: Bad LuckAuthor
: PG-13, a bit of bad languageAuthor's Notes
: 5382 words. Loosely set during Season 1 while the guys are still looking for John, but after enough time has gone by that they're comfortable hunting together. This is assuming that they have grown up visiting Bobby at intervals throughout their childhood and Season 1. Disclaimer
: I do not own anything related to Supernatural, it's all the CW and Eric Kripke. Summary
: Dean is taken out by nature after a hunt that is not a hunt, and Bobby has to deal with the aftermath. Prompts
: the boys go on vacation; the boys get drunk and play truth or dare; and after a hunt goes wrong, and Sam and Dean have to recuperate at Bobby's. 1. The set up
"I don't know man, I just don't get this one. Nothing we're hearing makes any sense. And last night? Nothing. Not even a blip of EMF." Sam shut the laptop in frustration, sliding it away from the empty plate in front of him.
"I know what you mean." Dean shifted and leant back into the booth, the hand holding his loaded fork gesticulating wildly as he continued. He looked as frustrated as Sam felt.
– no one's been killed, or even badly hurt. Which means it's unlikely to be a wendigo, which is good cos I hate those suckers. B
– there haven't been any suspicious deaths in that part of the woods. In fact, there haven't been any suspicious murders anywhere near this friggin' town. So I'm pretty sure we aren't dealing with a spirit."
"And thirdly," Sam added, eyes warily on the dripping load of eggs and sausage dangling from Dean's fork, "there's the fact that the only proof of anything being in those woods are the footprints. And the hair left behind. And we didn't see anything like that last night. It sounds like a bust to me." Sam moved the closed laptop out of the fallout zone should Dean have an incident with his breakfast, then began to gather up the rest of their research.
Sam was frustrated. At first, they'd thought it could have been a spirit – a lost hiker who had died or someone who had been murdered and buried in the area and was subsequently attacking day hikers. However, their research had found that nothing of the sort had happened in the area for over 80 years. And the 'attacks' had only started a few months ago.
After speaking to the victims that remained in the area, Dean had then decided that a good old-fashioned stake out was the way to play it. They'd already spent half of one night freezing their asses off in an attempt to catch the supposed 'beast' that was terrorising the town. After the long hours of absolutely nothing, Sam was sure they'd missed something.
This morning, they'd changed their focus and concentrated on the details of the case that were bothering them. If this was a supernatural creature, it was pretty tame. "Of the five people who claim to have been 'attacked,' only one person was sure that they'd seen," Sam glanced down to newspaper articles on the table, "a large hairy creature with claws and sharp teeth.
And the victims' injuries are consistent with running away
from something, as opposed to being attacked
by something - scrapes, scratches and twisted ankles. It almost sounds like this creature, or whatever, is chasing people and scaring them. More like a prank then something supernatural."
Dean shovelled the last forkful of egg into his mouth, then pushed his plate away from him in satisfaction and let out a subdued burp. Well, subdued for Dean. The women sitting across the aisle from them glared at Dean as her two boys joyously copied him. His brother didn't notice, looking earnestly at Sam. "You're probably right, it doesn't exactly sound like our kind of thing. And we didn't see anything to even hint at a creature last night. But those people we overheard in the store were scared
man. Even if it isn't supernatural, someone could get seriously hurt if we don't stop this."
Seeing his brother purse his lips, considering, Dean knew he nearly had him. "Hey - we'll camp out at the scene of the attacks tonight and have it all sorted by morning. If it's not our gig, hey we get to drink under the stars and relax a bit. Think of it as a vacation." He beamed at Sam, who heaved an annoyed sigh.
More time wasted when they should be looking for Dad. But, Sam thought, they had put a lot of time into researching this stupid gig. And Dean was right, people were scared. No one knew how to stop the seemingly random attacks that occurred after dark in the nearby national park. Authorities had been unable to find the suspected 'bear' after several searches through the area.
Shaking his head, he gave in. Dean was obviously not going to be happy until he'd cracked this one. And looking at his brother now, who was grinning at the prospect of another stake out, Sam couldn't help but feel a wry excitement himself. "Fine. You and your stupid sasquatch obsession. But you have to buy some supplies. I'm not living on beef jerky again tonight."2. Later that night
"You think they got the message?" Sam dropped to the ground beside the little tent they'd set up, and opened a pack of Twinkies.
