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They should have known that it'd happen, sooner or later.
Two men, living together, small town. They were bound to get caught.
Except, they hadn't exactly lied.
From the beginning, they had said they were brothers. The Brothers Winchester. It wasn't Sam's fault that everyone thought he meant "brothers" or Dean's fault that everyone assumed it was just some kind of Brokeback Mountain thing.
Dean's knee meant that he couldn't do a whole lot, not any of the kinds of work that he might have been able to do before the shotgun blast to the kneecap. Sam, on the other hand, was just as frustratingly spry as he had been ten years before, the bastard.
So Sam, always the social butterfly, had gone out and gotten work. Odd jobs at first, working part time for the library second, then worming his way into all the cracks and crevices of the stupid little town they'd managed to limp their way into, Dean quite literally.
Everyone loved Sam. Which made sense. Fuck, Dean loved Sam.
Which meant everyone wanted to spend time with him. All the time. And Sam, the big fucking girl, WANTED to spend time with them, too.
Dean got dragged to Alice's Diner and Abe's Bar, sitting at the end of the table, his knee stretched out, cane resting against his leg. He liked listening to Sam tell stories that were just a shade true, but funny, and didn't say much himself.
Breakfast at the diner on weekends, dinner in the evenings at the bar, it was a lot of time spent with other people. It was fucking weird.
But people liked Sam and they didn't mind Dean hanging out. It worked for them.
They didn't hold hands in public, they didn't kiss or hug or whatever. They were Sam and Dean, and like what had happened their whole lives, people would nod and wink and nudge and assume. Neither of them ever said anything about it, pretending to not get it, not to notice.
Sam was happy, fitting in. Dean didn't say anything, because Sam happy was a rare bird indeed, but he knew it couldn't last. He kept a bag in the Impala, just in case, for when the villagers finally figured out they really were brothers AND they were fucking and came bearing pitch forks and torches. He never told Sam about it, but he had a bag packed for him, too.
Dean knew it was only a matter of time. He was not wrong.
*
Wednesday night, the day before Thanksgiving, and they'd gone up to Abe's for dinner, as per usual, the crowd thinner due to the holiday. Sam had actually ordered a few stiff ones, drinking harder than normal, which Dean just attributed to the season. It was hard to talk about family now, mostly because the majority of theirs was dead. The constant stream of family discussion just pulled Sam deeper and deeper into his sadness.
Dean let him go. They both had spent a lot of time avoiding things. Avoiding feelings, avoiding each other for that four year stretch, avoiding talking about dad, mom, the demon. And then there was Hell, and Castiel, and Lucifer.
Both Sam and Dean had played that roll, the one of the guy who put on the brave face to make everyone else feel better. Sam deserved some time to take the mask off, to let himself feel what he felt and just be sad.
Not forever, of course. But Dean would give him some time. Sam had certainly given Dean his own space to work things out so Dean could allow his little brother the same courtesy.
They both drank. A lot.
But as Dean drank, his tongue loosened up and he started telling stories, about some of their adventures, although he wasn't so drunk that he couldn't keep the right details hidden or replace them with more convenient "facts". His stories, as per usual, were entertaining, and funny, and he had the rest of the bar eating out of his hand. Including Sam.
By the end of the night, Dean had both of them in the realm of "happy and stupid" drunks, instead of crying in their beer, which was the best he could hope for. Well, unless he was hoping for getting laid.
Which was how they found themselves naked up against the island in the middle of the kitchen, making out with each other like they were in high school.
Sam had both of their cocks in one hand, jerking them both off slowly and with an unsteady rhythm, hand slick with the lube they kept in the junk drawer for just such emergencies. Dean's hands gripped Sam's hips, fingers tight and white against Sam's tan skin, leaving marks that he'd be able to see for days, his mouth leaving marks along Sam's collarbone, each nip getting a groan from Sam that just made Dean even harder. Dean licked Sam's tattoo, the long stroke of his tongue matching the rhythm Sam was using on their dicks.
"Fuck, Dean-" Sam's breath was hot along Dean's ear, his shallow breathing matching Dean's own.
"Anytime, man, you know it." Dean meant it and Sam knew it, but this wasn't the time. This was quick and dirty and drunk, the kind of sex they had when all the worries had been stripped away by whatever it was that could do that for them (alcohol, mostly), and they could just have a fast one against a flat surface, the orgasm mixing with the alcohol to create sheer bliss.
