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Bobby Singer is a proud dad because family doesn't end in blood, and no one can ever tell him that the Winchester boys aren't his in all the ways that count.
He may not have been there for the first words, first steps, or hell–even the first day of kindergarten, but he's been there in all the ways that matter since John Winchester dropped both boys off, promising that he'd be back soon. Instead, he never came back because he drunkenly ran his car into a tree and the tree won.
Bobby, on one hand, had been saddened by John's death because even though they'd put on brave faces–especially Dean–the boys still lost their father, no matter if he was any good at it or not. They lost the last of their before and their chance to ever have a decent after. And even though he hadn't considered John one in a long time, they had been friends once before. All of them lost out on what could've been. But then on the other hand–his dominant one, if you will–he genuinely couldn't work himself up to feeling any more grief than the little that he did.
Bobby had known men like John Winchester all his life. He recognized his own piece of shit dad in John, and God knows he wanted to spare Sam and Dean the life that he'd had as a kid.
So, yeah, it'd always been a good thing that no one had ever really asked how he felt about the patriarchal Winchester.
Because now, years and years later, he gets to sit in his chair at the kitchen table that he'd raised his boys around, with a cold beer in his hand as he has dinner with his oldest and be introduced to his son's boyfriend. It's moments like these that he's reminded that even though he knows he wasn't perfect in raising Sam and Dean, he still did good because he's being trusted with this information. It makes this grizzled old man feel good.
“Um, so, Bobby,” Dean begins. He stops to clear his throat before taking a gulp of his beer. “There's something I've been wanting to tell you.”
Bobby waits, and when nothing comes after a while, says, “Am I supposed to be practicing my mind reading, son?”
Dean laughs nervously and glances over at the young man that he'd introduced to Bobby as Castiel–Cas–when they'd first arrived earlier that day. Bobby pretends not to notice as Cas's hand slips under the dinner table to squeeze Dean's leg in support.
“It sure would make this a hell of a lot easier,” admits Dean.
“Hm. It probably would,” Bobby replies as he cuts into his steak and takes a bite. He points the tines of his fork at Dean. “I'll just remind you that whatever you want to tell me can't be anywhere near as bad as when you told me that you'd backed into the mailbox with the Impala.”
Cas snorts and he turns to Dean, his eyes wide with disbelief. “What happened to you being ‘the best driver ever’?”
Dean glares at Cas. “Can it,” he mutters. “I was fifteen and still learning how to drive. Baby's a long girl. It took me a while to learn how to ease her out of places.”
“Yeah, about four mailboxes a while.” Bobby shovels a heaping forkfull of mashed potatoes into his mouth as he winks at Cas in fun.
As a dad, it's his right to mess with his kid.
Cas grins at Bobby, his teeth flashing white. His blue eyes dance with mirth and his broad shoulders shake with silent laughter as he takes a sip of his water and tries not to choke on it.
He's a good looking kid, thinks Bobby. I can see why Dean is taken with him.
Dean huffs and scrubs at his face, trying to wipe away his own grin. “Oh God,” he mumbles. “I'll be sixty years old and I still will never be able to live that down.”
“Nope. And if I'm not here to mess with you about it, Sam will pick up on where I leave off.”
The comment seems to sober Dean. He pushes at his food on his plate, and Bobby knows it's time to be serious because Dean Winchester never has a hard time eating.
He sets his fork down after taking one last bite of steak and helps wash it down with his beer. Bobby reaches across to squeeze Dean's shoulder. “What are you wanting to tell me, Dean. I'm listening.”
Dean blows out a long breath, and then slowly reaches down and pulls Cas's hand off his leg to lay both of their hands on the table, fingers intertwined.
“I brought Cas with me to introduce you both because Cas and I–well, we're um,” Dean coughs to clear his throat again, “we're together. We're dating, I mean.”
Bobby sits back in his chair and crosses his arms. “I see,” he murmurs. “How long have y'all been dating?”
Dean raises his brow and looks over at Cas. “Yeah, Cas. How long?”
Cas's lips twitch in amusement as he pretends to glare at Dean. “Dean and I don't agree when we started exactly because apparently I'm not very good at picking up on ‘signs’,” Cas says, and Bobby's mouth lifts at a corner when he uses his fingers to quote the word “signs” with his hand that isn't being held.
