Riding the Fence (A Supernatural FanFic)

Part Four

(Tuesday)

The morning came too soon, the sun rising and waking Bobby even though he’d had only a couple hours sleep. He’d made his way to bed shortly before five a.m. after having called and woken John, debriefed him on Dean’s findings and agreed to speak again in the morning. So when the sun had flooded his room before seven, Bobby had begrudgingly crawled out of bed and made his way down into the kitchen, setting a pot of coffee on.

As the coffee brewed and a pan of bacon heated, Bobby stepped out onto the porch and retrieved his morning paper, stretching his arms wide and taking in the clean, crisp morning air. It was going to be another cool summer day, a good day for work around the salvage yard, another chance to get Dean out and keep him busy and his mind clear of the concerns and worries that seemed to be plaguing him as of late.

The house was filled with a peaceful quiet, especially the library. Always a favorite of Bobby’s, the room was cool and gray, the morning sun filtering in through the curtains, dust clinging to the soft rays of light that edged through and the atmosphere was steeped in the heady scent of old leather bindings, this morning’s coffee, and - if he concentrated real hard - the bitter undertones of whiskey.

In its most important moments, the room was electric with energy, stimulating its occupants into action and planning. But in its best moments, the ones Bobby loved most, it was like this; serene and full of whispers of past voices. Bobby could sit quietly and listen for hours to the history of this old farm house as friends and loved ones and hunters alike, came and went, some of them never to return. He likened it to being haunted (but in a good way) and although some of the memories drove him to drink, most of them were good and he held onto them all like cherished photographs.

Bobby leaned against the doorway, sipping carefully at the steaming hot coffee in his cup, black as night and as strong as the hooch in his cupboard - perfection.  He looked across the room at the desk and sofa where he and Dean has spent the better part of twelve hours bent over books and papers, but he didn’t see last night’s Dean; neck deep in research. Instead he saw a tuft of blonde hair sticking straight up from behind the sofa, the boy attached to that hair, edging his way along the length of the furniture. And beneath the desk a pair of size three sneakers were visible, the little toes inside curling under as if the boy wearing them was trying to make himself smaller and invisible.

But big brother knew better; he could hear the stifled giggles that resounded off the oak and even if the little brother was absolutely silent, the older would still recognize the breaths and the very scent of the younger, because that was his purpose in life - Sammy.

In one fluid motion, Dean jumped the sofa, bouncing once from the cushions, landing nimbly on the desktop scattering papers everywhere, sliding sock footed before dropping catlike to the floor with a loud and triumphant ‘Gotcha!’

The echoes of little Sammy squealing in delight bounced around the room, giggles bubbling out of him, hands and feet swinging wildly in an effort to avoid the tickle monster that was attacking. Dean fell backwards on his butt when the heel of Sammy’s little hand landed squarely on Dean’s mouth, but instead of getting upset or crying out in pain, young Dean crowed loudly, laughing and encouraging his little brother. ‘You did good Sammy. You got me.’ The little boy beamed with pride. ‘It’s just too bad the tickle monster doesn’t go down that easy.’

Dean latched onto his little brother, wrapping him up in long arms and legs, his fingers finding all the especially ticklish spots while his lips blew raspberries all down the side of Sammy’s face and neck, the boy screaming in a girly high pitch, panting and gasping for air and begging for a truce until finally neither could continue and they collapsed against each other, Dean pulling Sammy tight against his lean chest, wrapping skinny arms around the younger boy. ‘Love you Sammy.’