rivers_bend

Title: Magnify
Words: 2250
Rating: Adult (talk of sex)
Characters: Sam/Dean, Bobby
Spoilers: general for show's arc but nothing specific for new episodes
Disclaimer: Our porn makes more people watch your show
A/N: Part of powerverse, [Part 1] Kinesis [Part 2] Jade [Part 3] Second Hand.
Summary: Bobby wouldn't ever call himself lonely, though he did miss having a dog around the place sometimes, but having the boys here when they weren't runnin' from something or recovering from being dead something felt good.

Thanks to the lovely people on my f'list who answered my poll about Dean. *hugs you*




When he'd finished putting away the leftovers, Bobby looked around the kitchen. Less than twelve hours here, and the boys had left their mark. Leftovers for a start. Bobby couldn't remember the last time he'd eaten anything that wasn't just eggs or a can of something to be shoveled down while he read or sat on the porch looking out over the yard. Now there were three times as many dishes in the drainer, and the chairs sitting around the table were all at angles to it, used looking. Even without all that, there was something he couldn't see with his eyes, just the way the house felt different. Sam and Dean slipped in easy though. Always had. No amount of arguin', fightin', or even back in the day, wrestlin' up and down the stairs, seemed to put the house off their presence.

Only half past ten, and the boys had gone up to bed. The look they gave each other when Dean said they were tired and hittin' the hay, Bobby wondered if maybe they thought they were intruding on his space. He didn't say anything though, except, "All right, boys, you know where everything is."

The plumbing banged as someone turned on the sink upstairs and Bobby couldn't help the smile that tugged at his face. He wouldn't ever call himself lonely, though he did miss having a dog around the place sometimes, but having the boys here when they weren't runnin' from something or recovering from being dead something felt good. Instead of standing like a fool listening to their footsteps over his head, Bobby went and checked the locks and the salt-lines.

Everything was silence upstairs by the time he made his way back to the library. Sam had left papers and books scattered over the table, and the disc in the larger of Bobby's magnifying boxes. The boy had been fascinated by the boxes when he was younger, and would spend hours putting rocks and bugs and scraps of paper inside and lifting the lids on and off to see the difference. Bobby'd given him a box of his own at the end of the summer, just one of the little plastic ones you could pick up at the five and dime, but the smile on Sam's face when Bobby handed it over was enough to break your heart.

Bobby'd planned on coming in this afternoon to see the bit of jade for himself, but then Sam had brought beers out to where he and Dean were working, and the three of them had shot the shit until Dean's stomach announced it was time to start cooking supper.

Now, turning on the lamp he'd rigged to the box, Bobby sat down to have a look. It was a pretty thing, if you liked carved jade, didn't look machined, but was obviously etched by an expert. He couldn't remember if he'd seen anything like the markings before. There was nothing symmetrical about it, and not enough repetition to be a decorative pattern; it looked like language of some kind. On top of the book at his elbow was a rubbing Sam had made. It was easier to see the pattern in the high-contrast black and white, but the edges were blurred from the charcoal. Bobby got out his hand lens and looked at it with that, but even magnified, it wasn't ideal. The Methodist Church in town had a photocopier the public could use for 15 cents a copy. It wasn't fancy but it did enlarge. He'd take the disc down in the morning and copy it. Engraving usually came out pretty well, the way the machine's light moved across it. He could even put several angles on a page, help them figure out which way was up. Assuming they found anything to compare it to.

It'd been a long day, though. No point in straining his eyes tonight.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"Dean," Sam hissed when they got to the top of the stairs. "You can't look at me like that and then talk about going to bed when Bobby's right there."

"Whatever. He didn’t see anything. I mean, you really think he's gonna think that?" Dean did, at least, keep his voice low.

Sam listened down the stairs, though he had no idea what he thought he might hear. "Well, just don't. Okay?"