"After your little display out there?" Dean raised his eyebrows, quirking his mouth. "I think it'll be years
before they venture back out into nature. You scared me
, man! Feeling like they're giving you sasquatches a bad name?" He chuckled, amused at his lame joke, then wandered into the tent and began rustling around.
Sam huffed. "Well, they wasted our time. Now we have to sleep out here in this stupid tent!" He was cold, hungry and tired, they'd just spent the last two hours tracking a guy in a gorilla suit through the woods with his drunken buddies, and now he had to spend a night in a small tent with Dean. And he knew for a fact that Dean hadn't changed his socks in days
"Aww come on man, we're on vacation now. Remember?" Dean backed out of the tent, holding a couple of beers, a few packets of chips and a pack of cards. Along with the cooler of beers they'd taken from the hoax-sasquatch team as payment, they were set for the night. He plopped down next to Sam, passed him an open bottle, then leaned and poked at the fire.
"I even brought marshmallows man. You still haven't beaten my record from 1998."********************************
A few hours later, and Sam was feeling pleasantly buzzed. He finished his bottle, adding it to the small pile next to him, and grabbed a handful of corn chips. Dean, having exhausted his supply of bottle-tops that he'd been launching at Sam, precipitating a short but furious bottle-top war, leaned back, gazing into the fire.
"We haven't done anything like this for a while, huh?" he mused.
Sam snorted. "Yeah, well, spending the night in a tent with you after the beans you ate with breakfast? Not high up on my wish list man."
Dean flicked the burnt remains of a marshmallow at him, smirking. "I dare you to run to that tree and back. Naked
"No. No, no, no.
We are NOT getting into that again." Sam still hadn't recovered from the infamous nudie run of 1997 and the screaming of the ladies' knitting club that had had the misfortune to be staying at the same motel as the Winchesters on that ill-fated night. His brother had thought it was hilarious. Dad, not so much. Especially after they'd had to pack up and move to another establishment at 11pm at night.
Thinking the brief salvo was over, Sam started to relax. This wasn't half bad. If he ignored the crunching and belching from Dean's side of the campfire, it was almost…peaceful. The stars were bright and it was cool enough that mosquitoes weren't bothering him.
Dean interrupted his zen moment. "Hey. Pass me those nachos."
"Get your own man." Sam clutched the half-empty packet to his chest. The supplies for the night were pitiful, and no way was he going to starve.
"Sa-am! Gimme those nachos. I'm hungry." With only a slight tensing around his eyes as warning, Dean launched himself across the space between them, intent on the food. Sam turned, getting his brother in the side with an elbow, then flipped him over, using his weight to hold Dean away from the precious packet. After a quick flurry of pushing and cursing, eventually they both quit, Dean shoving Sam away and snagging the other packet of Oreos instead. Sam was left with the crushed chips.
It was an odd moment, given that they'd only recently begun to click again as a hunting/brother unit. Both felt kind of uncomfortable, Dean stuffing his face with Oreos and Sam taking another swig of his drink, avoiding eye contact with each other.
Not wanting to ruin the night, Sam knew he had to retaliate in a Winchester-approved, 100% non-chick flick way.
"I bet you can't eat that whole packet of Oreos in 20 seconds."
"Oh Sammy. You are so on."
Five seconds later and Sam felt a little disgusted that he was related to Dean. "…done! That was the lamest dare ever, dude!" Dean looked like a grotesque chipmunk, cheeks bulging outwards, beaming with satisfaction.
Sam really hadn't thought this through. He knew from experience that this would only encourage his brother. The dares would quickly escalate unless he dared Dean to do something so crazy that he would have no way to back out without looking like a pussy. And then, after failing miserably, he'd drop the game like a hot potato.
"I dare you to swing across that stream." Sam glanced to the thin branch sticking out over the stream they were set up beside. Yeah, that would do nicely. "Using that branch."
Dean followed his brother's pointed finger, and took in the sickly looking branch.
dare you to. Unless you're too chicken."
Dean's jaw set with determination, his eyes dark with confidence. Sam knew he had him.
"Oh you're on, bitch."********************************
"Alright, that was a good one Sammy," Dean muttered, emerging from the tent with dry jeans on and settling himself by the fire again. Ignoring his sniggering brother, he clicked his fingers together suddenly.
"Damn, forgot the beer. Hey, grab it for me would ya?" He sat back and waited for it as his brother threw an annoyed glance at him and disappeared into the tent. Sam was such a sucker that way.
