The more John left his his kids at his house, the less Bobby appreciated the man.
The way Dean's eyes lit up as soon as the man was out the door, turning to Bobby with expectations of some wild adventure. A trip to the damn park shouldn't make a kid look like Christmas had come early.
They played catch, three-way sometimes, when Sam wasn't too busy burying his nose in some exotic board game that Bobby had fished out of the closet (making damn sure there wasn't any hoodoo attached to it.)
There was a stack of old comic books stacked under his own bed, Batman and Spiderman developing grease stains and faded pages from how often Dean had perused them. The kid was practically vibrating with excitement when he got him a few more issues for his birthday.
Bobby held back the urge to smack their father across the jaw when he watched the kid carefully put away the comics when John was due to pick them up, small hands picking up a gun and taking it apart to polish.
That's the kind of bullshit he expected to find his kids doing when he got home and it pissed Bobby off. The older man quietly encouraged Sam to keep reading, ruffling the sandy curls when he was immersed in an old book of folktales, his interest in the topic purely from curiosity and not necessity.
Sometimes the boys were left at his place for a week at a time, and it was time for a road trip.
This week?
Mall of America.
The boys needed new clothes, and Bobby's tax break had been generous this year. He loaded them into the back of a wood-paneled sedan and headed off into the great beyond.
The boys didn't need to know that the inside of the paneling had every type of anti-critter ward and sigil he could get his hands on, and the hollow space between interior and wheel-well was packed full of hex-bags and salt.
He wasn't an idiot.
When they arrived, the parking lot was already halfway full. They walked into the sliding doors and Sam's eyes became bigger than dinner plates. Even Dean looked impressed with the size of it all.
The mill of people was a bit slower when he last came, but it was the middle of the week and not close to a holiday, so that was expected.
As always, both boys already knew enough from their father to go straight for the kid-sized work jackets and jeans, sturdy undershirts and work boots. Clothes shopping didn't take up much time at all.
Bobby had spotted Dean lingering behind a display, his hand out like he was touching something, his face a picture of awe. Their eyes met for a moment and Dean nearly jumped out of his skin, yanking his hand back like it had been burned, and hurrying off to look at a stand full of denim jackets.
Bobby took his time moseying over to see what the boy had been eyeing so reverently, and was honestly bamboozled when he discovered it was a display of fuzzy socks. Not only that, but the only color on the side that Dean had been eyeing was shades of pink.
He looked over to the boy, shoulders hunched up like he could sense the eyes on the back of his head.
Bobby shook his head, plucking up one of the most obnoxiously neon pairs of pink socks and discreetly tucking it into one of the folds of shirts in their cart.
If the boy showed interest outside of what his idiot father demanded he liked, Bobby was going to make damn sure to encourage that.
Besides, one pair of fuzzy socks wasn't the end of the damn world.
When they got to the checkout counter, the pink garments had tumbled out onto the false-wood tabletop and Dean froze. He practically stopped breathing, staring at the things, and seemed incredulous when Bobby nudged them away from the edge and allowed the young man to scan the tag and place it in one of their plastic bags.
The old hunter felt his heart practically break at the sight of Dean looking up at him with a mixture of fear and awe. He scratched at the side of his beard.
"You can wear them around the house if ya want."
Sam looked up from where he was fiddling with the slim chain that bolted the store's pen to its desk.
"Wear what?"
Bobby ruffled his hair, pulling him into a rough sideways hug.
"Don't worry about it, kid. Hey." He knelt down turning Sam's head back and forth playfully.
"Your mop looks like it could use some trimming. I'm sure we can find some people with a pair of hedge trimmers around here somewhere. What'd'you think?"
He turned to Dean, who looked marginally more relaxed, and accepted the jerky nod.
The salon he picked out had some good deals for the week, and he was a bit curious. Apparently with every haircut there was a free pedicure included (today only!) After a bit of inquiry, Bobby discovered that he could, in fact, send Sam in for a haircut and get his own feet worked on.
His feet had been aching lately, sharp twinges if he stepped wrong.
Sammy ran off and plopped himself in one of the chairs, and Bobby lowered himself into one of the leather seats by the store's windows. The masseuse offered to get him a drink and he refused, but looked pointedly at the elder of the two boys.
Even if it cost extra, he wanted the boy in on this.
Dean stepped back, green eyes wide when the woman turned toward him. She smiled at him, gesturing to the dark green, cushy seat.
"Would you like one as well, sir?" His hand cut through the air, banishing the idea and muttering a quick refusal but Booby just said "Get your ass in the chair, boy."
There was an awkward silence before Dean shuffled forward, turning around and tentatively lowering himself onto the leather. He could see Sam leaning back into a sink across the room, eyes shut happily as a black-haired woman scrubbed at his scalp.
"Please lean back, sir, relax." He glanced down at the lady kneeling at his feet and obeyed the request, feeling weirdly exposed. This was super girly, and he felt weird, and what the hell was Bobby thinking? (Although, it was nice to be addressed as 'sir' - not many people did that to a 12-year-old.)
The older man kicked off his shoes, pulled off his socks and placed his feet into a bucket that the woman had procured. Warm, sudsy water was poured over them, and gloved hands went to work.
Dean shifted, picking at the edge of the hand rest and fighting the urge to bolt. If his dad caught him like this, he'd never hear the end of it.
He looked out through the glass windows, meeting the eyes of a little girl whose parents were loitering outside the store. She smiled and waved, and he managed to force a small smile, lifting his hand slightly.
His attention abruptly turned back to a second woman, as she started picking at his shoelaces.
"Ah, no, I've got it."
He leaned over, pulling off the work boots and socks, wincing at the smell of his sweaty feet. He didn't want to inflict those on anyone. They were nudged into a bucket, and warm water poured over them.
Dean sat up, ramrod straight as she grabbed his foot, fingertips digging into the arch and heel, rubbing and pushing at the flesh. He supposed it felt nice? A glance toward Bobby and the bearded man was laying back in his chair, eyes closed and body slumped.
He followed the man's example, lying back and staring at the ceiling. It was strange having someone touch him without keeping an eye on them.
The warm water sloshed around his ankles as she pressed her fingers into the arch of his foot, releasing a tension he didn't even know was there. He breathed out. Yeah, this was actually kinda nice.
Dean turned his head, watching Sam for a moment as he giggled and talked to the hairdresser who was fluffing up his mop with a dryer, comb and scissors laced between her fingers.
His feet were pulled out of the water, cold for a moment before a fluffy towel patted them down. He didn't even bother looking up at this point, and was faintly surprised to feel a cool paste rubbed into his soles.
The smell of citrus and menthol wafted up a moment later, following the click of a plastic cap. There was a grit to it, and a commercial about exfoliating cream popping into his head. The cheerful jingle had made him roll his eyes at the time.
He could hear Bobby practically groan his happiness at whatever his masseuse was doing.
Dean reached down and brushed his hand over the shopping bags, fighting a blush that was rising up along his neck.
He wondered how the fuzzy socks would feel on his feet after this.
He had a feeling it'd be completely awesome.