1x22 -- Devil's Trap

[salver]

Bobby Singer looks out the window, past the hubcaps nailed to the black boards on the outside of the house like encroaching barnacles, and raises his eyebrows the proverbial six feet.

Anybody approaching the salvage yard that fast has business with him -- and not the kind where he's supposed to be a legitimate businessman, either. Bobby's got himself a nice-looking elephant graveyard: this is where cars go to die, and rust, and -- sometimes -- lie in wait to be dismantled for other purposes. Any way you want to look at it, there's a fair amount of metal lying around. Lots of places to hide. Lots of cover.

(And Rumsfeld the rottweiler to set up a ruckus.)

Bobby knows cars (among other things), and there's only one hunter he knows of driving a car like that. Hunters, now. Plural. It's still Team Winchester in the black Impala, but the lineup's changed. Not John and Dean, not any more: Dean and Sam. The college boy.

Ten minutes later he's got the Winchester boys inside and set up in his living room -- Sam at Bobby's desk, with a stack of books to hand and one open in front of him (and that short stack didn't even make a dent in his collection, piles twenty deep in some places spread over every flat surface and some surfaces that aren't so flat), Dean at the walls, feasting his eyes on the collection of pinned-up symbols and maps (the hunter's wallpaper, Bobby sometimes thinks to himself, without much humor) to see if there's anything familiar-looking -- while he goes looking for fortifying materials. Ammunition.

They come in two silver flasks, the first of which he passes off to Dean. "Here you go."

Comments

[hopeitsworthit]

Dean's eyebrows go up.

"What is this--holy water?"

Yeah. Real handy right now, Bobby.

Thanks.

[salver]

"That one is." Bobby nods to that flask, and holds up another. "This is whiskey."

He unscrews the top, partakes, and smiles -- the kind that's quick and bright and self-aware in the I'm one of the best at what I do way.

Then he passes the whiskey off to Dean, who'll need it more than Bobby does.

That's the point.

[gavemea_45]

He doesn't even look up.

Sam's busy flipping pages, taking in everything that he can.

There's a lot to read, and it's all unfamiliar.

[hopeitsworthit]

Yeah, Dean's not gonna argue with Bobby on that one. He takes the whiskey, swallowing it down.

That hit the spot.

And now--business.

Kinda.

Sometimes chick flick moments happen whether you want 'em to or not.

"Thanks, Bobby. For everything, man. Because--to tell you the truth?--I wasn't sure we should come."

Given the whole John issue. Dean loves his Dad, but man, can he piss people off like nobody's business.

[salver]

That is six different kinds of bullshit.

Of course, he's not going to phrase it like that -- that's more a John Winchester thing to do. "Nonsense." The word's drawn out long. "Your daddy needs help."

[hopeitsworthit]

"Well, yeah."

Dean scratches at the back of his neck.

"But, uh--last time we saw you, uh--you did threaten to blast him full of buckshot. Cocked the shotgun and everything."

That last bit is accompanied with a grin, awkward though it might be.

Because.

Yeah.

[salver]

"Yeah, well..."

Bobby takes a moment to look shifty; there's a truth here that they're all aware of, and it's not a particularly comfortable one. He can look a little shifty.

"What can I say? John just has that effect on people."

[gavemea_45]

There's a muffled noise from the direction of where Sam's sitting behind Bobby's desk, at this.

It sounds suspiciously like agreement, but it's only half-hearted.

Sam's still lost in the book.

[hopeitsworthit]

Dean shoots a quick look at Sam, just makin' sure he's okay.

But he recognizes the look of Sam sexing up something he's reading, so he looks back at Bobby.

Any and all sheepishness is well-hidden.

Mostly.

"Yeah. Guess he does."

[salver]

"None of that matters now."

There are two parts to forgiving and forgetting, and while under certain circumstances Bobby can do the one, if you do the other, you wind up dead sooner than scheduled. But it's true: it doesn't matter.

If you know how to read the signs (and he does, all too well), this isn't the time to be burning any damn bridges.

And they're going to need him for more than just holy water, whiskey, and a look-see at his collection. Bobby's got that feeling.

"All that matters is that you get him back."

[gavemea_45]

"Bobby, this book--"

He finally pulls his attention from the pages in order to glance up at them both. Truth be told, Sam looks a little dazed.

"I've never seen anything like it."

The Clavicula Solomonis-- the Key of Solomon. Protective circles stronger than anything he's ever heard of; strong enough to contain and hold demons powerless.

And from what Bobby's been telling them, they're gonna need it. Twenty-seven demonic possessions so far this year, where a normal one might have three or four at most. Things are stirring, and none of it's good.

Sam trades a look with Dean, then turns his attention back to Bobby.

"Do you know why all this is happening?"

[salver]

"No." Bobby shakes his head, slow -- and any trace of good humor that might have been there before is completely gone. No more comparing the Key of Solomon to satanic roach motels, no more smiling, no more whiskey. "But I know it's something big. The storm's coming -- "

If you know how to read the signs, it's only too goddamn obvious.

