Someday Never Comes 3

[roxy]

"Well, boys, whatya think?" Bobby asked, and then winced. Okay, taking it out of its battered, dusty box from under the stairs, wrestling it into some kind of shape, it hadn't seemed that bad, but looking at it now, trying to imagine how the boys saw it, he felt…guilty and sad and kind of stupid. Until he looked down at the boys.

Sam and Dean both stared, openmouthed, as the twinkling colored lights went through their cycle, and the slightly dented star set on top of the sway backed tree reflected blue and red and green…"It's beautiful," Sam whispered and Dean nodded, squeezing Sam's hand and Bobby, he had to go in the kitchen and make some cocoa. Wipe his eyes. When he came back out with the cocoa, the boys had a small package sitting between them.

"We wanted to get you something for Christmas but we didn' have any money so we made you something instead—"

Sam got out in one breath and Dean watched Bobby like…well, like he was afraid Bobby was going to laugh at Sam, or shove him away and if he did, Dean was going to kill him and not in a metaphorical way....

Bobby nodded solemnly and took the surprisingly heavy package and opened it to find a rock with nuts and bolts glued to it in an artistic way, spelling 'Bobby'. He held it in his hand and felt his whole face going soft.

"It's a paperweight," Sam explained, "so you don't lose your bills and stuff when you're working. See, you do this," he said, and took it and set it on a couple of sheets of paper that were laying on the coffee table.

"I—I—this is the best damn gift I ever got—and practical, real practical. Clever too, the way you guys got my name on here." He wiped at his eyes and Sam beamed and Dean gave him a look that made Bobby want to cry like a little girl—hell, he'd never done anything in his whole life to warrant such a look. He figured, he better step up to the plate and do his best to earn it. "Thank you boys. I got something for you too. Hope you like it." He handed Sam a bag full of books—books that Dean had helped him pick out. Books Dean remembered being left behind at all the various motel and squats they'd moved on from. And a library card in Sam's name. Dean got a book about classic cars and a jacket, a little leather-look jacket with a sheepskin collar that Dean instantly feel in love with. There was candy, and new socks and mittens and the big surprise, a TV for the both of them---to share. "The first time you fight over it, it goes right in my room, got it?"

It was the best Christmas he'd had since Karen passed, and he had a feeling it was probably the only real Christmas the boys had had in years. He sighed as they raced off to their bedroom, to put their gifts away. He pondered going off to the bathroom, just to check if he still had all his manly parts, seeing as how he'd spent more time crying since those boys got here then he had in his whole life to date and that included Nam.



The day he stood at the end of the drive way and watched the school bus take his boys away, was one of the best, and worst days of his life. He was truly disgusted with himself for carrying on so. Not like they weren't coming back in a couple of hours. He yanked the brim of his cap lower, and scratched his nose. He definitely was not wiping his eyes.



"Pssst…Dean. Can I get in your bed?"

"No—you have your own bed now, pink sheets an' all, just like you wanted."
Sam grinned, a wide white smear of pure happiness. "I know! Uncle Bobby's the best, right? But it's lonely all the way over there…"

"Sam! There's a whole, what, desk between us? Come on, kid. You gotta get used to it sometimes," he wheedled, but Sam just crossed his little matchstick arms and heaved huge sighs, staring at his kneecaps until guilt made Dean shove over, "Oh, all right. Come on."

"Thanks Dean, your bed's more comfortable anyway."

"Yeah, yeah, just don't drool on me, okay? And don't put your feet in my face either."

Sammy giggled, "I'd never!" And the proceeded to step all over Dean's back. Dean smiled into his pillow and rolled flat to his stomach. Ten minutes tops, and Sam would be snoring his little head off.

In less than that, Sam was gone and Dean followed him shortly after.



"Dean, do you think Dad misses us? I miss him. I think about him a lot. But…remember that summer when we found that pond down the road from Uncle Bobby's, and we caught the frogs? And when we tied strings to the junebugs and flew them all over, and the dragonflies, remember them?" Dean remembered it all. He remembered hotdogs and chips and cokes on Bobby's back porch, and watching fireworks go off on the fourth, he remembered Bobby taking them all to the movies and them yelling at the screen…

"I miss Dad but I'm glad we got to do this stuff. And I know we'd never do it with Dad and…am I a bad person for being glad we can do this, that we can live with Uncle Bobby? Should I be crying for Dad, instead of loving my room and my books and…"

Dean put his arm around Sam and pulled him close. "It's okay to love that stuff Sam, it's fine—Dad would want us to be happy and most of all safe and Bobby, he's keeping us safe. Loving this doesn't mean you don’t love Dad. I love it too. Sammy, I'm glad we have a house. I'm glad we're here with Uncle Bobby, 'cause if we can’t have Dad, this is second good. Most important thing though, is we got each other, it can’t ever be the worst as long as we got each other."

Sam looked up at Dean in awe. "You're really smart, Dean."

"Ahh, not really, but I think about Dad a lot, try to figure him out, you know? Think like he'd think…"


"Sam!" What the hell was that kid up to now….

