Adventures at Bobby's 2

An hour later, Sam could be found picking his way through the dusty interior of one of the walls lining the upstairs hallway between bedrooms.

He could see his own bootprints outlined in the dust, lit by the scattered shards of hazy light that managed to worm their way through the cracks in the wood paneling. When he made it to a crossroads in the wall, he made sure to choose a different path than what he'd taken the day before, separating from his tread marks.

After around ten minutes moving at a steady pace, Sam heard a strange snuffling coming from outside the wall. A dark shadow briefly blotted out the sun, passing over the cracks in the wood like a dark cloud. Sam froze up, his mind immediately going to rats or other dangers he knew lurked within human homes.

Currently, he was the only person upstairs. Bobby hadn't budged from his books thus far that day, and Dean's thudding footsteps had stalked right by Sam, on his way to where the Impala was being kept in the yard. He hadn't noticed Sam's presence, obscured as it was by the thick walls.

Sam was on his own.

Putting a hand in his jacket, he slowly curled his fingers around the handle of his knife, falling naturally into the steady grip Dean had taught him. Sam crept forward, careful to keep his steps even and his breathing steady. He could've sworn his pulse was louder than anything else from the way it thudded in his ears.

Growing up, he'd helped Walt fight off rats multiple times. They were dangerous in more ways than one, able to easily overpower someone Sam's size if they caught them off guard, not to mention attracting pest control like a magnet. The methods used to rid motels and homes of rats and vermin didn't discriminate between the rats and the small people, so Walt had taken it upon himself, with Sam's help, to kill any that wandered in.

He had put the carcasses to good use once the deed was over and done with. Rats made good eating, the meat carefully cooked and often dried, deep in the bowels of the motel using the hot water heater. Sam's knife and a spare razor they'd found in an abandoned room had been put to use skinning the animals, giving Walt pelts for his leather work.

The snuffling came again, this time closer to where Sam was standing. He tensed, knife out, the feeling of being hunted washing over him. A shadow fell over a loose wall panel nearby, something large nudging it from outside.

Sam hesitated. That's a little big for a rat, he thought to himself.

Sam straightened from the hunter's stalk he'd fallen into. "Rumsfeld? Is that you?" he called out.

Sam sighed at the familiar whine that came from outside the wall, followed by a steady scratching as Rumsfeld tried to reach his small friend. Sam slipped past the loose panel, briefly glancing at each end of the hall for humans purely out of habit.

Rumsfeld flattened himself against the ground at the sight of Sam, happily nudging his stomach with a cold, wet nose. Sam smiled, brushing his small hands over the huge muzzle. He didn’t even mind the wet spot it left on his jacket, smudging against the dustbunnies he’d picked up inside the wall.

"Y'know," he said to the dog, "you make it very hard to sneak around up here." His voice was full of dry humor. He already knew he had no reason to hide, but most of it was instinctive after so long spent this size.

Sam leaned against Rumsfeld, giving the snout a quick hug. "You're gonna make me look bad," the small hunter pointed out. "All this work to be silent and you find me in no time flat. I'll have to work on that."

After a few moments spent petting the dog, Rumsfeld pulled away. If Sam hadn't let go at the last second, he would have been pulled right off his feet as the huge Rottweiler stood all the way up. He glanced down at Sam, then towards the stairs, almost prancing in place. His claws clicked against the hardwood floor, tapping out his own beat.

Unconsciously, Sam took a few steps back, giving the huge dog some space. He hadn't spent much time around Rumsfeld without Dean at least standing in the background, so being alone on the floor like this felt odd. He was getting adjusted to having the hunter around all the time. Having him close by afforded Sam an iota of control he didn't otherwise have.

Dropping his hands to his side, Sam called up to the dog, "What's up, boy? Did you want me to come with you?"

After a yelping bark was given in return, Sam decided that must be it. Hitching his bag up, Sam grinned. "Okay, but just this once." He kept a steady tone as he walked. "I'm really not built for these halls the way you are, y'know?"

For the first few steps, Rumsfeld watched. Then he ran ahead, barked excitedly, and ran back to Sam. Sam found himself being nosed from behind, almost swept off his feet by the eager dog.

"Whoa! Calm down!" Sam was barely able to catch his feet. He crossed his arms, staring up at Rumsfeld. "I'm not as fast as you are," he pointed out patiently. "I just need a little more time to get there, that's all."

Rumsfeld's answer came in the form of another nuzzle that quickly turned Sam's calm to shock. The dog managed to sweep Sam off the ground as he desperately clutched the top of the furry snout. He found himself staring into Rumsfeld's warm, chocolate eyes, giving him the 'this is what you meant, right?' look.