Dean! This came from you? You smell like something's died in there! That cannot be healthy!" Sam thrashed around inside the tent for the zip, and stuck his head out of the door taking deep pulls of the sweet, fresh air. Dean just sat by the campfire laughing his head off; yep a vacation was just what they needed. 3. Bad luck
They'd both crashed after another disagreement that had gotten physical when Dean refused to seal his boots and socks in a plastic bag. A few hours later, groggily, Sam became aware of his brother rustling about beside him.
"You hear that?"
Sam forced his eyes open and inched his head out of the sleeping bag he'd cocooned himself in.
Dean was sitting up, hair flattened on one side of his head and sticking up haphazardly on the other, making him look a little demented. He cocked his head to the left, listening in the darkness of the tent.
"I think I hear those dumb kids again."
"You go get 'em dude." Sam turned over, and buried himself back in the sleeping bag. He was asleep again before Dean had even worked his boots back on and slipped out. He'd already wasted enough time dealing with those stupid kids. If Dean wanted to charge about the woods in the dark, then let him. ********************************
Dean stalked back in the direction of the tent. He'd wandered into a denser part of the woods in his initial hurry, and branches flicked at his shoulders, arms and legs, as he stumbled across the uneven ground. Friggin' rats. Goddamn disgusting, noisy rats. Sam was never going to let him hear the end of this.
He suddenly froze, staring at the eyes reflecting the pale moonlight in front of him. A branch rebounded back and whapped him in the chest as the eyes disappeared and something whisked off into the trees. Dean started, realising that whatever it had been, it was small and it was gone. He shook his head, amused and annoyed at his hesitation. Angry spirit? No problem, pass me the salt. Zombies? Awesome, lemme at them. Oh no, it was a little wildlife in a forest had him shaking in his boots. He was still shaking his head with nervous laughter when he stepped into a gopher hole, staggering violently, hands grabbing unsuccessfully for the branches around him to keep his balance.
"Sonuvabitch!" The words were jerked out of him as he windmilled his arms wildly. He took a step back with his left leg hoping to avoid landing on his ass. At least that was the plan. Instead, his left leg found nothing but air, and he toppled over. And down.
He couldn't see what he'd fallen over, but he sure as hell felt the impact as his lower back and ass hit the rocky surface, sending a white hot vibration of ohjesusFUCKcantbreathe
through his body as he bounced. The breath had left in a choked off gasp, the sudden shock of pressure making his head feel light and his vision waver. His brain could only process shuttered, disjointed sensations and sounds. Hitting the ground again, his head thudding dully against something, sending shockwaves down his neck and across his chest. The skittering of rocks and dirt beside his ears. Warm blood sliding down his face. Grunts as other parts of him hit unyielding rock. A sudden loud crack, which was worrying. His last thought was that Sam was going to have a field day with this one. Taken out by a rodent. ********************************
Sam had been awake for a few minutes before he realised what was wrong. It was quiet, too quiet. He rolled over suddenly, looking at the space where Dean should have been drooling into his sleeping bag and farting. He could vaguely remember Dean getting all riled up about something last night. Placing a hand onto the dishevelled bedding, he could feel how cold it was. Dean obviously hadn't come back yet then. He froze, suddenly fully awake, running his mind through the foggy memories of the night before. Dean had heard something, gone after it, and not come back.
Sam stood, pulled on his t-shirt and jacket, slipped his sneakers on. Dean would be sitting outside finishing off the last of the Twinkies, they'd pack up and move out. But when he stuck his head out of the tent and peered through the morning sunlight, all he could see was the empty cooler and the cold blackened space where the campfire had been. No Dean. Not even the disturbing aroma of his dirty socks.
Taking stock, he turned in a slow circle, trying to work out where Dean would have gone. He could see flattened grass and torn leaves on the ground to the right of the campsite, parallel to the stream that had defeated Dean the night before. It looked like something had moved through there, something wearing boots much like the ones his brother owned.
Sam moved in that direction, following the broken branches and ripped up ground cover, angling away from the campsite and stream. Ahead, in a patch of dirt, Sam found his brother's boot prints and followed his trail of destruction from the night before with a lot more confidence. Dean had obviously not been trying to hide from anything, nor did his marks have the definite, heavy-edged imprints of running away from anything in panic.
After 20 minutes of moving into denser bush, the tracks abruptly stopped in a patch of uneven ground riddled with gopher holes and exposed roots. Sam's heart plummeted when he saw the ripped up soil and grass, the hot thudding of his heart echoing in his ears. The patch of ground where something or someone
had slipped and skidded recently. He bounded closer and nearly ended up walking over the ravine edge as well. That large patch of freshly turned dirt meant only one thing.