"Your mouth. Son of a-" Sam groaned, like it was being dragged from him, like Dean was pulling the sound out of him by force. Dean bit at Sam's neck, marking him, maybe groaning a bit himself.
Sam's hand moved faster and his hips began jerking against Dean's side, their height just different enough for them to not quite slot together properly when standing. It was the kind of movement that told Dean Sam was close, that he was about to blow. Knowing that pushed Dean even closer, both of them about to fall over and come.
Which was why the kitchen door opening was like the worse timed event possible.
"Hello? Sam?" Lorraine Felix stuck her head in, conveniently turned the wrong way, which meant that they could have tried to dive behind the island, but let's be real, Dean was too drunk and Sam was way, way too close to coming to be thinking that clearly. Oh, Dean THOUGHT about it, but actually making his body (and his brother's) move, that was a different story altogether.
They froze at the same time, a high whine coming from Sam. Dean groaned and leaned forward, resting his head against Sam's sweaty, naked skin.
"Goddamn it, Lorraine," Dean murmured, frustration pushing against the sex high he had been running on.
Lorraine had a thing for Sam, and as it did not fit into her fantasies, she clearly did not want to believe the rumors about Sam and Dean. Lorraine wanted to believe they were brothers and was very vocal about it around town. This was going to ruin her whole world view, and possible turn her against them. Small towns were brutal, man, and the rumor mill was fast and nasty.
On the one hand, most people just assumed they were lying about being brothers because that was just what they assumed two gay men did when they wanted to settle down in the Midwest. But Sam and Dean were ACTUALLY brothers and someday, in the age of the internet, someone was going to find something that would blow their world right open.
Lorraine, as town librarian, had always been on the top of Dean's list as Person Most Likely to Blow His Cover. And she'd just walked into his house (without knocking, what the FUCK, man?), into the room where Dean was fucking his brother. Well, getting jerked off by his brother, but that might be splitting hairs a bit.
"Oh, my-" Lorraine's head had swiveled their way and it was clear from the widening of her eyes and the red that was spreading like wild fire across her face and down her neck that she had seen everything. They hadn't moved, so it wasn't hard (and Dean certainly wasn't hard anymore, son of a BITCH) to see just what, exactly, they had been up to. "I don't know what to say-"
"Go away, Lorraine."
"Dean-" Sam, as always, was trying to diffuse the situation but Dean wasn't going to let this go on any longer than he had to.
"Shut up, Sam. Lorraine, get out. Now."
"No, that's perfectly alright, I need to go. I just brought you-" She had stepped back behind the door, face hidden, but her arm, clad in some fuzzy pink sweater which reminded Dean of all the girls he'd gone to middle school with (which was not complementary, by the way), still hung out in the open door way, letting the cold air in. She held a book, whatever it was ( Dean didn't really care, but clearly she had a reason for coming and that appeared to be it). "The book you wanted, Sam."
It was clear just how shaken she was when she dropped it on the floor and slammed the door shut, rattling the glass in the panes. Sam wasn't breathing so Dean poked him with one finger in the left pectoral.
"Hey. Sam. I thought you locked the door." Dean poked him again. Sam took a breath, thin and wheezy, and shook his head. "Yeah, I know you didn't, now. Asshole. Maybe we need to make sure, next time."
"Oh, God, Dean. Lorraine-"
"Don't worry about it. It'll be okay. Trust me." Dean wrapped one arm around Sam's back and leaned in to kiss him. Sam was stiff against him, his lips pursed but after a second of Dean and his lips and his tongue, Sam started responding back, and things started to shift back to where they'd been before. Not entirely but Dean had skills and he was working all of them. "It'll be just fine," he said again and Sam nodded, tightening his grip on their cocks once again.
Famous last words.
*
Bobby was coming for the holiday, set to arrive early that Thursday morning. Dean wanted to get fucked like nobody's business before Bobby got there, mostly because Sam was a screamer when he really got down and dirty, and there was no way they were going to be able to get away with fucking around when Bobby was in the house.
"Sam," Dean said, poking his brother in the hip with his cock, hard and ready for some serious action, "come on, we need to get going if we want to do this before Bobby-" He slid himself across the sheets, the mattress shaking a bit with his movement. Sam tried to bury his head under his pillow.
"Don't say his name in bed, Dean, that's just- No." Despite the layer of fluff and filling, Dean knew exactly what Sam had muttered at him.
