Archive of Our Own

May 1986

The first time that Bobby Singer met the Winchester children, Dean was seven and Sam was three. It had been three years since their mother had died in that house fire, all because of the Demon that John Winchester had now become fixated on hunting down.

Bobby had met John in Ellen's Roadhouse last year. The other man was still an amateur hunter, walking drunkenly around the place like he owned it, as if he knew everything there was to know. Bobby would have laughed if he hadn't then learnt that John had two youngins back at the motel and he hadn't been back in nearly three days.

"You fucking idgit," he'd said, already scrawling one of his phone numbers down on a napkin. "Don't hesitate to give me a call if you ever need anything. I'll help you out with those damn kids and all."

John had taken the napkin with a disgruntled frown and a grunt, but he'd stored it in his jacket pocket anyway.

Bobby hadn't been sure that John had actually kept the number until he'd received that phone call, on his mobile, on that Wednesday morning in May. There was no caller ID, but he knew whoever was phoning, was a hunter, else he wouldn't have given them his mobile number.

"Yep?" he said.

"Bobby? It's John. John Winchester. I need you to watch the boys. There's a big case down in Oklahoma and I can't have them with me."

He sighed and rubbed a hand down his face. "Alright. Bring them over. What's your ETA?"

"Probably sometime tomorrow, just after midday I'd expect."

That would give Bobby time to go shopping, so he could at least be a little ready for the boys' arrival. His house was not fit in the slightest to house two young kids, but he had time to prepare, and he’d have to make the most of it. He picked up snacks and soda at the nearest supermarket — a few bags of crisps, Coke, Pepsi and chocolate biscuits. He also needed something other than microwave meals. Then, as a second thought, he grabbed some simple books; the ones in his library would never do for kids so young. They didn't need to know about monsters in the dark just yet. Never, if it was up to Bobby.

But it wasn't up to him. These weren't his kids. They were John's. So he just had to do what he could for them while he had the opportunity.

When he got back to the salvage yard, Bobby went upstairs to prepare a room each for the boys. He cleaned up as much as he could, but it was impossible to clear them completely, and they still weren't really fit for two kids - even though Bobby had removed most of them from the bedrooms, there were still weapons littering the surfaces all throughout the house - but it would have to do.

The boys arrived, as John had said, just after noon. John himself barely stopped the car to drop them off. He refused Bobby's offer of a beer and a chat, telling Dean to get their bags out the boot.

The kid did as he was told, almost too suddenly, Bobby thought, but he said nothing about it. Within minutes, the two kids were stood on his doorstep, Dean holding little Sam's hand protectively.

As John spoke, they both turned to him. "You be good for Bobby, alright, boys?"

Sam nodded and Dean uttered a quiet "Yes, sir" before John got back into his black Impala and drove off, though not before letting Bobby know where his next hunt was and how long he was going to be - the south of Oklahoma and about two weeks.

Dean was smaller than he'd expected. But maybe that was just because Sammy was so small. He wore a pair of jeans and a black, oversized T-shirt. Sam was half-hidden behind his older brother's leg, clinging onto his arm, his curly fringe falling in his eyes. He was dressed similarly to his brother, his shirt obviously one of Dean's, coming down to just above his knees, and tripping over the ends of his trouser legs. Both boys were looking up at Bobby, their expressions full of trepidation and anxiety.

The hunter had no damn idea what to do with them, and they clearly weren't going to offer up any ideas either. He just sighed, ran a hand down his face and through his beard before crouching down slightly to be at eye-level with Dean. The boys' eyes followed him, none of the uncertainty leaving their faces.

"Why don't I show the two of you up to your bedrooms? Dean, grab yours and Sam's stuff and follow me."

"Yes, sir." Dean picked up their duffle bags and looked up at Bobby expectantly.

Bobby frowned at Dean's use of the honorific. It was respectful, he supposed, but it didn't seem right for some reason. There was something about the way Dean said it...

It was probably nothing.

He took them to Sam's room first, which was the more kid friendly. He'd removed any reachable weapons and put all the books and toys he'd bought in the drawers under the bed. When he showed this to the boys, Sam's eyes had lit up with excitement. He'd looked to Dean for permission, and as soon as the kid had nodded, he'd rushed forward to look through the trinkets. Even at the age of three, Sam's attention was captivated by the books, and he flicked through each one, looking at every illustration and even reading aloud some of the words, all while Dean watched with a proud smile.

Sam stayed flicking through the different books as Bobby took Dean through to his room. He told the boy to unpack his and Sam's stuff then come back downstairs for food.

"Sammy's already eaten, sir," Dean had said.

"But have you?" Bobby had picked up on Dean's phrasing.

Dean shook his head.

"Alright, then come downstairs once you're done up here, okay?"

Dean nodded.

Bobby prepared macaroni cheese for dinner that night, giving each boy a can of Coke. It was nothing special, but the boys seemed to enjoy it nonetheless; Dean's eyes had lit up, and that was worth everything to Bobby. It was the first time the kid had looked happy since his dad left.

