Bobby Singer was no stranger to the cruel and often unpredictable world of the supernatural. He had received his fair share of "on the job training" from several people, who later ended up becoming lifelong friends, both sharing similar stories of how they managed to get in the life. No one ever chose the hunting life. No one in their right mind would choose to forgo the normal pleasures of life, and dedicate themselves to hunting full-time.

Yet that was what Bobby Singer had done. He had done the job for as long as he could remember after that one night when he lost his wife. It had happened so suddenly that he hadn't even been sure that he was dealing with a demon, but rather, a woman who was on the brink of mental collapse after yet another fight over the state of their disagreement on children. When she had come at him, when she had tried to kill him, Bobby knew the woman he met and fell in love with, was not the same woman who stared back at him.

Killing her had been the single hardest task of his entire hunting career. Plunging the silver blade into her heart once she lunged at him, aiming to kill him, he had no choice but to helplessly watch as she struggled to breathe around the stab wound in her chest. Half afraid of what might happen to him if the police ever found out that he had murdered his own wife, he tried his best to explain her death in a way that would make some lick of sense to the EMTs. But he was crushed, mentally, and somewhat physically, and he knew that he had probably only aroused curiosity.

Through the grief that threatened to devour him whole, he could not control the growing urge to find the thing responsible for his wife's death, and kill it. Without having to be told, he knew the thing that was inside his wife, was not wife. He and Karen had many fights over her desire to have children, and his unwillingness to compromise on the issue. It wasn't that it was her fault for pushing him. He knew he could be a downright stubborn pain in the ass, who refused to open up and share what he went through in his childhood. Only a saint would be able to sit through that steaming pile of crap and emerge halfway sane.

Not that she didn't try to pry some kind of information out of him. Well-meaning comments here and there, but he always brushed them off and told her that he didn't like talking about his scarred childhood. He dealt with that enough in his dreams to last him a few lifetimes, and now he had his wife's murder and the mental imagery that decided to pay him nightly visits for the first several months after her death.

Rufus Turner was a good friend. Steady, reliable, and near just about saved the novice hunter from a mental breakdown in the early weeks after his wife was murdered. He not only ended up becoming one of Bobby's first mentors in the life, but even had the unforgivable task of telling the grieving man that his wife had been taken over by a demon. A demon. Bobby could remember his reaction as though it happened yesterday: Shock, followed by the obligatory punch to the face, some yelling, and then eventually, acceptance.

As if there was any acceptance of the fact that his wife had been killed by a supernatural evil that had found its way into their home. As if there was any geting around the fact that she had been out of her mind when she attacked him, and if he had known what to do, he might have been able to save her. The truth helped him to acknowledge the impossible idea about monsters and evil things, but it added a whole other layer of pain and devastation that hid itself in the drinking he became prone to after his first foray into the hunting world.

Rufus Turner was a good ally to have in the life, but he could not sit by Bobby's side for the rest of his life while he figured out the ins and outs of the hunting world. As he so politely reminded Bobby, "I have my own business to take care of. You're smart, you're capable-ish. You'll do fine." The vote of confidence did not help Bobby accept the fact that he was on his own for the first time since getting married, but it did make him want to prove Rufus right. He did want to learn how to take care of himself, and more importantly, arm himself against any future attacks.

Skilled in reading and always having a good eye for literature, the new hunter dived into whatever hunting lore he could get his hands on. Sometimes, it made no sense, and other times, it was as though he was getting a special glimpse into the thing that killed his wife. That was his goal: To find the monster responsible for the demise of his once happy life, and end it. Not that it was easy. He found that out when he followed a lead half-cocked, only to find out that it was a monster masquerading as the thing that killed his wife.

The thing. That was his "unofficial" nickname for the monster. It fit when he didn't have any other supernaturally correct terminology in which to refer to it as. What frustrated Bobby so much was that as useful as Rufus was in his first few months as a hunter, he was also clueless as to what could have had the desire to break into his home and murder his wife. Usually, demons had a pattern for what they did and why they did it, but this was proving to be a case that needed a little more thinking.

"Bobby," Rufus said one day, slamming a finished shot glass on the table. "Look, we've been dragging our asses to hell and gone lookin' for that thing that offed your wife. I don't have all the answers, but I do know someone who might."