"Then don't make me say it, big guy. Come fuck me and be done with it.
"Yeah, that sounds appealing. But yeah, I'll make you say something." And then Sam was rolling over, on top of Dean, his long body pressing Dean into the flannel sheets, pillow tossed to the side. His cock was just as hard as Dean's, which was awesome. Sam was seriously hung, and Dean, a size queen who would never admit it, loved the shit out of getting fucked with a dick that big. Long and wide and listing just a tad to the left, it was amazing. Dean couldn't wait.
But Sam made him, at least for a little bit.
Sam liked to kiss, liked to take his time, running his fingers along Dean's skin like he was reading Braille. He liked to taste everything, too, holding Dean down with those strong as fuck arms while he licked and sucked every bit of naked skin Dean had. Not that Dean was complaining.
However, Dean was about to complain about Sam ghosting Dean's cock with his breath but not actually sucking on it when Sam's began circling Dean's hole with his tongue, hands pulling Dean's cheeks apart, thumbs pressing gently against the puckered skin to help open the way.
"Holy fucking shit, Sam, that is just, I mean-" Sam stabbed forward with his tongue, pressing the tip into Dean's ass until Dean couldn't breathe, the sir sucked out of him, unable to pull any fresh into his lungs. His back arched against the bed, only Sam's hands keeping Dean from launching off of it.
The more Dean squirmed, the more he twisted and pulled and turned, the more intense Sam got with the rhythm and the pressure. Dean loosened up as Sam tortured him, muscles unclenching, hole wet with spit.
"Jesus, Sam, I need you. I need-"
"What, Dean? What do you need?" Sam sounded fucked out himself, voice hoarse and harsh, lips smacking wetly against each other.
"I need you to fuck me. Like, right the fuck now."
"That, I can do." Sam released his hold on Dean, twisting to the side to go for the lube in the drawer, Dean feeling cold where Sam's hands had been but no longer were. He whined a bit, in the back of his throat, and tried to wait for what he knew was coming. He was not disappointed.
Sam fingers, long and pretty narrow for a man his size, took the place of his tongue, pressing in gently, lubing Dean up, stretching and working him so he'd be ready to take Sam's cock. Dean pressed back against those fingers, loving the burn, loving the tightness and the pressure.
"Come on, Sam, you know I can take more than that-"
"I know. You'll take what I want to give you, first, though."
"Oh, God. Oh, fuck!" Sam had three fingers tight inside of him, pressing and rubbing and finding that spot, that little spot that just drove Dean fucking crazy. Prostate manipulation was intense and not always what he wanted but as Sam's fingers worked him, Dean saw stars behind his eyelids and raised a hand to his own mouth, trying not to cry out.
"Make noise for me, Dean. I want to hear you." Sam pressed in harder, his thumb at Dan's entrance, like it was waiting to join the other three fingers. Dean let it out, groaned and moaned, his chest vibrating with it.
"I can take, it Sam. I need you to fuck me."
"You need me to, huh. Well, if you NEED it-" Sam pulled his fingers out and Dean bit his lip to keep the whimper back, the sudden void inside unpleasant, but the anticipation of what was coming next worth it. He could feel the mattress shift as Sam lined himself up, Dean's eyes closed as he tried to focus. Sam spread Dean's thighs even further apart, to make more room for himself, careful of Dean's busted knee, hands slick with lube but gentle.
Dean felt the initial push, that first gentle pressure against his ass, Sam lining himself up, making sure the angle was right. And then Sam pressed in, his cock head huge and hard, pushing in with steady, even pressure. Dean writhed a bit on the bed, twisting as he tried to breathe, the size, the pressure almost too much. Sam ran a slick hand up Dean's chest, patting him on the sternum.
"You can take it, Dean. You have before. You will again. Just breathe and take it. I know you love it." And Dean did. He loved it. The burn, the tightness, the feeling like he was too full, that he was taking something that was far too large to fit in a place that small.
Sam kept pressing, his cock sliding smooth but slowly, until he was balls deep, stomach pressed to Dean's, their noses touching.
"That what you wanted, big brother?"
"Oh my God, just move, you asshole." Dean bucked up with his hips, or tried anyway, digging the heel of his good leg into the mattress, trying to find some kind of purchase. Sam just laughed in his face then kissed him, before pulling out and thrusting back in, his stroke hard and fast and perfect. "Oh, fuck me," Dean groaned.
