Bobby said no. He wouldn't move on. It was maybe among the stupider decisions he'd made, sticking around as a ghost, or spirit, or whatever, but he couldn't bring himself to abandon the boys. John's boys, his boys now too. They were his too, and he had to look after them.
The reaper frowned at him and shook his head. "An unwise decision. You are a hunter, you know what you will become."
"Maybe, not fer sure," Bobby said, glaring right back. "Now send me out of here, back to the real world."
"Unavoidable," the reaper insisted, but then he snapped his fingers, and the room faded away.
Bobby managed to scrawl the number on Sam's hand when he woke in his body. Most of it, anyway. The last digit was left off, the pain becoming too much and overcoming him.
"Idjits," he rasped out, then...then he was standing beside Sam and Dean, looking down at his body.
"Bobby?" Dean sounded like a little boy.
"Bobby!" Sam sounded close to tears.
His heart aching, Bobby could only stand and watch as the two of them called his name, over and over, and, when it finally got through to them that he was gone, he had to watch them practically collapse, leaning heavily on each other, staring blankly at his body.
He wished desperately he could do something, anything. The boys had lost enough already. Their mother, their daddy, just about every friend they ever had, now him too. They were alone, and they knew it.
Bobby followed them as they buried his body (lucky for him they didn't burn it, but hadn't John taught them better than that? Hadn't he?) and as they took refuge in Rufus' cabin.
The minute they were through the door Dean was reaching into his duffel for the cheap whisky Bobby knew he kept in there. Sam watched, concern in his eyes, even as he tried to deal with his own grief. "Dean."
"Leave it, Sam." Dean's voice was hoarse, like he hadn't spoken for days.
"Dean, come on-"
"I said leave it!" Dean yelled, closing his eyes and tightening his grip on the bottle. Bobby was surprised it didn't break.
Sam watched his brother for a minute, then sighed. "I hope you're going to share that."
Bobby watched him join Dean on the couch, the two of them getting drunker as the night passed. He couldn't fault them; hadn't he himself drank bottle after bottle when both of the boys died?
So it went on. Night after night, he watched the boys drink themselves to sleep, Sam too and not just Dean like he would have expected. In the day Dean plotted his revenge against Dick Roman and Sam tried to talk to Dean, get him to stop for just a second. As he should. Winchesters and their damned revenge requests. John's had ruined any chance Sam and Dean had at a normal life, Sam's released the devil. There was no way anything good could come of Dean's.
Bobby tried several times to establish contact. To move objects, make them somehow hear him as he shouted so loud he made his throat ache and his ears ring, but it was no good.
It became a sad little routine, until the eighteenth day.
It started as it normally did, Sam and Dean waking up hungover, Dean getting up and going over to his notes and newspaper articles. His Wall-o-Revenge, Bobby had dubbed it in his mind. Sam went into the kitchen to make coffee and brought a cup to Dean. It was received with a grunt.
Sam paced over to the couch, watching Dean, an anxious little line between his eyebrows. "Dean, please. Just stop, for five minutes."
"Don't, Sam. Leave me alone."
Sam sat there for another minute, then put his cup of coffee down on the table deliberately. "No. No, I won't leave you alone. I'm done with that." He rose and advanced on Dean.
"I swear to god, Sam, you push me and I'll hit you. I will." Dean spun around and glowered at his brother.
"I've left you alone, Dean. Every time you ask me to, I do. It's not making a difference whether I bother you or not. You're gonna kill yourself, man, and you won't let me-" Sam's voice broke, and he took a deep breath. He looked like he was holding back tears. "You won't let me help you, or comfort you, or anything."
"You can't," Dean said, but he softened slightly, defenses coming down somewhat at the sight of a visibly upset Sam. "Sammy..."
Without another word, Sam reached out and pulled Dean to him, wrapping his arms around him in a fierce hug and pressing his face to Dean's neck.
Dean's arms came up too, one around Sam's waist and the other sliding around his shoulders. They stood there like that, just holding each other.
Bobby sighed. It was painful to watch. They boys had been through so much and stayed so strong, but this, his death, it was breaking them so badly. It was hard for him to have to watch them clinging to each other, seeking comfort desperately, but it was progress. At least Dean wasn't snarling and Sam wasn't pleading anymore. Progress.
After a few more minutes, Sam lifted his head and pulled back a little, studying Dean. Then he leaned forward and-
Oh. Oh. Holy hell.
Bobby stared in shock as Sam's lips met Dean's. He was kissing him. Dean. His brother. And Dean...
Dean wasn't pushing him away and demanding what the hell or punching him, he was craning upwards and tangling one hand in Sam's hair and kissing him back fiercely.
They kissed with such intensity and focus, like it was all that mattered. They kissed like they were used to it, like they did it often. All the time.
They probably had.
At his house? Bobby wondered as Sam backed Dean to the wall, breaking the kiss to go after his neck, sucking at his pulse and biting. Dean threw his head back and moaned aloud, and had they done this when they came to visit him? Were they just upstairs all those times, under the covers in one bed trying to be quiet so he didn't hear?
And how long had it been going on? Since they were kids? Bobby really hoped not. The thought made him ill. If it had been going on that long, it might have started when Sam was so young he didn't know what he wanted, or why it was wrong. Dean could have manipulated or coerced him into it...
