Title: What's dead should … Aw hell
Author: Wysawyg
Summary: Bobby Singer's thoughts post-season 2 finale. OneShot.
Disclaimer: Bobby is all mine, mine I tell you. I sold my soul to get him… Hey what'cha mean I already sold my soul for a packet of monster munch? Aw shucks. Guess Bobby Singer, the Winchester boys and the Unholy Angst of Doom all belong to Kripke and the CW
Authors notes: The inevitable coda of 'All Hell Breaks Loose pt 2'. Kinda followed on from John's boys and When Johnny met Bobby but reading either of those ain't required to make sense of this. Here's to plenty of Bobby in Season 3!
Feedback is always adored, especially concrit.
"The last time Sam Winchester turned up at my door, I thought Dean was dead. This time Sam Winchester turned up at my door, I knew I was gonna kill him."
"I've been a hunter a long, long time and you'd think I'd be used to people doing really, really stupid things by now. Turns out, people have a habit of surprising you."
"Or not surprising you sometimes. I don't know what I thought would happen when I walked out of that house but I think a part of me knew it was this. I knew it wouldn't be Dean burying his baby brother then carrying on hunting with a song in his heart. Guess that makes me a stupid sum'bitch for leaving."
"Winchesters make ya stupid, says so on the t-shirt."
"I smiled at Sam, just enough not to set that alarming sharp noggin of his ringing alarm bells. Don't think I fooled him much but hell, maybe I'm off my game a little but I'm not used to making nice with the dead people on my door step and I'm fairly sure Dean'd object to me shooting his little brother with rock salt. Dean always was picky like that."
"Not that I thought Sam was dead. Dean may be ten shades of stupid when it comes to his family but necromancy ain't something he'd dabble in. He'd know that what he brought back wouldn't really be his brother. You can't play peek-a-boo with death and come out unscathed. Just ask Dean. Hell, just ask me for that matter."
"Still, when I verbally dragged Dean out've my house, I admit part of me was still hoping there'd be some rational explanation. Maybe Sammy hadn't really been dead, just been pining for the fjords. Never been to Norway m'self but I've heard it's nice. Maybe it wasn't really Sammy that died but a shapeshifter provided by the demon. Maybe Sammy was resurrected by the invisible pink unicorn."
"None of those would explain why Dean never met my eyes from the moment he walked into that room or that hang-dog expression which is the same one as my dogs get when they couldn't hold it in and they've gone and pissed on the carpet again."
"I waited until we were out of yelling earshot of the house and then turned on him, asking him what the hell he did. Turns out 'hell' was the important bit. That tiny flick of the eyes when I mentioned the deal was just confirming what I'd feared and, if I'm honest, already known."
"I knew he hadn't gotten the full ten years. Demons ain't stupid and don't want another Winchester wandering about, even if they ain't as scared of Dean as they were of John: Proof that demons are stupid sometimes."
"I'd had hopes though. It says something sad 'bout the world when your hope is that a twenty eight year old kid got at least five years left to live. I'd have settled for four, even. Four's a good number. Not a great number but you make do with what you can."
"One year though? Three hundred and sixty five measly days? I swear I taught the boy to bargain better than that. I know that boy too well. They must have taken one look at him and known he'd give just about anything to get his brother back. Hell, the demon could have offered him five minutes and a cookie then rode him like a pony into hell and he would have thanked her on the way."
"As I've told a few people, John Winchester was one of those people you had to love and hate in equal measure. That day, that moment was the first time I proved myself wrong 'cos right there, right then I hated him more than I'd ever thought it was possible to hate someone and I hated myself as well."
"I'd seen a lot of the Winchester boys growing up. Most hunters thought it was kinda cute how protective Dean was of his little brother. Dean and Sammy: the E! Happy Hunter story. I admit that I grinned with them. Sure, I thought Dean was too protective of his little brother for his own good but I come from a hunting family and I know how important those bonds are. I didn't see it 'til it was too late. Blind like the rest of the hunters to the walking, talking disaster movie that went by the surname Winchester."
"Can't blame the other hunters. They didn't see Dean step in front of a pair of claws slashing at his brother without a second's pause. They didn't see Dean run out into traffic to drag his brother back to the sidewalk. They didn't see Dean's face the moment I asked him if he really was that screwed in the head and saw the answer was yes. They didn't see the only moment of desperation in the whole damn conversation was when I threatened to tell Sam what he'd given up. John fucking bastard Winchester. When that door to Hell opened, I was half-tempted to march down there just to punch him solidly across the face."
"I know when I saw John standing there outside that cemetery, smiling at his boys, I wanted to go over and kick him. I wanted to ask him why he couldn't see what he'd done to his boys. I wanted to know how he could stare into the darkness so long and be so fucking blind. It wasn't my moment though, it was theirs. The three Winchesters and their only non-metaphorical personal demon."
"Then that bastard went and buggered off up to heaven 'fore I had to chance to rail on him. He always was a smart bugger."
"Maybe I was right all along 'cos I hate that son of a bitch with all the strength in this tattered old heart and I love him just the same. I hope he's happy up there, hope he's back with Mary, hope he doesn't have to watch his boys falling apart. I hope he gets some peace."
"So I'm left down here with a road house full of dead hunters, hundreds of demons clouding up the landscape, a woman who's getting a little too fond of the whiskey, one kid who should be dead and another who's just counting the days."
"Three hundred and sixty five days to save a life? I'll take that fucking challenge."
"So anyway, thanks for listening." Bobby glanced down at the corpse of a werewolf at his feet and then slid the match against the rough side of book, flicking it down to the fuel-drenched corpse. "See you around."