Bobby sighed as the door shut behind Sam. The boy just wanted to make sure his brother was all right but Dean was stubborn, just like his daddy. Bobby allowed a moment of silence over the loss of his friend and an even longer one cussing the man out for leaving him to deal with the fallout of his actions.
He wasn’t anybody’s Daddy.
His cell phone ringing caught him mid-curse and with a scowl, he snatched it up with a gruff, "Yeah?"
He listened intently for a few minutes. "Yeah, I got time. When?" He moved towards the calendar hanging by the fridge but stopped short. "This afternoon?" He spared a glance out the window just in time to see Dean start to beat up the Impala.
He sighed. "I got the boys here," he said reluctantly, "but they can probably bunk together if it takes more than a day." He rooted around on the counter for a piece of paper. "Gotta name?" He grunted. "Don Summers? Never heard of him." He scowled at the phone. "What's that supposed to mean?" He cursed as laughter spilled from the phone. "Damn fool woman," he said, hanging up.
He took another look outside and saw Sam stalk back to the house. He winced as the door slammed and Sam threw himself into a kitchen chair.
Bobby grunted as he poured himself a cup of coffee. “Gotta new customer comin’,” he said, causing Sam to look up from where he had been attempting to set fire to the table with his eyes. “Needs some modifications made to his car. You reckon you and Dean can cut out the chick flick moments until he’s gone?”
Sam scowled at him from the chair.
Bobby sighed. Damn stubborn Winchesters. “Look, kid, I know you wanna talk about what happened to your Daddy but Dean is cut from the same cloth as John. He don’t wanna talk about his feelings.”
“He acts like nothing happened,” Sam said angrily. “Like he’s just forgotten all about it.”
“You can just take that back right now, you hear,” Bobby said, seriously. He set his cup on the counter and moved closer. “That brother of yours out there hasn’t forgot nothin’. It’s eatin’ him up somethin’ fierce knowin’ that your Daddy did that for him. He’s feelin’ like it’s his fault your Daddy died and that we’re gonna blame him like he blames himself. And he blames himself a little more each time someone brings it up,” he added with a pointed glance at Sam.
Sam gave him a bewildered look. “It’s not his fault!” he shouted. “Dad’s the one that made that stupid bargain.”
“Which he wouldna made if Dean wasn’t dyin’.” He raised his hand when Sam angrily opened his mouth. “I’m not sayin’ I blame Dean. I’m just tellin’ ya what he’s thinkin’.”
Sam turned his attention back to the table top with another fierce frown. Bobby sighed for what felt like the millionth time that day and grabbed his coffee again. He sat down at the table across from Sam and took a sip of his now cold coffee. He grimaced.
After a few minutes Sam looked over at Bobby. “Hey, Bobby? Did we just have a moment?” he asked with a half smile.
“Get the fuck out of here, Winchester!” Bobby roared as he jumped to his feet. Sam scurried out the door, laughter trailing behind him as Bobby rounded the table menacingly. “And tell that fool brother of yours we’re eatin’ early!” he shouted out the back door.
Damn it, John, he thought staring blankly into the kitchen. I don’t think I can do this.
Sam walked slowly out to the Impala. Dean was buried under the hood. He cast a curious glance at the dented trunk but said nothing.
“So,” he said, sticking his hands in his pockets. “Bobby and I had a moment.”
Dean straightened from beneath the hood. “Yeah?” he asked, a lop-sided smile forming as he wiped his hands on a rag. He hitched a hip up on the car and waited expectantly.
“Yeah.” Sam scuffed at the dirt. “Kinda told me I’m an ass.”
“Well, that’s nothing new,” Dean smirked.
Sam rolled his eyes. “Whatever, man. Bobby’s got somebody comin’ to work on their car. Sounds like another hunter. He wants us in for lunch if you can tear yourself away from the engine.”
“Yeah, yeah. Bitch,” Dean grumbled as he tossed the rag down and closed the hood.
“Jerk,” Sam called over his shoulder already walking back toward the house.
He walked faster as Dean started to catch up and soon both boys were running full out toward the house. Sam was almost to the back porch when Dean shoved him.
Sam staggered and just barely managed to catch himself. “Cheater!” he yelled at Dean, who was crowing over his victory.
“You know what they say, Sammy,” Dean said with a wide grin. “It’s not how you play the game, it’s how you WIN!”
Sam brushed past him on the way inside. “That’s not what they say, Dean,” he muttered sulkily.
“Whatever,” Dean said. “’You’re just jealous ‘cause I WON!”
“Shut up and sit down,” Bobby said from the stove. Both boys eagerly sat down.
Bobby brought over a large pan of macaroni and a platter of hamburgers. “Food’s up,” he said, going back for three beers.
They all dug in.
“So, Sammy said someone’s coming to get some work done?” Dean asked around a mouthful of burger.
“Yeah,” Bobby said, taking a swig of his beer. “Ellen said she’s sending someone to get their car fixed up for hunting. Don Summers. Know him?” he asked.
“Never heard of him,” Dean said, reaching for the macaroni.
“Nope. Wait,” Sam frowned in concentration. Bobby and Dean turned to him. “Oh, sorry. There was this girl I met at Stanford. She didn’t go there, she was just visiting this guy from one of my classes. I think her name was Dawn Summers.”
Dean snorted. "Somehow I doubt it's the same person."
Sam thought back to the tall, willowy brunette. "Yeah. That's kinda hard to imagine."