Mia Culpa
by Minx
One week after the devastation of the police station in Monument, Colorado…
Santa Fe, New Mexico
El Pueblo Motor Lodge
“Hello?”
Sam hesitated, taking a steadying breath. He licked his lips nervously, then plunged in, trying to keep his tone upbeat and nonchalant. “Hey, Bobby. How’s it going?” he asked, adding a hint of warmth to the question. “Uh, listen, hate to bother you, but I kinda need to find out everything you know about a demon called Lilith.”
“Sam?!” Bobby Singer’s voice wavered in stunned disbelief and before Sam could offer a conciliatory reply, he heard the clunk of Bobby’s phone hitting the floor. There was a grunt, some cursing and then Bobby was back on. “Son, is that really you?”
“Um, yeah, sorry,” Sam replied sheepishly. “I guess I forgot to mention that me and Dean aren’t dead.” Yeah, wow, understatement there, Sam thought with more than a glimmer of guilt.
“You’re SORRY?” Bobby spat out slowly. He was furious. “I’ll give you sorry, you little -”
Sam squirmed at the tone, knowing Bobby was well on his way to full-blown lecture mode, ready to blister his ears since his behind wasn’t close enough to suffer the same fate.
“Look, Bobby,” Sam started, cutting the older man off, “I really am sorry we didn’t call sooner, but Dean and I’ve been a little uh…busy.”
Sam winced inwardly. The vague generalization wasn’t going to go over too well with Bobby, and Sam felt guilty making excuses to the older hunter. Bobby was as close as he and Dean had to blood these days. Still, it wasn’t like he could tell Bobby the truth, not if he wanted to survive until his next birthday.
But busy? At least it sounded better than telling the man that he and Dean were mentally and physically worn out from battling a slew of demons that were hell bent on killing the both of them. Or confessing to Bobby that they were still recovering from the emotional trauma of a screw up that resulted in a police station full of dead bodies. And never mind that they were now running for their lives from some unknown, ruthless demon who had plans to take over the world and a serious bone to pick with the Winchesters.
“What the hell have you two idjits gotten yourselves into now?” Bobby demanded angrily, hearing Sam’s hesitation. “Put Dean on.”
Sam cringed, making a face. “He-he’s in the shower?” Sam lied quickly, and very poorly.
He could almost hear Bobby’s teeth grinding over the line.
“That didn’t work with me when you were six, and it sure as hell ain’t gonna work now, Sam. You put your brother on the line, now.”
Sam swallowed hard. “Uh, well the thing is…Dean doesn’t even know I’m calling you, Bobby. And well, he’d probably kick my ass if he -”
“You put your brother on the line right now, or I’ll be the one kicking your ass, Samuel Winchester!” Bobby roared.
Sam was tired. He was not in the mood to be grilled by Bobby, regardless of whether the man had a right to be pissed or not. “Kinda hard to kick anyone’s ass over the phone, don’t you think, Bobby?” Sam smugly observed, letting his temper speak for him.
There was a long pause, punctuated by heavy breathing on the other end of the line, and then Bobby’s hard-edged twang broke the uncomfortable silence, the threat in the heated tone unmistakable.
“Boy, I may not be able to take you to task right here and now, but as God’s my witness, I’ve got a certain wooden spoon waiting with your name on it the next time you two chuckleheads show up at my door. Understand me? ”
“Y-yes sir,” Sam gulped, blanching slightly.
Bobby Singer wasn’t one to make idle threats, and Sam couldn’t help the sudden urge to avoid the entire state of South Dakota, for the next several years if he had to. Sam was well aware that the particular spoon Bobby mentioned – the infamous ‘spanking spoon’ from his and Dean’s childhood – was still a permanent fixture on the wall of Bobby’s kitchen. And Sam knew with uncomfortable certainty that it only took a few swats of that nasty implement to reduce him to the emotional capacity of a sniveling five-year-old, especially when it was applied to his hindquarters with the grit and determination of one such as Bobby Singer.
Before Sam could think of a way to save his hide, the door to the motel room swung open, causing Sam to nearly jump out of his skin. He hadn’t expected Dean back so quickly. Dean breezed into the room, greasy bag of tacos in hand and frowned when he saw Sam on the phone, an uneasy suspicion clouding his features.
“Who you talkin’ to?” Dean demanded. He dropped the bag of food onto the nearby dresser, lunch suddenly the last thing on his mind. His eyes never left Sam as he ambled up beside the younger hunter.
Flustered, Sam shrugged, as if to say he didn’t know who was on the other end of the line. Dean quirked a brow at that and Sam grimaced but remained silent. Sometimes he really sucked at the whole lying and stealth thing.
Dean’s frown deepened, turning ominous. He motioned impatiently at the cell phone in Sam’s hand, irritated at the side-stepping Sam was doing. “Dude,” Dean pressed, eyes taking on a flinty stare.
Sam heaved a sigh of resignation, realizing he was caught between a rock and a hard place (or a ‘spanking spoon’ and a hard hand, in this case). With a pained expression, he grudgingly handed over the cell phone to his brother.
“It’s uh, it’s for you,” Sam muttered. He looked like a man heading for the gallows.
Dean gave Sam a sharp look and snatched the phone from his hand. He glanced at it in curiosity, and then slowly brought it to his ear. “Yeah?”
Bobby’s voice assaulted Dean and the younger man flinched involuntarily at the heated vitriol spewing from the receiver.
“You wanna tell me why you two morons didn’t think to let me know – A WEEK AGO – that you were still alive and breathing? Hell, I open the newspaper last week and what do I see on the front page but you and Sam – big as life – arrested by that sonuvabitch FBI agent and heading for the state pen. And before I have time to get pissed about that dumb ass move, I read you both up and died in some fiery helicopter crash, with the entire police department gone up along with you! What the hell happened? Last I’d heard from you, you’d found Bela and the Colt and were on your way to get it back from her!”
“Oh, hey, Bobby,” Dean said, shooting Sam a death glare.
“Don’t you ‘hey’ me, boy!” Bobby shouted, forcing Dean to pull the phone away from his ear. “I oughta throttle the both of you! Keepin’ me in the dark like that and makin’ me think I’d lost the two most important people in my life!”
Dean cringed. He hadn’t done it to hurt Bobby or to make him worry. “Yeah…well that thing with Bela didn’t go down so well…um, the lousy bitch sort of called the Feds on us…and the fire? Well, the fire was sort of a, uh…misunderstanding, see -”
“Are you trying to kill me? Is that it?” Bobby asked, his voice dripping sarcasm.
