Bobby Singer's Daycare
Chapter 1: How It Began
It was a bright, sunny day in May, 1984, when Bobby Singer's life changed forever.
Well, it didn't exactly change on that day, but it was the beginning of a series of changes that would eventually culminate in a very different life than he was currently living.
Bobby had known John Winchester before either of them was a hunter. Back when both their wives were alive, and they were blissfully ignorant of the world of the supernatural and twisted. They had met at a mechanics conference, sort of hit it off, and they had been trading car secrets and clients ever since.
After Karen's death, Bobby had abandoned both his auto service and his old acquaintances to learn the skills of a Hunter, but kept his house functional as a home base. It was nice to have somewhere to go, sometimes, even if it was somewhere that held far too many memories and probably was worse than having no home, since it did all sorts of horrible things to your mind and really only offered you a place to drink.
May. 1984. Right.
It so happened to be Bobby's day off, which is to say that he hadn't had a case in almost a full week, and it was too early in the day to be drinking.
That was when there was a knock on the door.
Bobby got up, grabbed a shotgun, and went to answer it cautiously. The face that greeted him at the door was wholly unexpected, and before he opened it all the way, Bobby hurriedly shoved the shotgun under a pile of papers.
"John!" he said, opening the door.
He remembered John Winchester as a bright, determined person. Young and in love and wanting to make a future for his family.
It was a very different man who pushed past him into the living room, eyes flitting around the room, taking in the dust, the dirt, the carelessness of a man who lived alone without really caring.
"I need your help," were the first words out of John's mouth.
"Okay," Bobby said, taken aback, but shocked enough by what was happening to go along for now. "What is it?"
"Mary's dead. It's been a couple of months now. I have… something I need to do. And I need to drop the kids off somewhere. Just for a week. Do you remember my sons? Well, Sam wasn't born yet, but you remember Dean, I'm sure I talked about Dean. I couldn't think of anyone else, and I know that you don't have any kids, but I was just-" John broke off, leaning against a wall. "It's been hard."
"It's okay," Bobby said again. He understood that well enough, the overwhelming sense of a world without. It was bad enough to adjust by yourself, but he couldn't imagine doing it with two kids to look after. "I'll do it." The words came out by themselves, bourn by understanding and empathy.
John's head snapped up. "You will? Really?"
"Karen died. A couple years ago," he offered, an explanation in six words. "Yes, I'll take care of your kids for a week. I can't promise they'll enjoy it much, but I'll do my best."
"Thank you." Sincerity filled John's voice. "Dean can help you out. He's grown up a lot." A pause. "Especially in the last little while."
"You're doing the best we can, just like all of us," Bobby said, hearing the regret in the other man's voice.
"Yes."
The pause was longer this time.
"They're both in the car," John said. "I'll bring them in and introduce you." Bobby nodded, and the screen door slammed shut.
"Balls!" Bobby exclaimed, as quietly as he could, and immediately started gathering up all the weapons he could, shoving them into drawers and onto high shelves, where he figured kids wouldn't be able to get them. "What have you gotten yourself into now?" he scolded himself as he worked. "Kids! You can't take care of two kids."
The sound of a young voice drifted up and through the screen door, raised in a complaint. Bobby immediately straightened up, hoped that no more weapons were visible, and went to the door.
"But I just want to go home," the boy complained. "I want my bed! And my toys! And mom!"
"You're staying with Bobby for a few days," John snapped, and pulled on the little boy's arm, dragging him up the stairs. "And that's the end of it." Bobby opened the screen door, suddenly very happy that it made a loud squealing sound, announcing his presence. John looked up and loosened his grip on the boy's wrist, even offered Bobby a strained smile.
"This is Bobby," he said to the boy who was standing slightly behind him. "Bobby, this is Dean."
"Hello," Bobby said, trying to sound approachable. Dean stared at him with huge green eyes.
"This is my youngest son, Sam," John continued, when Dean didn't say anything back. Sam was nestled in his arms, with huge hazel eyes that flickered around at the scenery curiously.
"Hello," Bobby said again.
"Gada," Sam responded, reaching up one little hand in what could have been a wave. Bobby smiled slightly.
