was at his expense. "Right? Not like we haven't got our own boxes, huh?" Dean looked at Bobby, face alight with a grin, eyes sober.
Bobby's chest loosened and his throat tightened. Must be all the dust the kid and dog had raised. He met Dean's gaze, no words needed.
Sam glanced between them again, knowing he was missing something this time but leaving it to them. He pursed his lips. "I don't have a box."
"Sure you do." Dean clapped a hand on his shoulder. "Yours is just fulla hair products."
Sam huffed and bumped his shoulder. "Whatever. You ready for lunch?"
"You buyin'?"
Bobby just watched his boys, amused, proud, sentimental.
And so damned grateful.
The End