Leaning over to peer down the ravine, he could see a crumpled heap at the bottom. It was wearing a leather jacket and jeans…
"Dean! DEAN?" No response.
"DEAN!" He skidded down to where Dean lay, slipping and sliding down the steep incline, sending a mini-avalanche of dirt down with him. Kneeling beside his silent and still brother, he reached his hands out but hesitated, unsure of where to touch.
Dean lay on his front, both arms under him, his face turned to the side. He was unconscious, but apart from a sluggishly flowing gash on his head matted with dirt and leaves, Sam couldn't see any injuries more serious than scrapes, bruises and grazes. Dean's hair was clumped with a mixture of blood, dirt and foliage. Blood from his head had coated the left side of his face; it looked like that eye was gummed shut by blood. Sam's quick examination of the other one showed a dilated pupil and little awareness. His pulse was strong, however, when Sam pressed his fingers into the clammy skin at Dean's neck.
Tentatively Sam rolled his brother over, jaw clenching at the limp way Dean moved, flopping over onto his back without a sound. The flow of blood from his forehead seemed to be slowing, but Sam pulled off his jacket, shucking his t-shirt and jamming it against Dean's head. As Dean groaned at the pressure, Sam's eyes darted back to his brother's face. Jesus, how long had be been lying there? All night?
"Hey! Hey, wake up man." As he tried to rouse his brother, Dean's eyelids flickered, his face scrunching up in confusion and distress. His mouth moved, he swallowed.
"W-wha? Ssssm, issat you?" he slurred. Sam's concern ratcheted up another notch. Dean must have really knocked his head badly on the way down. He watched as his brother shakily swallowed again and gingerly moved his head, eyes still closed. Dean's face suddenly paled even further beneath the coating of dirt and blood.
Sam turned his brother to his side and waited helplessly while he retched and vomited, trying to avoid the mess.
Once the spewing was over, he gingerly helped a shuddering Dean sit up, his face screwed up in pain, a shuttered groan slipping out from clenched teeth. The eye that wasn't coated in grime and blood flew open. "Urrggh."
Clammy hands clamped onto Sam's arms, scrabbling at his jacket front as Dean tried to slow everything down and comprehend how he ended up lying in the dirt at the bottom of a freakin' ravine. His face scrunched up in bewilderment again as his bleary eye darted from Sam's face to the sky above him. "Whaa?"
Sam was certain that Dean was concussed. At the very least. "Dude? You ok? Geeze man, that was one hell of a fall. We've gotta get you back up to the car. Can you walk? Or should I call the rangers?"
Dean made a dismissive noise, the effect ruined somewhat by his grimace of pain as he shrugged Sam away and tried to sit up straighter.
"No rangers man." Dean's eye blinked back to him, a distant confusion keeping his brow furrowed. "Lemme up. I'cn walk." He flopped heavily against his brother, working to stand.
OK, the slurred speech and confusion were really scaring Sam. He heaved his brother up, ignoring the grunt of pain and taking Dean's weight as he sagged against him even more. He needed to get him to the car, then to a hospital.
Jus' stop. Sssm. Dizzy." Sam froze, letting his brother lean into his chest. He could feel Dean trembling, trying to control the urge to spew again, and probably trying to see straight, if the way he was blinking and trying to focus his working eye was anything to go by.
The walk, or stumble in Dean's case, back to the campsite, then the car, was long and painfully slow. Dean shuffled along, Sam having to stop several times for his brother to vomit. Dean couldn't walk straight to save himself. His shoulder knocked against Sam's constantly as the younger Winchester tried to correct their course each time Dean veered wildly.
He had, however managed to rouse himself a bit more and by the time Sam was gingerly folding him into the backseat of the Impala, he looked at least semi-aware. Sam heaved a relived sigh once they were on the road and heading to the hospital. He shouldn't have been surprised, Winchester vacations seemed to turn out this way. Like the sunburn in Florida (Dean), the food poisoning in Utah (Sam and John) and the jellyfish sting in New Mexico (Dean again). 4. Finding a solution
Listening to your brother rave about sasquatch gophers for three hours was no vacation, that's for sure. Sam stretched back in the chair, back clicking and popping. His eyes returned to his drugged brother who was finally sleeping, drool stretching from the corner of his mouth to the edge of the pillow. The last thing he'd slurred, dazed eyes failing to focus on Sam's face was, "no more vacations Sam. We're just not cut out for it."
