#daddy!bobby

Sitting on the kitchen counter, You watch Bob prepare lunch for the both of you, you're idly swinging your legs from your position atop one of the counters next to him, chomping on a slice of apple that he gave to you, swinging your legs a little harder, your heels hitting the wood of the cupboard below you. Bobby stops what he's doing and waits for a moment, giving you time to stop your actions yourself, when you don't, he resumes his preparation, chopping up vegetables, not looking at you as he speaks

“No more of that please, sweetheart.” He hums, but his request falls on deaf ears as you continue striking the cupboard door with your feet. Bobby glances up at you, feeling his patience beginning to wear now that he knows you're outright disobeying a simple ask.

“Darling. Stop.” He uses a clear, slow voice, waiting for you to finally listen and behave.

You look up at him with big, innocent eyes, your feet slowly coming to a stop, wiggling them up and down instead of hitting the door. You huff to yourself quietly, feeling that familiar prick of mischief come over you, watching him carefully to see how much you think you could get away with, you wait for him to turn around and focus on cooking before swinging your feet back to bang the door once more. But instead of a telling off or raised voice, this time you're met with a stern stare and a firm tap to the side of your thigh, strong enough to startle you but not hurt, leaving a warming sting on the affected skin for a few seconds.

“Uncle John?” I squeaked. It was quiet; the boys were outside loading up the Impala for the hunt that I'd already finished. “Yeah, doll?” He didn’t look up from the journal page he was filling in, but his mouth did lift up at the side. I suppose my familial name for him made him happy in some way. He wasn't biologically my Uncle, much like Bobby wasn't biologically my Dad, but I’d been with Bobby since I was little and when I started showing an interest in the physical side of hunting, it had been natural to ride along with John and the boys. Every muscle was tense, almost shaking, as I tried to think of how best to say it, my lungs struggling to expand more from fear than the pain of my ribs. I focused on keeping my hand from shaking as I pulled a chair out next to him and sat down. It was better to not have my knees knocking during this. “I...uh” It was like cranking a lever, trying to finally get the words out, and when they finally came they poured out in a stream so fast I had no control over it: “I know you told me not to, but I wanted to show you I could, I killed the werewolf, but not before he could get the woman he’d taken. She was between us, and he must have thought I'd back off, but I didn't and he, well, I thought he was turning her but he’d killed her when I… but I killed it, Uncle John. I killed him. There's no more werewolf. I ganked the bas…” I let myself trail off, watching his hands anxiously. He'd stopped breathing, but the real tension was in his clenching fist, the fingers snapping the pencil he had been writing with. When I gathered the courage to look at his face, I found his eyes boring holes into me. “I'm sorry.” I added, like it’d make up for everything, like those two words would stop the red climbing up his neck and into his face. “You what?” John’s voice was deadly quiet. I was frozen. He seemed to be waiting for my response. He was breathing again, which was a good sign, and he'd lowered the pencil shrapnel to the table. But his fingers were still clenched into fists and I could tell he was struggling to maintain his composure. “I killed the werewolf last night when you and--” John pushed up from the table, his chair exploding out from under him and rocketing back, crashing against the wall and clattering to the floor. I flung myself out of my chair as well, quickly grabbing at my side as my ribs screamed from the quick movement. John saw it and reached across the table, grabbing at my shirt and lifting before I could pull away. He clearly saw the black and blue and purple, the scratches and the angry welt that was right over two of my ribs. I pulled away from him and backed up towards the door. “What the fuck were you thinking? Or were you thinking at all? You got an innocent person killed. You got your damn ribs broken. You could have been bitten or killed!” He took a deep breath and made an effort to calm himself. “You defied a direct order. Seriously. Tell me. What. Were. You. Thinking?” He wasn’t yelling anymore--but this quiet harsh intensity was worse. I stared on, unsure if he actually wanted me to say something or if he was testing me. At that moment, I wanted nothing more from life than to sink through the floor. Anything to escape John's angry stare, forcing me to think about what had happened--what I had let happen. The victim's blue eyes flashed in front of me again, the way I knew they would for the rest of my life. Somehow, John's gaze was worse, more personal. I might learn to live with the guilt. But his disappointment...I doubted I'd ever be able to recover from that. “Get out.” John said quietly. Was this a test? If I left, could I return? Get out for now? Or forever? What did he- “Leave!” John roared, hurling the bottle at the wall nearby. Beer and shards of glass rained over my bare arm and spattered against my jeans. I felt the tears start behind my eyes and rushed out the door before John could see. Sam and Dean were outside, having stopped what they were doing to head in, probably at the noise John was making. I couldn’t hide the tears streaming down my cheeks from them, but I didn’t have to stay and deal with it either.