“No, of course not, Bobby. We just-”
“Or is that you two ornery brats are just too damn lazy to pick up the phone and give an old man some peace of mind now and again?” Bobby suggested.
“Brats?” Dean asked, managing to sound slightly offended. “Jeez, we’re not twelve, Bobby. Have some-”
But Bobby wasn’t about to give Dean any headway. “You gonna tell me why the hell Sam is asking me about Lilith?” he questioned. “You get mixed up with the likes of her, and you’re as good as dead, you hear me?”
That one shut Dean right up, and Bobby growled in frustration. Just once, he’d like to hold a conversation with John’s boys that didn’t entail him pulling their sorry asses out of the fire, either figuratively or literally speaking.
Dean’s eyes narrowed at the mention of Lilith. He pinned Sam with a steely glare. The younger boy was still standing next to him, shuffling nervously in place, looking about ready to bolt. Sam caught the murderous look on Dean’s face and winced.
Dean felt his blood pressure shoot up a few notches. He couldn’t believe the little idiot had called Bobby and told the older hunter about the new demon in town. Without further thought, Dean reached over with his free hand and smacked the side of Sam’s head, hard, while offering his brother a testy scowl. Sam flinched but did nothing. He’d honestly expected the blow.
Dean gritted his teeth as Bobby continued the scathing lecture. This was why he’d told Sam not to call Bobby in the first place. If the man was this pissed already, then Dean didn’t even want to consider how much hot water they were going to be in once Bobby found out they’d screwed up the recovery of the Colt and botched their prison break, bringing down the wrath of this new mother-of-all-demons down on their sorry asses. If they had a dollar for every time a plan went sour, just in the last month, Dean figured he and Sam would be retired by now and sitting on an island beach somewhere with bikini-clad chicks bringing them ice-cold beers all day long.
“Dammit, Dean!” Bobby continued, the anguish in his voice going straight to Dean’s sense of honor. “Where is your common sense? I swear, your daddy trained you better than this, and you know it. You report in to me on a weekly basis from now on, you hear me? I’m not going through this kind of misery again!”
Despite the overwhelming feelings of guilt, Dean couldn’t resist rolling his eyes.
“Don’t you roll your eyes at me, son!” Bobby snapped, and Dean blinked in surprise. “I already told Sam, and now I’m tellin’ you. You can expect a good butt warmin’ the next time I get my hands on you! Got the spoon out and waiting, you hear me?”
Dean groaned, reaching out once again to smack Sam in frustration. Sam glared at him this time, rubbing his sore skull. Apparently one head shot per phone call was all he would allow.
“Boy, you hear what I’m saying?” Bobby warned.
“Yes, sir, I hear,” Dean answered tiredly. “Keep you in the loop on our jobs. Report whenever we aren’t dead. Ass beating scheduled and expected. I miss anything?”
“Keep sassin’ me like that, and I’ll make sure that scheduled ass beating is done on the bare,” Bobby intoned darkly. “Now, where are you?”
“New Mexico,” Dean replied, now sullen.
“Y’all get some rest tonight because I want you on the road and heading for my place first thing in the morning,” Bobby ordered. “Ain’t but a day’s drive, so don’t be lollygagging, trying to drag this out, thinking I’ll cool off some. I don’t hear your car pulling up to my door by nightfall and I’ll be jumping in the truck to come after you,” Bobby warned. “And believe me, son, you don’t want me doing that.”
“Got it,” Dean said. He shot another accusatory glare at Sam, who took an uneasy step away from Dean.
“We’ll talk more when you and Sam get here,” Bobby stated. “In the meantime, I’ll start pulling what I have on Lilith for you. And Dean?”
“Yeah?”
“Be careful. You thought old yellow-eyes was bad? Well Lilith would eat that one for breakfast and still be hungry. You got me? This ain’t penny ante poker you’re playin’ no more.”
“Yes sir, I understand. We’ll call on the road if anything comes up.” Dean snapped the cell phone shut and tossed it onto one of the unmade beds behind him.
He turned, fixing a dark look on Sam. “Come here,” Dean said, smiling icily.
“What? Why?” Sam asked, his face a mask of innocence while he backed away from Dean.
“Remember that ass kicking I promised you?” Dean replied. He slowly advanced on Sam, a tight, angry smile stretched across his lips, watching anxiety blossom over his brother’s face. “Well, it’s time to pay up, Sammy.”
Driveway of Singer’s Auto Salvage
Sioux Falls, South Dakota
“You know, I’ve had about enough of the pouting, you little baby,” Dean finally said, a note of irritation creeping into his voice.
They’d left the motel back in Santa Fe that morning, and Sam had been nothing but a sullen, whiny bitch since he’d collapsed into the front seat at 6 a.m., glaring daggers at Dean as he squirmed to find a comfortable position on his still sore behind. The 16 hour drive to Bobby’s had been pure hell because of him too. If Sam wasn’t hunched in the passenger seat like a ginormous brooding gargoyle, all silent with a scowl of gloom plastered across his face, he was shooting Dean pissy glares and making snide comments under his breath, criticizing everything from Dean’s driving to the crappy choice of snack foods at the last gas station.
Dean knew Sam was just pouting about the spanking he’d gotten after Dean had got off the phone with Bobby the other night. Dean had grabbed Sam before he was able to escape out the motel room door, and had half carried his little brother over to the nearest bed, upending Sam over his lap.
Sam had protested loud and long. In fact, Dean was surprised no one had come knocking on their door to complain about the noise they were making. Not that it would have made any difference. Dean had a lesson to teach his baby brother and nothing short of hell itself would have been able to stop him. He had paddled Sam’s rear end until his hand gave out, going numb from the volley of angry swats he’d landed all over his brother’s wriggling butt. He knew it had been a pretty harsh spanking, could tell just from the intense heat rising off the seat of Sam’s blue jeans afterwards, but the little shit had had it coming, Dean reasoned.
It wasn’t just that Sam had ratted them out to Bobby, but he’d done it behind Dean’s back. Just one more secret Sam thought he could keep from his big brother, even after the whole thing at the police station with Ruby’s little revelation about Lilith. Dean had warned Sam then that he’d set his butt on fire if anything like that happened again.
Dean’s jaw clenched thinking back on that. He and Sam were supposed to be a team. Hell, they were brothers, damn it. And you just didn’t keep stuff, especially freaking important shit like psycho killer demons that were gunning for you, from your family.