Sam slouched around the corner and peered into the kitchen at Bobby, his face folded into a frown, eyes too shiny. Bobby heaved a sigh. He knew what this was about, and he had his hands about full trying to deal with it. "For the last time boy, it's his girlfriend, and he ain't running away to get married. Keep your ass out here so he can have a bit of damn privacy, y'hear?"

"But why? Why does he need privacy? How come I can't stay in the room—it's mine too! I got books in there—"

"Because what I said, don’t you listen?" Sam at twelve was as much a handful as Sam at six…Bobby took a deep breath and struggled to hold in an exasperated sigh, because even the hint of temper was bound to set the boy off. Only God knew how much he loved that kid but some days he felt like kicking his narrow ass over the moon.

"He just wants to kiss her." Sam folded his arms across his chest and pouted even harder. "That's all those friends of his do, find some girl to slobber all over. Jerks."

"Yeah well, one day soon, you're gonna wanna do that too. Just wait, boy."

"Unh-uh! And he's got his hands in her pants, I saw that when I peeked in—"

"Fuck a duck--you--boy—" Bobby cursed, and swore he felt his blood pressure banging against the top of his skull. That damn Dean—the boy was going to be the death of him. He stomped over to the stairwell and yelled up the stair, "Dean! Get down here right now. It's—it's dinner time!." He whipped around and saw Sam's self-satisfied little smirk. "And you--set the table. You'll be doing the damn dishes tonight, too."

"That's not fair! I didn't do nothing!"

"Life's not fair. Think about that the next time you toss your brother under the bus because you're bein' a little shit."

Sam walked off muttering about Bobby's horrible parenting skills and Dean came slinking down the stairs, red-faced and rumpled, with a girl just as red-faced and rumpled as him. They slinked past and Bobby wrinkled his nose. Look like that talk was past due. Jesus.

After a tense, quiet dinner, Bobby took Dean to the side, both of them ignoring Sammy's Glare of Death, or the clunk-clunk coming from the sink that promised the need for new glasses.

They stepped out to the back porch and Bobby made Dean take a seat on the top step. Bobby grunted, snapped his trucker's cap out of his back pocket and made a production of putting it on. Dean watched him fidget and fidgeted himself, nerves making him worry at his lip. Finally Bobby took a deep breath and figured he might as well just jump the hell on in. "Okay, look here boy, you ain't getting no one pregnant. 'Cause then I'd hafta kill you, and you know this is a big damn yard, lots of places to put the body."

"Bobby! God! I'm not—I'm not." Dean went red as a beet and made a complicated hand move through the air that Bobby supposed he was to take as meaning the boy wasn't fucking the girl…

"Yeah, well, there's all kindsa fucked up diseases lurking out there too. And rubbers are good for all of them and it don't make that much difference in feeling no matter what other guys sa—"

"Bobby! I'm--" Dean dropped his head in his hands. "We're just—we're not having any kinda sex, all right? I mean, not sex like that—God. Can. Can I go now? I gotta go kill Sammy," he muttered darkly.

"You can't kill him 'til after the dishes are done. All right--I'm gonna believe that you listened to me, remember what I said about the raincoats—shut up. Now get out there and help your baby brother clean up."

Dean took off gratefully, slamming the screen door open, and threatening to gut Sam.


"Nobody but the MFIC gets to gut anyone, you all heard me? Lights out in thirty, damn it!" Bobby dropped back to the porch step, shaking his head. He looked upward and muttered, "Remind me again why it's a good thing tryin' to wrangle them idjits into adulthood?" He swore he heard his Karen say Don't be a fool Robert Singer, you wouldn’t want to be doing anything else.

He closed his eyes, head still tilted to the stars, and smiled. Yeah…that was the God's honest truth. He heard a crash and jumped, but kept his eyes closed. Yep. Whatever that was, was coming out of someone's allowance, for damn sure….



A few days later, Sam came sidling up to Bobby, inching around his desk and carefully not toppling the stacks of notes he had teetering on the edges and piled up on the floor. Bobby looked up, wondering if Sam wanted to join him in research but the boy's eyes were swimming and it didn't take a genius to know what was bothering him. Again. Bobby leaned over and moved the stack of books and parchments out of the overstuffed chair next to his. "Sit. What's up?"
"Uncle Bobby…I don't think Dean lo—likes me anymore. He won’t talk to me, he shoved me out of my bed—" at Bobby's skeptical look, Sam sighed. "Our bed. He says I gotta sleep in the other one but the other one's lumpy and cold. He says I gotta give him privacy but he's not private with those girls. I swear, I just hate him. He's a bas—jerk, and I *hate* him."

"Now Sam, no you don't. Won't be long before girls are as fascinating to you as to Dean."

"I don't think so. They're all—" hand wave he copied from Dean—"well…I guess there is one nice girl in one of my classes. She's very smart. And quiet, I like that. Dean's too loud and he teases me all the time. She doesn't tease. And she likes the same books I do."

"You'll find that lots of people like the same thing that you do—if you give them a chance, you know. Be more, I don't know, friendly. Patient. Not everyone can read your mind like Dean can. Don't make them stupid."