But, watching them right now, it was pretty clear to Bobby who was in charge. Sam was the one who was now pulling Dean away from the wall, guiding him to lay down on the couch and stripping his clothes off. He seemed to be calling the shots at the moment.
And anyway, Bobby knew Dean, knew he'd never force Sam into anything. Maybe it was the other way around, then. Dean would do anything for Sam, and if Sam wanted this, sex, enough, Dean would probably give in...
Dean didn't seem too unhappy. He was now sitting up, urging Sam to take off his shirt. Once that was off, Dean attacked Sam's jeans, ripping them open and pulling the zipper down so fast Sam winced as it scraped him.
"Come on," Dean said. "C'mon, Sammy, come on!"
"Wait, just a sec," Sam said, holding up a hand and looking around. "Dean, if I'm gonna be fucking you, or you fucking me, we need lube, and I don't know where it is."
"I don't care," Dean growled, grabbing Sam's arm and yanking him down on top of himself. "I don't give a rat's ass about lube. Use spit if you have to."
"How do you-"
"You. In me. Now." Dean pulled his legs up, exposing himself to Sam.
"Alright," Sam breathed, leaning down for a kiss then sliding two fingers into Dean's mouth, which he immediately began to suck on.
Bobby couldn't believe what he was seeing. His head was spinning, his whole perception altered. The boys were sleeping with each other? He went back through his memories, trying to remember if there had ever been indication of it. Not that he could think of. They'd always acted like regular brothers. (Okay, not regular, but just brothers. Not like boyfriends, or lovers, or anything else.)
There was no doubt what he was seeing. He felt pretty sick watching it, watching them. They were brothers, this was incest, and besides, he'd known them as children, he didn't want to see either of them having sex, let alone with each other.
However, at the same time that it made Bobby feel ill, he could almost understand. Growing up the way they had, never staying in any place long enough to form real relationships, being told constantly family was the only thing you could trust and having it drilled into their heads... He could pretty much see where it came from. And they weren't hurting anyone. They couldn't have messed up kids, and if it brought them some comfort, that was something they dearly needed. Especially since there was no one else around to provide it.
He couldn't condemn them for it, but he didn't approve or like it, and he certainly didn't want to watch it. Bobby turned and tried to leave, but he couldn't leave the house. Huh. Apparently the reaper had bound him to the boys or something. Well, wasn't that fine and dandy?
Sick fascination made him turn back around.
Sam was just pushing into Dean. His eyes were closed, but Dean's were open and locked on Sam's face, like he was afraid his brother would up and vanish.
"Oh, fuck, Dean," Sam panted. "It's been how long since we did this? Ungh, at least a month. You're so tight."
"I swear your dick has gotten bigger," Dean retorted. "Now move already."
Sam did just that, beginning to thrust, doing something that made Dean cry out.
Bobby watched them, not sure why he was or how to feel. They were both moaning steadily by that point, and then Sam finished. He could tell by the way the boy's movements lost rhythm and got sloppier, and finally he collapsed on top of Dean.
"Grmph," Dean said from under him. "Sam! Dammit, Sam, you didn't get me off! You'd better not fall asleep."
Sam raised up onto all fours, looking down at Dean. "Asleep? I'm just getting started. Better buckle up."
"Buckle up, really? How lame can you-" Dean fell silent as Sam's hips twitched. "No way. That's not possible, you can't be hard again that fast! What the hell, man?"
"It's definitely possible," Sam chuckled, moving again and drawing a groan out of Dean. He pulled out. Dean whined slightly at the loss, but then Sam stuck his fingers back into Dean's mouth.
Bobby felt just as confused as Dean. Wasn't Dean already stretched out enough? And as soon as he had the thought he hated himself. And felt queasy. He really didn't want to be considering the state of Dean's ass.
Once Sam was apparently satisfied that his fingers were wet enough, he withdrew them and reached back behind himself.
Dean got it suddenly. "Oh, fuck yeah, Sam." They watched Sam stretch himself open, discomfort showing on his face before it smoothed out and he sighed slightly. Dean wiggled, impatient. "Hurry up! I need to come."
"You can just wait a minute," Sam muttered, even as he was getting into position, straddling Dean. He slowly lowered himself onto Dean's cock, gasping as he slid all the way down.
"Mmm, Sammy. And you thought I was tight," Dean panted as Sam started to move, raising himself up then slamming back down, moaning loudly. "And you always tell me I sound like a porn star." Dean took hold of Sam's hips, planting his feet flat on the couch, getting leverage to thrust upwards.
"I hope you boys know how screwed up this is," Bobby said to himself, still glued to the scene before him.
Sam started stroking himself as he rode Dean, and it wasn't long before he was coming again. Dean followed half a second later, holding tight to Sam.
Bobby finally turned away as they kissed and cuddled (actually cuddled.) It was somehow more intimate than the sex, and he felt even weirder watching the afterglow than he did the actual act.
He didn't turn around an hour later when Sam bent Dean over the arm of the couch and gave it to him, or two hours after that when Dean got Sam up on the table and spent an eternity teasing him and driving him to the brink again and again. It didn't stop him from hearing them.
Bobby sighed and dug his palms into his eyes, as, four hours after the whipped cream incident, Sam and Dean sucked each other off at the same time.
Holy fucking hell. If this was what he'd signed up for by sticking around as a ghost, an eternity of Sam and Dean going at it, he sincerely wished he had chosen the other option.
If only that reaper would come back.