(no subject)

Three hours passed before Dean made it to Bobby's. It wasn't far, and Dean could have made it there with his eyes closed. Hell, he could've packed ten suitcases of stuff in the time it took him to get there, but Dean showed up at Bobby's empty-handed but for his gun and the clothes on his back. Any other time he'd have barged right in, maybe with a courtesy knock just to make sure Bobby was decent, but even then only as a gesture.

Now he stood with his hand half-raised, frozen in the gesture that would have, on any other day, been a joke.

Even with his eyes wide open he couldn't stop seeing his father's face as he'd left it, so angry John couldn't even adopt his perfected brand of stoic indifference. The deal had been worth it, and if Dean had ten souls he'd have given them all, but he couldn't help wishing that his father had just let him go in the first place. While Dean was pretty sure that being dead would suck, at least it would've meant he hadn't been around to do this to his father.

Sick of the same thoughts as they repeated themselves, Dean stuffed his hands in his pockets, stalling one last second to clear his throat. "Bobby?"