Sam tried to pry his fingers from the fur he was clutching and was partially successful. "O-okay. So. I guess this means you want me to ride with you, doesn't it." He crawled to the top of Rumsfeld's head where he'd have a more stable spot to sit. He gave the broad head a pat once he was situated. "Just don't go too fast, alright?"

With an agreeable yelp, Rumsfeld trotted forward. Sam tucked his satchel right next to his body and marveled at how smooth the strides were. Even Dean's ambling gait came closer to tossing Sam off his perch than this did, and Sam was used to that!

The only time he was actually worried about falling was when they reached the stairs. Sam held tight with both hands as the surface he was on bounced up and down in time with the steps. One definite downfall about a ride on Rumsfeld versus sitting with Dean was at least his brother had a chance at catching him if he slipped or was jarred off. So far, it hadn't happened, but Sam knew anything was possible and was always thankful for Dean's deadly-fast reflexes.

Once downstairs, Rumsfeld trotted past the library. Bobby could be heard arguing on his cell phone while leaning over a different book now, "No, Garth! This ain't no tooth fairy you're dealing with. You say that spell, light it up and molotov their asses, you got me? And make sure the chicken feet are fresh this time."

Sam couldn't hide a smile at that. Apparently Dean wasn't the only hunter to vex Bobby from day to day. From the sound of his voice, this wasn't the first argument he'd had with this 'Garth.'

Sam indulged himself for a moment, wondering what kind of person Garth was. Was he like Dean and Bobby, a person who wouldn't jump to conclusions about Sam and the others like him? Or was he one of the hunters Walt had warned against (and Sam knew existed, from what Bobby had told him), one that would kill off the smaller people, just because they were 'different?'

He might never know.

As Rumsfeld finally trotted into the kitchen, Sam caught sight of their goal at last. A small bag of treats was sitting up on the counter, left lying in sight of the dog, but out of reach. At least for the dog. He had a certain small friend that could easily get him a snack from the coveted bag. Sam couldn't quite hold in a smirk as Rumsfeld bounded up next to the sink, holding his head eagerly up for Sam to dismount.

Shaking his head, Sam twisted his satchel around before hauling himself up onto the counter. "Is this all I am to you?" he asked with faked regret. "Just someone that's easy to get treats out of?"

The bag of treats was tipped on its side when he came up to it. Sam was easily able to pry it open, releasing a cloud of bacon-smelling air. He coughed, wrinkling his nose in disgust at the pungent aroma. It smelled worse than some of the food Dean ate. Sam hadn't thought that possible.

"You actually like this stuff?" Sam joked, pulling out a Beggin strip that was longer than he was tall. "No wonder you and Dean get along these days." He'd definitely have to wash up after this. He'd smell like a dog treat!

For answer, Rumsfeld yelped, prancing in place a little. Out of sight from Sam, Bobby sat up in the library, glancing towards the kitchen. Even though Sam couldn't see the hunter, he felt a tiny warning tingle go up his neck, letting him know someone was watching.

Sam stood at the edge of the counter, dog treat in hand. "Sit!" he commanded the massive dog, unwavering as he stared Rumsfeld down.

Rumsfeld, just like Dean and Bobby, didn't give a damn about Sam's size. He sat right down, staring loyally up at his small friend.

Sam gave him a smile. "Good boy." With a heave, he tossed the dog treat off the counter.

Rumsfeld snapped it up in seconds, licking his chops and eagerly staring around for more.

Sam brushed off his hands. "That's it for now! You can have more later!"

Rumsfeld didn't argue, coming up to the counter to offer a ride again. Sam reached off the edge to pet the soft, black fur, but he had no plans to leave just yet. The window behind the sink had caught his eye.

If he was right about the layout of the house, that window looked out over the junkyard. He'd be able to see where Dean was as he worked on the Impala.

With that in mind, Sam pushed himself to a stand. Rumsfeld grumbled, but settled down next to the counter. He almost reminded Sam of Dean, the way he hated letting the little hunter out of sight. It was like having two full-time nannies some days.

Ignoring Rumsfeld for the moment, Sam picked his way past some of the dirty dishes left lying around on the countertop and a semi-wet sponge. He only paused to quickly wipe his hands off on the wet surface, getting rid of most of his 'dog-treat' smell. He didn't want to get mistaken for a treat or a snack by any other animals he might encounter at his size.