*****
The Impala’s engine ticked as it cooled in the yellow moonlight of Singer Salvage. The two brothers sat in silence, neither one making a move to speak or to leave the relative safety of the car. Sam’s right leg bounced up and down in a nervous rhythm, his troubled face turned towards the side window, mind focused inward. Dean was more agitated than worried, his knuckles white on the steering wheel as proof. Both were loath to be the first to go up to the door of Bobby Singer’s home and face the music.
Dean hated to admit it, but the thought of that ugly wooden spoon, just waiting somewhere inside, upset him more than if he were confronting a nest of vampires. Because vampires might try to rip out your throat and make a midnight snack out of you, but Dean was pretty confident that they’d never ever try to bend you over a kitchen table and beat your ass raw with a friggin’ evil cooking implement while cussing a blue streak and calling you things like ‘moron’, ‘idjit’, and ‘dumb ass’.
Sam finally broke the silence. “We can’t just sit here all night,” he stated wearily, throwing his hands up in the air.
“Sure we can,” Dean retorted. He twisted in his seat to give Sam a sardonic grin. “It’s not like we haven’t slept in the Impala before.”
“Dean…” The irritation in Sam’s voice complemented the pinched look he now sported.
Dean shot Sam a nasty glare. “Look, we’re in this mess because of you.”
“Excuse me?” Sam gaped.
Dean shrugged. “I’m not the one who called Bobby after we decided that that would probably be a really bad idea,” he asserted.
“No, but you’re the one that came up with the plan to hit Bela’s hotel room before we did a full recon of the place!” Sam shot back. He slouched down in the passenger seat, lower lip jutting out. “And I didn’t beat the crap out of you for that!” he added huffily.
“Whoa there, Little Mary Sunshine,” Dean said, brow creasing in anger. “First off, I’d like to see you try to beat the crap out of me.” Sam stiffened, but didn’t say anything, so Dean went on. “And second, if you had a problem with the plan, you shoulda said something before we got to Bela’s room.”
Dean let out a little chuff of annoyance. “This is crazy. You know, I don’t even know what we’re doing here. Seriously, dude, what do you say I just fire my baby back up and we get the hell out of here?”
“I don’t think that’s an option anymore, Dean,” Sam quietly muttered.
“Why not?” Dean asked.
Sam pointed out the windshield, and Dean’s face fell. Bobby Singer stood on the front porch of his house, backlit by the dingy yellow glow of the porch light. Dean saw that Bobby held a flask of some sort in one hand and in the other was the dreaded kitchen spoon.
“Aw, crap,” Dean moaned.
The boys stared at one another a moment and then with dual groans, they slowly, reluctantly, got out of the Impala and headed for the porch, heads down in resignation.
“’Bout damn time,” Bobby greeted them as they shuffled up the porch steps. “I was beginning to think you two’d forgotten how to open a car door.”
“You knew we were sitting out here?” Sam asked, surprised.
Bobby snorted. “Hell boy, I can hear that car of yours a mile away. And I got a nice big window there,” he pointed behind him with the hand holding the spoon. “so it’s not like you knuckleheads were gonna be able to sneak up on me or anything.”
He fixed the younger men with a stern look, eyeing first one and then the other. He thrust the flask out to Sam. “Here, take a swig and then pass it on to your brother.”
Sam frowned but accepted the flask. He brought it up to his nose for a sniff even though he pretty much knew what the liquid was. “Holy water, Bobby?” Sam stated, raising a brow. “Is that really necessary?”
Bobby shot Sam a pointed look and Sam blushed slightly. He quickly took a large swallow from the flask, giving Bobby a rather sanctimonious “I told you so” look when no smoke or other demonic signs appeared. Sam passed the flask behind him to Dean who took a chug and shrugged.
“Satisfied?” Dean asked.
“Yup,” Bobby replied, a grim smile coming to his lips. “C’mon in. I got coffee on the stove and some leftover chili if you’re hungry.”
Bobby casually stepped aside to let Dean and Sam pass by him and into the house. That should have been their first clue, Dean realized later. He hadn’t taken more than two steps along the scuffed floorboards when Bobby was on him, the wooden spoon swinging down and cracking across Dean’s unsuspecting backside with a loud, sharp smack.
Dean yelped, eyes widening to the size of saucers. He grimaced at the stinging warmth spreading across his butt cheeks.
“Shit!” he swore under his breath, but Bobby was already swinging again, and his aim was deadly.
Bobby got in three more solid swats to Dean’s butt before Dean decided to cut and run. He dodged Bobby’s last swing by mere inches. Leaping over a pile of books, Dean hastily retreated towards the kitchen, one hand pressed over his rear end in case Bobby decided to pursuit him.
Bobby let him go. He knew he could track the boy down later and really get his message across. The grizzled hunter turned instead on the younger boy. Sam stood, frozen in shock, just inside the front doorway, eyes wide and round. Bobby advanced, spurring the younger man into action. Sam pivoted, heading blindly back out towards the Impala, but Bobby shot a hand out and snagged Sam by an ear.
“Goin’ somewhere, Sam?” Bobby questioned, giving the captured earlobe a cruel tweak, forcing Sam to bend almost double or risk losing part of his ear.
“Bobby,” Sam whined, flinching. “C’mon, man, let’s be reasonable…”
Bobby answered the plea by smacking the spoon down on Sam’s jeans. Sam hissed, trying to dance out of the way of the smarting licks, but the older hunter had firmly latched onto his ear; there wasn’t much wiggle room to be had.
“Reasonable?” Bobby echoed, voice flinty. He laid another swat across both of Sam’s cheeks. “You’re asking me to be reasonable?” The wooden spoon came down three more times, and Sam bleated in dismay. “I’m gonna show you reasonable, boy!” Bobby spat.
He began dragging Sam by his ear down the hallway and towards the study, arm swinging and spoon cracking against Sam’s defenseless backside in a flurry of well-aimed swats all the way.
Bobby kept up the scathing lecture, punctuating certain words and choice phrases with a sharp swat or two from the spoon. Sam grunted and “owed” his way down the hall, face a mask of misery as he tried to concentrate on something other than the acute throbbing of his backside and the fact that his earlobe was going numb.
The spanking Dean had given him the night before only helped to make the assault all the more painful. Sam couldn’t help yelping loudly as Bobby halted their forward progress in order to bring the spoon down hard and fast. The younger hunter was in agony and close to tears by the time Bobby let go of his ear and gave him a not so gentle shove towards his desk in the study.