Despite how uncomfortable he was, Dean had been very lucky. He'd definitely made an impression as they staggered into the reception of the small hospital, covered in blood, vomiting and swaying like a sailor. But once he'd been rushed to the ER department, x-rayed and cleaned up, the doctor had been pleasantly surprised by the lack of life-threatening injuries.
Apart from the concussion, he'd broken his left wrist, fractured a couple of ribs and his tailbone and had some pretty serious bruising on his face, cheek and back. It could have been a lot worse. He'd been awake on and off for the past 24 hours, and finally it looked like the nausea had stopped. Watching someone throw up repeatedly with fractured ribs was probably almost as fun as being the one with fractured ribs repeatedly throwing up.
However, as battered as Dean looked, the doctor had assured Sam that his brother would be fine. There were no areas of swelling or bleeding in his brain, and he would just need to take it easy for the next few weeks. While they were only fractured, the ribs and tailbone would be excruciatingly sore, the doctor had said. They could release Dean the following day, but did they have anywhere to go where Dean could rest up? ********************************
It took Bobby some time to find his phone, digging under the piles of books and loose sheets of paper littering his kitchen table. Why'd they have to make the damn things so friggin' small?
"Hello?"Bobby? It's Sam Winchester
"Sam! Good to hear from you. How're you two going out there? Your brother find his sasquatch yet?"No sasquatches, although Dean did meet his match. Listen, Bobby, we need a place to crash for a few days…********************************
Dean directed a battered and bruised version of his charm at the nurse who helped him to swing his legs off the bed, the effect ruined by the line of dried drool in the corner of his mouth.
He turned his attention to his brother, who was watching him inch out of the bed with a scowl on his face. "I feel fine dude," he rasped.
OK, so he wasn't looking forward to sitting or moving for the next few weeks, but they really didn't have the cash of the credit cards to stay in a motel for very long and he'd be damned if he spent any more time in this goddamn bed. He shifted again, suppressing a grimace as the twinges of pain shot up from his tailbone. Thank god for painkillers, man. "Just get me my clothes and we're outta here. Piece of cake." No one mentioned the 15 agonising minutes it had taken him to move from lying to leaning on the bed, hunched posture and breathing heavily.
The nurse turned to Sam with an amused smile. "I can give you some painkillers –fractures in these areas are very sore. He'll need the injection of corticosteroid twice daily, and the local at night…"
"What the hell have you two idjits done now?"
The voice in the doorway jerked Sam away from his stubborn, pale and bruised brother. He bounded towards Bobby, relief and exhaustion clear on his face.
"Bobby! Thanks for coming!"
Bobby glanced at Sam, then at Dean who had inched to the edge of the bed and was leaning against the frame, tilted to one side to try to keep all his weight off his ass. Although trying to appear nonchalant, Dean was visibly trembling, and a sheen of sweat coated his milky-looking face. The kid looked beat and bruised to hell, and Sam didn't look much better.
"Well? What happened? Some kind of creature?" Bobby's eyes darted back to Sam, who let out an amused huff as the nurse left to get the prescriptions.
"Not exactly. It was a gopher."
"A demonic gopher," Dean amended, slightly cross-eyed as he tried to concentrate on Bobby, while avoid moving, and thus hurting, at all.
"Dean managed to trip in a gopher hole and fall down a cliff," Sam supplied, sitting back down beside the bed again. "Broke his arm, his tailbone. Knocked himself silly. Apart from painkillers, they can't do anything more. He just needs to take it easy and not move around for a few weeks. That's why I was hoping we could crash at your house for a little while."
Bobby sighed as two hopeful, tired faces turned towards him. Well, of course he wasn't gonna say no, he'd already driven all the way out here. 5. Bobby
Dean Winchester was a pitiful sight, Bobby decided, as he held the kitchen door open. Dean shuffled in, Sam following just behind, hands hovering around Dean's shoulder blades, as if desperate to help him but knowing the wrathful consequences of any contact. The bruises had come up nicely on Dean's face, making him look a bit like a raccoon, and he could imagine that the rest of him looked and felt much the same.
It was only once they'd gotten Dean semi-comfortable, stretched out on the couch, propped up among pillows and injected and subdued with painkillers, that Sam allowed himself to relax, sitting at the table with Bobby and a bottle of beer.