“Because you're not, man!” Dean shouts in amusement. He turns back to Bobby. “Bobby, we were on our third date–at a very nice restaurant, one where I ditched the flannel to take him–when he randomly looks up at me from over the menu and asks me,” here Dean forces his voice into a gravelly intonation of Castiel's and says, “‘Dean, is this a date?’”
Bobby laughs. “Well, clearly you didn't make it obvious enough for the poor guy the first two times.”
“Thank you, Bobby. See, Dean, it's not just me who thinks that you weren't being obvious enough with your overtures.”
“You've got to be kidding me,” Dean laughs as he untangles his fingers from Cas's to throw up both of his hands as he yells, “I literally asked if you wanted to see a movie and grab something to eat after we'd been talking for days on a dating app. How more obvious can a guy get?”
“By saying, ‘heya, Cas, would you like to go on a date with me’?”
Dean flaps his hand. “Tomato, tomah-tah.”
“Well,” Bobby prompts, grinning. “How long then?”
Bobby can't help but feel warmth spread across his chest as Dean offers Cas a small smile. It's a smile that speaks volumes. It speaks in whispers of quiet moments shared, of loud laughter, and memories that have passed and will come to pass. It speaks without a word being said between the two.
“About five months. Give or take a couple of weeks.”
“Well,” Bobby squeezes Dean's shoulder again. “I'm happy for you both, son.”
Green eyes stare at him hard for a moment and a throat bobs with emotion. “D-do you really mean that, Bobby?”
Bobby furrows his brow in confusion. “Isn't that what I just said?”
Dean nods his head jerkily. “Y-yeah, I mean, you did. I just mean–. I know you didn't expect to hear this kind of news from me…”
Bobby snorts. “Dean, I knew what you were going to tell me as soon as I got the call from you earlier this week, asking if you could stop by with your ‘friend’”,–Bobby does his own air quotes–“Cas, and have dinner with me.”
Dean's mouth falls open a little bit. “H-how? I didn't say anything that would give you any ideas about what I wanted to say today.”
“Idjit,” Bobby says fondly. “Boy, I know I raised you to be smarter than this.” He nods at Cas. “You've mentioned this guy about every chance you get for the past five months. I'm no rocket scientist, but you don't have to be one to know that he's more than just a friend to you.”
Bobby stops and nods at Cas.
“And I'd have to be blind not to notice how he looks at you.” He reaches up and tugs at his old ball cap, his voice gruffer than usual as he admits, “He looks at you like I used to look at Karen.”
Dean's voice is thick with emotion as he asks, “And y-you're not mad? You're not disappointed in me?”
“What the hell have you done for me to be mad or disappointed with you?”
Dean hangs his head low, plucks at a loose thread in his jeans. “Cas ain't a girl.”
“Oh hell, I'm glad you told me, I failed to notice.”
“Don't be an ass, Bobby.” Dean's voice is wet with emotion.
“Don't be an idjit, Dean.” Bobby's voice mirrors. He swipes at his eyes before he points a finger and waves it between the two young men. “If this makes you happy, Dean, you'll never hear a word of disappointment from me.”
Dean glances at Cas, swallows hard as he murmurs. “It does–he does. I love him.”
Cas gasps softly, but quickly covers his mouth with a trembling hand. He turns his head away and blinks hard. In spite of the effort, Bobby sees the man's blue eyes shine with the tears that he's trying to keep at bay.
Knowing that the men need a few moments to themselves, Bobby stands and rounds the table to leave the two alone. He claps both of them on the shoulder as he passes then slinks off into his den, pulling the doors that separate the two areas close.
Bobby stands still and smiles when he hears Cas murmur roughly, “So you do know how to be obvious, huh?”
Dean laughs, it's a laugh filled with happiness and love. “Shut up.”
It's quiet for a few moments, but Bobby has a general idea of what's going on the other side of the doors.
Then he hears, “I love you, Dean.” It's spoken as a resolute vow.
With a smile on his face, Bobby sits at his desk and kicks up his feet, crosses them at the ankles.
Yeah, Bobby Singer is a proud dad.