I grabbed for the keys in my pocket and wrenched open the door of my buggy. The tears in my eyes made it difficult to place the key in the ignition, but finally it slid in, and I sputtered the old thing to life, tearing out of the driveway as fast as it could go. These weren't sad tears. I was fuming. I was angry at myself for being stupid enough to think I could do the job, for killing a human, for not listening when John told me I couldn't handle it, for not obeying Dad and keeping my promise to be smart with the Winchesters, for showing weakness and running away...Hell, I was even angry for confessing to Uncle John. At that moment, there wasn’t much I wasn’t angry about in this world and this life that I had chosen.

Dean’s stride was long as he started his storm towards the front door, but Sam caught his shoulder. “You go, I’ll deal with Dad.” Sam instructed his older brother. “No, Sam, you heard Dad. He’s ripe for another screaming match and if you go in there-” Dean tried, but Sam ignored his brother’s protests. “It’ll be fine, Dean, go find YNN.” Sam said before entering the room and slamming the door shut behind him. Dean threw in the duffel he was still holding and rounded the Impala. With one foot in the well of the drivers side, he listened to the shouting begin. “Oh come on, Dad!” Even though Sam was nineteen, his voice cracked as he yelled at their father. “Don't you start, Sam.” John yelled back. Dean had heard this all before, no point listening for the rest. He took off after the buggy, knowing YN’d pull over eventually to shed all her tears and maybe a few bullets, before continuing.

Sure enough, the blue buggy was pulled off to the side of the road, the fields fence dipped where someone had held it down to climb over and the distant boom of a gun and echoing profanities could be heard. Dean waited on the front of his car until he could see YN in the distance, the moon catching in her silvery-blonde hair. She was clutching at her ribs and almost limping as she crossed the recently dredged dirt. “Rough fight?” Dean called out to her, sliding off the bonnet and walking toward the fence. “You should see the other guy.” She waited till she was closer to respond, but her voice was hoarse, and her smile was forced. “What happened?” Dean asked, pushing the fence lower and offering his hand as she clambered over. “I fucked up big time, Dean.” She confessed, staring up at him. Her big round eyes were bloodshot and the small catch of breath gave away that she'd been crying. “We all have, kiddo.” Dean said, walking her back towards the Impala and patting the bonnet, helping her up to take a seat.

“YN’s just flown out of here in tears. What happened?” Sam asked his Dad after shutting the door a little too harshly. “She thought she could take on a werewolf and instead she cost a civilian her life.” John answered matter-of-factly, already righting the chair that he had sent flying earlier. “Oh come on, Dad!” It was almost an accusation as Sam cast his hands through his shaggy hair. “Don't you start, Sam.” John warned, slamming his fist onto the table. “Start what, Dad? You don't let YNN do anything! What did you think was gonna happen?” Sam yelled, though he was still a little shorter than his father, and a lot lighter, he could be just as menacing. “I thought she'd listen!” John roared again. His temper flaring just as quickly as it had dropped. “Listen to what? Your constant put downs?” “She’s not ready for any of this!” John bellowed. “Is that why she ganked a werewolf by herself? She’s younger than Dean was when he--” Sam tried but John wasn't willing to listen. “And got an innocent killed!” “All she wants to do is impress you! If you didn't set such a high bar,” “High bar? She just came in and-” “She just came in to tell you the truth, and you fed her to the wolves!” Sam was too angry  to realize that his wording had managed to shut John up. “She tried to talk to you last night. Hell, she’s tried to talk to you about this for ages--you bring her along on hunts, say you’re training her, but always leave her in the car or stick her doing clean up detail. She’s smart, and strong, and so damn ready to impress you. And all you do is ignore her. She went out on this hunt on her own--and then told you about it afterward, even though things didn’t go right. Do you know how much courage that would've taken? She could have just not said anything--we’d have never known that she was there and was responsible for that woman’s death--we’d have blamed the wolf, and you know it!” Sam took in a deep breath, his eyes burning with emotion. “Maybe you can’t see it, Dad, but she’s a hell of a lot more ready for this than you give her credit for. It’s not her fault you don’t trust anyone to make decisions for themselves, to lead their own lives.” Sam waited, but John just stood there, looking at his youngest son as if he didn’t recognize him. After a minute, Sam sighed, rolled his eyes, and went back outside to get some air, leaving his father alone.

