Dean pounded his hand on the wobbly metal table, fist clenched against the sting of the needle. "Dammit! Are you almost done, Sam?"
"Almost," he said. Dean let out an annoyed growl.
"You're welcome by the way," he said to Sam. Sam squinted as he put in the final stitch and pulled the last end of the gash in Dean's arm together, knotting the surgical thread.
"Yeah, thanks for butting in when I had everything handled," he threw back at his brother.
Dean had been about to argue but was cut off when Sam's cell phone lit up and sent loud vibrations through the table. Sam snatched it and glanced at the incoming call. "It's Bobby. Hey Bobby," he answered.
"Sam," came the familiar voice on the other end.
"What's going on? We've been trying to get in touch with you for almost a month. We were making our way up to your place when we ran into a job."
Dean was cracking open a beer and listening to Sam's end of the conversation curiously.
"Yeah... that's why I'm calling actually. Something came up. How far out are you?"
"We could be there tonight if you need us to," Sam replied. Dean furrowed his brow and looked at Sam questioningly.
"No, no. It's not that urgent. Just head on up in the morning," Bobby said.
"Alright. See you tomorrow, Bobby," Sam replied. Dean gave him a puzzled look.
"What was that all about?" Dean asked, looking over his stitches.
"I'm not really sure," Sam said. "He said something came up and he wants us to head there in the morning."
"Hmm. He didn't say what it is? Is it a job?"
Sam shook his head. "I have no idea. He sounded a little weird though..."
Dean took a sip of beer. "Guess we'll find out when we get there."
_ _ _ _ _ _
The familiar crunch of gravel under the tires of the Impala announced their arrival at Bobby's around midday. Dean and Sam both looked up at the old house expectantly. There was nothing unusual about it today compared with any other day. It was the same old dilapidated exterior surrounded by the same old junker cars and spare parts crowding the yard.
Dean parked the car in his usual spot right in front of the house. As he and Sam slammed their doors shut, Sam tilted his head out towards one of the garages. There was the characteristic sound of mechanic tinkering. It was another familiar sound, and one that always made him think of Bobby's when he heard it. It was some sort of deep, subconscious association from when he and Dean had spent time there as kids and from all the times Dean had repaired the Impala in Bobby's yard.
They both wandered over towards the noise. There was a classic mustang, deep green, on blocks in the middle of the garage. If it hadn't been for the ringing and clanging sounds echoing out from the undercarriage they wouldn't have even known Bobby was in there. He was completely hidden underneath the car.
Dean let out a low whistle. "Holy crap. '65 Mustang. She's a beauty, Bobby," Dean said, leaning down to look into the interior.
