Okay, I read a fic like this so decided to write one of my own. Just some Bobby and his boys :)
Don't own them, and never will. Please review!
Bobby Singer sighed as he made his way to the ringing phone. He picked it up and held it to his ear, grumbling into it, "This is Singer, whaddaya want?"
"Hey Bobby, it's Dean." The old hunter was surprised and suspicious at the tired tone of voice. It sounded like the kid had been through a lot recently with little sleep. And judging by the background on the call, he was driving.
Bobby's eyes narrowed. Damn that boy! "You tired, sport?" he asked, already knowing the answer as he heard Dean yawn on the other end.
"Yeah, exhausted," he admitted. Bobby rolled his eyes. You don't say.
"You coming to mine?" Was his immediate next question. If the Winchesters rang, it was either for advice or to tell him they were coming. If they turn up without having rung, then it was an emergency.
A smile twitched at the corner of the elder hunter's lip as he thought fondly about how much he knew about the boys.
He waited patiently for Dean's reply as he yawned again, finally saying, "yeah, on our way. But we're gonna stop at a motel a few miles out first."
Bobby frowned. "Why? I'd rather you came straight here," he told the kid, worried about him driving in his state.
To prove his point, Dean replied, "yeah, but I'm really tired and your place is still about twenty miles away. We can crash tonight at a close motel, then come to yours early tomorrow."
"What were you hunting?"
"Uh, some kind of lamia. Took us a few days. Seems it had an interesting habit of throwing people into trees," he added grimly. Bobby could practically hear him glancing over at his brother next to him.
From the hunter's tone of voice, he had not appreciated the monster's actions towards his brother. No doubt he fried that thing crispy. Bobby smiled thinking about it.
"Is Sam okay?" Of course, this was the experienced man's next question; what Dean cared about the most.
He sighed. "Yeah, I think so. Now, at least. Stupid son of a bitch didn't tell me he was scratched till he almost passed out on me," Dean grumbled. Bobby rolled his eyes. So like the Winchesters.
"But he's fine now," Dean added, after no doubt glaring over at the kid in question.
"Well, why don't you let your brother drive, then?"
"Sam's sick. Just a cold; the kid's sleeping it off," came the simple reply. Bobby nodded in thought.
"How far away in the motel? Better hunters than you have fallen asleep behind the wheel, boy," he warned Dean.
He heard the kid sigh and probably roll his eyes before answering, "not too far. 'Bout a mile or two."
The old hunter nodded. "Right. How high is Sam's temperature?" Because of course the mother-hen older brother would have taken it.
There was a moment of silent confusion before Dean realised what he was doing. He sighed wearily. "102. And, Bobby, I'm fine. I won't fall asleep."
"Better hunters than you have fallen asleep, Dean!" The man snapped at the boy, repeating his statement more forcefully.
There was a silence as Dean thought about this in his tired state.
Eventually, he grumbled, "there are no better hunters than me."
Bobby could have laughed in relief. A cocky Dean Winchester meant he was doing fine. "No, 'cause they all fell asleep behind the wheel."
He could basically hear Dean's eyeroll and it made him smile.
"Okay, okay, fine," the hunter finally relented. "You wanna play twenty questions?"
This time Bobby rolled his eyes. Jeez, these kids and their snarky comments! "No, genius. I want you to tell me about Sam," he replied just as sarcastically.
Dean sighed and yawned before answering. "He's fine. Bein' thrown around didn't do him much good though."
Bobby shook his head and looked to the ceiling. Freaking Winchester logic! "I gathered," he retorted dryly.
The kid chuckled tiredly and yawned again, concerning the older hunter.
"How far away are you from the motel now?"
"Just..." there was a pause as Dean swore under his breath when he presumably almost missed the turning. "We're here."
Bobby sighed in relief. "Okay. Now get some sleep and come to my place first thing tomorrow," he ordered.
Dean chuckled again. "Sure thing, Bobby. And thanks." He rung off.
Bobby nodded to himself as he put the phone down. He looked at it for a second. Then he turned around, grabbed his jacket and went out of the house, muttering, "damn idjits can't look after themselves."
He got into his truck and traced the GPS from the last call to find the brothers. They were only about ten miles out. Bobby rolled his eyes. "Kids could have come," he murmured to himself, but fondly. He was glad they didn't try.
Nevertheless, he was going to them. Turning the key, he started his truck up and drove it to the motel.
Arriving at reception, he quickly went in and acquired the Winchesters' room number, using their current fake ID. Making his way to their room, he carefully got the lockpick out of his pocket and opened the door.
Bobby walked in, greeted by two sleeping, dead-to-the-world, Winchesters. The older one was, predictably, on the bed closest to the door, sprawled on top of the covers with only his jacket and shoes off.
Smiling at Dean's way of completely 'crashing' in a motel for the night, Bobby turned his attention to the other boy.
Sam was tucked under his covers, but immaculately, nothing that he would have done. The elder Winchester's deed of caring for his brother was further proved by a solitary glass of fresh water and two white pills standing guard on the bedside table.
Bobby sighed and shook his head at these presentations. He sat down on the motel table, smiling as he watched over his boys and waited for morning. He wouldn't have it any other way.