“You plant your rump in that chair and stay put ‘til I come back,” Bobby ordered, pointing at the hardback chair in front of his cluttered desk.
Sam glanced at the chair and gave a soft whimper. He looked pleadingly over to Bobby, face wrinkled in displeasure as he gingerly rubbed his sore butt.
“Can’t I just stand?” Sam suggested.
Bobby’s eyes went flat. He grabbed Sam’s arm, and spun him around with a shove that forced Sam to bend face down across the desk. Papers and books went flying off the top of the desk as Sam’s hands flailed up to stop him from smashing his nose into the hardwood desktop. He had only a second to think before Bobby lit into him with the spoon again, the smacks coming heavy and hard.
“I give you an order, you little fool, you best be following it,” Bobby snapped as he spanked Sam. “I’ve had enough of this crap from you and your brother. Now, you gonna set yourself down and keep your trap shut or do I need to beat a little more sense into you?”
“No, sir!” Sam choked, eyes tearing up from the throbbing ache in his backside. “I’m – OW - good! I’ll –mmph - sit!”
Bobby gave Sam half a dozen more swats before allowing him up from the desk. Sam rose slowly, biting his lip to keep from groaning out loud. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been spanked that hard. Bobby pointed at the chair and Sam trudged over to it, gave it a hateful glare and then slowly sank down onto the seat, wincing when his hot bottom met the wood of the chair. He immediately began squirming.
Bobby chuckled, watching Sam’s antics. “That’ll learn you,” he warned. “You behave yourself while I go deal with your brother.”
Dean nearly choked on the bowl of chili he’d been scarfing down, startled by Bobby’s sudden entrance into the dimly lit kitchen. Not that it came as much of a surprise. He’d overheard the ass beating Sam had received - couldn’t not hear it – Sam hollering and pleading and Bobby just swinging away with that fugly, evil spoon. Still, the sight of Bobby, standing there, tapping the spoon methodically against the side of his pants leg, made the chili in Dean’s stomach churn queasily. Dean was suddenly sorry he’d eaten it.
“Nice maneuver back there,” Bobby commented lightly, nodding back towards the hall and the front of his house as he took a step into the kitchen.
Dean let a smug grin play over his lips. “You liked that? Dad always taught us the best thing to do when your out-gunned is to cut your losses and bail until you can regroup.”
Bobby nodded, musing that over. “Good advice,” he said. He fixed a grim smile on Dean, slapping the wooden spoon lightly into his open palm. “Hope you didn’t think that would get you out of a real ass whoopin’ though.”
Dean actually laughed. He pushed away from the table, standing up. “Nah, I knew you’d come back for me. I just figured I’d let you wear your arm out on Sammy first.”
With a bemused sigh, Dean came around the old farm table and raised his hands as if in surrender. “How do you want me?”
“Ass up, of course,” Bobby dryly shot back.
“Right,” Dean said. He turned to face the kitchen table, shaking his head sadly, and bent over the tabletop, planting his palms onto the wooden surface. “This good?”
Bobby’s grin was almost feral. “That’ll do fine, boy.”
Dean opened his mouth to offer up one last comment, but Bobby was quicker. Dean almost bit the tip of his tongue off when the spoon connected with his denim-clad butt. The blow left behind a searing line of heat across his right ass cheek. Before he could blink, Bobby brought the spoon down again with a sharp fast smack, then another, and another, alternating cheeks. Dean gritted his teeth as the blows kept coming. Hard. Relentless. Again and again.
“Jesus! You been working out, Bobby?” Dean hissed in between smacks. He was finding it harder and harder not to squirm. He glanced over his shoulder at the older man. “Been eating your Wheaties for breakfast or what?”
“Whatsa matter?” Bobby questioned, pausing the spanking and grinning coldly. “Can’t take a little lickin’ from a man twenty years your senior?” he teased.
Dean felt his face flush in shame. “Bring it on,” he growled, angrily. He braced himself against the table, damned if he’d let Bobby Singer, or anyone else for that matter, show him up.
Bobby was happy to oblige Dean’s ego. He raised his arm back past his shoulder and let fly, the crack echoing throughout the room.
“Sonuvabitch!” Dean bellowed, half-rising from the table in shock.
“I got your attention, now, boy?” Bobby asked. Dean nodded tightly. “Good. Then lose the cocky posturing ‘cause I ain’t some young girlie you need to impress.”
Bobby rested the spoon on Dean’s burning ass, and Dean stiffened but remained in position, ear cocked in attention.
“You and Sam need to pull your heads out of your asses and start taking this war a helluva lot more seriously than you have been,” Bobby observed darkly. “Hell, boy, you sacrifice your damn life to bring Sam back and then turn around and put him at death’s door every other chance you get, it seems.” He shook his head in disgust. “You got brains, son, use ‘em.”
Dean sucked in a steadying breath as the words sunk in, hitting him harder even than the crack of the wood against his sore butt.
Bobby gave Dean’s scorched backside four more swats, these not as hard or with as much conviction as the prior ones. “You promise me, you’ll keep me in the loop on what you two are up to from now on. No more secrets. No more lies. No more letting me think you’re dead in a ditch somewhere, when you ain’t.” Bobby dropped the spoon tiredly onto the table next to Dean and patted the younger man’s back. “I’m here to help you, son, whether you want my help or not. I promised your daddy a long time ago that I’d make sure to keep you and Sam safe if anything ever happened to him and I’m a man of my word.”
Dean raised himself from the table top, tear-filled eyes fixing on Bobby with a mixture of shame, love and revelation. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, not able to get anything more than that out without choking up.
Bobby placed a callused hand on Dean’s shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Enough, kiddo,” he said gruffly. “Let’s go check on your brother,” he continued, wanting to change the subject before both men broke down and got mushy. “Sam’s probably asleep and drooling all over my papers by now.”
Dean chuckled at that image. “Yeah, he’s out like a light after he gets his ass beat. And quite the little drool factory when he’s sleeping,” he quipped. “And I’m not even gonna go into the weird noises he makes when he’s dreaming, either.”
Bobby and Dean shared a laugh as they headed out of the kitchen, Dean reaching back, almost casually, to rub at his stinging butt, hoping Bobby wouldn’t notice and rag him on it.
“So, whaddyou got on this new demon chick, Bobby?” Dean asked.
Bobby’s smile faded as quickly as it had come. “More than you’ll ever want to know,” he stated somberly. “I think this little war’s just stepped up a notch, and we need to start hauling out the big guns, or we ain’t gonna last to the end, much less win this thing.”