Sammy, despite having already eaten, finished every morsel on his plate, while Dean was slower. He kept glancing at his brother, making sure he was eating before taking a bite of his own. Bobby didn't understand why, but if it made Dean feel safer then he wasn't going to question it. It was evident that the older boy didn't quite trust him yet, and he was okay with that. Understood it, even. Dean was being raised a hunter, and hunters could not afford to trust people, no matter who they were.

That night, when Bobby went upstairs to his own bedroom, he felt that paternal instinct nagging at him to check on the two children. He'd already grown to care for them deeply and they'd barely known each other for twelve hours.

He opened Dean's door first, feeling a jolt of panic when he saw that the boy's pillow and blankets were gone, and he was nowhere to be seen. Balls: he should have known he'd try to run. Of course, he would.

Bobby knew he ought to check on Sam before doing anything drastic. To his relief, the younger Winchester was tucked up in bed, his duvet and blankets wrapped around him like a cocoon. Only the top of his head of curls was visible, the blankets moving almost imperceptibly with his tiny breaths.

That was when he noticed the curtains were still open. Both Sam and Dean had desperately looked like they needed the sleep, so Bobby crept into the room to close them, not wanting the early morning sunlight to disturb Sam, even though the younger boy looked dead to the world and like he would be for a while.

As he did, however, he found himself almost tripping over a curled-up lump on the floor by Sam's bed. Dean was awake, but pretending to be asleep, as Bobby crouched next to him, his knees cracking slightly. Bobby almost smiled at the obvious way the kid was peeking up at him through the blankets.

"You alright down there, kid? I'd've thought a bed would be more comfy," he whispered.

Dean was silent for a minute before he poked his head out further. Their eyes met, and Bobby's heart sunk at the glimmer of fear he saw in the sparkling green of Dean's gaze. "Sorry, sir. I like being by Sammy in case he needs anything. I'll move if you want me to."

"It's okay, kid. Let me get ya some more blankets. Don't want your ass getting cold now, do we?"

Bobby went back through to Dean's room and hauled several more blankets through. Dean took them all with a grateful and relieved sounding "thank you, sir" before Bobby wished him goodnight and retired to his own room.

That next morning, Bobby woke to muffled sounds drifting up from the kitchen. He checked the clock on his bedside table; it was seven in the morning. Preparing himself for the worst, he grabbed the gun he kept in the bedroom and made his way downstairs, treading as lightly as he could.

When Bobby got to the kitchen, he lowered the gun and watched - maybe in shock, maybe surprised sadness, he wasn't sure - as the seven-year-old made his way around the kitchen. He had to stand on a chair to reach most appliances, but he moved with practised ease.

"Dean? What are you doing?"

The boy froze at his voice and turned around; eyes wide with what looked like fear before his expression schooled into more neutral uncertainty.

"Making breakfast, sir."

"You don't gotta do that, boy. You and Sammy are gonna eat whether you cook the food or not, alright?"

Dean nodded.

"You're welcome to help out in the kitchen, but I'd rather you were outside having fun or playing with your brother. Alright, kid?"

Dean nodded again. "Yes, sir."

"Why don't you go wake Sammy up then, ya idjit?"

As Dean walked past him, he ruffled the boy's hair fondly, his smile hidden slightly by his beard.

August 1988

"Dean needs to work on his shooting with the double-barrel," said John before heading back to the Impala. "I'll be back in a week or so."

He drove off, leaving the boys with Bobby who took them inside, serving up the food he'd prepared upon receiving the phone call from John earlier that day. It was just a simple microwaveable meal, but Sam and Dean treated it like a Thanksgiving feast. It was good to see them eat a full meal when they, Dean especially, always seemed so skinny.

Bobby noticed that evening that, similarly to last time, Dean was very quiet. He let Sam do most of the talking for the two of them, only intervening if the subject turned to their dad, a hunt or Dean thought Sam was ‘being annoying’.

The next morning, Dean was up bright and early like usual, but didn't come down to the kitchen until he heard Sam and Bobby up and about too. They had breakfast together, then Dean helped Bobby clear up while Sam brought out the book he was reading, opening it in front of him on the table and letting his forearms rest across it to keep the pages down.

"Wow, Sammy," said Bobby. "That's a bit big for a kiddie like you, isn't it? It’s almost half your size."

Sam frowned, but Dean grinned. "It's a chapter book," he said, pride obvious in his voice. "Over two hundred pages and everything."

"Is Dean helping you with it?" asked Bobby.

Sam shook his head, offended, letting the book slam closed again. "No! I don't need any help."

"The kid's a little genius."

Dean ruffled his brother’s hair and Sam scowled, but he seemed pleased at the compliment, nonetheless. He opened the book back up to the page with his bookmark and started reading. He mouthed the sounding-out for several words, but even Bobby had to admit it was impressive.

"You can go sit in the office if you want, Sam. I'm gonna take Dean outside for a bit, though, alright?"

Sam just nodded, getting up from the kitchen table and heading through to Bobby's office, his gaze not leaving the book for even a second.

Dean followed Bobby outside and round the back of the salvage yard. The hunter told Dean to wait out the back before fetching a duffle bag from one of the old garages. He brought it out to Dean, dropping it on the floor and rummaging to find what he needed before standing upright again.