" -- and you boys, your daddy -- you are smack in the middle of it."

[hopeitsworthit]

Yeah, okay, now's a kind of annoying time for the dog to start barking.

It's an even worse time for it to shut up real fast, whining.





Yeah, like that's ever gonna end well.

Shit.

[gavemea_45]

Bad sign--

Even as he thinks it, Sam closes the book and gets to his feet.

[salver]

Rumsfeld's not on his chain.

Rumsfeld isn't sleeping on the hood of the truck any more.

Bobby turns from the window, letting the blinds slip from his fingers, and says, low, "Something's wrong -- "

[hopeitsworthit]

And that, of course, is when Meg breaks down the door.

"No more crap, okay?"

Fuck.

Dean readies the little flask of holy water, darting toward Meg in an attempt to catch her by surprise.

That fails pretty spectacularly, and with a wave of her arm she sends him flying across the room.

Yeah, that one's gonna leave a mark.

Dammit.

[gavemea_45]

Dean! Shit.

Sam moves fast, instinctively stepping in front of Bobby and putting himself between the older man and the furious demon.

"I want the Colt, Sam." She's advancing as they retreat, one slow step at a time. "The real Colt. Right now."

Sam grimaces a little, but he doesn't let his glance waver from her. He's afraid of what it might show if he does.

"We don’t have it on us. We buried it."

Meg glares at him. "Didn’t I say 'no more crap'? I swear – after everything I heard about you Winchesters, I have to tell you, I’m a little underwhelmed."

Another step, and then another, as she snarls, "First Johnny tries to pawn off a fake gun, and then he leaves the real gun with you two chuckleheads. Lackluster, men. I mean, did you really think I wouldn’t find you?"

[hopeitsworthit]

"Nah. We were pretty much counting on it."

If this weren't so freaking important, Dean would be smirking about now.

Aw, hell. He is smirking, especially when he catches Meg's eye with his and looks up at the ceiling.

That Devil's Trap up there is real pretty, ain't it?

"Gotcha."

[gavemea_45]

With the trap sprung and the demon powerless within it, they make quick work of the rest.

A few minutes later, Dean and Sam are watching Meg, who's smirking at them from where she sits tied to a chair in the middle of the room.

"You know, if you wanted to tie me up, all you had to do was ask." She looks them up and down. "Betcha we could have a lot of fun that way."

[salver]

By this time he doesn't get stares or comments any more when he buys that much salt in bulk -- wrong kind for preserving what you hunt, which is what that much salt tends to get used for out here. Doesn't mean Bobby won't store it in old rusting tins labeled GASOLINE -- plays into the deception of his place. All part of the disguise.

It's the wrong kind of salt for preserving what you hunt; it's the great kind of salt for preserving you from what you hunt.

"I salted the door and windows." There's always been something a little comforting about a heavy tin with a rust-spotted handle. Blunt object, if it has to be. "If there are any demons out there -- they ain't getting in."

[hopeitsworthit]

It's hard to keep from looking too jittery; gut-deep fear's got no place here, not right now.

Dean almost jumps out of his skin when Bobby talks, but covers it with a quick nod.

Okay, here goes nothin'.

"Where's our father, Meg?"

Like it's gonna be that easy.

He's almost expecting the slow, poisonously sweet smile. "You didn't ask very nice."

Yeah, that just nets her a quick, hard, smirk.

"Where's our father, bitch?"

Meg--whatever Meg is--widens her eyes, looking shocked. "Jeez, you kiss your mother with that mouth?"

Beat.

"Oh, wait. I forgot. You don't."

Okay. That's it. Fucking bitch.

"You think this is a freakin' game?"

He lunges toward her, arms on the chair, bracketing her in. A real girl would've been pissing her pants right now. He feels sick to his stomach.

"Where is he? What'd you do to him?"

She's all oily charm when she answers back. "He died screaming." Satisfaction oozes from her smile. "I killed him myself."

Dean pauses for half a second, face gone stiff and cold.

Then he backhands her across the face.

No one says shit about his Dad.

No one.

[gavemea_45]

Sam's been watching in silence this whole time, but at this he flinches.

Dean-- come on, man-- don't--

Meg's head rocks back with the force of the blow, but then she looks right back at Dean and smiles.

"That’s kind of a turn on – you hitting a girl."

[hopeitsworthit]

Dean's jaw tightens, and for a second he has to fight back the urge to duck his head in shame.

But--

"You're no girl."

He's sure of that, at the very least.

[salver]

That's enough.

From his vantage point, Bobby stands.

"Dean."

And moves into the other room. Meg's still in sight.

Not like she's going anywhere, though.

[hopeitsworthit]

Dean wants to snarl at Bobby to shut the fuck up, he's working here.

But he doesn't.

Instead, after one last cold-eyed look at Meg he turns, heading into the next room.

This better be good.