THE END
Santa Fe, New Mexico
El Pueblo Motor Lodge
“Hello?”
Sam hesitated, taking a steadying breath. He licked his lips nervously, then plunged in, trying to keep his tone upbeat and nonchalant. “Hey, Bobby. How’s it going?” he asked, adding a hint of warmth to the question. “Uh, listen, hate to bother you, but I kinda need to find out everything you know about a demon called Lilith.”
“Sam?!” Bobby Singer’s voice wavered in stunned disbelief and before Sam could offer a conciliatory reply, he heard the clunk of Bobby’s phone hitting the floor. There was a grunt, some cursing and then Bobby was back on. “Son, is that really you?”
“Um, yeah, sorry,” Sam replied sheepishly. “I guess I forgot to mention that me and Dean aren’t dead.” Yeah, wow, understatement there, Sam thought with more than a glimmer of guilt.
“You’re SORRY?” Bobby spat out slowly. He was furious. “I’ll give you sorry, you little -”
Sam squirmed at the tone, knowing Bobby was well on his way to full-blown lecture mode, ready to blister his ears since his behind wasn’t close enough to suffer the same fate.
“Look, Bobby,” Sam started, cutting the older man off, “I really am sorry we didn’t call sooner, but Dean and I’ve been a little uh…busy.”
Sam winced inwardly. The vague generalization wasn’t going to go over too well with Bobby, and Sam felt guilty making excuses to the older hunter. Bobby was as close as he and Dean had to blood these days. Still, it wasn’t like he could tell Bobby the truth, not if he wanted to survive until his next birthday.
But busy? At least it sounded better than telling the man that he and Dean were mentally and physically worn out from battling a slew of demons that were hell bent on killing the both of them. Or confessing to Bobby that they were still recovering from the emotional trauma of a screw up that resulted in a police station full of dead bodies. And never mind that they were now running for their lives from some unknown, ruthless demon who had plans to take over the world and a serious bone to pick with the Winchesters.
“What the hell have you two idjits gotten yourselves into now?” Bobby demanded angrily, hearing Sam’s hesitation. “Put Dean on.”
Sam cringed, making a face. “He-he’s in the shower?” Sam lied quickly, and very poorly.
He could almost hear Bobby’s teeth grinding over the line.
“That didn’t work with me when you were six, and it sure as hell ain’t gonna work now, Sam. You put your brother on the line, now.”
Sam swallowed hard. “Uh, well the thing is…Dean doesn’t even know I’m calling you, Bobby. And well, he’d probably kick my ass if he -”
“You put your brother on the line right now, or I’ll be the one kicking your ass, Samuel Winchester!” Bobby roared.
Sam was tired. He was not in the mood to be grilled by Bobby, regardless of whether the man had a right to be pissed or not. “Kinda hard to kick anyone’s ass over the phone, don’t you think, Bobby?” Sam smugly observed, letting his temper speak for him.
There was a long pause, punctuated by heavy breathing on the other end of the line, and then Bobby’s hard-edged twang broke the uncomfortable silence, the threat in the heated tone unmistakable.
“Boy, I may not be able to take you to task right here and now, but as God’s my witness, I’ve got a certain wooden spoon waiting with your name on it the next time you two chuckleheads show up at my door. Understand me? ”
“Y-yes sir,” Sam gulped, blanching slightly.
Bobby Singer wasn’t one to make idle threats, and Sam couldn’t help the sudden urge to avoid the entire state of South Dakota, for the next several years if he had to. Sam was well aware that the particular spoon Bobby mentioned – the infamous ‘spanking spoon’ from his and Dean’s childhood – was still a permanent fixture on the wall of Bobby’s kitchen. And Sam knew with uncomfortable certainty that it only took a few swats of that nasty implement to reduce him to the emotional capacity of a sniveling five-year-old, especially when it was applied to his hindquarters with the grit and determination of one such as Bobby Singer.
Before Sam could think of a way to save his hide, the door to the motel room swung open, causing Sam to nearly jump out of his skin. He hadn’t expected Dean back so quickly. Dean breezed into the room, greasy bag of tacos in hand and frowned when he saw Sam on the phone, an uneasy suspicion clouding his features.
“Who you talkin’ to?” Dean demanded. He dropped the bag of food onto the nearby dresser, lunch suddenly the last thing on his mind. His eyes never left Sam as he ambled up beside the younger hunter.
Flustered, Sam shrugged, as if to say he didn’t know who was on the other end of the line. Dean quirked a brow at that and Sam grimaced but remained silent. Sometimes he really sucked at the whole lying and stealth thing.
Dean’s frown deepened, turning ominous. He motioned impatiently at the cell phone in Sam’s hand, irritated at the side-stepping Sam was doing. “Dude,” Dean pressed, eyes taking on a flinty stare.
Sam heaved a sigh of resignation, realizing he was caught between a rock and a hard place (or a ‘spanking spoon’ and a hard hand, in this case). With a pained expression, he grudgingly handed over the cell phone to his brother.
“It’s uh, it’s for you,” Sam muttered. He looked like a man heading for the gallows.
Dean gave Sam a sharp look and snatched the phone from his hand. He glanced at it in curiosity, and then slowly brought it to his ear. “Yeah?”
Bobby’s voice assaulted Dean and the younger man flinched involuntarily at the heated vitriol spewing from the receiver.
“You wanna tell me why you two morons didn’t think to let me know – A WEEK AGO – that you were still alive and breathing? Hell, I open the newspaper last week and what do I see on the front page but you and Sam – big as life – arrested by that sonuvabitch FBI agent and heading for the state pen. And before I have time to get pissed about that dumb ass move, I read you both up and died in some fiery helicopter crash, with the entire police department gone up along with you! What the hell happened? Last I’d heard from you, you’d found Bela and the Colt and were on your way to get it back from her!”
“Oh, hey, Bobby,” Dean said, shooting Sam a death glare.
“Don’t you ‘hey’ me, boy!” Bobby shouted, forcing Dean to pull the phone away from his ear. “I oughta throttle the both of you! Keepin’ me in the dark like that and makin’ me think I’d lost the two most important people in my life!”
Dean cringed. He hadn’t done it to hurt Bobby or to make him worry. “Yeah…well that thing with Bela didn’t go down so well…um, the lousy bitch sort of called the Feds on us…and the fire? Well, the fire was sort of a, uh…misunderstanding, see -”
“Are you trying to kill me? Is that it?” Bobby asked, his voice dripping sarcasm.