"Your wish is my command." Sam kissed him again then proceeded to slam into him, hips slapping against Dean's, cock sliding in, Dean clenching against him, Sam's cockhead popping out, then pressing back in as Sam gave Dean everything he had.
Sweat dripped off Sam's forehead, running down Dean's face, feeling like tears, warm and wet. Dean gripped at Sam's shoulders, mouthing at the mark he'd left on Sam's neck the day before, darkening it with his teeth, licking at it with his tongue.
And then Sam hit the perfect angle, rubbing Dean's prostate like he'd done with his fingers, now doing it with his cock. Dean moaned, fingers tight on Sam's shoulders, opening his hips as wide as he could to get Sam in as deep as possible from that position.
He could feel it coming, his orgasm, could feel it like an avalanche coming down a mountain. He could hear it, like it was far away, but coming fast at him, ready to slam into him and bury him forever. Dean reached between them, grabbing at his cock, desperate to come, desperate for everything to pull together into that one moment of sheer fucking bliss.
"Dean, fuck, yeah," Sam groaned into Dean's shoulder, his pace increasing. Dean could feel Sam tensing up, could feel his rhythm getting less and less precise, less and less under control. That's what he loved about this, about getting fucked, watching Sam go from in control to totally fucking out of it. It got Dean so hot, he could feel his dick get harder in his hand as he thought about it and squeezed. He leaned forward, his mouth right by Sam's ear.
"Come inside me, Sam. Fuck me and come in me. I want to feel you." And that was all it took. Sam jerked once, twice, a third time, snapping his hips forward, pulsing inside Dean, his face twisting, his voice breaking as he cried out. Dean looked at Sam losing it and lost it himself, spurting in his own hand, arching up against his brother, squeezing his ass around Sam's cock inside of him.
They collapsed against the bed in a tangled heap, Dean groaning under the weight of his not-so-little brother.
"Oh my God, get off me."
"I can't move." At least that's what Dean assumed Sam said, his words muffled by Dean's shoulder.
"Alright, five more minutes." Dean smiled to himself when Sam patted his hip with clumsy fingers. It'd be longer than that, but he had to start somewhere. Dean, breath shallow under all of Sam's weight, ran a hand up and down Sam's side, fingers tracing the scars he knew so well, able to tell the story of each just as well as Sam could. He let his fingers run, up and down and up again, and tried not to worry about Lorraine from the night before.
*
Bobby arrived on time, just after two, just like he said he would. Sam and Dean had showered, changed the sheets, and wiped down the kitchen island before the clock had even struck noon. They met Bobby with open arms and cold beer.
Dinner at Abe's started at four, which was a compromise between the early Thanksgiving eaters and the regular crowd who could give two shits it was Thanksgiving and just wanted dinner at seven o'clock.
It was a short walk to the bar, only a few blocks to the town's main drag, and based on previous experience, Sam thought it would be best to just hoof it. Dean knew that no one in their merry band wanted to be a DD and it would be dangerous and stupid to drive drunk in their little town. He agreed but had a weird feeling in his gut, something telling him this whole damn day was a bad idea.
Although the ache in his ass told him that he'd already had a pretty good morning, so why was he courting trouble?
With Dean's luck, he didn't even have to court trouble to have it chasing after him like a blind date gone horribly, horribly wrong. Lorraine was sitting at the long table when they opened the door and walked in to the bar. Dean caught her eye and she blushed, looking anywhere but at him. Sam, who was much better at ignoring what he didn't want to see, waved briefly at her and moved on.
Sam took great pleasure in introducing Bobby around, touting him as an old family friend, which was the truth, for sure, but felt odd to say in a place where the Winchester Brothers weren't entirely defined.
Alcohol was flowing and Dean, for one, drank his fill. Sam did as well, both of them ignoring the staring 800 pound gorilla in the room. Lorraine kept watching them, kept her eyes on them, to the point that Dean was beginning to be a bit creeped out. But he kept drinking and kept ignoring her, trying to laugh with Bobby, with Sam, and the other guys at the bar.
It was working out just fine, at least in drunken Dean's eyes, until Jake Potter sidled up to them and started talking to Bobby.
"So, how do you know these boys? I mean, really, how'd you all meet?" Jake laughed a bit and smiled, looking for the juicy gossip he could share the next day at Alice's Diner over breakfast. To Dean's horror and bad luck, Bobby proceeded to give Jake the best (and worst) gossip Jake had heard in a dozen blue moons.