Once he reached the windowsill, Sam had to jump up to catch the edge so he could climb up. As soon as he managed to scramble up, he gave his arms a small stretch, walking up to the window pane. The window shutters were left open, giving the house a dose of warming light in the cool morning air. Full summer would be upon them soon, bringing the sweltering heat, but for now a cool touch remained on the breeze.

The sight of the junkyard almost took Sam's breath away. The entirety of the yard stretched out from the window, displaying a countless number of junked-up cars that Bobby could pick apart for parts when he was out working instead of on calls with hunters.

Dean could be seen, barely twelve feet away from the house. His jean-clad legs were currently sticking out from under the Impala as he focused his efforts on where the worst of Ilyana's fireball had struck. His boots twitched as he worked, shifting slightly so he could get a better reach while he went.

Sam settled down among the dust bunnies, paying no heed to the slight discomfort from the dust. He watched Dean work with fascination on his face.

---

That's where Bobby found Sam over an hour later. He'd long ago given up on Garth at that point and only said a quick prayer that the hunter wouldn't get himself killed on his witch hunt.

Sam's eyes were just as wide while he watched Dean work as they'd been when he'd first sat there, his attention unwavering. Bobby had to smile at the sight of the kid sitting there watching his older brother.

"Sam," Bobby greeted as he turned on the sink to wash up.

Sam twisted around as the water roared out of the faucet, barely flinching at all. "Oh. Hey Bobby."

Bobby was proud to see Sam wasn't as nervous anymore without Dean backing him up. After what the kid had gone through a few short months ago, no one could blame him when he got skittish around full sized humans.

What those people had done... littles like Sam and his family were harmless. All they ever did was try to get by in a world not made for them. There were very few places they could be truly safe outside of human habitation. If they lived out in the wilderness (as some did), all it would take would be one determined wolf finding them unprepared to decimate an entire community.

If only humans would treat them better... they might be able to risk trusting their larger brethren. But it was far more common to hear about them getting caught, sold off as pets, used as test subjects... even hunted by a few presumptuous jackasses Bobby had the displeasure to have run into over the years. It was very rare to hear of a human treating them as equals, the way Bobby did with Sam or the way Dean had done with all of the littles he'd found.

Bobby leaned against the sink, crossing his arms once his hands were dry. "Your brother keepin' out of trouble today?" he asked, knowing exactly why Sam was sitting up there.

Sam smiled up at him. "He hasn't left the Impala yet," he informed Bobby brightly. "He's been working underneath the car and on the engine all morning."

Bobby peered out the window. Sure enough, Dean was leaning over the engine that very moment. Assorted tools and parts were scattered around on the ground, with a few that had nothing to do with the current repairs mixed in. Bobby worked at hiding a smile of his own. He remembered Dean's plan for the Impala once he'd fixed her up. It was a good thing Sam didn't know much about cars or he might start to figure out Dean's master plan, which was supposed to be a surprise.

Bobby would keep Dean's secret. It was a worthy endeavour.

Sam wasn't getting any bigger, after all. The boys needed to prepare for the long haul like this. Anything less would be negligent at this point, and Dean was anything but.

They remained like that, Sam sitting on the windowsill and Bobby leaning against the sink for a few companionable minutes, watching the young hunter as he worked outside. Bobby mused that if hunting hadn't been the life he'd chosen (or had chosen for him), Dean would have made a great mechanic.

Like John used to be, before the demon that had stole away with Mary's life and their chances at a normal life.

But here Dean was, a hunter like his father. And his brother. All of them were fully invested in 'the family business,' to the exclusion of any chance at a 'normal' life, whatever normal might be for Sam or Dean at this point.

Bobby was actually surprised that Dean hadn't noticed them watching. The window wasn't far from him, after all, and Bobby was certainly noticeable if Sam wasn't. A person staring out the window like that should set Dean’s hunter instinct off in an instant. Yet he continued on, gamely working on the Impala and ignoring the rest of the world. He was clearly enamored with the car in his careful motions.

After a bit of time spent like that, Bobby felt his own curiosity begin to overwhelm him. He knew better than anyone that Sam and Dean rarely spent this much time apart, and judging from the expression on Sam's face as he stared out at the car, he was regretting not being out there with his brother.

"So, uh. Sam. What's keepin' you inside?" Bobby started. "I would have thought you'd be out there with Dean, checkin' out the Impala's repairs." Bobby knew perfectly well how eager to learn the kid was, and this was a golden opportunity to see Dean in action fixing up the car. He could barely imagine how excited Dean would be if given the chance to show Sam how it all worked.