“No, of course not, Bobby. We just-”
“Or is that you two ornery brats are just too damn lazy to pick up the phone and give an old man some peace of mind now and again?” Bobby suggested.
“Brats?” Dean asked, managing to sound slightly offended. “Jeez, we’re not twelve, Bobby. Have some-”
But Bobby wasn’t about to give Dean any headway. “You gonna tell me why the hell Sam is asking me about Lilith?” he questioned. “You get mixed up with the likes of her, and you’re as good as dead, you hear me?”
That one shut Dean right up, and Bobby growled in frustration. Just once, he’d like to hold a conversation with John’s boys that didn’t entail him pulling their sorry asses out of the fire, either figuratively or literally speaking.
Dean’s eyes narrowed at the mention of Lilith. He pinned Sam with a steely glare. The younger boy was still standing next to him, shuffling nervously in place, looking about ready to bolt. Sam caught the murderous look on Dean’s face and winced.
Dean felt his blood pressure shoot up a few notches. He couldn’t believe the little idiot had called Bobby and told the older hunter about the new demon in town. Without further thought, Dean reached over with his free hand and smacked the side of Sam’s head, hard, while offering his brother a testy scowl. Sam flinched but did nothing. He’d honestly expected the blow.
Dean gritted his teeth as Bobby continued the scathing lecture. This was why he’d told Sam not to call Bobby in the first place. If the man was this pissed already, then Dean didn’t even want to consider how much hot water they were going to be in once Bobby found out they’d screwed up the recovery of the Colt and botched their prison break, bringing down the wrath of this new mother-of-all-demons down on their sorry asses. If they had a dollar for every time a plan went sour, just in the last month, Dean figured he and Sam would be retired by now and sitting on an island beach somewhere with bikini-clad chicks bringing them ice-cold beers all day long.
“Dammit, Dean!” Bobby continued, the anguish in his voice going straight to Dean’s sense of honor. “Where is your common sense? I swear, your daddy trained you better than this, and you know it. You report in to me on a weekly basis from now on, you hear me? I’m not going through this kind of misery again!”
Despite the overwhelming feelings of guilt, Dean couldn’t resist rolling his eyes.
“Don’t you roll your eyes at me, son!” Bobby snapped, and Dean blinked in surprise. “I already told Sam, and now I’m tellin’ you. You can expect a good butt warmin’ the next time I get my hands on you! Got the spoon out and waiting, you hear me?”
Dean groaned, reaching out once again to smack Sam in frustration. Sam glared at him this time, rubbing his sore skull. Apparently one head shot per phone call was all he would allow.
“Boy, you hear what I’m saying?” Bobby warned.
“Yes, sir, I hear,” Dean answered tiredly. “Keep you in the loop on our jobs. Report whenever we aren’t dead. Ass beating scheduled and expected. I miss anything?”
“Keep sassin’ me like that, and I’ll make sure that scheduled ass beating is done on the bare,” Bobby intoned darkly. “Now, where are you?”
“New Mexico,” Dean replied, now sullen.
“Y’all get some rest tonight because I want you on the road and heading for my place first thing in the morning,” Bobby ordered. “Ain’t but a day’s drive, so don’t be lollygagging, trying to drag this out, thinking I’ll cool off some. I don’t hear your car pulling up to my door by nightfall and I’ll be jumping in the truck to come after you,” Bobby warned. “And believe me, son, you don’t want me doing that.”
“Got it,” Dean said. He shot another accusatory glare at Sam, who took an uneasy step away from Dean.
“We’ll talk more when you and Sam get here,” Bobby stated. “In the meantime, I’ll start pulling what I have on Lilith for you. And Dean?”
“Yeah?”
“Be careful. You thought old yellow-eyes was bad? Well Lilith would eat that one for breakfast and still be hungry. You got me? This ain’t penny ante poker you’re playin’ no more.”
“Yes sir, I understand. We’ll call on the road if anything comes up.” Dean snapped the cell phone shut and tossed it onto one of the unmade beds behind him.
He turned, fixing a dark look on Sam. “Come here,” Dean said, smiling icily.
“What? Why?” Sam asked, his face a mask of innocence while he backed away from Dean.
“Remember that ass kicking I promised you?” Dean replied. He slowly advanced on Sam, a tight, angry smile stretched across his lips, watching anxiety blossom over his brother’s face. “Well, it’s time to pay up, Sammy.”
Driveway of Singer’s Auto Salvage
Sioux Falls, South Dakota
“You know, I’ve had about enough of the pouting, you little baby,” Dean finally said, a note of irritation creeping into his voice.
They’d left the motel back in Santa Fe that morning, and Sam had been nothing but a sullen, whiny bitch since he’d collapsed into the front seat at 6 a.m., glaring daggers at Dean as he squirmed to find a comfortable position on his still sore behind. The 16 hour drive to Bobby’s had been pure hell because of him too. If Sam wasn’t hunched in the passenger seat like a ginormous brooding gargoyle, all silent with a scowl of gloom plastered across his face, he was shooting Dean pissy glares and making snide comments under his breath, criticizing everything from Dean’s driving to the crappy choice of snack foods at the last gas station.
Dean knew Sam was just pouting about the spanking he’d gotten after Dean had got off the phone with Bobby the other night. Dean had grabbed Sam before he was able to escape out the motel room door, and had half carried his little brother over to the nearest bed, upending Sam over his lap.
Sam had protested loud and long. In fact, Dean was surprised no one had come knocking on their door to complain about the noise they were making. Not that it would have made any difference. Dean had a lesson to teach his baby brother and nothing short of hell itself would have been able to stop him. He had paddled Sam’s rear end until his hand gave out, going numb from the volley of angry swats he’d landed all over his brother’s wriggling butt. He knew it had been a pretty harsh spanking, could tell just from the intense heat rising off the seat of Sam’s blue jeans afterwards, but the little shit had had it coming, Dean reasoned.
It wasn’t just that Sam had ratted them out to Bobby, but he’d done it behind Dean’s back. Just one more secret Sam thought he could keep from his big brother, even after the whole thing at the police station with Ruby’s little revelation about Lilith. Dean had warned Sam then that he’d set his butt on fire if anything like that happened again.
Dean’s jaw clenched thinking back on that. He and Sam were supposed to be a team. Hell, they were brothers, damn it. And you just didn’t keep stuff, especially freaking important shit like psycho killer demons that were gunning for you, from your family.
