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Sam hung around after Dean finished his beer and got back to work. This wasn't the first time his baby had been taken over by something else and used against him: only the sixth or seventh legitimate spirit, but two different dudes had hopped in uninvited over the years, one looking to run Dean down and the other just trying to run off with his wheels. They'd none of them been successful, but shit, there wasn't much Dean hated more than defending himself against one of his own, trying protect his opponent while they fought, and knowing he'd have to turn around and patch them up when the course was run.
He didn't know what Sam had been doing before he came outside. Dean never had a handle on what Sam did at Bobby's when they weren't gearing up for something in particular. If Sam was working on a book or something today, it wasn't such a page-turner that he had to get back to it immediately. He was only leaning against the shelves underneath Bobby's hand-drawn, extra legitimate-looking Singer Auto sign, slouching there with his hands tucked into the front pocket of his jeans and his gaze fixed off in the distance.
Sam had a decent poker face, but Dean had watched him hone it over the years. He'd seen all its variations thrown his way, delivered with one lie or another. He knew when Sam was bullshitting him. Dean believed Sam was doing fine about as much as he believed Sam wasn't staying outside to keep from running across Bobby in the house.
Dean rubbed his forehead with his sleeve and looked down at his tools. He'd used these with Ben the year before. Dean picked up a wrench and ran the pad of his thumb over the raised lettering of the handle. He'd been planning on buying Ben a set of his own when his fifteenth birthday rolled around, so he could learn how to take care of a car at the same time as he learned to drive one. Dad had done that with Dean, although his lessons came when he was years younger than Ben. Teaching Ben was all on Lisa now, just like it'd been before Dean waltzed in to fuck things up for them. He'd barely done right by Sam, he hadn't even come close with Adam, but he was damn sure going to make a better effort with Ben. There was one way for Dean to do that, and it wasn't a path that allowed for birthday gifts, or teaching him anything except a bunch of shit not to do.
It was pretty fucking rich of Lisa to talk about getting over Dean like she was the only one with that work laid out in front of her. Like she hadn't been the one to tell Dean to leave, gently enough at first but then permanently, talking with anger in her voice. Like she didn't know why it had to be this way, like her messages weren't harder for him to listen to than the ones involving dead bodies.
Sam walked back over to the car and Dean detoured to Bobby's tool cabinets without meeting his gaze. He stopped at a red chest-high metal number, full of tiny drawers lined with tools Dean only needed occasionally and couldn't spare the trunk space for in the first place. Delicate needle-nose pliers and wire-cutters with thick, insulated handles; screws of all sizes, stored by the box instead of by the handful; tall cans of sprays and paints and primers. Dean looked through a few drawers before closing them all up. Sam probably knew he didn't need anything there, but Dean braced his hands on top of the cabinet for a moment anyway before heading back.
He found Sam bending under the engine like he'd really be able to make out any nuances of the situation. Sam peered at Dean's face while Dean joined him at the bumper, wiping his fingers on a red rag softened with years of use. He pretended he didn't notice for a few moments, letting Sam look. Eventually Sam turned towards the house, twisting around away from Dean.
"You want another beer?" he asked. "I was thinking about going to get more, I don't know why I didn't bring em out in the first place."
Dean shrugged. "Lemme finish up here."
He leaned back into the car, staring down at the engine without looking at anything particular. Sam knew enough about the situation to make his stupid concerned comments when Lisa came up, but it didn't go both ways. Dean had been very careful to make sure Lisa didn't know all the details of how he lost his brother. There wouldn't have been much of a relationship to be getting over in the first place if she had. She didn't know he was dealing with his whole history with Sam while having to see Sam all the goddamn time, while getting on with life without her as well. There were days he could barely think about anything besides one or the other of them. (On especially shitty days it was both.) That was how it had to be: Dean couldn't have both of them, because they were all three too jealous-natured for that even if Lisa would have magically been cool with the brother thing, and he knew all the reasons why he shouldn't have either one, too. It still sucked; he still hated it. Those days, days like today, the only thing for it was alcohol or violence.
He shouldn't combine those two things either, but Dean had them together on a regular basis anyway, and damn if one didn't make the other taste better.
Sam cleared his throat, never as patient as he should be about taking care of the car. Dean shook his head as he finished up. He put his own tools away and followed his brother, watching Sam's shoulders as they walked towards the house.