Bobby slid a tattered leather-bound book across the table to Sam, whose mouth twitched up in a smile. "Well, as long as you're here, Sam, I could use a bit of help. I just happened to pick up that volume you were looking for the other month."6. Four days later
Bobby deposited Dean back onto the sofa, the younger man hunched over and in pain. He looked up at Bobby, attempting a rueful grin that looked totally out of place on his strained, sweaty face. "Man, who would have thought that pissing could be so painful, huh?"
"Well, next time, don't be an idjit and ask for help before you get stuck in the bathroom!" Bobby pushed his cap back from his forehead in frustration, glaring at Dean. He never wanted to see that part of the younger hunter's anatomy again. Ignoring the amused twitch of Dean's mouth, he collected the dirty plates and glasses that littered his coffee table. He wasn't the tidiest of men, but it was like a goddamn hurricane had hit. For people that didn't have many possessions, the Winchesters sure could make a mess.
"Let's not talk about this ever again. Just …ask next time, will ya? I'm going out to the yard. You need anything before I go?"
"Nope. Got the remote and some chilli. I'm good, dude."
That boy would be the death of him. He never asked for help. Back in the kitchen, Bobby tugged his hat back over his forehead in irritation and deposited the dirty dishes at the sink.
Only this morning, he'd heard a crash and a muffled "godDAMNit!" Both Sam and himself had come running from separate parts of the house, to find Dean standing over one of Bobby's enamel mugs he'd obviously dropped onto the kitchen floor. Dean had been calculating how he was going to get down there and pick it up, but had only gotten a quarter of the way down before realising that with fractured ribs and tailbone, any kind of bending was out of the question. He'd reminded Bobby of the rusted up tin-man from the Wizard of Oz.
Now only a few hours later, and Bobby had come into the bathroom after hearing the frustrated swearing and … well, he never wanted to experience the kind of pain that Dean had seemed to be in. But, friends or not, there was only so far Bobby would go to offer help.
"Sam? You wanna help me out with these dishes?" he yelled. He'd not seen hide nor hair of that one all afternoon since he'd buried himself in Bobby's library. Deciding the dishes could wait until Sam realised he wouldn't get any dinner without them, Bobby resolved to go work on his pet project in the yard. A little peace and quiet was just what he needed after the dramas of the last few days. He opened the door and stepped out, breathing in the clear, crisp air - just as Dean decided actually, he would like another glass of water and a slice of that pie from last night, thanks. ********************************
"Bobby! Can you get me a glass of water on your way back? And a heat pack?"
Bobby sighed and shut his book with a snap, wishing for a minute that it was the older Winchester's face. He loved those boys, but he could almost throttle the invalid on his sofa.
Sam joined Bobby at the kitchen table, holding out an apologetic beer.********************************
"Stop it man. That sound creeps me out."
Dean dug his fingers out from the edge of the cast on his left arm and stopped scratching. Fuck it itched. Sam must have heard his sigh.
"Think of it as a vacation, Dean." Without even lifting his eyes from the book in front of him.
Dean gingerly inched back into the deck chair, a coke in his hand, a pillow under his ass and a blanket over his legs. He had to admit that the weak sunlight on his face did feel good. And, added bonus, he could now sit down without total incapacitating pain. He glanced across at his brother, a demonology text, maps and their dad's journal in his lap. He looked relaxed, the first time in a while, actually.
Bobby was out tinkering with cars, looking a little frazzled around the edges. Dean had thought he'd heard Bobby muttering about breaking someone's other arm as he'd stalked out. As much as he acted annoyed about them eating all his food and messing up his research, Dean got the feeling that the older man enjoyed having people to talk to, to cook and drink with. He sure as hell appreciated the man's chili and chili-dog variations. And even though Bobby had the most ancient TV that Dean had ever seen, he'd watched the Star Wars marathon with only a few complaints. Dean knew Bobby enjoyed having Sam geeking out to his heart's content in the library. Their conversations mostly bored Dean, but hey, at least they were happy.
"Yeah, well, I guess it isn't the worst idea you've ever had," he muttered.
"No, that would have been you going up against a gopher."
"Shut up." Sam was never going to let him live this down. 7. Two weeks later
"But it itches man…"
Leaving Sam to deal with his brother, who was miserably shuffling around inside and moaning about the lack of cable and how much he itched, Bobby retreated out to the tranquillity of his yard to disassemble some wrecks. It felt comfortable having those boys around. Even if he'd be damned as to how on earth they could get themselves into the situations that they did. He'd almost miss them when they moved on. Almost.