"Well, I should be back in a few days," John said, and let go of Dean's wrist to detach Sam from his shoulder and hold him out to Bobby, who took him gingerly. "Dean has my cell number memorized if you need anything, although you might have to leave a message, and I'm sure that they'll both behave very well."
Bobby didn't miss the look that was given to Dean, nor the little boy's shoulders slumping forwards.
"I'm sure too," Bobby said amiably, and looked to Dean encouragingly. "Maybe I'll put Dean to work on one of the cars."
Dean's eyes widened, and he looked to his father, hopefully.
"That should be fine," John said. "As long as you make sure he's not working on something you're intending to sell."
"Not at first," Bobby responded, feeling somewhat resentful on behalf of John's son. "Once he's trained up, though…" He looked at Dean again, this time with a smile. "I could use an assistant in the yard."
"Good luck," John shrugged. "I'll see you in a couple days. Chin up, Dean!"
And then he was gone.
Bobby shot a glance at the kid who was now in his charge. He was looking after his father as the black car pulled away down the driveway.
"Okay," Bobby said, and two pairs of eyes landed on him. "I guess I'm going to have to find you guys somewhere to sleep."
Ooooo0000ooooO
John Winchester did not return for two and a half weeks. Within that time, Bobby had figured out what foods a baby could and could not eat, how to change a diaper (something he could have happily spent his life not knowing), and the number of times that a six year old boy could tell you the same joke without losing his enthusiasm (too damn many).
The important thing was that John did return, and returned Dean's hug with a muttered "Missed you too."
Bobby let him stay the night, and Dean didn't let go of his father's wrist once, and kept up a steady stream of chatter about what he had learned, who he had met, the various meals he had helped prepare, the motorcycle he was working on with Bobby, and the bedroom that he had gotten to 'redecorate' (draw all over).
John seemed relatively pleased with all the news, and after the kids were settled down to bed, John and Bobby sat down and shared a drink.
"You were longer than you'd expected," Bobby stated.
"There were some complications," John said vaguely.
"So what exactly is it that you were doing?" Bobby asked. "Normally I wouldn't be so nosy, but I think that you probably owe me an explanation."
"You wouldn't believe me," John said with a smile-grimace, and took a drink of his beer. "Or you'd call me crazy." Bobby squinted at the other man. His words were too familiar to dismiss; in the months that he had travelled with Rufus, pretending to be anyone from FBI to new neighbours, he had heard those same phrases over and over from almost every family touched by the supernatural.
"You might be surprised what I believe nowadays," Bobby said, and now it was John's turn to give him a suspicious look.
"I was on a hunting trip," John answered.
"Must have been a damn interesting trip to dump your kids with a near-stranger," Bobby said, leaning back on the couch.
"Firstly, I happen to count you as a friend. And second, it wasn't exactly a recreational trip."
"So you're a Hunter for a living?" It was hard to verbally communicate the capital H, but Bobby managed well enough for John to catch his meaning.
"You've done some hunting yourself, haven't you?" he asked, leaning forwards, dark hazel eyes intent upon Bobby's face.
"In the past years, yes. I've been hunting a lot. I've got a buddy who comes with me, named Rufus."
"Rufus Turner?"
"Yes!" Bobby kept his voice down, mindful of the kids sleeping upstairs, but both of them were grinning at each other.
"Do you know Ellen Harvelle?"
"From the Roadhouse? Yeah, 'course."
"You know, Bobby? I think that you're the best person I could have asked to watch Sam and Dean," John said, still smiling. Bobby raised his bottle, and John met it with his own.
"Cheers."
A/N: Hello, my name is Tazia, and I will be your author for this fic. *waves* Just to get a couple things straight; This is more of a collection of oneshots than anything, so don't be expecting a coherent plot or anything fancy. Secondly, I am screwing around with the ages and age-gaps to put all the kids closer together, so just a little fore-warning there. Lastly, no, I don't technically have permission for the cover art, but it's drawn by eviltt, who I found on Deviant Art... Also, I love reviews, I write because I love it but I publish online because I want reviews, so review, every chapter, twice, once, please please please please, and you know that I will love you.