"Dad says I'm supposed to practise with the double-barrel."

"I know that, kid, but we're gonna skip the guns today. Today... you're gonna throw a ball around, just like a regular snot-nosed little jerk."

At that, Bobby tossed him a leather baseball glove and the ball he'd been holding, which Dean caught perfectly. Bobby had his own glove which he slid onto his left hand.

"Put it on then, ya idjit."

Dean did as he was told, flexing his fingers in the glove before grinning. The leather was stiff, but that didn't seem to bother Dean. Bobby had a sad thought that he'd probably never done anything like this before. Somehow, Bobby couldn't imagine John Winchester setting up a simple game of baseball with his sons like this. Not when there were monsters to hunt and kill.

"Ready?" said Bobby and Dean nodded, his other hand still stroking the glove like he couldn't believe it was there. "Alright. Just catch it then throw it back."

Dean nodded again before Bobby tossed the ball in his direction. It was a low, gentle throw and the kid caught it easily. He beamed up at Bobby when he did before throwing it back. That smile did something to Bobby that he wasn't ready to admit to. There was a reason Karen and he hadn't had children of their own, and he really wasn't prepared to overthink and regret that decision just because of a game of catch with a nine-year-old he'd become strangely attached to.

He caught the ball easily and threw it back to Dean. Each time, the kid caught it in the glove fairly easily. He stumbled a little, which was Bobby's fault - he'd thrown it too wide - but, if anything, it just made him happier. Dean's cheeks were flushed, and his smile hadn't left his face even once.

After several minutes, Bobby went to the garage and fetched a baseball bat. He tossed it so it landed at Dean's feet and the boy picked it up, holding it in both hands a little uncertainly.

Bobby took the ball into his own glove and stepped away, shuffling backwards until he was several metres away from Dean. He threw the ball again, aiming for where the main part of the bat was positioned. Dean managed to hit the ball, but it didn't travel very far.

On his second shot, however, Dean's stance was more confident, the bat held more comfortably in his hands. The ball soared through the sky, coming to land over fifty metres away, rolling a little before finally stopping.

Bobby grinned, clapping his hands in a moment of unguarded pride. "Brilliant, kiddo! Go grab the ball then we can go and eat, alright."

Dean nodded, also smiling broadly, eyes glinting. He ran towards the ball, sprinting quicker than Bobby would have ever expected, while Bobby packed up the bat and gloves.

The two put the stuff back in the garage then went inside to join Sam in the kitchen. The kid was still reading his book, a noticeable chunk of pages ahead of where he was before.

The proud smile that was still hiding under Bobby’s beard widened. He didn't think the love and fondness he had for these kids could increase any more than it already had, but in that moment, it seemed endless.

Unfortunately, the happiness didn’t last.

That evening, after putting Sammy to bed, Dean sought out Bobby in his office, his feet shuffling nervously. He wasn’t meeting Bobby’s eyes and his hands were wringing in front of him.

“You alright, kid?”

Dean just frowned, keeping his eyes locked on the floor. Bobby wasn’t sure if he was going to say anything or not, and after a minute or two of silence, he gave in, standing from his desk and walking over slowly to join Dean.

“What is it, boy?”

Dean still didn’t say anything, his small eyebrows furrowed in the middle of his forehead.

With an (only slightly impatient) sigh, Bobby motioned Dean towards the sofa, sitting down casually on the left side and letting Dean sit down afterwards, taking note of the foot or two that the kid kept between the two of them.

“Come on, kid. What’s got you all wound up, hey?”

It still took another minute for Dean to speak, and when he did, his voice was timid, and he still stubbornly stared at the floor. “Dad wanted me to practise with the double-barrel…”

“I know that, ya idjit, but we didn’t do that today. We had some fun, like kiddies like you are meant to do, alright?”

Dean nodded, but Bobby’s words didn’t seem to have eased any of the tension from his body. If anything, his small frown had deepened.

“Did something happen, Dean?” asked Bobby tentatively.

A small, almost invisible tear carved a path down Dean’s cheek and he brought a hand up to wipe it away before nodding. Another tear followed the other and within a few seconds, he was sobbing silently.

Bobby wasn’t a hugger, but in that moment, he couldn’t have stopped himself even if he’d wanted to. He opened his arms, shuffling closer to Dean and the kid instantly collapsed into his chest, his little fists balling into Bobby’s shirt.

“It’s alright, boy. It’s alright. Why don’t you tell me what happened and maybe I can help?”

Dean took a deep, slightly shaky breath and rubbed at his eyes again. “I – Sammy nearly died, Bobby! I nearly killed him. It’s all my fault – and Dad was so angry. Sammy almost died!”

“Woah, woah. Breathe, kid.”

Dean did as he was told. He rested his head on Bobby’s shoulder, hands still clenched the man’s flannel and when he spoke, his voice was quieter, calmer, but his words still came between repressed little cries.

“There was a monster,” he said. “It – it tried to get Sam while I was out. I – I was only gone a minute… and it was there when I got back and – and I panicked. Dad came in and he – he saved Sam.”