Might, being the operative word. Bobby lived his days operating under the assumption of "might" and "maybe." It was the unspoken language in the hunting world. Nothing was ever for certain anymore, but Rufus's advice was the one thing that he found that he could rely on. When he didn't have the answers that Bobby wanted after so long of searching, he gave him the only lead that he could think of.

"A pastor?" Bobby read the name on the small business card with much doubt. "Rufus-"

"No, Bobby," Rufus shook his head, pausing to take another drink. "You gotta trust me on this one. Jim Murphy-" he pointed at the name with his index finger. "He's the real deal."

"And you know this how?" Bobby did not count himself as an expert in the supernatural by any means, yet he found it laughable that a pastor was a hunter.

"Because...he's helped me before on a few local cases. He's based out of Blue Earth."

And that was how Bobby Singer found himself driving through the freeway to reach this strange new place that he had never heard of before. And that was how he ended up meeting one of his first genuine friends in the hunting world. His earlier doubts about trusting a pastor with the details of his wife's death, vanished the second he met the warm-hearted man, and listened to his own grisly tale of losing his family.

Jim Murphy had a few years head start on him, and had already gained an impressive hunting library that was hidden in a special corner of his study behind a false wall. The volumes of lore that met his eye, was almost too much for the hunter's eyes to take in. Grabbing one particularly huge tome from the bookshelf, he dusted it off, and began to read through the confusing script with as much of a clear mind as he could muster.

After that, the two of them made it a point to stay in touch with each other. There was strength in numbers, and it was rare to find a real person in the hunting world that possessed a good heart. Bobby had yet to learn that lesson, but he knew that Jim Murphy must have already experienced all of that and more.

His connection to Jim Murphy was the reason he found himself embracing certain parts of the hunter's life that he never thought he would find himself getting tangled up in once he began hunting. One of those parts was having to contend with the fact that Jim sometimes made friends with the wrong type of hunters, the ones who would either end up becoming a danger to themselves or others, or the ones who grossly overestimated how good they were.

John Winchester fell into the latter category, and though Bobby had only met him a few times, he was not surprised to learn that he had gone missing on a hunt he had no business getting tangled up in in the first place. What did surprise him was that he had left his two sons in the hands of Jim Murphy, and had neglected to even grace them with a phone call. That was not altogether unusual, but it was unusual that John would be gone for that long.

Try as he might, Bobby Singer could not help but feel sympathy for the two kids John had left behind. They were nice enough for snot-nosed brats, and the oldest one seemed to dote on the younger one, who appeared to follow his older brother wherever he went. The devotion was born out of their shared trauma of losing their mother, and also going on the road with their father.

Bobby knew that the hunting life was no place for youngsters. It was hardly the place for able adults to be, much less children, but his hands were pretty well tied with how much he was able to say to their determined father. Not that he didn't say something when it came to mind, but now he only found himself shaking his head in disbelief at the nightmare that had befallen the Winchester family. He had gotten the call from Caleb that he had found the sulfur in the victim's blood, and also the violence in which the spirit attacked the victim.

A mother bear on steroids. Of course John would choose that type of hunt to get himself tangled up with. A gravare was not something to mess with unless that particular hunter was highly experienced and knew what to expect. John was neither of those things. He thought that it was a typical spirit that he could salt and burn, but Bobby knew better than that. These things did not go gently into the night without some special wrangling.

Sitting with his legs propped up, Bobby tried to ignore the thoughts in his brain as he slowly turned the pages of the volume he was reading. There had been instances where he had seen a victim with sulfur in his blood, but those instances were extremely uncommon. It had to have been the work of a majorly ticked off demon that wanted to either make a point, or use it for another angle. Stifling a yawn, he took a deep gulp of his whiskey. Hunting did not do anything to help with sleep.

It just made it worse. Especially when most hunters seemed to think they had the right to call him at all hours of the night for important lore information. Bobby had half a mind to tell them to find their own encyclopedia, and often did convey that information when they caught him in an especially bad mood. Now, he was just worried. If John had stumbled upon a supernatural mecca, the odds of him finding his way out alive, were slim. Most hunters had a hard time with navigating cases like this, let alone a novice like John.

Sighing deeply when the phone rang in the kitchen, he put the heavy book down, and walked as slowly as he could. Maybe if he didn't answer the first time, whoever was calling, would get the message that he did not want to function as a human bookworm, and leave him be. Disappointed when the ringing did not stop once he reached the kitchen, he grunted his disapproval of being interrupted from his research into John's idiotic case, and picked up the phone.