Sam nodded reluctantly. "Maybe." He kicked his heels gently against the chair legs and seemed deep in thought. Bobby had the feeling that Dean wasn't going to like the track Sam's mind was taking in the long run. Bobby was kinda curious himself as to what Sam was gonna come up with. In the five years the boys had been with him, Sam never failed to surprise him. And Dean…hard to believe the boy was sixteen. It was soon going to be time to talk to him about a whole lot of things, not just what not to do with girls.

Bobby had had the best intentions, he really did, he'd wanted the boys to know about John's worry…but Sam was happy, smart as a whip, full of confidence and growing like a weed. And Dean. Dean was so far from the fatalistic, little gray shadow of a boy who'd washed up on his door step years ago it was almost miraculous. He was…happy. Something Bobby had hoped he would be but he'd honestly never thought that'd happen in the life John chose for them…they'd never have had even a passing glance at normal.

Not that Bobby was about to let them wander around the world unprotected. They trained, no mistake—they trained. They learned Latin, which Dean wrestled with a bit and in the long run did okay with, but Sam? Sam sucked it up like a sponge, just loved research, seemed like for its own sake and that was something Bobby could appreciate and didn't mind fostering one bit. As for the physical stuff, Bobby considered it part of his promise to Dean that they train that way as well though Bobby called young Caleb in for that. Hell, Bobby had done all the five mile hikes with a full pack he'd ever intended to do a whole lifetime ago, not to mention he preferred the Harrison Ford approach to close combat—nothing like a Smith & Wesson to round the odds up, nice and even. Not that he was about to tell his boys that. In the meantime, he'd wait some--before Dean graduated for sure. Just a little longer so Sam could have something like normal for a bit longer….



"Dean-o!" Caleb called, and climbed out of the Mustang he'd parked next to the Impala, stepping around piles of grimy slush.

Sam frowned, kicked at the snow and made a face when it spattered his jeans. "Gah, I hate when he calls you that—Dean-o. What an asshole."


"Shutup, you little bitch. You just hate that he's cool and you're totally not." Dean poked Sam where he figured his stomach was under his puffy down coat. Sam slammed an elbow into Dean's side; thankfully his ribs were protected somewhat by his own down coat. Dean bit his cheek and fought down a quick flare of guilt. Sam had put on some weight since he hit twelve, kind of softening all over and was sensitive about it—he probably thought Dean was teasing him, but really, it was cute and besides, he'd grow out of it soon, some kids just—

"Hey, Earth to Dean. Where you at, man?" Caleb was right in front of him, banging his gloved hands together and jogging from foot to foot. "It's a little cold out here, dude—you gonna let me in?"

Dean blushed, waved him forward. "Hiya Caleb, just—I'm just thinking." He ignored Sam's huff and didn't need eyes in the back of his head to see him rolling his eyes—he could practically hear it. "Glad you're here, man."

"Wait until I put you through drills in the snow and then tell me how glad you are. Hey, is Bobby around? Couple of guys asked me to bring some stuff for him." He hefted a leather messenger bag higher on his shoulder, the strap crossing his chest and it must have been heavy, Dean thought, the way Caleb leaned against its weight.

"He's in the basement, working on this pet project of his. It's…awesome," Dean grinned. "Wait until you see."



Caleb set the bag down at the foot of the basement stairs and whistled, long and loud. Even Sam grinned at him, as Caleb drank in the impressive sight of Bobby's 'project'. "Damn, Bobby…what the heck is this?"

Bobby was standing in a room built into one corner of the basement. It looked like the shell of a boiler tank, maybe two, stood on end, welded and riveted together, then fitted with a door that looked like he'd snagged it from a submarine. The whole thing was made of solid iron and painted a gritty, dull, grey inside. "Well, this thing is…a panic room?" He shrugged and winked at Dean, gave Caleb a wry little smile.

"Effing hell, Bobby, what in the world happened that you think you need this?"

"Well, me and Dean and Sam, we got to talking one night and…this kind of happened."

"Hunh." Caleb looked it up and down. "Was like, a shitload of beer involved?"

Sam jumped up and laid a hand on the wall. "Look! We put salt in the paint, lots of it, you can even feel it a little, and we put all these runes on the walls and the floor and even the ceiling and look up there!" Sam was nearly hopping up and down and Dean bit his lip to smother a laugh. "That was Dean's idea."

Dean shrugged, unconsciously copying Bobby. It wasn't that big a deal---if he hadn't mentioned it first, no doubt Sam would have come up with the idea, but the fan Bobby installed to circulate air in the chamber just seemed like the perfect spot to rig a devil's trap. Nothing demonic was coming through that air vent and nothing that hated silver either, Bobby had welded bits into the devils' trap.

Sam looked over at Dean like the sun rose and set on him, and Dean blushed, even harder when Caleb grinned at him too. "Sam's right, Dean, that was smart. Don’t hide your light, kid, there's nothing wrong with being smart."

"I tell him that all the time," Sam huffed and then muttered, "not that he ever listens to me."
Part four