Bobby frowned, moving himself to try and look Dean in the eye. The kid was stubborn, though, and it wasn’t as easy as he’d expected. Dean’s eyes were red and still welling with tears and that just made the hunter want to hold him to his chest forever and protect him from every tiny thing in the nightmare world out there.

And that scared him.

That overwhelming urge to protect this kid was one of the most frightening things to happen to Bobby ever. But he just took a deep breath and ploughed on forward – as if he had a choice.

“Then what’s the problem here, kid?” he said, sensing something was plaguing Dean. Something he couldn’t quite work out.

“I couldn’t save him, Bobby. I froze up. If it hadn’t been for Dad, Sammy would be dead!”

Ah.

“It ain’t your fault, Dean. Your daddy shouldn’t have left you alone – ”

“I can look after Sam!” said Dean resolutely, almost with a glare. “Dad’s a hero and I’m old enough to look after Sammy while he’s gone.”

“Alright, alright. Why don’t you head up to bed, ya idjit. I’ll see you in the morning,” said Bobby with an inaudible sigh. He pushed Dean lightly off his lap and towards the stairs.

Just before he headed up to his bedroom, Bobby heard a mumbled “Thanks, Bobby” and smiled to himself.

December 1992

The phone call from John Winchester had been the last thing Bobby had expected early in the morning just three days before Christmas Day.

Nevertheless, the deep rumbling of the Impala that evening was a welcome sound. It had been over a year since he’d last seen the two Winchester boys and, although he wouldn’t admit it, he’d missed the hell out of the two idjits. Sam was nine now and Dean nearly fourteen and it seemed like just yesterday when he’d met them for the first time; Sam had been such a tiny little thing, Dean not much bigger, yet the protectiveness towards his younger brother that had already poured out of him had been overpowering.

As always, Bobby had been out and bought anything he needed, including Christmas presents for the boys, though he mostly had enough supplies in storage by now. John never knew exact dates of how long the boys would be staying – not that he minded looking after them – meaning too much was guaranteed to be better than too little.

When he opened the door to the Winchesters with the same smile as normal, Sam came running into his arms, greeting him with an excited “Uncle Bobby!” while Dean brought in their bags.

Sam had always been the chattier of the two, talking enough for both of them, which Bobby didn’t mind.

“Hiya, kid. How’re you doing?”

“Dean helped Dad catch a werewolf. Then he let me throw the match to burn the body!”

“Wow. That sounds like fun. Hey, why don’t you go through to the kitchen? I’ve got those cookies you liked last time.”

Sam nodded and bounded off just as Dean was coming downstairs again after having dumped their bags in their bedrooms. He smiled at Bobby, who opened his arms, inviting the kid in for a hug like his brother. And, sure enough, after just a second of hesitance, Dean obliged, squeezing Bobby almost as tightly as Sam had.

“You alright, son?”

Dean nodded.

“Where’s that daddy of yours?”

There was a rumbling voice from the still open doorway: “I’m here, Bobby.”

Dean sprung away from Bobby’s embrace like he’d been burned. His back seemed to straighten, his shoulders tensing as his arms moved to his sides and his head dropped downwards slightly. Bobby frowned but said nothing.

“Be good for Bobby. Look after Sammy. I’ll be back in a few days, alright?”

Dean nodded. “Dad? It’s Christmas in two days.”

“I know that, Dean.”

Dean’s voice was more tentative now. “Yeah, well, you told Sam that we’d spend it together.”

“Plans change, son. Saving people’s lives is more important, and I know you understand that. End of discussion. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. I’ll see you in a few days, alright?”

Dean nodded again and, within just a few seconds, Bobby’s door was closed, and the sound of the Impala was vanishing into the distance. Dean relaxed his shoulders and let out a small breath before rushing to join his brother in the kitchen with the packet of cookies Bobby had bought.

Two days later. Christmas Eve.

“Dad said he’d be here for Christmas.”

“Well he’s not, and there’s nothing we can do about it, Sam, so get over it,” snapped Dean.

The two of them had been arguing for nearly half an hour now and Bobby could tell Dean was getting tired. He’d snapped a couple of times, but Sam still wasn’t letting up.

“Hey, Sammy, I could do with some help clearing some snow in a minute. Fancy helping?”

“Sure, Bobby,” said Sam, sending another small glare in Dean’s direction. His brother just stuck his tongue out and rolled his eyes in response.

“Go put some boots on then, alright, ya idjit.”

Sam did as he was told, Bobby following soon after. He took them to storage to grab two shovels before leading Sam out to the area that needed clearing.

“You got your brother anything for Christmas, boy?” asked Bobby after nearly an hour.

Sam nodded. “Remember that amulet you gave me this summer? I was going to give it to dad…” His voice trailed off a little before he purposefully brightened up. “But if he’s not going to be here, I’ll give it to Dean. I think he’ll like it.”

“He’d love anything you gave him, kid.”

It was dark by the time they were done. The freezing air, although strangely warm for December in Sioux Falls, was nipping at the two of them. Bobby couldn’t feel his fingers and his feet felt like he was walking around in blocks of ice.

