So here's an idea I had after I got through watching an episode of Supernatural and I had to write it. Set right after Dean's deal came due.
I DO NOT OWN SUPERNATURAL OR THE COVER IMAGE FOR THIS STORY. Please Review.
Bobby Singer sat heavily at his desk, pulling open his drawer and pulling out his good old friend Jack Daniels. He stared at the bottle, the last one Dean would ever buy him. The knot in his throat throbbed painfully, he gulped the knot down and opened the bottle up. Taking a swig, letting the alcohol burn his throat, numbing everything else.
Dean Winchester. He remembers when he met Dean Winchester. Just a snot nosed six year old with a toddler always hot on his heels.
The thought made the knot come back up, in a harsh sob. He took a breath and pulled himself together before taking another swig of his drink. Sammy was always following Dean around, and now Sam was alone.
Sam was somewhere out there, out there hunting. Said he'd call, but Bobby knew better than that. That was the thing with Winchesters, they didn't handle losing family well. That's how Bobby met Dean.
John was grieving over Mary, a loss so profound that it clouded his judgement. Made it seem in his head that dragging Dean and Sam around the country, hunting things most kids only dreamed about seem like a fine idea. He remembered getting the call, from Mosley. "Sending a new hunter your way", She'd said. Just lost his wife, he needs someone to show him the way. So when John Winchester showed up on his door at 5 am with a bag slung over his shoulder and six and three year old tagging along behind him. Bobby Singer knew he was going to have a great deal of trouble outta these boys.
He remembers scolding the older Winchester, claiming his house was no place for a three year old, that there was no one to watch him while they worked. John just chuckled and said, "Sure there is, Right Dean."
"Yes Sir."
Sir, that's the only thing Dean would call him for months, until finally Bobby got fed up with it sat him down and demanded he call him something different. So Dean gave him that smug little grin and said, "OK Uncle Bobby," Called him that until he was fifteen.
Over the years John had dropped Dean off at his Salvage Yard more times than he could count. Dean never would complain, never shed a tear like most kids would. Just rolled with whatever punches John threw at the boy. Never blamed his Daddy one time, except when he left him over May 4, Sam's birthday. Bobby had never seen Dean so angry, never seen any twelve year old as angry. But that was just Dean, nobody hurt Sammy.
Nobody hurts Sammy. Something Dean had never had to be told to do, just done it. That's what got the boy into this mess in the first place.
Why'd he have to do it. Why'd he have to go and make that dang deal. Dean's done a lot of stupid things in the past for Sam, some he got his butt whooped for. Including, Stealing, Fighting, Gambling.
Either way this one took the cake.
He looked down at his bottle, the liquid nearing the bottom. He got up from his desk and walked through his living room, through the kitchen, down the hallway and down the stairs. Into the basement. He pulled a box off the top shelf labeled 'Dean' He glanced at the one labeled 'Sam' that sat right next to it, but he'd get that one down later. He carried it up stairs and set it on the kitchen table. He pulled out a chair and sat down, opening the box.
The first thing he pulled out was a small bag of baby teeth. Sure, most of them hadn't exactly come out naturally, he remembered quite a few falling out in the Salvage Yard. But he kept them, paid Dean a dollar for every one.
"I'd rather you just gimme the money, I don't wanna wait for the tooth fairy, and besides Dad would just kill her."
The Second thing he pulled out was a medal. Dean had won it when he was seven, the year John had left him at the Salvage Yard from January to October. Dean had gotten to be on a real baseball team and he'd loved it.
"Don't eat it Sammy! This ones not made of chocolate."
The Third thing he pulled out was a picture, one of him and Sam sitting on top of the car tower, or at least that's what they called it. Bobby stared at the grinning faces, the memories coming like a wave now. Dean was eight and Sam was four. He'd lost another tooth that day, and they weren't aloud to play on the car tower anymore.
"I'm never gonna be up that high again. Never!"
That brought a smile onto the mans face. He placed the picture back into the box. He sat there and reminisced, before taking the last sup of his drink. Then he got up and tossed the bottle into the trash, making the metal sides ring loudly.
"Hey Bobby." He spun around, to see Dean standing in the door way. It wasn't his Dean. This Dean was to young, only about sixteen.
"This were they come to lock me up in the loony bin," The old hunter grunted.
The boy smirked, just like he remembered. He stepped further into the kitchen, wearing that stupid leather jacket his Daddy gave him, with red sneakers, ones he hadn't worn in years.
"You said it, not me old man."
"Your still a brat even in my head," He grunted.
"You always liked me this way, that's how you knew I was in trouble, by how fast my mouth was going," The boy grinned.
Bobby just stared at the kid, chewing his lip. "Why'd you do it," Bobby asked at last.
The kid sighed, running a hand through his hair, Dean had let it hang over his ears when he was younger. That was the kids biggest form of rebellion.
"For Sammy. He was mine to protect and I had to right my wrongs."
Bobby knew better, he was talking to a figure of his imagination, but he just couldn't hold it in. "You had no wrongs! You protected that boy your whole life, It was his time Dean!" he yelled.
Dean, no the ghost, nodded. "It wasn't Sammy's time. His life was cut to short because of yellow eyes, mine was through though, I should have died at that hospital. I just followed in Dad's foot steps," he said calmly.
"That's Where you went wrong! Your Daddy's the last person you shoulda wanted to be like, he ran you into the ground," He yelled, clenching his fist by his sides.
"I'm sorry Bobby," The boy said quietly.
"No. Your not, because you aren't Dean, Dean's dead," He stated bitterly.
"Maybe, but you know him, and that's what he would say if he were here."
He could feel the hot tears dripping down his cheeks, dang that kid for making him break.
"Just leave," Bobby snapped.
"I can't. because somewhere deep down you want me to stay," The kid smile faintly, his eyes sad. "Old man's got a heart."
He guessed it was true. he wanted to remember Dean like this, young and full of life. Not what he helped Sam bury, not that mangled corpse.
"You fool kid. Your to much like you dang Daddy," He said through grit teeth.
The boy just grinned, then faded out.
It wasn't the last time Bobby saw him though, each time Dean was a different age, six, ten, twelve, didn't matter. He would hang around awhile then fade away, Bobby caught himself on more than one occasion talking back with them, specially the six year old. Kid just tagged along on his heels chatting him up. Just like Dean had.
Then the fateful day came, a knock on the door that made all the ghosts he'd seen over the last four months vanish, leaving him with the shell of the real live breathing one. His eyes were different, hooded and lifeless. Flinching at the slightest touch that wasn't expected. Eyes that darted around like someone or something was coming out of the shadows any second to pull him back. Nothing like the Dean he knew, of course the first thing the he did was ask about Sam. And so began a long road of pain and hurt. The same mistakes being repeated for the love of family and loyalty. Bobby knew this wouldn't be the last time anything like this happened, wasn't gonna be the last time he saw the ghosts again either. All he could do was try and keep them safe, little did he know that only three years later the same thing happened again only the roles were reversed, next thing he knew three year old Sammy was following him around in the kitchen, talking baby babble a mile a minute.