A/N: Here's the end of the story. Hope you like it.

They hadn't been at the bar long. Dean just finished his second beer. Sam still nursed his first. They'd finished the last case two days ago and were on their way to Bobby's. He needed help with some research and the Impala needed a tune-up. Before Dean could order another beer, the cute little waitress brought one saying it was from an admirer at the bar. Dean, curious since there weren't many prospects in the bar that night, looked up to see who sent the drink. He didn't see any girls, much less a hot one.

"Excuse me. Who sent the drink? I'd like to thank them."

"Oh, the one at the end of the bar, near the jukebox," she said as she pointed to what was now an empty seat. "Oh, they must've left."

Dean was about to get up to go find his admirer when a deep, sultry voice from behind said "How ya doin' cowboy?"

As the Impala pulled up in the Singer Salvage Yard, Dean said, "I swear, you breathe a word of truth about how we got like this, I will so kick your ass!" As he parked the car and turned off the ignition, he dabbed at the blood starting to flow again from the cut on his lip, a cut that was clotting until talking reopened the wound.

"You think Bobby will believe anything but the truth?" He saw Sam was trying not to laugh. He wanted to wipe the smirk right off his face. That would only make matters worse. And in their condition, neither could do much more damage to the other.

"Shut up, Sam. Just let me do the talking." Dean so didn't want to deal with joking from Bobby. Sam he could handle.

"What lie do you think he'll believe? He knows we weren't on a case."

He desperately wanted to smack his little brother upside the head, after all their current condition was mostly his fault. But the gash on Sam's head that was still bleeding a bit and the shiner on his left eye made him think twice. He didn't know if there were any internal injuries. Sam was as proficient as he was at hiding the pain.

They'd barely made it up the steps before the door opened. "You boys are early. Thought you were gonna stop for the night?"

Dean steeled himself for the yelling that would begin as soon as Bobby got a better look at them and answered, "We didn't feel like waiting. Figured it'd be easier to crash here and get started tomorrow." He could see the older man sizing up their condition.

"Yeah and the way you two look right now had nothing to do with. What the hell happened?"

Dean was trying to come up with a lie Bobby would believe and coming up with nothing. "You don't want to know." He heard a snicker from Sam's direction and gave him the look that said let me handle this.

"Wouldn't have asked if I didn't. Now spill."

Maybe if I tell him part of the truth he won't need the whole story. Dean sighed and said, "Bar fight. Nothing big. Some dude got pissed over a simple misunderstanding and started throwing punches. Now can we drop it. I'm kinda tired."

"What was the misunderstanding?" Sam laughed out loud. He so wanted to hit him upside the head right now.

The truth was too painful, but apparently unavoidable. "Fine. Let him tell you. I need a beer."

Several hours earlier

Dean turned to respond to the masculine voice, not at all happy about it. "Can I help you?"

"You can thank me for the beer, for starters."

"The beer is from you? Sorry, I don't think I can accept. Here." He handed the drink back and tried to leave. Quickly.

"That's too bad. Maybe I have the wrong guy. You look just like this picture I found online."

Dean panicked, not sure how to get out of the situation. He could hear Sam snickering in the background and made a mental note to get even when they'd safely left the bar. "Yeah, you have the wrong guy. Sam, lets go. Now."

"Nah, I'm good here. Besides I haven't even finished my first beer."

You are so dead little brother! "Then you'd better hurry up. We got someplace else we need to be."

"Oh, sorry. I didn't realize you two were together. My mistake."

"Yeah, we're to-" he started to say and realized the implication. "No, we're not together. We're just together."

"I see. You just have a problem with me." The raised voices started to attract a few onlookers.

"No! I don't. I just..." A punch came unexpectedly from behind and to his left. He'd had no time to react and it left his ears ringing. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Sam wasn't quite as amused anymore as they had to defend themselves from at least four attackers.

"Would it make you feel any better if I told you we won the fight?" Dean only hoped that Bobby didn't make him regret

"Idjits. The both of you. You aren't seriously hurt and trying to hide it, are ya?"