Sam shifted so he could see Bobby out of the corner of his eye while they talked, small dust bunnies drifting in the air at his movement. Bobby frowned briefly at that. He should have thought about dusting with Sam around. Clearly the dust was a bigger deal to him than it was for everyone else.

Sam considered his question for a moment. "I don't want to get in his way," Sam admitted, a light blush coloring his face. His shoulders shrugged helplessly. "I can't really help him out there, after all."

Understanding dawned in Bobby as Sam continued on. " 'Sides, this is the happiest I've seen Dean in a long time. I don't want to take that away from him and have him worrying about me, instead."

Bobby thought over his reply for a long time before answering. "You're right. He is happier when he's out there workin' on the Impala. Sam, durin' all those years growin' up... all those years you were missin,' that was the only time I'd ever see him smile. Some days it didn't even matter if it was the Impala he was workin' on or some piece'a scrap metal, he'd be out there smilin.' "

He saw guilt pass over Sam's face at this and leaned down, dropping the volume of his voice with their proximity. "Sam, none of that's your fault, or Dean's. So put that guilt outta your mind this instant. I watched Dean carry the burden of your death for years. But now, ever since findin' you again, that weight's gone. He has hope again, Sam. That's your doing. It's like he found a piece of him that went missin.' " Bobby straightened, giving Sam space again. "Don't underestimate yourself. You've done more for Dean than I ever thought possible. There were days I thought we'd lose him for sure because of his reckless disregard for his own life, like he didn't have a reason to keep on truckin' like the rest of us. Now, that's not a worry."

The guilt on Sam's face slowly faded away, replaced by quiet contemplation. Bobby reached a hand forward, lightly touching one of the small, brooding shoulders, which stiffened slightly under the sudden contact. His heart jumped in his throat at the feeling of Sam shifting under his finger. How was Dean so used to this? He'd seen him actually nudge Sam with a knuckle one time when they were joking around. He'd be afraid to hurt Sam with that kind of motion, but Dean was able to make it feel as commonplace as clapping a friend on the back.

Sam thought over it. The silence stretched out between them, long enough that Bobby wondered if he should move his hand away.

"You really think he wouldn't mind me being in the way?" Sam's answer came in a softer tone, big hazel eyes almost begging Bobby to say Dean wouldn't mind.

Bobby smiled, happy to assuage Sam's fears. "Sam, I don't think Dean'll ever think you're in the way."

"If you say so..." Sam said, still a little doubtful. He put a hand on Bobby's finger, using it to pull himself to a stand. "I guess I can go out there and check it out for a few minutes." He slung his bag over his shoulder, brushing off the dust like it was normal to have his stuff caked in it.

Of course, the way Sam had lived before reuniting with Dean, it was normal. Bobby and Dean would never really understand what it was like for him living that small. They couldn't. Sam had to trudge through carpet threads that reached over his ankles, while Dean and Bobby wouldn't even notice the difference between that same carpet and a flat surface. Sam could slip into the walls unnoticed and make his way through a maze of tunnels that the others couldn't fit their hands into. His world was almost the opposite of theirs, yet he trusted them enough to spend almost all his time with them.

To Bobby's surprise, Sam didn't ask for a hand getting down or getting to the car. Instead, he climbed down the windowsill, dropping down to the countertop. Once he made it to the edge of the counter, he took a moment to find a solid place to brace his fishhook before swinging off the countertop. Bobby stepped back, amazed at how easy Sam made it all look. He couldn't even begin to imagine Dean doing the same thing. Or himself, for that matter.

Over the course of the next minute, Sam scaled down the counter like it was the sheer face of a cliff, bracing his own boots against the edge as he walked down. Extreme sports were his everyday life. At the bottom, he landed nimbly on Rumsfeld's head, making Bobby's eyebrows climb all the way up into his trucker cap.

The moment Sam was on Rumsfeld, the dog scrambled to his feet. "Wait, hold on!" Sam barked quickly, making him freeze in place. Hurriedly, Sam twined his rope around his arm and with a flick of his wrist, caught the hook to tuck it away.

Sam gave the stunned Bobby a wave before giving Rumsfeld's broad head a pat. "You know where Dean is, boy, dontcha?" Sam asked the dog. "Let's go find Dean!"

Bobby was left shaking his head in bemusement as the dog bounded away with his small passenger. The Rottweiler nosed open the old screen door to get himself (and Sam) outside. He knew his way around the property well enough to get Sam pretty much anywhere without a problem, if Sam could figure out how to tell him where to go.

Bobby watched from the window for a few minutes to make sure Sam wasn't getting himself into trouble before he remembered himself, and went to dust the windowsill.