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The rumble of a truck's engine coming up Singer Salvage's driveway was the last thing Bobby had expected to hear that Thursday afternoon. He frowned to himself after checking the time. It couldn't have been either of the kids as it was only two o'clock; they didn't get back from school until about four usually. And no one else ever came here, other than Rufus, and he nearly always called ahead.
Bobby grabbed his gun from his desk, tucking it into his belt before heading for the door.
He didn't recognise the huge, black truck that was parked in front of his house. He did, however, recognise the car that the truck had been towing: a black, spotlessly-cleaned, 1967 Chevy Impala. And there was only one person Bobby knew with a car like that.
John Winchester.
Bobby hadn't seen the bastard since that night in October almost a year ago. Since then, the boys had got settled at the local high school; Dean was tinkering with Bobby's old cars in his spare time, and Sam was finally working towards his dream of going to Stanford and being a lawyer. He was thirteen but already dreaming big, and Bobby couldn't be prouder of the kid.
He pulled out his gun, already aiming before the other man had even stepped out of the car. Bobby had warned John Winchester on his last visit, and he always followed through on a threat.
John stepped out the trunk, surprisingly not-drunkenly, eyeing Bobby and the gun as he made his way around to the Impala.
"Relax, Singer. I'm not sticking around."
He unhooked the car from the truck before fishing a small set of keys from his pocket and tossing them to Bobby who caught them on instinct. He'd now dropped the gun; if John had been planning anything, he'd have done it by now. Bobby watched as the other man finished off with the Impala and climbed back into his truck.
Just before he could drive off again, though, Bobby stepped forward. "What do you think you're doing? What am I supposed to do with this?" He held up the keys to the Impala.
John looked nonchalantly over at him and shrugged. "Dean's always loved the car, and it was either this or scrapping it."
With that, John Winchester drove off, the truck's engine rumbling as he disappeared out the gates and onto the road. It took just a few seconds for it to be completely inaudible. If it wasn't for the Impala still parked in his driveway and the small, silver set of keys in his right hand, Bobby would think he'd never even been there.
Bobby debated what to do with it before the boys got back from school. Obviously, he'd give it to Dean. But he needed to put it somewhere before then else Dean would drive nearly drive into it.
When the boy was a kid, he'd yap on endlessly about how his dad had let him help mend the engine of the Impala, or how he'd even let him move the steering wheel while they were driving. When Dean had turned fifteen, he'd started calling the car his 'Baby', which had John smiling proudly.
Bobby suddenly got an overwhelming feeling of sadness as he remembered that. John had the potential to be such a brilliant father to both his boys, but he didn't take it. If he hadn't been so obsessed with revenge, which was fuelled by his grief for Mary, then Sam and Dean might have had a great childhood. They could have gone to school, had girlfriends (and boyfriends), gone to parties, just like normal kids.
But then again, if that had happened, Bobby never would have met them. He'd still be swamped in his own guilt and grief about Karen's death. He'd have never had a chance to spoil and care for the two young boys and give them the childhood that both Karen and Mary would have wanted for them.
He decided to park the car to the side of the driveway then head inside to start making some food for when the two boys got home.
It was over two hours later when Bobby heard the sound of another car - distinctly different from John's truck earlier, thankfully - driving into the salvage yard. He checked the clock and sighed a breath he didn't realise he'd been holding when he saw it was time for the boys to arrive home.
Bobby stood on the steps outside his door as the car he'd leant Dean parked up just a couple of metres away. As soon as the engine stopped, Dean leaped out the driver's side and ran to the Impala's side, running his hands over the black metal in awe. He looked over at Bobby, grinning with wide eyes.
"Uncle Bobby..." said Dean, asking a silent question.
Bobby wasn't sure what to tell him for fear of upsetting him or Sam - who'd also climbed out the car with both his and Dean's bag and was standing just behind Dean - but eventually decided on the truth. It was bound to come out eventually anyway.
"Your daddy came over earlier -- "
"Dad was here?"
Dean had tensed and his smile had faded a little, but for some reason, he also looked pleased, like he wanted to see his dad.
Tentatively, Bobby nodded. "He didn't stick around, just dropped this off with the keys and left. Said he wanted you to have it."
"He did?" said Dean, a devastating mixture of hope and resignation in his voice.
"Yep. Said you'd always loved it and he wanted you to have it."
"Does he want us to go hunting with him again?" asked Sam.
Bobby shook his head. "No, don't you worry, kid. The two of you are staying here for as long as you want."
Sam grinned, and although Bobby knew he was a little disappointed at not seeing his dad, Dean smiled too. He stood up and opened the bonnet, looking at the engine lovingly. He leant forward and fiddled with something before pulling back, his grin even wider than before. Dean walked around the car in a circle as if admiring a gold statue. After a minute, he looked up again, met eyes with Bobby and beamed, his eyes lit up.
"God, I missed you, Baby," he said, resting a hand on the car's roof.
"Should we give you two a minute alone?" said Sam with a smirk.
Dean just glared at him. "Bitch."
"Jerk. Now can we please go inside? I'm hungry."