Disclaimer: Supernatural, its plotlines, and its characters are all property of the CW and the show's writers. I probably wouldn't be worth only $7 and a bottle of pop if I was actually involved with the show, so it's really not worth the effort to sue me, even if I would love to actually meet Misha Collins.

Summary: A rewrite of the conversation between Dean and Bobby in 5x07 when Bobby talks about being useless because he's in a wheelchair, and some other conversations that should have happened in that season. Also, an extra scene set in season 7. Hurt/comfort, angst, and fluff. Sorry, I suck at summaries, but if you love the Dean/Bobby relationship, then you'll love this! Rated T for mentions of suicide and some language.

A/N: I love Bobby, and I especially love the relationship between Bobby and Dean, so this fic was a no brainer.I previously wrote this fic, but it was horribly written and totally off in the season it was set in, so this is an improved, accurate version, since I started rewatching the series and figured out how totally inaccurate my previous version was. Review if you like it!

….

Father Figure

….

Bobby's comments about feeling useless and wanting to put a bullet through his head earlier had chilled Dean to his core. Seeing his surrogate father so broken, so hopeless…he never realized how much losing the use of his legs had affected Bobby. He wanted to, right then, as an old man, hug Bobby as tightly as he could and never let go, to tell him how much he meant to him and how he would never make it if he decided to do such a thing, but…they had more pressing matters. They couldn't afford to spend any time having a deep discussion about their feelings when they had a witch to catch and a spell to reverse.

So, Dean kept quiet. And he felt his heart break as he forced his father figure to suffer because they didn't have time to even bring the matter up.

But now…now Dean was back to himself and Sam was outside and Bobby was cornered. Dean had the perfect opportunity to tell Bobby exactly what he meant to him, but…where did he start? Bobby was a grumpy, old, semi-paralyzed man, and Dean was a 30-year-old surly alcoholic. They weren't two teenaged girls who could talk about their feeling and then hug it out. And, even if they could, how exactly could Dean hug Bobby in any way when Bobby couldn't stand up out of his chair?

Dean took a bite out of his burger and tried to assemble his thoughts, but his window of opportunity was slipping – Sam wasn't off in a different town or anything, he was simply outside packing their belongings into the truck of the Impala. He could come back in at any moment. His window closed even further when Bobby wheeled around and started moving toward the open door.

"Bobby, wait." Dean had no idea what he was going to say, but he had to say something.

"Dean…" Bobby started to argue.

Dean held up his hand to shush Bobby, barely deciding what he was going to say before he blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

"You're not useless, Bobby." He hadn't meant to necessarily say those words, but there they were.

Bobby paused for a moment before responding. "Okay, good talk." He started wheeling himself toward the door again.

"No, wait." Dean set his half-eaten burger on the table and swung a chair around to face his surrogate father, sitting down so they were on eye level. He had so many things he wanted to say, and so little time. He only managed to repeat himself, however. "You're not useless."

"So you've said. Anything else, or can I leave this musty old motel room and get back to my musty old house?" Bobby replied with a sigh.

Dean struggled to find his words, but he had to say something to stop the older man from leaving in the state he had arrived in.

"We need you, Bobby. Sammy and I couldn't do this without you." Dean rushed to say this, the words tumbling over each other as they made their way out of his mouth.

"Mm." Bobby hummed in disbelief and a bit of annoyance.

"I'm serious."

"You managed perfectly fine without me all those years after I threatened to shoot your daddy. Never died or anything." Bobby argued, and edge of sarcasm in his voice.

"That's not the same." Dean replied.

"And how's that, exactly?"

Dean paused once again to gather the many thoughts running rampant in his head. "Before dad died…well, Sam and I…I don't know exactly how to say this Bobby." Dean rambled.

"Clearly."

Finally, miraculously, the thoughts running through Dean's head assembled themselves, and he knew exactly what to say to Bobby and how to say it.

"Before dad died, before we came to you for help with Azazel and everything, you were just Uncle Bobby. You were the guy whose doorstep dad dumped us on whenever he was going on a difficult hunt. And, to be honest, I kind of resented you. I resented you because I wanted to be hunting with dad, learning, defending myself, and instead I was stuck in a big house in the middle of a scrapyard with a grumpy old man and my stupid little brother. And no matter how much I loved you and Sammy, I resented being holed up there instead of fighting with dad." Dean paused for breath.