“So what's the play?” Dean asked, watching as I lifted the hem of my shirt and wiped my nose. “What do you think I should do?” I asked, looking at the young hunter who reminded me so much of John...just not as jaded or set in his ways. “Well…” Dean leaned back on his hands, lost in thought. “The way I see it, you can either, one,” Dean sat forward and counted on his fingers, “go back to Bobby’s, hang it all up and answer phones like your old man. Or two, suck it up and come back with me. Face the music.” Dean explained, watching as I weighed the pros and cons of the forked path. “I want to hunt, but…” My nose twitched and my lips pulled to the side, a habit I’d had since before I could remember. “I wanna see Dad,” I was aware that I probably sounded like a bratty teenager, I suppose I still was, one more year, though. Dean smiled and pulled me under his arm, resting his chin on the top of my head. The real reason I wasn’t already leaving was because of moments like this. With Dean. I’d miss my best friend, Sam, as well, but Dean made it extra tough to leave. His fingers gently grazed back and forth along the hairline at my temple, his lips pressed in my hair. I wanted those lips against mine. But I’m sure he only saw me as his little cousin. “Dean?” I asked, ducking from under his jaw and looking up at him. Dammit those green eyes made it hard to think. “Yeah, sweetheart?” He murmured, seemingly in a hypnotic trance as he licked his lips. Thoughts of his plump, wet, lips pressed against mine were making it hard to tell what I really wanted. “I wanna go home.” I whispered. There it was. The truth. “YNN?” Dean leaned forward, a miniscule movement but to me it was a flashing neon sign. My cheeks were flushed and I was overly aware of my sweaty palms and suddenly sure I had turned beet red, but good god there was that tongue again. I mirrored his movement, my head tilting towards his. Maybe if I offered the opportunity, I wouldn’t be the fool that made a pass that wasn’t-- And then he was kissing me. His lips were warm and wet, but not sloppy. It was better than I could’ve ever dreamed. His breath was warm as it caressed my face when we broke apart. “I’m sorry, I didn’t-” Dean tried, but I wanted him to shut up. I wanted his lips back on mine. I closed the distance and kissed him this time, opening to him when his tongue darted across my bottom lip.

“You alright?” Sam asked, standing up from his seat on the gutter as I got out of my small bug. “Yeah, thanks Sammy. Sorry I left you with him in such a bad mood.” And I was. Poor Sam had been dealing with Marine Corporal John Winchester while Dean and I made out. “You and Dean talk?” He asked as we both watched the Impala pull into the overgrown driveway When he saw my blush his eyebrows waggled. “Oh, so you finally got that off you chest, huh? Feel better now?” “How about you? Did you tell John your big secret?” I shot back. I didn’t mean for it to come out defensively, but at least it wiped the smirk off his face and stopped him thinking about Dean and me. “Dad not here?” Dean called out, making me look around as well. John’s truck wasn’t there. “Went for a beer.” Sam said as we joined Dean on the run-down porch. I studied Sam quickly to make sure he was okay after my verbal jab, then followed Dean inside to grab my things.

“Well, I’ll see you around.” I looked between the boys, standing awkwardly in front of them, one hand tucked into my back pocket as the other cradled my throbbing side. My bags were packed and already in the car, Bobby knew the story and I’m sure I’d get a lecture when I got home. Dean moved first, pulling me into a hug, careful of my ribs. “See you soon.” He whispered, giving my cheek a lingering kiss. I could feel my cheeks grow warm, and the thought of seeing Dean sooner rather than later made me giddy. But it was over all too soon and Dean dropped his arms and stepped back. I turned to Sam, giving him a tight hug. “Tell them.” It was quieter than a whisper. I waited for him to nod before I gave his back a pat and released him. “Take care of yourselves.” I instructed while climbing into the car, both Winchesters nodding and smiling as they raised their hands in farewell.

The brothers watched her take off and turned to see John pull up. “Was that YN?” John called to his boys as he closed his door and walked towards them. “She said sorry to leave without saying goodbye. She just wanted to get back to Bobby.” Dean half lied. John nodded and the two men started towards the abandoned house that had served as base for this hunt. Sam watched as Y/N’s tail lights disappeared into the distance and turned to find he was standing on the drive by himself. Now was the moment. He knew he couldn’t wait much longer, and since the hunt was officially over, he could finally share his wonderful news. Sam bounded up the steps, taking them two at a time and looked into the empty rooms, looking for his family. “Dad? Dean?” Sam called, finally finding the two older Winchesters sitting in the dusty dining room laughing and smiling. They both looked up from the dining table where they were cleaning out the molds they had used last night to make new silver bullets. “What’s up, Sammy?” Dean asked, watching as his brother fished a piece of paper from his back pocket and unfolded it, placing it on the table between Dean and his father. “What’s that?” Dean asked when John picked up the paper, looking over it. Sam watched on anxiously as his Dad’s eyes darted back and forth over the document. “An acceptance letter. I got in...with a full ride scholarship.” He replied excitedly. Dean snatched up the paper from where John had let it fall from his hands. Sam stood a little straighter and smiled, his chest swelling with pride. “I’m going to Stanford.”

Please reblog and give me your thoughts, I’m dying to hear what you think. Again, thanks to Angel, a wonderful friend and beta. Let me know if you want to be added to tags. None of the gifs I use are my own, credit to the creators.