Dying is easy, living is harder.

“You can’t stay a couple hours?” Bobby didn’t want to be alone, not like this.

Dean sighed, guilt eating at the edge of his conscious. “Alright, sure, a couple hours,” he conceded. “But then I seriously gotta hit the road.”

Bobby tried to make the best of the hours, not wanting the time to end but eventually dean wouldn’t be put off. He’d tried a couple times to tell him, to explain why he needed company, but how do you tell a hunter that your scared of the demon you become?

Dean plopped down on the chair across from Bobby, kicking his boots off. “Might as well get comfy, huh?” he offered a small smile, wondering if Bobby would bring up whatever was clearly on his mind. If not, Dean would have to pry, and he hated prying.

“You know I ain’t been straight with you about me being topside.” It wasn’t a question. “About how I got back and why things just seem off...” he took a drink of his scotch. “I-was brought back dean, it weren’t a deal, but I came back—wrong.”

Deans eyes narrowed, thinking of all the different things Bobby’s words could mean. His thoughts drifted to a handprint scar on his own arm. “Wrong how?” he said softly.

“Constance,” he picked up the cell phone. Bobby sometimes gave out his number when it was too tetchy for him. “Where should I meet ya?” It was an old hunter friend of Bobby’s and like most, they didn’t like talking cases over the hone.”

From a back corner table, Dean recognized the man almost the instant he entered the dimly lit bar. No one else in town matched this man’s description, except maybe Cas, Dean noted with a chuckle. Something told him the comparison stopped with their fashion choices. Dean took another sip of his old fashioned before raising a hand at the stranger, flagging him over to his table. 

He finished his drink and hurriedly got another before bringing it to the table. He did stop long enough to look the man over, check the room with a glance for infernals, and then walk over to the table. Constance, I didn’t catch your name.” He sat down with a huff of pain. “What does a golden boy need with a wanker like me?”

“Name’s Dean,” he said, taking a slow drink as he carefully appraised the man in front of him. “My, uh, usual team is spread a little thin currently, and I didn’t want to put anything else on their plates. Bobby said I could trust you,” Dean said, raising an eyebrow. It was sort of a question, but not really. If Bobby said it, Dean was inclined to believe it. 

“Constance,” he picked up the cell phone. Bobby sometimes gave out his number when it was too tetchy for him. “Where should I meet ya?” It was an old hunter friend of Bobby’s and like most, they didn’t like talking cases over the hone.”

From a back corner table, Dean recognized the man almost the instant he entered the dimly lit bar. No one else in town matched this man’s description, except maybe Cas, Dean noted with a chuckle. Something told him the comparison stopped with their fashion choices. Dean took another sip of his old fashioned before raising a hand at the stranger, flagging him over to his table. 

“You can’t stay a couple hours?” Bobby didn’t want to be alone, not like this.

Dean sighed, guilt eating at the edge of his conscious. “Alright, sure, a couple hours,” he conceded. “But then I seriously gotta hit the road.”

Bobby tried to make the best of the hours, not wanting the time to end but eventually dean wouldn’t be put off. He’d tried a couple times to tell him, to explain why he needed company, but how do you tell a hunter that your scared of the demon you become?

Dean plopped down on the chair across from Bobby, kicking his boots off. “Might as well get comfy, huh?” he offered a small smile, wondering if Bobby would bring up whatever was clearly on his mind. If not, Dean would have to pry, and he hated prying.

“Constance,” he picked up the cell phone. Bobby sometimes gave out his number when it was too tetchy for him. “Where should I meet ya?” It was an old hunter friend of Bobby’s and like most, they didn’t like talking cases over the hone.”

“You can’t stay a couple hours?” Bobby didn’t want to be alone, not like this.

Dean sighed, guilt eating at the edge of his conscious. “Alright, sure, a couple hours,” he conceded. “But then I seriously gotta hit the road.”

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