"Dean…" Bobby started to interrupt, but Dean held up a hand to silence him.

"After dad died though…I started to rely on you more and more, and not just for research and a place to crash once in a while. You were a rock, someone who was always there when we needed him, unlike anyone else we had ever met, including dad. And I needed that, no matter how much I denied it. Sam's my brother, and Cas is also a brother to me, no matter how much of a dick he can be. And Ellen and Jo are family too. But you…if I lost you it would crush me. I never would have said this when dad was alive, because I was blinded by my loyalty to him, but you've been more of a father to me and Sammy than he ever was. You have always been there when we needed you, always cared for us when we needed you to, and have never wavered in your love for the two of us." Dean paused for another breath.

"Dean…" Bobby started to interrupt again, suspicious of the wetness in his eyes and hoping that Dean would stop his speech so the older man wouldn't lose his composure.

"I'm not done yet." Dean paused. "You don't stop being a soldier because you got wounded in battle. And you don't stop being our family because you lost your ability to walk. Bottom line is: You're family. And I don't know if you've noticed, but Sam and I don't have much left." Dean paused again, pointedly looking away while Bobby wiped at his eyes. "Losing your legs didn't corrupt your mind or your heart. You're the same grumpy, old, brilliant alcoholic that Sam and I have grown to know and love over the years, and that won't change because of the status of your legs. And if I lost you…" Dean choked on his words and paused to regain himself. "So don't you dare think about checking out. I don't want to hear that again." Dean looked down at his lap in silence, showing Bobby that he was finally done with his rather long-winded speech.

Dean rubbed at his eyes while Bobby tried to string more than two words together, to say something to his boy. Finding nothing that could even begin to cover what he wanted to say, he settled for one word, one syllable, that he hoped would convey everything he needed to say to the hurting man before him. The man that had seen too much in his short time on the earth, that had been forced to endure more than any person ever should in a lifetime. "Okay." he whispered.

"Okay." Dean responded, looking up into the eyes of his only real, genuine father figure. "Good."

Bobby wheeled a couple inches forward and grasped the back of Dean's neck, pulling it forward so their foreheads were touching, both with their eyes closed, caught up in the words Dean had said, and the words Bobby wanted to say but couldn't find. There was only one phrase he could find through all the clutter filling his brain.

"Thank you, son." Bobby felt Dean exhale. Wanting to leave the room before the both of them started crying, Bobby patted Dean on the cheek and pulled away from his boy, wheeling himself out of the motel room and into the daylight.

SPNSPNSPNSPNSPN

"Crowley, you son of a bitch!" Dean yelled, sprinting toward the two men in the scrapyard behind Bobby's house.

"Dean…" Instead of calming the eldest Winchester down, as Bobby had hoped, he instead drew Dean's attentions off Crowley and onto himself.

"And you! How could you Bobby! After everything! After all I said to you, all I explained to you, you go and do this?" Dean started off yelling, but his voice dropped into an almost-whisper as he drew nearer to the two men.

"Relax, boys, I'm going to give it back." Crowley interrupted with a smirk.

"You shut up! How dare you…" Dean almost took a swing at the crossroads demon, but Sam grabbed his arm at the last second, and all the fight seemed to go out of the eldest Winchester when he did.

"Keep your mouth shut, Crowley." Sam snapped, the first he had spoken since they had rounded the corner and seen the two men speaking by one of the old totaled cars on Bobby's property.

Dean pulled out of Sam's grasp and nearly fell on his knees in front of his father figure, though he caught himself before he did, remembering the red-eyed asshat beside him, smirking in the midst of their pain. "How could you, Bobby?" his voice sounded as broken as he looked. There was no more anger in his eyes, only hurt.

"Son…" Bobby began, but Dean waved him off and trudged up the gravel path back toward the house, hunched over in his big leather jacket.

Sam stood exactly where he had been when Dean yanked away from him, barely even blinking. Bobby wheeled around to face him. "I'm sorry, boy. Seemed like the only way." He whispered.

"There's always another way, Bobby. Isn't that what you've been telling me all along?" Sam replied quietly. He turned and hiked the same path that his brother had just disappeared on, though instead of going into the house to sulk, Sam got into the driver's seat of the Impala, fished the keys out of the sun visor, and careened out of the driveway, either headed for a long, angry drive or the nearest bar.