When they went back inside, Dean had cooked a meal of chicken and chips for the three of them. He told them to shower if they wanted to and when Bobby came back downstairs, Sam was already at the table with Dean. Three plates of food were set out as well as a couple of Christmas crackers and a packet of the cookies for pudding afterwards.

Sam and Dean seemed to be getting along again after their time apart. Or maybe Sam was just so exhausted from the last few hours that he couldn’t be bothered to start anything. Either way, Dean was more relaxed, as was Bobby.

The next morning, they still hadn’t heard anything from John, but neither of the boys seemed that bothered. Bobby had woken them up with pancakes – the boys’ faces had definitely been worth waking up at the crack of dawn and slaving in the kitchen for nearly an hour, especially when they’d spotted the tiny pile of presents he’d organised under the makeshift Christmas tree.

The pancakes were gone within seconds, but Bobby made the two of them stay at the table, much to Sam’s annoyance. The kid kept shooting longing glances over at the presents and, no matter how subtle he thought he was being, both Bobby and Dean noticed.

After another couple of minutes, Bobby finally gave in. He stood up from the table, gathering up their plates and taking them over to the sink.

“Yes, Sam, they’re for you,” he said. “Go wild. Though, don’t mess up my house, alright?”

Sam bounded off without even a “yes, Bobby”, Dean hanging back as Bobby started the washing up.

“Did you buy all those?” he said.

“Course I did, ya idjit. You think I’m gonna let the two of you go without presents at Christmas.”

“There’s some for me too?”

“Course there is. What’re waiting for, boy? I’ll see you out there in a minute.”

Dean grinned and ran to join his brother, giving Bobby a minute to think about how heart-breaking the surprise on Dean’s face had been when he’d realised the presents weren’t just for Sam. The next time he saw John Winchester, he was half considering putting a bullet in the asshole’s brain.

“Uncle Bobby!” came Sam’s voice from the other room.

Bobby smiled to himself. He turned off the tap, finishing off the dishes, before heading through to the boys.

Sam was already flicking through the second-hand Lord of the Rings series Bobby had wrapped up the other day while Dean stared in awe at the almost new baseball set in front of him.

“You can keep it here and you boys can play in the summer like normal snot-nosed kids, alright?”

Dean grinned and if Bobby saw the glimmer of tears in his eyes, he said nothing about it. Bobby settled himself into a chair nearby. He’d got the two of them some chocolates and even more of those cookies, which Sam had already tucked into. Bobby didn’t care.

After another half an hour, Dean brought out a small package. It was rectangular, book-shaped, which wasn’t surprising, and wrapped in newspaper. Bobby wondered where he’d bought it but didn’t ask.

“Sammy,” he said, holding out the present with a confident smile.

Sam opened it and returned his brother’s grin as he held the book – The Catcher in the Rye – in his hands. It was probably something he’d need for school sometime in the future and it was clearly second-hand, but Sam seemed overjoyed.

“Thanks, Dean!” he said, eyes lit up. “I got something for you too.”

Like they’d discussed, Sam brought out a small parcel, also wrapped in newspaper. It could fit in the palm of his hand, which is where Dean carefully took it from.

“Thanks, Sammy,” he said, now gently pulling at the paper.

He brought out the amulet that Sam had attached to a long leather cord. Dean held it in his hand, bringing it nearer to get a closer look. A smile broke out on his face.

“Where’d you get this? Did you steal it?”

“Uncle Bobby gave it to me,” said Sam.

Dean looked up and met Bobby’s eyes, grinning.

“Do you like it?”

“I love it, Sammy. Thank you.”

Dean slipped the loop of black leather over his head, letting the little bronze amulet settle in the middle of his chest. His hand kept coming up to rearrange or fiddle with it and every time he noticed what he was doing, he smiled to himself.

Bobby cooked the three of them a traditional Christmas dinner: turkey, pigs-in-blankets, roast potatoes, parsnips, sprouts, even Christmas Pudding for afterwards.

It took a hell of a lot of effort, having not had a proper traditional Christmas for years, maybe a decade or two, but it was worth to see the cheerful, relaxed smiles on the Winchester boys’ faces. Bobby hated the idea of them having a similar childhood to him, without Christmas and birthdays, and if he was to be the one to provide them with that, so be it.

August 1993

Sam and Dean had been staying with Bobby for nearly three weeks when John Winchester finally called to say he was on his way back. Bobby told the boys to pack and that was where everything had started to go downhill.

“Can’t we just stay here? We wouldn’t have to move around all the time, and we could go to school,” Sam had said.

If it was up to just Bobby, then sure, he’d love to watch the boys a little longer. Sammy could excel in school, as could Dean if he had a chance to settle down and apply himself. And the boys were a lot less of a handful than he’d originally anticipated when first asked to babysit.

But, of course, it wasn’t up to Bobby. He wasn’t their dad. John Winchester was their dad, and it was up to him what happened to them.

When John arrived, he ordered Dean to take their stuff out to the car as he accepted the offer of a beer from Bobby. The two adults went through to the kitchen where Sam was begrudgingly packing up lunches for the road over the next day or two.

“Dad?” said Sam a little hesitantly after a minute.

“Yes, Sam?”

“Is there a school where we’re going?”