"Nothing but my pride. I didn't even know the damn picture existed until Sam found it a week ago. I swear if I ever see the bitch that posted it again..." He expected jokes from Bobby. What he didn't expect was for Bobby to get up and leave the room without a word. He looked at Sam. Judging by the confused look on his face, he hadn't seen that coming either. They heard him rustling through papers then the footsteps that said he was returning, a manila folder in hand.

Without letting them see the contents, he pulled out a sheet of paper and asked, "You mean this one?" Sure enough, in his hands was a copy of one of the cowboy pictures.

"Why the hell do have a copy of that picture? And why didn't you tell me about!?!" Dean was torn. He knew there was a legitimate reason Bobby had the picture, but seeing it here, in his house was kind of creepy.

"You boys don't do a thing I don't know about. Before your dad took off on his own, he asked me to keep tabs on you, make sure you stayed out of trouble. Well, serious trouble. This was just carelessness on your part. And I'm willing to bet you did something to piss that girl off."

"I'm almost afraid to ask, but what else do you have in there?"

"Mostly it's just newspaper clippings from cases you worked on, people you helped. I do have the occasional photo. This one of Sam made me a little uncomfortable. What on earth were you thinking there, Boy?" He showed them the calendar photo Dean recently found.

"Thank you, Bobby. I told you so! I never, ever want to search for sexy co-eds on online now thanks to you." He heard Bobby chuckling at that.

"Dean, I told you why I took that picture. It was for charity. And Jess begged incessantly until I gave in. At least it didn't earn me any boyfriends."

"Don't be so sure. Before we left, the guy that threw the first punch asked about you. I hope you don't mind that I gave him your e-mail address."


"That's what you get for not wanting to leave before the fight started. If you hadn't sat back and laughed while I tried to let the guy down nicely, we'd be at another bar instead of here, bloody and bruised. No offense, Bobby."

"None taken. So, Dean. Care to explain this one?" Bobby held up another picture, another one Dean forgot about. However, that one he was quite proud of.

"That one was from a case. No, seriously. I was in New York to take care of an angry spirit in a photography studio. Dad was on a case of his own in Jersey and we planned to meet in upstate New York when he finished. It was a simple salt and burn, the old owner of the building had been murdered by his wife's lover. The activity started when they renovated the building."

"And how exactly does this picture fit into the case?"

"The photographer had an important shoot, but the ghost had scared away her model. She asked if I'd be willing to fill in. It was a paying gig and she was hot, so I said yes."

"What were you advertising in this picture? Footballs?"

"Actually it was for line of expensive towels, completely organic Egyptian cotton. The ad was supposed to go on a billboard in Times Square. Never found out if it did. I had to leave to meet Dad a couple of days later." Dean got up to get another beer, but was stopped halfway across the room.

"Dean, you never told me about this."

"It was while you were at Stanford. We weren't really sharing and caring back then, remember?"

"Oh, right."

Heading for the kitchen again, this time he was stopped by Bobby. "So, were they really nice towels?"

They all laughed at that and Dean said, "Yeah, you wouldn't believe how soft they were. Nothing like the crappy towels we get at our motels. Hey, either of you want a beer while I'm up?"

"Sure, kid. I'll come with you."

They'd barely stepped both feet into the kitchen, when a scream from Sam had them racing back.


"Sam? What is it? What's wrong?" Looking at the expression on Sam's face, he saw disgust, not the fear he'd expected. "Sam. What is it?"

"Ugh. I think I'm going to be sick."

"What did you find in there?"

"See for yourself. I need a beer." Sam shoved a photo in his hand and fled the room quickly. He looked down and saw an 8x10 Glamourshots nightmare.

Dean no longer wanted the beer. He, like his brother, began feeling a little nauseous. Man, that's ten times worse than the Sammy picture. "Dad?"

A/N: The last Dean pic is linked on my profile. The other, you must use your imagination for that one 'cause I'm not going to find it. Blech!