I don't own them and make no money from them.

In memory of my own father...

Unbeta'd - I just wanted to get this out today. So all mistakes are my own. And I really hope this comes out okay 'cause it is one of those stories that I am not too sure of. So let me know what you think. Phoenix

Our Father, who aren't in Heaven

Bobby Singer was in a foul mood. Not bad enough it was raining and he found out his roof had sprung a new leak, but he'd managed to burn his breakfast when he'd saw that his Rottweiler pup, Doofus, had chewed the leg clean off his coffee table (damn dog, damn Winchesters for getting him the dog… Shoulda known a pup picked by John's boys would be nothing but trouble) but his back was hurting like a son'abitch, he had a suspicious looking rash itching on the back of one leg… oh AND it was Father's Day. All in all, not one of Bobby's favorite days of the year. In fact, next to just about every other holiday – except Christmas, Bobby loved Christmas – he hated it the most.

Why?

Well no real reason that he'd admit too upon pain of death but in reality it was the one holiday that cut him more than the rest. It mocked him and tore at him with a power that pretty much nothing else could, 'cause you see, when Bobby killed his wife, she had been four months pregnant… and, though you'd never guess by looking at him now, but Bobby had really been looking forward to being a Daddy.

"God-damnit!" Bobby yelled as he chased the half grown pup out of the garbage and across the living room for the third time that morning – geez, just how much was that animal gonna eat? Doofus, named by Dean of course, suddenly seemed to catch on that maybe his master wasn't in as tolerant mood as usual today, and made a beeline for the back door knowing that if he hit it just right, it would open and he could hide out among the junked cars for a bit. And that is exactly what he did.

Bobby made a show of hollering, "Yeah, and don't think I can't find ya out there, either, ya damn dog!" then slammed the door shut and stalked back towards the kitchen. Damn, he hated June.

The rain started to pound against the house even harder and the man sighed, deflated, suddenly feeling more alone today than he had in a long time.

The house was just too damn quiet.

And then a familiar rumble cut through the rain and Bobby slowly turned towards the front door. What the hell? It couldn't be – the Winchesters were two states away.

He moved outside and watched the big black car grumble its way to a stop and two tall young men, bickering loudly over God only knew what, got out of the car.

"Yeah, well, if you hadn't-"

"And if you hadn't of, first-"

The grizzled old hunter shook his head. Well damnit all to hell. It was the Winchesters. And, from the looks of things as they started to grab their bags from the trunk, they were intending to stay awhile.

And just like that, his day got a whole lot better.

Bobby approached the young hunters offering them a hand. After all, it was still pouring rain and the quicker the boys got in the house the less chance one of them would have of coming down with pneumonia; Winchesters never did anything half way. It was either near death or nothing at all with them, and one sick Winchester meant two grumpy patients for Bobby.

Dean grinned at him in greeting as he passed Bobby a small duffle bag, "Hey Bobby, Happy Father's Day." The words came out more casual then they could be, and Dean was already turning away before the older hunter could get a good look at his face. Bobby stared, stunned.

And then Sam gave him a more sheepish smile and added quietly, "Yeah, Bobby, Happy Father's Day."

Bobby just stood there, duffle bag held loosely in his hand, rain plastering his baseball cap ('cause Heaven forbid he ever take it off) to his head, and gawked… Sure he knew the boys were fond of him, Dean had even come right out and said he thought of Bobby like a father, and he certainly held a hard place of affection for them in his heart but still. To hear it? From them?

"You know, Sammy," Dean slammed the trunk shut and looked at his brother over the top of Bobby's head (and yeah, Sam is that tall), "I think this is first time I've ever seen Bobby speechless."

Sam chuckled then sneezed and that was enough to get Bobby moving.

"All right, all right," he grumbled, his voice a bit more gruff than usual, "Just git yer asses inside before you catch your death of cold or something." But even as he squawked and fussed at them, Bobby's heart was bursting.

Those boys would never know just how happy they had made this Father's Day, dog chewed furniture, leaky roof, suspicious rash and all…

But that still didn't stop him from slipping them a bit of holy water in their beer.

After all, when inheriting Winchesters, one could never be too careful.

The End