John sighed. “We won’t be there long enough for that, son. Maybe we can find one in a couple of weeks, alright?”

Bobby could physically see Sam trying not to snap and get annoyed.

“There’s a school here.”

“Yes, I’m pretty sure there is, Sam. What’s your point?”

“If we stayed with Bobby, we could go to school here and we wouldn’t have to keep moving.”

“That wouldn’t be fair on Bobby and – ”

“He doesn’t mind! He likes looking after us.”

John’s frustration was visibly growing now, and Bobby new that would do nothing but fuel Sam’s anger. Like father like son, but he didn’t think there was much he could do to slow the argument.

“Don’t you, Bobby?”

God. Why did the damn kid have to drag him into this?

“You and Dean are great kids, Sammy, but if your dad wants you with him – ”

“See, son. Now, enough of this nonsense. Let’s get going,” said John with finality.

But Sam wasn’t listening. “It’s not fair, though. I hate always being the new kid and not staying in the same place for longer than a few weeks.”

Bobby hated the idea of getting in between a dad and his son, especially when he had such little experience with kids and healthy family relationships. Both Sam and John were red in the face and Bobby found himself half-expecting smoke to start gushing from John’s ears.

“And I hate dragging you and your brother around, but we’re saving lives Sam. What’s more important?”

Sam had stepped forward and was almost fully shouting now. “It’s not about saving lives to you. All you care about is getting revenge on the thing that killed Mom. Someone I don’t even remember!”

John had his fists clenched and Bobby was convinced he was about to hit Sam like Bobby was sure he’d done to Dean before now. He’d never seen it, but he knew the signs.

But before things could anymore heated, Dean came into the room, positioning himself between his dad and brother with his back to Sam.

Silence.

Sam and John were still glaring at each other, but whatever the latter was going to say had vanished the second his eldest son had appeared.

Dean was standing with his shoulders back and head up, but Bobby could see he was nervous. He was worrying at his bottom lip and couldn’t make eye contact with his dad. Dean glanced back to check on Sam before he spoke.

“Dad… I dropped one of the flasks. It – it smashed. I’m sorry.”

John seemed to process his son’s words for a minute before his frown deepened, eyebrows furrowing in the middle and eyes glaring. All attention was on Dean now; he didn’t even glance over as Sam crept back to finish off the lunches.

“You smashed a flask of holy water?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Right.” John glanced over at Bobby. “We’ll discuss this later, okay? You ain’t off the hook, though. Understood?”

Dean nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“Alright then. Sam, we’re leaving.”

Choosing the smart decision, Sam didn’t argue. He just picked up their sandwiches and followed his dad and Dean outside.

Bobby watched as the three Winchesters climbed into the Impala, Sam and Dean taking the backseat while their dad took the driver’s side. The doors slammed and just two seconds later, the engine was roaring to life and the car rumbled back down the driveway and onto the road.

It wasn’t until a minute of silence later when he realised there wasn’t a single drop of holy water on the ground, nor a single shard of broken glass or plastic.

October 1995

There was a knock at Bobby's front door. He wasn't expecting anyone; nobody had called ahead. No one ever visited him unless they needed something, and they nearly always called ahead.

Taking a gun from the sideboard and attaching it next to the holy water and silver knife on his belt, Bobby walked over to open the door, taking a step back in surprise when he saw the two Winchester boys on his doorstep. Dean was sixteen now, and almost as tall as Bobby, while Sam was twelve. He, too, was tall for his age, coming up to above Dean's shoulder, with his hair now coming down just below his ears.

Normally the two boys would be eager to see Bobby - since the first time he met them, he'd slowly become their uncle, calling them on their birthdays and receiving his own phone call in return on his birthday and at Christmas. He always brought in extra snacks and books in preparation for their visits and he could tell they'd always relax around him compared to their father.

But today, something was clearly different. John hadn't called ahead. He wasn't even anywhere in sight. And Dean was different too. He had a blotchy, purple bruise all down the left side of his face, his eye almost swollen shut. While Dean was usually scarily obedient and quiet, now he was just plainly subdued. When Bobby passed him the holy water, it looked painful to swallow, and the slight, tiny hint of eagerness when he went to cut his arm with the silver knife Bobby offered was worrying. He didn’t even flinch when the metal sliced through his skin.

Once making sure the two kids were fully human, he opened the door fully, followed by his arms in offer of a hug. Both boys accepted, Sam grinning and Dean finally giving a tiny smile. Something was definitely off with the kid, that was for sure.

"Where's that idiot daddy of yours, huh?"

"He went on a hunt; said he needed a breather and would be gone a while," said Sam. "Something happened at the last motel, but neither him nor Dean will tell me what."

Sam shot a pointed, annoyed look at his brother, but Dean just ignored it.

“Where were you last?”

“Arizona. We were there for a while.”

So it wasn’t as if they were anywhere near Sioux Falls then. John drove over a thousand miles specifically to bring the boys here, and he didn’t even drop in for a beer.

Bobby frowned at that but decided to say nothing on the matter. Not yet. He'd watch and gauge the situation first before interrogating anyone. "Alright, sit your idjit asses down and I'll get you some food. You look hungry. When did you last eat?"