"What?" His tone should have communicated his displeasure at being taken away from his work. At least he hoped his tone said all that.

"Bobby." It was Jim. Immediately, Bobby knew there was something wrong. The pastor was always calm, but this transcended calm and went into numbness. There was never a good reason for him to sound like that, and it made the hairs on Bobby's neck stand up.

"You or Caleb manage to dig anything up?"

It was obvious they had. The only question he had was what. His mind was already preparing for the information he was about to receive. When he began hunting, Bobby found that his ability to recall certain things, was much better than it had been before the tragedy.

"Yeah, we did. Or Caleb did, anyway." There was no mistaking the rough edge to Jim's voice that had not been there the last time they spoke about the case.

"And?" Bobby demanded, shaking his head in irritation. "Spit it out."

There was nothing but silence on the other end of the line where Jim was. Bobby thought, when he listened closely, that he could hear the muffled sound of Dean talking to Jim. Or maybe he was talking to his brother. Bobby wasn't sure, but he guessed that was the reason for the sudden silence. The guys did not want to convey any information to Dean without being certain of its truthfulness. The poor boy had already been through enough.

"Sorry, Bobby," Jim apologized. "Dean needed help with something."

"It's fine. How is he doing, anyway?"

"Depends on the day. Today was okay. I took them to the play land for a little while. I talked to Caleb there, Bobby."

Bobby leaned against the wall. "And?"

Jim sighed. "You need to get here, Bobby. John's gone."

Bobby's heart sped up, and he could feel sweat start to gather around the base of his neck. He knew what Jim was implying. The meaning was ridiculously clear, but his mind somehow was able to keep him from fully understanding what Jim was saying. There was no way that the hunter was gone in the permanent sense. No way that his children had just lost their father.

"He's gone?"

"Bobby...John's dead."

"What do you mean he's dead?"

Jim paused, clearly thinking how best to rephrase the question so Bobby would understand it. The hunter did understand. That was the problem. John had gone off and gotten himself killed by the spirit he was hunting, and had left his two sons in the process. Bobby thought he was a generally calm and reasoning person, but there was no reasoning something like that.

"Caleb didn't say much, Bobby, but he found him. He has some information, some evidence to go over when he gets back. I think you need to be on this with us."

Bobby nodded to himself; there was no way he would miss taking a trip to Minnesota to see the boys, and also help in the quest for answers as to what happened. What had started as a search and rescue mission, had now turned into a desperate search for answers. If Caleb had managed to get any evidence, forensic or otherwise, before the police got there, he knew that would be information they would need.

He was already calculating in his mind how long he could be gone from his salvage yard before the locals started talking. He was somewhat of a recluse, but that did not stop the charming old ladies from spoiling him rotten with their freshly baked pies, and other home goodies.

"I'll be there, Jim." Bobby stepped away from the wall phone, extending the cord as far as it would go as he grabbed a few things to pack in a travel bag. "Have you told the boys yet?"

He did not envy anyone the task of telling Dean that his father was gone. The boy was close to his father, and had been wondering where he had disappeared to. Hearing that he was never coming home, would be bound to have an impact on the child that would last a long time. Beyond the shock Bobby could feel coursing through his body, he could also feel anger that two young boys had become orphans to that cruel world.

"I haven't told them yet. I'm waiting for Caleb. I think he might be able to help me with it."

"Okay, just hang tight. I'm coming as fast as I can."

And that was how Bobby found himself packing as much as he could in as little time as he could. Ever since he started hunting, he had become used to packing as much as he could, while also keeping in mind how much time he had. With something like this, he knew he had to make it there as quickly as he could. Caleb would hightail it back to Jim's place, and Bobby knew they needed help decoding whatever evidence Caleb had scrounged up.

With a salvage yard as his backyard, there was no shortage of pieces of crap cars to choose from. Selecting one he knew would run, Bobby slid into the seat, and prayed that the car would hold up long enough to get him to Minnesota. The roar of the engine and the weak sputter of the motor was a welcome reprieve from the silence that had settled over him. It gave him a break from his thoughts to focus on keeping the car going down the freeway.