"Oh, I knew their daddy. Worked with him, from time to time. Hunted together."
"Their daddy?" Lorraine was suddenly standing there, eyes wide, face pale. "THEIR daddy? As in, they have the same one?"
"Well, yeah. That's what being brothers means, don't it?" Bobby was drunk, just like the rest of them, so he wasn't catching on to Lorraine's distress or to Dean and Sam's sudden discomfort. Dean, however, was getting sober pretty fucking fast, as interest in their conversation was starting to spread around the bar.
"Sam?" Dean tried to talk out of the side of his mouth, trying to avoid drawing attention their way but eyes were already on them. Sam took a step closer, still leaning against the bar.
"Yeah?"
"We're gonna want to get the fuck out of here." Every instinct in Dean was screaming to run, to step back and find a better position to fight from because this was about to get nasty. Based on Sam tensing up next to him, Dean wasn't the only one who felt that way.
"Yeah, Dean. I'm beginning to see that." Den stood up slowly, pushing away from the bar, Sam mirroring his movements. Bobby just kept talking, digging them in deeper as Lorraine's face turned from pale white to tomato red, Jake's face starting to do the same. Some of Jake's friends has noticed his apparent distress and has started to circle behind him. Sam and Dean were slowly but surely getting cut off from the door and trapped against the bar.
"Real brothers. Like, the same parents?" Lorraine sounded like she'd swallowed a jar of nails, the sound rough and strained to Dean's ears. She looked like she was about to puke.
"What'd you think I meant?" Bobby had stopped smiling.
"Like it was a cover, you know, 'cause they're fucking." Jake tried to laugh about it, like he was trying to brush off Lorraine. Everyone knew she had it bad for Sam and from Dean's spot by the bar, it felt like Jake wanted this all to be crazy Lorraine trying to get back at the guy that brushed her off. But there was that small bit of doubt, just enough that Dean could read it on Jake's face and he knew they were screwed.
"Oh, no," Bobby said, chancing a quick look back at the boys. He was getting angry, although Dean wasn't entirely sure at who, right at that moment. Bobby had their backs and would go to war for them- he had in the past already- but would he be willing if he knew Dean let his brother fuck him? Or that Sam liked to get fucked by Dean, just as much, if not more?
But Dean never got to make that choice, Loraine did it for him.
"I saw them. Last night. In the kitchen."
"What?" Bobby and Jake spoke at the same time, jaws dropped open, faces slack with shock.
"I saw them. Walked in on them, in fact. Having sex in their kitchen. On the island." She pointed at Sam, arm shaking. "I saw them and if they're brothers, then there's something seriously wrong with both of them."
"Well, shit-" Bobby turned to look at them, catching Dean's eyes with his, his face showing all the surprise and anger that Dean always thought Bobby'd feel. All the disappointment. Dean wanted to puke, was drunk enough to puke, but held himself back. He stood taller, leaned towards Sam, trying to tell Bobby that yeah, it was true, but he wouldn't change a thing. It had been a choice, one he'd make again, and he wasn't going to back down.
"Sam," Dean said, ready to fight but hoping to run. He knew these people, the people who were standing up, angry, looking at them like they were diseased, dangerous. It had been a long time, but Dan still knew how to handle himself in a bar fight and he knew Sam could, too.
Sam didn't say anything, just picked up a bar stool one handed and flung in at Jake's legs, taking him out in one shot, as well as a couple of the guys who'd chosen to stand behind him.
Once Jake went down, Dean was moving, heading for the door, not looking back. He could hear Sam behind him and after a minute, could hear Bobby following as well.
"Dean, Sam, stop!" Bobby called after them, voice hard and angry. Dean didn't stop and neither did Sam. They hit the door at a dead run and turned towards the house like Hellhounds were on their tails. Maybe because it felt like there were.
*
They cut through backyards, hiding in shadows, avoiding motion lights and barking dogs. Sam could jump fences but Dean's knee just couldn't, so they had to work around to gates, trying not to alert anyone to their presence. By the time they made it back to the house, Dean was limping something fierce.
"Grab the trunk, I'll get the car." Sam just nodded at him, looking down the road, searching for anyone following them. So far, nothing, but Dean could hear the house phone ringing through the open front door.