The boys sat down at the kitchen table, Sam taking out a book from his bag. It looked thick, with at least four or five hundred pages.

"Sam ate this morning," said Dean quietly.

"That ain't the question I asked, boy."

Bobby didn't miss the parallels between when he'd first met the boys and now. Dean had barely changed. If anything, he'd just become even quieter, more hesitant about his actions. He was sixteen; he should be acting like a kid, going on dates, getting into trouble at school and coming home late. Not feeding his kid brother instead of himself and following orders like some cross between a soldier and a servant.

That night, after Sam went up to bed, Dean put his feet up on the coffee table, leaning back on the sofa. Bobby watched from a few metres away as the boy just stared, unmoving, into the flames of the fireplace. A tiny tear trickled down his bruised cheek, and Dean didn't even move to wipe at it. He swallowed, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath before popping his eyes back open, expression now indifferent, almost emotionless. It was unnerving.

Bobby knew he had to be tentative with how he approached this. Something big had clearly gone down, and he was going to get to the bottom of it no matter how reluctant Dean was to share.

He went over and collapsed into the sofa on Dean's left with a small sigh. He gave Dean a long sideways glance before speaking.

"What happened, kid?"

Dean stiffened, his eyes not moving from whatever he was staring at now. He was visibly fighting it, but there was water pooling in his eyes. He took another deep breath, filling his lungs with as much air as they could carry before letting it out in a long, slow exhale.

"I fucked up, Bobby. I fucked up real bad."

Bobby waited, but Dean didn't seem prepared to share any more information on the matter. His left hand came up to graze over his cheek. He winced, eyes now looking even further away from Bobby.

"It can't have been that bad."

Dean snorted almost inaudibly. "It was. God, it was worse. I'm such a fucking idiot."

"Yeah, tell me something I don't know." Bobby frowned when Dean said nothing and had no reaction. He lowered his voice, consciously making it quieter and gentler in an effort to comfort Dean. God, he felt like he was treading on damn eggshells. "What was it that made your idgit daddy do this?"

Dean shuffled and it didn't go unnoticed by Bobby that he'd moved at least an inch or two away from him. His whole body was tense as if ready for an attack.

Bobby waited for the kid to speak, knowing he likely would eventually. And he was right.

“Dad was already pissed with me and I fucked up and made it all so much worse, Bobby. He won’t even look at me anymore.”

“Dean. What happened? Why was he already pissed with you?”

“It was my fault. Sam ran off on my watch. I couldn’t find him anywhere. I – God, Bobby, I thought he was dead.”

“Sam ran away?”

Dean nodded, more tears now gathering in his eyes. He still wouldn’t look in Bobby’s direction. “We found him after two weeks.”

“And your dad blames you?”

“It was my fault.”

“No, son, it wasn’t. Your daddy shouldn’t have left you like that. And Sammy’s old enough to be responsible for himself now. He shouldn’t’ve run off.”

Dean was silent. Bobby could tell he didn’t fully believe him, but he wasn’t going to push it.

“He already tore me a new one for that, then I just had to go and make it so much worse,” said Dean after another half a minute of silence.

Dean didn’t normally talk as openly as he was doing about this stuff, but Bobby thought it a testament to how much he desperately needed to get some of it off his chest that he was doing so now. Usually, Bobby would’ve pushed harder or tried to winkle it out of Dean faster, but that evidently wasn’t the best option in this situation.

“What happened, Dean?”

Dean took a breath; his hands were trembling slightly, and Bobby had no idea what to make of that. "He... um, he caught me with someone... I-I thought he'd be out longer, but..."

There was something he wasn't saying, that was obvious.

"You get with girls all the time, Dean,” said Bobby a little hesitantly, trying to figure out what it was Dean was still hiding.

After another deep breath, Dean swallowed. When he spoke, his voice shook, despite how hard he was trying to hide it. "It - it was a guy, Bobby. He caught me with a guy."

Okay, Bobby had not been expecting that.

Dean took his shocked silence the wrong way. He didn’t say anything, but Bobby saw his body growing exponentially stiffer and on edge. His right hand had come up and was fiddling with the amulet Sam had given him for Christmas nearly three years ago. By the looks of it, he expected Bobby to rip him a new one, just like his dad had done. And, God, he couldn't have the kid thinking that. Anything but that.

"Your daddy did all this" - he motioned at Dean - "because of that?"

"Yes, sir."

Bobby didn't know what to say. What did someone say in this situation?

"Does Sam know?"

"No, sir. And, um... well, I'd kinda like to keep it that way... please."

"What do you take me for? If you don't want the kid knowing, the kid ain't gonna know, alright? I ain't your dad."

Dean's rigid frame relaxed ever-so-slightly at that. He looked surprised. It was almost enough to brake Bobby's heart.

"Thanks, Bobby."

John arrived at the house several days later. The boys had been staying with him just over a week. Dean's bruises had healed and faded to a greener, yellow-ish colour thanks to Bobby’s icepacks and pain killers. The swelling had gone down completely, and they were no longer painful to touch.