"Okay," Dean said, and slid up behind Sam where he was leaning over his bag to get his toothbrush. "But unless he walks in while I'm fucking you, he's not going to know." He bumped Sam's ass with his hips, making Sam jerk his head towards the door, relieved to see it shut, but still worried.

"Dean, you promised. This is why we stopped last night, I thought."

"Didn't work, I guess," Dean said.

Sam found his kit finally and pulled away, heading towards the bathroom. "This is Bobby. " He spun around to look Dean in the eye. "Not some clerk in a convenience store."

"Good times, though." Dean winked and went to rifle through his own bag.

Sam locked the bathroom door, worried that Dean would come in and resume his teasing. He'd been more cheerful the last few days, quicker to smile, somehow… flirtier. Like reaching around to grab Sam's junk while he held out his other hand for the key to the gas station restroom, nearly making the poor pimply teen behind the counter faint. Sam had chalked it up to just another of Dean's mood swings, but now he wondered if Dean had latched onto the disc from Ruby and was actually hopeful. He wanted Dean hopeful, he did, but the realization of his responsibility still felt like ice sitting hard in his gut.

The hall was narrow, but Dean, exaggerating his willingness to abide by Sam's prohibition, didn't brush against his brother as they passed. He was wearing an old ripped-knee pair of Sam's sweats, the elastic ankles the only things keeping the cuffs from dragging on the floor, and a t-shirt that came nowhere near the low-slung waistband. He looked about 18 and Sam wanted to crawl his way inside those clothes and never leave. Sam didn't say a word, but he did spin round when he hit the bedroom doorway, just in time to see Dean turn back and scratch at the stripe of skin below the hem of his shirt.

"Bastard," Sam mouthed, eyes flicking towards the stairs to make sure Bobby wasn't on his way to bed.

Dean just bit the corner of his smile and slipped into the bathroom, shutting the door behind himself.

When he came back, Sam was already in bed, curled on his side, facing toward the center of the room.

Dean moved his duffel off his own bed and said, "Can you believe anyone stupid enough to drop a branch on his car was allowed to buy a Corvette?"

"I'm pretty sure they don't make you take a common sense test before they let you buy a sports car."

"It's a fucking crime, is what it is, Sam." Dean tested the door was latched—it didn't have a lock—turned out the light and climbed under the covers.

"Night, Dean," Sam said.

"Night, Sammy."

Sam waited for Dean to close his eyes, but he just kept watching Sam in the light from the window.

"What?" Sam asked finally.

"Nothing." Dean closed his eyes, looking small, with one arm draped over his waist and the other folded up across his chest, his hand resting on his shoulder.

Using all his concentration—it was much easier to lash out in anger than move things gently—Sam imagined wrapping his fingers around Dean's wrist and moved the hand on Dean's shoulder down to the pillow next to his face. Dean's eyes snapped open and he gasped quietly, but didn't say anything. Easing up, Sam just held Dean's hand there lightly, palm up, fingers curled a bit. While Dean watched, Sam moved his own hand palm down next to his face, so that if they were sharing a bed they would be holding hands. He figured Dean would accuse him of cuddling or being a girl, but he just gave Sam one of his little smiles, and closed his fingers over his palm. Sam was still aware of the feel of Dean's wrist under his thoughts when he fell asleep.


Morning came suddenly, the crash of a chair or something falling over ripping Sam awake in time to hear Bobby shout, "Goddamn clumsy oaf!" He was out of bed and yanking open the door before he could even focus straight.

"Bobby?" he called down the stairs.

"Sorry, Sam. Didn't mean to wake you. Just rearranging these kitchen chairs. Seeing how they look lying down."

"Sam, everything okay?" Dean lifted his head from the pillow, but made no other move towards getting up.

"S'fine," Sam said to Dean and called, "Need a hand?" to Bobby.

Bobby poked his head into the stairwell and saw Sam watching him from the bedroom doorway. "Nope. Got a few errands to run this morning. Should take an hour or two at most. We can have a look at that trinket when I get back. Gonna take it with me, 'f'that's ok."