*****
The Impala’s engine ticked as it cooled in the yellow moonlight of Singer Salvage. The two brothers sat in silence, neither one making a move to speak or to leave the relative safety of the car. Sam’s right leg bounced up and down in a nervous rhythm, his troubled face turned towards the side window, mind focused inward. Dean was more agitated than worried, his knuckles white on the steering wheel as proof. Both were loath to be the first to go up to the door of Bobby Singer’s home and face the music.
Dean hated to admit it, but the thought of that ugly wooden spoon, just waiting somewhere inside, upset him more than if he were confronting a nest of vampires. Because vampires might try to rip out your throat and make a midnight snack out of you, but Dean was pretty confident that they’d never ever try to bend you over a kitchen table and beat your ass raw with a friggin’ evil cooking implement while cussing a blue streak and calling you things like ‘moron’, ‘idjit’, and ‘dumb ass’.
Sam finally broke the silence. “We can’t just sit here all night,” he stated wearily, throwing his hands up in the air.
“Sure we can,” Dean retorted. He twisted in his seat to give Sam a sardonic grin. “It’s not like we haven’t slept in the Impala before.”
“Dean…” The irritation in Sam’s voice complemented the pinched look he now sported.
Dean shot Sam a nasty glare. “Look, we’re in this mess because of you.”
“Excuse me?” Sam gaped.
Dean shrugged. “I’m not the one who called Bobby after we decided that that would probably be a really bad idea,” he asserted.
“No, but you’re the one that came up with the plan to hit Bela’s hotel room before we did a full recon of the place!” Sam shot back. He slouched down in the passenger seat, lower lip jutting out. “And I didn’t beat the crap out of you for that!” he added huffily.
“Whoa there, Little Mary Sunshine,” Dean said, brow creasing in anger. “First off, I’d like to see you try to beat the crap out of me.” Sam stiffened, but didn’t say anything, so Dean went on. “And second, if you had a problem with the plan, you shoulda said something before we got to Bela’s room.”
Dean let out a little chuff of annoyance. “This is crazy. You know, I don’t even know what we’re doing here. Seriously, dude, what do you say I just fire my baby back up and we get the hell out of here?”
“I don’t think that’s an option anymore, Dean,” Sam quietly muttered.
“Why not?” Dean asked.
Sam pointed out the windshield, and Dean’s face fell. Bobby Singer stood on the front porch of his house, backlit by the dingy yellow glow of the porch light. Dean saw that Bobby held a flask of some sort in one hand and in the other was the dreaded kitchen spoon.
“Aw, crap,” Dean moaned.
The boys stared at one another a moment and then with dual groans, they slowly, reluctantly, got out of the Impala and headed for the porch, heads down in resignation.
“’Bout damn time,” Bobby greeted them as they shuffled up the porch steps. “I was beginning to think you two’d forgotten how to open a car door.”
“You knew we were sitting out here?” Sam asked, surprised.
Bobby snorted. “Hell boy, I can hear that car of yours a mile away. And I got a nice big window there,” he pointed behind him with the hand holding the spoon. “so it’s not like you knuckleheads were gonna be able to sneak up on me or anything.”
He fixed the younger men with a stern look, eyeing first one and then the other. He thrust the flask out to Sam. “Here, take a swig and then pass it on to your brother.”
Sam frowned but accepted the flask. He brought it up to his nose for a sniff even though he pretty much knew what the liquid was. “Holy water, Bobby?” Sam stated, raising a brow. “Is that really necessary?”
Bobby shot Sam a pointed look and Sam blushed slightly. He quickly took a large swallow from the flask, giving Bobby a rather sanctimonious “I told you so” look when no smoke or other demonic signs appeared. Sam passed the flask behind him to Dean who took a chug and shrugged.
“Satisfied?” Dean asked.
“Yup,” Bobby replied, a grim smile coming to his lips. “C’mon in. I got coffee on the stove and some leftover chili if you’re hungry.”
Bobby casually stepped aside to let Dean and Sam pass by him and into the house. That should have been their first clue, Dean realized later. He hadn’t taken more than two steps along the scuffed floorboards when Bobby was on him, the wooden spoon swinging down and cracking across Dean’s unsuspecting backside with a loud, sharp smack.
Dean yelped, eyes widening to the size of saucers. He grimaced at the stinging warmth spreading across his butt cheeks.
“Shit!” he swore under his breath, but Bobby was already swinging again, and his aim was deadly.
Bobby got in three more solid swats to Dean’s butt before Dean decided to cut and run. He dodged Bobby’s last swing by mere inches. Leaping over a pile of books, Dean hastily retreated towards the kitchen, one hand pressed over his rear end in case Bobby decided to pursuit him.
Bobby let him go. He knew he could track the boy down later and really get his message across. The grizzled hunter turned instead on the younger boy. Sam stood, frozen in shock, just inside the front doorway, eyes wide and round. Bobby advanced, spurring the younger man into action. Sam pivoted, heading blindly back out towards the Impala, but Bobby shot a hand out and snagged Sam by an ear.
“Goin’ somewhere, Sam?” Bobby questioned, giving the captured earlobe a cruel tweak, forcing Sam to bend almost double or risk losing part of his ear.
“Bobby,” Sam whined, flinching. “C’mon, man, let’s be reasonable…”
Bobby answered the plea by smacking the spoon down on Sam’s jeans. Sam hissed, trying to dance out of the way of the smarting licks, but the older hunter had firmly latched onto his ear; there wasn’t much wiggle room to be had.
“Reasonable?” Bobby echoed, voice flinty. He laid another swat across both of Sam’s cheeks. “You’re asking me to be reasonable?” The wooden spoon came down three more times, and Sam bleated in dismay. “I’m gonna show you reasonable, boy!” Bobby spat.
He began dragging Sam by his ear down the hallway and towards the study, arm swinging and spoon cracking against Sam’s defenseless backside in a flurry of well-aimed swats all the way.
Bobby kept up the scathing lecture, punctuating certain words and choice phrases with a sharp swat or two from the spoon. Sam grunted and “owed” his way down the hall, face a mask of misery as he tried to concentrate on something other than the acute throbbing of his backside and the fact that his earlobe was going numb.
The spanking Dean had given him the night before only helped to make the assault all the more painful. Sam couldn’t help yelping loudly as Bobby halted their forward progress in order to bring the spoon down hard and fast. The younger hunter was in agony and close to tears by the time Bobby let go of his ear and gave him a not so gentle shove towards his desk in the study.