"Damn it!" Bobby yelled, punching the van in front of him as hard as he could without the use of his legs.

"You know, Bobby, you failed to see another thing you could have added to your deal. One that would have made your life considerably easier." Crowley piped up, still smirking.

"Oh yeah?" Bobby wheeled around to face the demon.

"Lucky for you, I have a heart. So, are you just going to sit there?" Crowley pushed himself off the van, where he had been leaning, and walked forward so he was almost hovering over the old hunter.

"No, I'm gonna river dance." Bobby had to exercise a lot of willpower not to tack 'asshole' onto the end of that sentence.

"You misunderstand me. Think about what I just said." He paused until he saw comprehension dawn on the old hunter's face. "Now, are you just going to stand there?" Crowley repeated.

Slowly, Bobby pushed himself out of the chair he had been trapped in for almost a year, barely believing it. He would have pinched himself to see if he was dreaming if Crowley had not still been standing there.

"Since I long ago stopped expecting any form of thanks from hunters, I'll take my leave now." And, with a whoosh, Crowley was gone.

….

"Dean?" Bobby walked into his house, barely believing that he was back on his feet, only to find his surrogate son sitting on the makeshift bed with his head in his hands and five empty beer bottles scattered across the floor, one half empty one siting between his feet.

"Dean…" Bobby growled, realizing too late that this was not the time for anger.

"Don't start with me, Bobby. I'm not in the mood." Dean snapped.

"I'm sorry, boy." He paused. "I don't know what to say, so I guess I'm gonna ask a stupid question that I already know the answer to. Are you okay?" Bobby asked. He wanted to sit beside Dean and put his arm around him, comfort him, but he also didn't want to sit down, for fear that this was a dream and he would never stand again if he did. It felt too good to be on his feet to sit down so soon.

Dean scoffed and looked up. "Got your legs back I see. Another deal, or was this just a subparagraph of the first one?" Dean mocked. If he hadn't had such a high tolerance for alcohol, he'd probably already be slurring his words.

"Dean, come on now…" Bobby started to argue.

"Did nothing I said mean anything to you? Were you really so desperate to walk again that you sold your soul?" Dean nearly spat at the older man, standing from where he had ben perched on the edge of the bed where the couch used to be.

"This wasn't about my legs, boy. This was about saving the world!" Bobby yelled, losing some of his cool.

"And what about Sam and me?! What happens when your bill comes due and you're sent to hell to rot for eternity?!" Dean argued.

"You did the same thing to save your brother, boy!"

"Yeah and look what happened! You nearly drank yourself to death and Sam got addicted to demon blood, which started the whole fucking apocalypse in the first place!" Dean screamed. "Why would you do something so stupid, Bobby?"

"Because my life means a hell of a lot less than yours and Sam's, and I figured that it was worth a shot if Crowley could kill the devil and save the world!" Bobby yelled.

"HE'S A DEMON, BOBBY! You can't trust him! You literally got into hunting because a demon possessed your wife and you were forced to kill her. Have you learned nothing in the years since then?" Dean's voice lowered to his normal volume, but he was still seething.

"How dare you bring my wife into this, boy!" Bobby yelled.

"You're my family Bobby! You and Cas are the only family Sam and I have left. And you just went and sold your soul to the king of the crossroads. Sounds pretty reckless to me."

"I don't think I asked your opinion, Dean." Bobby glared at his surrogate son.

"No, I suppose you didn't. But I guess it doesn't matter anyway. If all the things I told you back in that motel room weren't enough to stop you from making this decision, there's certainly nothing I can say now that will make you change your mind. Not that it would matter much anyway. I'll be gone as soon as Sam comes back with the Impala, and we'll be out of your hair for good." Dean sighed and walked out the front door, letting it slam shut behind him.

Bobby only waited a moment before sprinting out the door behind him.

"Dean?" he panted. He found his boy a little way away from the house, crouched down with his back against an old rusted out Jeep. "Dean?" he repeated.

Dean said nothing, just stared up at the stars in the clear night sky.

"Son?" Bobby tried.

"I'm not your son, Bobby. You've made that very clear." Dean never took his eyes away from the crescent moon peaking out from behind the single cloud that was in the sky.

"And how's that?" Bobby still refused to sit when he had a perfectly good pair of legs beneath him, so he hovered to the right of Dean.