Dean still hadn't told Sam what had happened, and neither had Bobby. Sam had asked, but Bobby wasn't going to spill anyone's secrets like that. He'd told Sam to ask Dean himself and respect his privacy if he didn't want to tell him. Sam had accepted that answer, but begrudgingly.

When John arrived, Sam was upstairs, Dean in the kitchen and Bobby in the library. Dean had answered the door before Bobby had a chance and within seconds, the hunter found himself eavesdropping.

"I better not see you doing anything like that again, alright?" said John's voice.

"Yes, sir. I'm sorry."

John just grunted his acknowledgement. "Did you tell Sam?"

"No, sir."

"Alright. Then he doesn't need to know. We'll get back on the road, and we won't mention it again. Understood."

"Yes, sir — "

Bobby stepped out of the library, pistol in his right hand, aimed right at his ex-friend's chest. John and Dean just stared as Bobby made his way closer, positioning himself so Dean was behind him, mirroring what Dean had done just two years ago with his brother.

“Don't you dare," he said, voice cold and harsh. "You ain't taking these kids anywhere."

"What the fuck?" John's voice was almost a growl but didn't intimidate Bobby in the slightest.

"You heard me, John. Sam and Dean are staying here."

"They're my kids. Keep your ass out of it, Bobby. It ain't any of your business."

"No. You made it my business when you dropped Dean off with that shiner and a dozen other bruises. You made is my business when you left them here, half-starved and with no idea if you'd even be back. I've cared for these boys more than you ever have, so I'd appreciate it if you got your ass out of here and lost my number for good."

John seemed stunned into silence. His eyes moved critically from Bobby to the gun he was holding to Dean then back to Bobby. His eyebrows furrowed, his gaze turning steely as he looked back to Dean.

"Get your brother."

There was the slightest hesitation from Dean before he spoke, his voice quiet and resigned. "Yes, sir."

Dean made to move, but Bobby grabbed his wrist with his left hand, still keeping the gun raised with his other. He’d taken Dean’s hesitation for the reluctance it was and knew he would now not be letting John Winchester take his boys anywhere no matter what.

"Stay behind me, Dean," he said, voice noticeably softer than John's had been before turning his attention back to the other hunter, glad when he heard no movement behind him; Dean had done as Bobby had said, not John.

"They're my boys, Bobby. Not yours," said John. There was a hint of careful apprehension in his voice, though, which Bobby was pleased to hear. "This is just a misunderstanding - "

"A misunderstanding, is that what we're calling it? Okay, then please tell me what I misunderstood from the following: Sam ran away. You blamed Dean and tear him a new one. A week later, you saw Dean with another guy. You tear into him, rip him a dozen more new ones before bringing him and Sam here. You leave them on my doorstep without even telling me they're here - I could've been out for all you knew. They don’t know where you are or if you're even coming back and I'm left to pick up the shattered pieces. These boys deserve a hell of a lot better than you, and I should've done something about that the first time they showed up here without food in their stomachs and bruises on their cheeks."

John fell silent again, but didn't move so Bobby took a step forward, gun still raised and pointing directly at the other hunter's chest.

"John Winchester, get out of my house, lose my number, and never show your face here again, you son of a bitch. Understood?"

Still glaring at Dean and Bobby with his cold, emotionless eyes, John started to leave. Bobby refused to lower the gun and when John turned around as if to start talking again, he fired a warning shot that made a puncture in the wall right by John’s head. John and Dean both flinched, but within just a minute, the former was out of the house, door slamming behind him. The Impala's engine rumbled, the sound gradually easing as it vanished into the distance.

"Thanks, Bobby." Dean's voice was barely a whisper.

"Come here, ya idjit."

Bobby held out his arms and brought Dean into a tight hug, holding his head to his chest and rubbing a hand down his back comfortingly. Dean said nothing. His shoulders were shaking ever-so-slightly, and Bobby was sure his shirt was dampening a little, but he said nothing.

"You're gonna be alright, kid. It's alright."

They stayed like that for an unknown amount of time, until the sound of padding footsteps on the stairs startled them both when Sam appeared, peeking around the wall.

"What's going on? I thought I heard a gunshot."

"It's alright, Sammy," said Dean, pulling himself out of Bobby's arms, any traces of tears gone from his face, though his eyes were a little red-rimmed. "Everything's okay."

"What happened?"

Sam came further into the room and Bobby glanced at Dean.

"Your daddy came over," he said. "There was a bit of an argument, but everything's okay, kid. It's nothing to worry about."

"What did he want? Are we going back on the road? Does he want us to pack?"

He'd directed the questions at Dean, who cleared his throat, looking over at Bobby before answering. "No. We're staying here for a bit longer. Don't worry about it and go back to bed, okay, Sammy."

Sam didn't look convinced. He frowned, but something must have clued him in to the situation. Maybe it was the way Bobby was watching Dean, or the way they were standing, or something in one of their expressions. But he didn't argue any further, nodded and headed back upstairs.

"Thanks, Bobby," said Dean again, finally more relaxed and with a small but genuine smile on his face, before following his brother upstairs.

Bobby smiled, tucking the gun back into his belt and grabbing a beer from the fridge. Yeah, his boys would be okay.