Archive of Our Own ^beta

They got through two more loads of laundry and another ancient text without seeing Bobby. Dean looked for him while Sam heated up a few cans of soup for lunch, but poking around the main floor didn't turn anything up. He spent a while standing at the top of the stairs that led to the basement, staring down them, but called out for Bobby instead of heading downstairs.

"Couldn't find him," he said, when he came back into the kitchen. Sam was pouring soup directly from the pan into two bowls. A third sat on the counter next to the stove but Sam left it there without filling it.

"Well, he's somewhere," Sam said. "Doesn't need us worrying about him."

Dean frowned, thinking of the bottles he'd found when he showed up at Bobby's place, freshly back to life. "He leave a note or anything?"

Sam shook his head and handed a bowl to Dean. "You wanna eat at the table?"

He glanced over, saw that only about half of the table was covered with papers and books, and shrugged. "Why not."

They ate lunch alone, just the two of them just like always, and put the kitchen away again when they finished. Dean's hands were still dry and almost chapped from doing the dishes earlier, and then trotting through the cold a few times, but he didn't let Sam do their lunch dishes. Sam never scrubbed as hard as he should, and so things were never too clean, when Sam did them.

Sam found a lid for the pan and set it to simmer before coming over to dry. There wasn't much to do, but he stayed pressed close to Dean after he shut the water off. Out of the corner of his eyes, Dean saw him look down at him, and he bit the inside of his cheek to keep from grinning. He leaned across Sam, reaching for the empty bowls, and Sam ducked down to get his face in Dean's way. Dean snorted but let Sam nose at his cheek. Sam's breath came hot on his face, and eventually Dean turned and kissed him.

Just once: Sam's lips still tasted like soup, and it was a short kiss, without any tongue. Dean snorted again after a moment and pulled back to pick up the bowls. When he turned to put them away in their cabinet on the other side of the room, he saw Bobby's chair disappearing out of the doorway, down the hallway outside the kitchen.

Dean had no way of knowing what he'd seen, or if he'd even seen anything at all.

He put the bowls away after standing motionless for a moment, and then came back to the sink for their spoons. Sam was wiping down the counter and Dean didn't think he'd noticed, which was — good. That was only a good thing.

He left Sam in the kitchen and went off, through the main level. Bobby had a good chair, and he took care of it the same way he did the rest of his gear, so Dean didn't expect to hear it squeaking anywhere. Instead, he checked the places he figured Bobby would go: bathroom, makeshift bedroom, all along the stacks of books.

He found Bobby leaning down to look at a title near the bottom of one of the book piles. Dean stayed in the doorjamb and cleared his throat after a moment. Bobby waved him over without looking up and Dean walked in. He squatted down next to Bobby, out of arm's reach, and swallowed. Maybe he hadn't seen anything.

"Get that one for me," Bobby said, and pointed to a slender book with a title on its spine, crammed between two thick books by Greek authors. Dean studied the rest of the stack and stood up to move the books from the top. He laid them where he could fit them, some on the floor and some atop other piles, and when he cleared off enough, Bobby leaned over and plucked out the text he wanted.

Dean leaned over his shoulder when he opened it. The pages were full of the spindly handwriting he associated with the 19th century, and some of them featured hand-drawn illustrations, mostly of planets. Bobby flipped through until he found one in particular. Again it was of the planets, and Bobby turned the book sideways in his lap before studying it. After a few moments, he counted rapidly on his fingers, then swore and snapped the book closed with less care than Dean would have expected. He rubbed his face, then filed the book away again and waved over his shoulder at Dean.

"May as well get the rest of those away," he said, and so Dean set to it.

Bobby wouldn't meet his eyes while he worked, but he didn't leave, either. Dean ran one finger down the books once he replaced them, then took a deep breath and turned to face Bobby. "I'm guessing no good news in that one?"

Bobby snorted and shook his head. "No good news in any of them so far." He dropped his hands onto his thighs and looked slowly around the room. "If that didn't work..." He shook his head and Dean swallowed hard again.

"We'll come up with something," Sam said from the doorway. Dean turned and immediately worried about how visible his relief to see Sam, to be rescued from this conversation, would be. It didn't stop him from smiling a little at his brother, or from moving so he faced the door, even without meaning to.

Looking towards Sam, he couldn't see Bobby, but going by Sam's reactions, he was acting like nothing was wrong. Maybe he hadn't seen anything.

"Yeah, and the sooner you come up with it, the better," Bobby said. Dean glanced at him, and then moved out of the way as Bobby pushed himself out of the room. Sam moved, too, and then they followed him towards the kitchen.