"My father never would have done something like this. He cared about us too much, he wouldn't have sacrificed himself like this." Dean muttered.

"But he did sacrifice himself!" Bobby argued, careful not to raise his voice and begin shouting again.

"Yeah, he sacrificed himself for us, his sons. Not because of self-pity and a pathetic, selfish need to die." Dean finally stood from where he had been sitting on the gravel path, brushing dust of the back of his jeans and his jacket.

"That's what you think this is about? You think this was some last-ditch attempt to off myself, because I had promised you I wouldn't put a bullet through my skull?" Bobby questioned. Dean merely looked back up at the sky from where he stood in front of Bobby.

"I did this for you and Sam, Dean, not because of some fleeting suicidal thoughts. I did this to save the two of you. To live in a world without you two would have been torture to me, I had to do something about it." Bobby tried to explain.

"So, you sold your soul to Crowley so…what? So, you could get your legs back and physically fight alongside us? What good would one more hunter do?" Dean looked back down at his surrogate father, trying to understand.

"Crowley said he could use my soul to defeat Lucifer somehow. The legs were an added bonus. I never, ever would have done this if I didn't have a good reason. I would never intentionally hurt you and Sam." When Dean went to look away again, Bobby grabbed him by the cheek and turned him back to look in his eyes, using his other hand to reach into the pocket on his worn-out flannel.

"See this bullet, boy?" Bobby questioned. Dean gave a little nod. "This is the bullet I intended to put through my skull before you talked me out of it. You gave me a path to find faith in myself again. Seeing myself through your eyes…it gave me a chance to live and not feel unending pity for myself." He paused and put the bullet back in his pocket, then put both of his hands on Dean's shoulders.

"What you said meant everything to me, Dean. It's kept me going in the months since. If I didn't genuinely think Crowley could stop the apocalypse, I wouldn't have done it. I promise, son." Bobby finished. There was still more he wanted to say, but this would have to do.

"Don't say things you don't mean, Bobby."

"I meant every word that just came out of my mouth, boy." Bobby patted Dean clumsily on the cheek. "I love you, and that will never change. Thank you for everything, son."

Unable to cling to his pride any longer, Dean enveloped Bobby in a tight hug, wrapping his arms tightly around his surrogate father and burying his head in the older man's shoulders.

Bobby quickly brought his arms up to wrap around Dean's back, holding his boy just as tightly as his boy was holding him. And even though he couldn't exactly hear the words that Dean muttered into his shoulder, he knew exactly when they were as if the younger man had shouted them in his ear.

"I love you too, Bobby."

SPNSPNSPNSPNSPN

"I can't believe it. Cas and Bobby, in the same year." Sam and Dean were standing in front of their only real father figure's burning corpse, and Sam was speaking through a thick layer of tears. "I can't believe we lost them both…" Sam looked over at his brother, and the words died in his throat. Sam saw a steely glint in Dean's eye, meaning he was breaking but didn't want to do so in front of his little brother.

Knowing this, Sam left the older Winchester in peace, walking over to the Impala and folding himself into the passenger seat.

Even with Sam gone, however, Dean refused to let himself shed a tear. He was toying with the bullet, the one that Bobby had intended, some years back, to off himself with. Bobby had carried it everywhere since their talk, and Dean had remembered it just in time to save it from the fire.

Now, he rolled it between his fingers, toying with different ideas about to do with it. He wanted to keep it, to remember his beloved father figure, but then again, he didn't want to remember him by his year struggling with paralysis and self-hatred. He struggled with the decision until the fire died down and the boys took care of the charred wood and buried Bobby's ashes.

He struggled as they drove as far away from there as they could, never stopping unless they needed gas. He struggled for two more days until he finally made a decision, when he and his brother were in some dinky motel room on the outskirts of Lansing, Michigan, in the middle of the night, because Sam had forced Dean to stop driving and get some rest.

Without so much as changing his clothes (he hadn't changed, he hadn't been sleeping anyway), Dean crept out of the room and made his way to his car, slowly starting the engine and driving to a shopping mall five miles away where he was sure he could find what he needed.

When Sam woke that morning, he didn't even question the bullet hanging on a chain around Dean's neck, where his amulet used to lay.

And he didn't say a word when he noticed the word "Bobby" etched into its surface.