Dean unlocked the garage door and slid it open, pulling the drop cloth off the Impala and throwing it to the side. He slid a hand gently over her curves and angles as he made his way to the driver's side of the car, and hopped in. The car started with a growl that he felt inside his chest as he whipped her out of the garage like he a stunt driver in Bullit.
Sam exited the front door at almost the same time, the small trunk on his shoulder. Dean'd packed some bags for them, but there had still b e a few things he'd had to leave in the house. Sam's own paranoia had resulted in the little trunk. It wasn't everything, but Dean had learned a long time ago that sometimes you just had to let things go. He had gotten very good at it. Everything except Sam.
Who was throwing open the passenger side door, tossing the trunk into the back seat. He slammed the door shut and reached out to smack Dean in the shoulder, universal signal to get the fuck out of a place. Dean had the car in motion before Sam could even snap his seatbelt on.
"Where we going?" Sam's voice was steady but Dean could see that his hands were shaking.
"No clue," Dean said as he blew past Bobby's truck, parked out front of the house, then a number of vehicles he recognized as townsfolk. Dean, brain edging on hysteria, wondered where their pitchforks were, and if they had planned on torches. "I'm just getting the fuck out of Dodge."
"We'll have to talk about this," Sam said, practically a broken record. Dean just nodded at him.
"As long as it's later," he said. Much later, was what he thought but didn't manage to get past his lips.
*
Sam's phone rang as Dean was whipping around the back roads about 40 miles away from town, mud kicking up as the Impala's tires dug in. Dean let his eyes drift down to look at it, while Sam sat, tight and stiff in the seat next to him.
"Gigantor. Are you going to fucking answer it or what?"
"It's Bobby." Sam hadn't even looked at the caller ID.
"Dude, we gotta face the music sometime. Now's as good a time as any to get our faces ripped off." Dean wanted to say, at least he can't shoot us, but wasn't sure if that would make Sam feel better or worse.
The phone stopped ringing right as Sam picked it up. He fumbled it a bit when it started ringing again, almost immediately, dropping the phone into the driver's side foot well.
"Damn it, Sam!" Slamming on the brakes, Dean fishtailed the car to a stop and dug around with his boot. He barely missed cracking his head on the steering wheel, but ended up with the phone in his hand after all. Which was no longer ringing.
"Should we call him back?"
"Should we? Sam, you are-" Then the phone rang. Again. Dean looked down at it and grimaced. Sam plucked it out of his hand and with a deep sigh, pressed "answer", putting it on speaker.
"You boys are a bunch of idjits." Bobby sounded like he was in outer space, a slight echo on the line giving him a distant, hollow echo.
"Hi, Bobby." Sam spoke up first, although he sounded like he was going to puke. Dean couldn't look at him, and tried not to listen to Bobby. Losing a father figure was painful enough, he didn't need to see everything he felt play out on his brother's face as well.
"But then again, so am I." Dean's head snapped up at that, and he looked at Sam, who still had a kicked puppy expression on his face.
"What?" Dean asked, not entirely sure what was happening at the moment.
"Come again?" Sam said, echoing his sentiments.
"I can't cover your asses if I don't know what I'm covering for. But, I should have seen it before. This should not have come as a surprise."
"Bobby, you're-," Dean started.
"Okay with this?," Sam finished?
"I don't know if I'm okay with it yet, or not. But. I've known you boys for a long time, and I know what you've been through. The world ain't always black and white, I know that better than most. So." There was nothing on the line for a bit, but the sound of the wind, like Bobby was driving with his window open.
"Bobby, we never meant-" Sam tried to smooth things over, just like always, and Dean grimaced into his hand at the desperation in Sam's voice. The sheer need to please.
"No, you never do, do you." Bobby's sigh was loud over the phone, but less angry and more resigned than Dean had anticipated. "I expect you're on the road. I'll have a room ready for you when you get here."
"A room? Bobby-"
"Dean, just shut up and drive safe. Idjits." Bobby hung up on them, the timer flashing on the phone display then going dark.
"Huh." Dean chewed on his lip, trying to understand just what the fuck had happened. Beside him, Sam slumped down against the passenger side door, clearly relieved at the outcome of the call. He turned his head against the headrest, eyes glittering in the light from the stereo.
"Wow. Didn't see that coming." Dean just smiled at him, softer than usual, just as relieved, maybe more so than his brother.
Dean turned the car around, careful of the mud, and pointed her northwest, to South Dakota. To Bobby. To home.