Bobby Singer tugs on the jib of his boat, turning her a few notches to the east. He squints into the late morning sun, the light lining the creases next to his eyes. It's days like these, he thinks, that remind him why he started sailing. The wind, strong but gentle, whipping his once-sandy hair about his head and filling his sail full. The sun at its almost-highest peak, casting golden rays across the deep emerald water that reflect and dance across the side of his boat. And most of all, the steady, rolling waves that catch him up, lift gently, and let him sink down, in a sweet circle of relaxation.
He fell in love with it, all of it, and before anyone could talk him out of it, had bought a sailboat and a small shack out on the lake. The boat wasn't anything special, just your average skimmer with a sturdy, yellowing sail. But oh, Bobby loved her, cared for her, and painted her name on the side in green paint in the best handwriting he could manage - Sadie.
He allows himself a rare smile and presses his calloused hand against the smooth curve of her side. People come and go, but she's been there for decades, and she won't go away anytime soon, he knows it. How could she?
She was there for his wedding, John's wedding, the birth of the Winchester boys, the deaths of so, so many. This simple, plain sailboat has been the sole constant in Bobby's life, through all the pain. Just when he starts to think he wouldn't mind if it was his time to go, that he's had enough sorrow for more than one lifetime, he sees her white sail, bobbing up and down on the waves, and he can't wait to get out on the water. She reminds him of why he's still here.
Adjusting the ropes on the left side, he knows he has work to do. The boys, fully grown now, will be needing his help with some job or another. But for right now, he's fine being alone with only his thoughts, his boat, and the steady roll of the waves as they carry him away to peace.