“You plant your rump in that chair and stay put ‘til I come back,” Bobby ordered, pointing at the hardback chair in front of his cluttered desk.
Sam glanced at the chair and gave a soft whimper. He looked pleadingly over to Bobby, face wrinkled in displeasure as he gingerly rubbed his sore butt.
“Can’t I just stand?” Sam suggested.
Bobby’s eyes went flat. He grabbed Sam’s arm, and spun him around with a shove that forced Sam to bend face down across the desk. Papers and books went flying off the top of the desk as Sam’s hands flailed up to stop him from smashing his nose into the hardwood desktop. He had only a second to think before Bobby lit into him with the spoon again, the smacks coming heavy and hard.
“I give you an order, you little fool, you best be following it,” Bobby snapped as he spanked Sam. “I’ve had enough of this crap from you and your brother. Now, you gonna set yourself down and keep your trap shut or do I need to beat a little more sense into you?”
“No, sir!” Sam choked, eyes tearing up from the throbbing ache in his backside. “I’m – OW - good! I’ll –mmph - sit!”
Bobby gave Sam half a dozen more swats before allowing him up from the desk. Sam rose slowly, biting his lip to keep from groaning out loud. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been spanked that hard. Bobby pointed at the chair and Sam trudged over to it, gave it a hateful glare and then slowly sank down onto the seat, wincing when his hot bottom met the wood of the chair. He immediately began squirming.
Bobby chuckled, watching Sam’s antics. “That’ll learn you,” he warned. “You behave yourself while I go deal with your brother.”
Dean nearly choked on the bowl of chili he’d been scarfing down, startled by Bobby’s sudden entrance into the dimly lit kitchen. Not that it came as much of a surprise. He’d overheard the ass beating Sam had received - couldn’t not hear it – Sam hollering and pleading and Bobby just swinging away with that fugly, evil spoon. Still, the sight of Bobby, standing there, tapping the spoon methodically against the side of his pants leg, made the chili in Dean’s stomach churn queasily. Dean was suddenly sorry he’d eaten it.
“Nice maneuver back there,” Bobby commented lightly, nodding back towards the hall and the front of his house as he took a step into the kitchen.
Dean let a smug grin play over his lips. “You liked that? Dad always taught us the best thing to do when your out-gunned is to cut your losses and bail until you can regroup.”
Bobby nodded, musing that over. “Good advice,” he said. He fixed a grim smile on Dean, slapping the wooden spoon lightly into his open palm. “Hope you didn’t think that would get you out of a real ass whoopin’ though.”
Dean actually laughed. He pushed away from the table, standing up. “Nah, I knew you’d come back for me. I just figured I’d let you wear your arm out on Sammy first.”
With a bemused sigh, Dean came around the old farm table and raised his hands as if in surrender. “How do you want me?”
“Ass up, of course,” Bobby dryly shot back.
“Right,” Dean said. He turned to face the kitchen table, shaking his head sadly, and bent over the tabletop, planting his palms onto the wooden surface. “This good?”
Bobby’s grin was almost feral. “That’ll do fine, boy.”
Dean opened his mouth to offer up one last comment, but Bobby was quicker. Dean almost bit the tip of his tongue off when the spoon connected with his denim-clad butt. The blow left behind a searing line of heat across his right ass cheek. Before he could blink, Bobby brought the spoon down again with a sharp fast smack, then another, and another, alternating cheeks. Dean gritted his teeth as the blows kept coming. Hard. Relentless. Again and again.
“Jesus! You been working out, Bobby?” Dean hissed in between smacks. He was finding it harder and harder not to squirm. He glanced over his shoulder at the older man. “Been eating your Wheaties for breakfast or what?”
“Whatsa matter?” Bobby questioned, pausing the spanking and grinning coldly. “Can’t take a little lickin’ from a man twenty years your senior?” he teased.
Dean felt his face flush in shame. “Bring it on,” he growled, angrily. He braced himself against the table, damned if he’d let Bobby Singer, or anyone else for that matter, show him up.
Bobby was happy to oblige Dean’s ego. He raised his arm back past his shoulder and let fly, the crack echoing throughout the room.
“Sonuvabitch!” Dean bellowed, half-rising from the table in shock.
“I got your attention, now, boy?” Bobby asked. Dean nodded tightly. “Good. Then lose the cocky posturing ‘cause I ain’t some young girlie you need to impress.”
Bobby rested the spoon on Dean’s burning ass, and Dean stiffened but remained in position, ear cocked in attention.
“You and Sam need to pull your heads out of your asses and start taking this war a helluva lot more seriously than you have been,” Bobby observed darkly. “Hell, boy, you sacrifice your damn life to bring Sam back and then turn around and put him at death’s door every other chance you get, it seems.” He shook his head in disgust. “You got brains, son, use ‘em.”
Dean sucked in a steadying breath as the words sunk in, hitting him harder even than the crack of the wood against his sore butt.
Bobby gave Dean’s scorched backside four more swats, these not as hard or with as much conviction as the prior ones. “You promise me, you’ll keep me in the loop on what you two are up to from now on. No more secrets. No more lies. No more letting me think you’re dead in a ditch somewhere, when you ain’t.” Bobby dropped the spoon tiredly onto the table next to Dean and patted the younger man’s back. “I’m here to help you, son, whether you want my help or not. I promised your daddy a long time ago that I’d make sure to keep you and Sam safe if anything ever happened to him and I’m a man of my word.”
Dean raised himself from the table top, tear-filled eyes fixing on Bobby with a mixture of shame, love and revelation. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, not able to get anything more than that out without choking up.
Bobby placed a callused hand on Dean’s shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Enough, kiddo,” he said gruffly. “Let’s go check on your brother,” he continued, wanting to change the subject before both men broke down and got mushy. “Sam’s probably asleep and drooling all over my papers by now.”
Dean chuckled at that image. “Yeah, he’s out like a light after he gets his ass beat. And quite the little drool factory when he’s sleeping,” he quipped. “And I’m not even gonna go into the weird noises he makes when he’s dreaming, either.”
Bobby and Dean shared a laugh as they headed out of the kitchen, Dean reaching back, almost casually, to rub at his stinging butt, hoping Bobby wouldn’t notice and rag him on it.
“So, whaddyou got on this new demon chick, Bobby?” Dean asked.
Bobby’s smile faded as quickly as it had come. “More than you’ll ever want to know,” he stated somberly. “I think this little war’s just stepped up a notch, and we need to start hauling out the big guns, or we ain’t gonna last to the end, much less win this thing.”
THE END