"Sure," Sam said and rubbed his eyes. "Yeah. Just…"

"I'm not gonna lose it, boy."

Sam smiled ruefully. "Yeah, I know."

"Well, then, get some more sleep. And tell your brother I've got an Impala alternator out in the shed, he wants to have a look."

"Thanks Bobby," Dean called.

"Sorry I woke you up. See you later." Bobby lifted his hat, smoothed his hair under it, and sketched a wave.

Sam waved back. As he was already up, he went to take a leak and brush his teeth, scrubbing sleep out of his eyes with damp fingers and watching in the mirror as a trail of foam dripped down his chin. He felt completely exhausted, and wondered if his brain had been holding Dean's wrist all night, making him feel drained now. He dismissed the thought as quick as it came. He couldn't do that. Control things in his sleep. It was just he felt more at home here and slept deeper.

The front door banged and then Sam heard a growling roar, like the Impala starting, but different, as he rinsed his mouth. It wasn't until the sound of the engine faded that the house felt empty of Bobby's presence. Quietly, Sam crept back to the bedroom to see if Dean was still awake. Glittering eyes peered at him from under Dean's arm.

"Hey," Sam said and went to sit on Dean's bed.

Dean stretched his arm towards the ceiling until the tendons creaked. "Did you stay awake all night holding my hand?"

The question made it hard for Sam to breathe. "What?"

"You're such a girl."

"What?" Sam said again, sure Dean was messing with him.

"I am speaking in English, right? Just, every time I woke up in the night, I couldn't move my arm. Never woke up quite enough to say though."

"Dean." An improvement on 'what?' but not exactly making a great foray into articulate.

"Sam," Dean returned, and put a hand on Sam's knee. "Hey, you ok? You look like Vader just told you he's your father."

That made Sam laugh. Not much, but enough to free up his tongue. "I slept all night."

Dean just raised an eyebrow.

"All night, Dean. But I feel like I spent the night running down a werewolf."

"Or like you spent all night using your powers?" Dean lifted gentle fingers to Sam's temple, brushing at the hairs there before circling his thumb on Sam's forehead. "Got a headache?"

"No," Sam answered, and then surprised, "No. Huh." Suddenly worried, he took Dean's hand, examined his wrist, turning it over, looking at both sides for bruises or some sign that he'd hurt his brother.

"Didn't hurt me, Sammy." Dean shrugged a little. "Well, that shoulder's kinda stiff, but other than that." Lowering his lashes over flash-dark eyes, Dean said, "I sorta—"

Sam waited, but Dean just kept his eyes down, kept silent. "Sorta..?" Sam tried to worm a hand under the covers to Dean's belly, but got slapped away.

"Never mind. And move your ass. I gotta see a man about a horse."

Sam moved, still too dazed to protest, and then flopped down onto Dean's bed when he'd gone. What the hell did it mean that he'd used his powers in his sleep? Like he didn't have enough to worry about without the risk he was gonna reach out and push someone down a flight of stairs from the land of nod or something. Or, god, what if he had lost his focus and strangled Dean instead of pinning his wrist? What if—

"Stop worrying, princess. You'll pull something."

"Fuck. Dean, what if I'd hurt you? What if I—"

"Sam, shut up." Dean stepped up to the edge of the bed and gave Sam the what am I going to do with you look. Except the one that said he had a plan. "Though maybe pulling something isn't such a bad idea." Dean pushed the sweats off his hips and down, leaving his half hard dick swinging against his thigh.

"You never stop, do you? You're insa—"

Dean brushed his cock against Sam's lower lip, gently enough to avoid an accidental bite, but firmly enough to bring Sam up short. "What's a guy got to do to get you to stop talking?"

Sam didn't bother answering, just hitched up on one elbow to get a better angle, and started sucking. There was time to think later. After Bobby got back.

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