Thanks so much for all of your wonderful feedback and alerts! I'm definitely chomping at the bit to delve into the show's canon, and I will be soon, but I think it was important to explore that early relationship with Bobby and the boys before doing that. I hope you enjoy this next short. Please let me know what you think!
April 26, 1992
There were certain rankling concessions Bobby made to be friends John Winchester: he had to understand that John's grief was as cold as the fiercest winter and as vast as the Pacific. He had to turn a blind eye to the father who doggedly trained his sons like warriors. Finally, he had to walk through fire to protect his sons.
The last one was the easiest.
Bobby let the curtains drop with a private smile and tried not to run down his porch steps in eagerness. He did have a grumpy old man image to maintain. He opted to lean casually against the railing as the Impala rolled up. Dean Winchester opened his door before the car stopped, gliding out with less grace than Bobby remembered. When the thirteen-year-old stood to his full height, he understood. Puberty had set in, stretching and tugging at the otherwise adorable little boy until he was nothing but long limbs, a gaunt, freckled face and goofy awkwardness. Sammy was more patient, lazily climbing out of the backseat, the ever-present book tucked under his arm. Nature, unfortunately, hadn't kicked in for him yet. The kid was still diminutive for his age with dark features and muddy blue eyes. For a brief moment, Bobby wondered if Sam would ever get be bigger than he was now.
Dean leapt onto the porch, grabbing the cup Bobby held for him and downed the holy water without so much as a twitch. Sammy followed, except he dropped the cup, clutching his throat, and collapsed to the floor with a theatrical thump, writhing and gagging and gurgling.
Bobby lifted his eyebrows and blinked down at him. "Uh, you got ants in your pants?"
Sammy cracked an eye open, panting a little. "Oh, come on! I was givin' you good stuff, Bobby. How didja know I was fakin'?"
"Because a demon would sooner jump a three-legged dog than your midget ass," Bobby joked as he hefted Sammy to his feet.
He waved to John, who peeled out of his yard without a word, off to a hunt in Carson City. Sammy climbed to his feet and didn't pause before wrapping his arms around Bobby's middle in an overzealous hug. "If I got possessed, would ya save me?" He asked, tipping his head back to gaze at him.
Bobby patted Sammy's back as they duck-walked into the house. "Nope." He replied with a wink. He'd set hell on fire if a demon ever looked sideways at the kid.
John's youngest had just discovered what his father really did, and his imagination, a wild, feral thing thanks to all those damned books Sammy devoured, had kicked into overdrive. When he wasn't worrying about his father being ripped apart by monsters, he was giving himself an ulcer over Dean joining the hunt next year. Sammy coped by turning his fears into punchlines, much like his big brother. Bobby humored him because with training, school and with the life of a nomad, the Winchesters needed all the fun and games they could get.
Dean was in the kitchen, drinking a cup of coffee, head in his hands. Bobby stood at the threshold, Sammy chattering at his heels like a yappy dog. Dean looked like he was pushing thirty-five, eyes rimmed with darkness, fingernails chewed down to the quick, anxiety bowing his shoulders. He glanced down at Sam and pulled out a folded page of a magazine from his pocket. "Hey, Sammy, we're having this chicken thing for dinner tonight, round up all the ingredients for me."
The kid, who loved helping, plucked the recipe from his grasp and got to work.
Bobby stood beside Dean. "You didn't make that Irish, did you?"
"Not yet." He answered huskily.
"Got a new GTO in the garage, wanna check it out?"
"Sure." Dean drained the last of his coffee before standing. He checked on his brother, who was standing on a chair and reaching for a can of diced tomatoes in the pantry. The elder Winchester looked at Bobby curiously.
"He's doin' something for me. Let him be."
They stepped out into the frosted spring air and walked across the salvage yard Bobby had built up in the past seven years. It had swelled from a few junkers and shelves of spare parts to a massive collection of cars and customers, including a well-concealed row of muscle cars Bobby restored for suburban dads with more money than time. He let Dean inspect the cars, watching the stress bleed out of him as he ran his hand along the fender of a smashed lime green '65 GTO. There was no denying that Dean was the kid of a mechanic.
Dean slid behind the wheel of the door-less car, gripping it tightly. "Dad taught me how to drive a month ago."
Bobby saw yellowing bruises on Dean's neck, purple ones on his wrist and inwardly cursed John Winchester. "How's she handle?"
His green eyes glittered behind the smile that was too slick for someone so young. "Like a big ass boat. Thought she'd be smoother."
"It's all those horses, that's all. You just gotta get a feel for her," Bobby assured him. "How's Sammy been since the big reveal?"
The excitement slipped from Dean's face like someone flipped a switch, and his eyes grew dark and loaded. He dropped his head back to the seat, shutting down faster than some of those fancy computers. Bobby rounded the car, settling into the passenger seat.
Something flickered in his face, amusement or sorrow, he wasn't sure. But he understood the tears that followed.
"He cries all the time...has nightmares." Dean whispered. "He goes into crazy tantrums when Dad leaves…and Dad just screams at him. I thought it'd be easier once he knew, but now he just asks so many questions about Mom, and I just…talking about that makes my stomach hurt."
The kid scrubbed his face clean with his shirt sleeve. "I'm just tired, Bobby." He said with the bone-deep weariness of a mother of six, not a young kid who should be playing soccer and summoning the courage to ask a girl to the dance.
"You have a right to be." Dean had balked at being treated like a child and he hadn't realized that it was because he probably never was, not with the way his mother had died and the insane, violent turn his life had taken ever since. "You've got far more on your plate than most people your age." Bobby paused, and treaded carefully. "And I'm sure that dad of yours can be as ornery as a bull facing a branding iron."
"He doesn't…ever listen to me about anything. The kids make fun of Sammy because of his grubby hand-me-downs…and he just lets them. I don't know what to do anymore…"
"So you tell me, and I'll make it right."
Dean glanced at him in watery-eyed disbelief.
Bobby gazed straight head, through the cracked windshield of the GTO. "We're in a rare club, you and me. I lost my dad when I was a little older than you…and I had to grow up fast. One day I was fourteen and the next, I was forty. Whatever you need, Dean, you tell me. You're in the driver's seat here."
The kid gripped the steering wheel again and thought carefully, working it out in his head. "…could you…get us some new clothes?"
"We'll go into town tomorrow."
"Can…could you…maybe watch Sammy for tonight?"
Bobby smiled. "I'd planned to take him to the movies after dinner…some animated kids' thing. Figured you wouldn't be interested."
"Okay…I'm just gonna to sit out here."
Bobby took his cue to leave, and to make sure Sammy hadn't actually started cooking the chili. He slid out of the car and headed for the house, ignoring his heart that ached for the kids in his care. Tomorrow he'd go into town and buy him and Sam as many new clothes as he could and he'd give him a small reserve that he could use in case of emergencies. Both knew they'd never tell John.
Two days later, after Dean had spent evenings outside listening to his walkman and just breathing, he came downstairs in his new sweats, well-rested and with a bright smile on his face. He ruffled Sammy's hair as he passed him for the platter of bacon. Bobby smacked his hands away from the coffee, pointing to the glass of milk with a pointed glare. Dean just grinned and hugged him for the briefest of moments before sitting down and dutifully drinking the cup of calcium.
It was damn near impossible being John Winchester's friend, Bobby knew he was mostly because of his children.