Minnesota wasn't far-only a few hours-giving him a perfect window to formulate a plan once he got there. He knew that Dean would be curious, wondering why his uncle Bobby was there when he only ever saw him during the times no one else could watch him. Knowing Dean, he had already picked up on the tension from Jim, and the way he was acting. Dean was one of those kids who observed everything around him, but in a much quieter way than most kids his age.

Bobby wondered what was going through his mind, if anything at all. Once again, he felt a flash of anger at John for the way he had gone on this hunt without any backup. He knew that he loved his sons more than anything, but he also knew that his drive for revenge had done a number on his judgement. No sane father would leave two young boys alone for days at a time without adequate supervision. Yet, John had done it. Numerous times. It made no sense.

Filling the rest of the drive with a classic rock station, Bobby hoped the jarring music would be enough to keep his thoughts from sneaking up on him. He preferred not to dwell on what he could not change. And he could not change the sad reality that John Winchester was dead, and his two boys had lost both parents now. Drumming his fingers on the steering wheel, he kept his eye out for anything that might grab his attention. It paid to be observant in the life. It could mean the difference between life and death.

Grateful when he passed through the Minnesota state lines, he felt himself visibly relax when he knew that it would not be long before he reached the sleepy town of Blue Earth. As funny as the name was to him, the town was also a safe haven for Jim, and now for the boys. There was hardly anything that warranted attention, and no supernatural activity since Jim had cleared a vampire nest years back.

Driving through the towns, he took a deep breath as he prepared himself to face the situation that he was about to walk into. Jim was trying to keep everything normal for the boys, but Bobby wondered how long they could keep that facade up without telling Dean. The child needed to know the truth, and Bobby knew that Jim and Caleb would be the ideal ones to break the news to him. Scrubbing a hand over his face, he drove past the sign welcoming him to Blue Earth.

Jim's house was right past the sign, down a couple streets, and then was the first house on a quiet street that mainly consisted of young couples just starting out, and the occasional big family that had settled down there. Beyond the neighborhood, Bobby could see just a tiny sliver of Jim's church.

Jim met him at the front door before he even had a chance to knock. His normally smiling face was devoid of that, and was instead replaced with a hard edge to it that Bobby had seldom seem in the hunter. Giving him a grim shake of his head, Bobby allowed the man to lead him inside the house. Everything was quiet, except for the TV that was blaring in the living room. One second of listening told Bobby that Dean was watching a cartoon.

"Thank you for coming," Jim said, pulling out a chair for Bobby to sit in.

"Don't be stupid."

Jim smiled, though it was strained. "You want some coffee? I have some made."

"You got anything stronger?" Bobby inquired with a grimace.

Jim nodded silently, before getting up to get him the requested booze. Looking around the kitchen/dining room that he was in, it was not hard to see that Jim had done his best to make it a home. There was nothing concerning research, cases, or anything of the like. Jim mainly kept those kinds of things in his office where prying eyes could not get to them.

When Jim returned with the booze, Bobby gratefully took a long pull from it. It burned his throat as it traveled down. Just as he liked it. Focusing on the hunter sitting across from him, he could feel the pain and confusion that was coloring Jim's attitude. It was foreign to Bobby. He had only ever seen a positive and kind man who had somehow found himself in this life.

"Is it my fault?" Jim asked, shaking his head.

"John?"

Jim nodded. "I gave him the information for the hunt. Everything I had-everything-told me that it was a simple haunting. John's handled those cases before. I didn't know-"

"Stop." Bobby shook his head. "I want to throttle you for sending him out there, but it is not your fault. Even if you had told him it was the most dangerously stupid thing he could do, we both know he would have still gone."

Jim shrugged one shoulder. "I guess."

Bobby straightened up in his chair. "What did Caleb say? Anything?"

Jim nodded, taking a deep breath. "He said there was a lot of evidence at the scene. He took pictures, I know that."

Bobby nodded. "Was there sulfur?"

Jim shook his head. "Not that I know. His body was just torn up from whatever got to him."

"The Gravare."

Caleb arrived there several hours after Bobby arrived. The younger hunter was usually like Jim, positive in all things, but this discovery had taken a toll on both of them. Sitting with his hands steepled under his chin, Bobby waited while Caleb set up the vast amount of research he had taken from the scene where he found John. It still sent a chill up Bobby's spine when he thought of John actually being dead. It made no sense to his mind.

"Where did you fid him?" Bobby asked, once Caleb had finally sat down.

"It was right along that same route, just a few miles up the road." Caleb visually showed the location with his two hands.

"So he was right there all along," Jim murmured, shaking his head.

Caleb nodded. "Yeah. I missed him the first few times I went there."

Jim shook his head. "It was an easy miss. If you had been just a few miles up the road, you would have found him earlier."

Caleb nodded. "Maybe."

Bobby cleared his throat. "What condition was...was his body in?"

This was no "normal" investigation of a supernatural death. This was a friend of theirs who had just lost his life to the supernatural. It was hard to remain professional about something like this when so much was at stake. Holding his breath while Caleb picked up a folder, he tried to lecture his mind to treat this as any other job. Anything else would cloud his ability to assist in the research part of this thing.

When Caleb slid the photos out of the folder and passed one to Bobby and one to Jim, he tried to prepare for the inevitable reaction that he knew would want to crawl its way to the surface. Taking a deep gulp of air, he finally forced himself to look at the shape the body was in when it was discovered. At first glance, there was nothing outwardly wrong with his face, but it was further down that Bobby noticed the brutality in which John had been murdered.

His chest resembled ribbons, and his stomach was viciously cut open with what looked like claw marks from something. Even for someone who had been hunting for as long as he had, and had seen just about everything, this was almost too much for Bobby to take in. Forcing himslf to keep looking, he noted the position his body was in, and the strange configuration of the cuts.

"They look...they look sloppy...but also precise," Jim muttered, narrowing his eyes.

"Well," Bobby said, rubbing at his eyes. "These spirits, they're in so much pain that they just lash out at whoever gets in their way. Usually, the object of their wrath is the person who did whatever they did to the child, but John got in the way of that, and he paid for it."

Caleb shook his head, his eyes were red. "The amount of blood that was there...it was obvious that he had tried to get away before he went down."

That sounded like John. A fighter right until the ugly end.

"What-"

They were distracted by the tiny sound of feet scrambling into the kitchen. Almost grateful they had a reason to take a temporary pause on their discussion, Bobby turned and saw Dean skidding into the kitchen, followed by a very enthusiastic Sam. The two boys were clearly racing each other, judging from the way that Dean smiled when Sam couldn't keep up as well as he thought he could.

The hardwood flooring made it hard to continue the race, but that seemed to be okay for Dean when he noticed Caleb sitting at the table. From the beginning, Dean had formed his strongest bond with Jim and especially with Caleb. It had been awhile since he had seen the younger hunter, but it was almost as though no time had passed between them.

"Caleb!" Dean smiled, before positioning himself in Caleb's lap. "Where have you been?" Dean's smile turned into a frown as he pondered the mystery of where Caleb had been.

Caleb smiled, though Bobby could tell it took everything he had. "I'm sorry, bud." He held the boy close, wrapping his arms around him. "I just had to do a grown-up job for awhile."

Dean turned his head curiously. "What kind of job?" While he waited for his answer, Dean played with the sunglasses Caleb had fitted over his head.

"A very serious one," Caleb assured him, grinning a genuine one this time, before teasingly plopping the oversized sunglasses on Dean's face.

While Caleb played with Dean, Bobby discreetly slid the gruesome crime scene photos away from where Dean would be able to see them. There would be no going back from the child seeing something like that. The break in their talk gave Jim the chance to attent to Sam, who was busy fussing and pointing to the food pantry where he knew Jim kept all the good foods.

Dean, meanwhile, was completely distracted from his previous worry over where his friend had been, and was focused with trying to keep Caleb's glasses on his head. He failed, but he did not let that stop him from enjoying the time he had with his Dad's friend.

"Did you see Daddy?" Dean asked hopefully, his eyes lighting up with hopeful anticipation.

Caleb hesitated, before shaking his head. "No, bud. Not this time."

Dean's face fell. "Oh. Okay."

Bobby was relieved when Dean dropped the question, and instead focused on catching up with Caleb, and informing him of what he had missed with Sam's development. According to Dean, Sam had learned to firmly recite the word, "No!" It was nice not to have to worry about what they would tell Dean right then, because Bobby knew there was no firm plan set. For right then, he knew that Dean could enjoy more precious time of innocence before his world was shattered.

AN: After another LOOOOOONG bout with Writers Block, here is the new chapter for Missing. I enjoyed writing from Bobby's perspective very much.