Tough Love ✔️

Baking Pies For The Guys

You stayed with Bobby for a week, helping out with all the things that needed to be done that the guy couldn't or wouldn't get around to - for example, Bobby couldn't dust for the life of him. And with all the spare time on your hands, you tried looking for another case to take on - sheesh, the need to go out and slay some supernatural son of a gun was overwhelming - but Bobby being Bobby looking out for you like the stand in father figure had other ideas at your self preservation.

"C'mon, Bobby," you whined slightly, trying to prove your point, "I can do a solo hunt, I just -,"

Then you remembered. That wasn't a solo hunt. You joined up with the Winchester boys. Damn, you thought. Just lost some right to go and kill stuff myself.

"Uh-uh, _______," Bobby sassed, putting the loaded pistol down in the desk's draw where he sat behind. "Give yourself a little more time. Study up on the exorcism ritual, read about wendigos and Djinn's." he gave a look that through his scraggly beard was awfully like a bitchface. "Just don't go out and gank one before you know what you're slaying!"

You agreed to his terms - despite his outrageous accent and ideals about saving the world, Bobby was a good person, and you respected that.

Eight hours later you were still sitting on the windowsill, the mound of books around you growing larger every sixty minutes passing. You'd read up on the lore of Paegan Gods and werewolves and wendigos and shape shifters and demons and, to Bobby's derision, angels, which he hadn't seen any proof of yet.

Just as your right foot became numb from the way you were sitting on it, you heard the sound of a car engine and the scrape of dirt under wheels.

Visitors.

You turned slightly, looking out the pane of the window you were seated in front of and a smile tugged on your lips.

Winchester's.

"Bobby?" you called out, "those boys are here!"

You heard the grumpy mumblings slip from his mouth before he entered the room, but as soon as Bobby saw the black Impala a wry grin was visible under his scraggly facial hair.

He was out to greet them at the doorstep in minutes. You could hear the shared conversation without moving - they spoke deep and loudly.

"I can see you boys didn't die last hunt," Bobby started, "how're you? You boys want a beer or something?"

"This isn't a long stop, we just came for some advice on," you heard Sam Winchester say, but the next words you couldn't hear because it was whispered. "You know how it is."

You got up from your perch and hobbled with your numb foot to the front door. There they were - the Winchesters. Sam and Dean. From what Bobby let you know, their dad, John Winchester had died only recently, and left the 'family business' to his sons.

You would never do that to a person, you decided. You'd never leave the world in someone's hands, on their shoulders. You'd never make a person tremble with the responsibility.

Sam, standing tall with his height in plaid was beside his brother, in that gorgeous leather jacket of his.

Then they saw you, "______, wasn't it?" Sam frowned quizzically.

You nodded, and moved toward the group. "Yeah, that's me. How you both going? Want to come in?" you already knew the answer from what you overheard.

"No, sorry ..." Dean smiled sympathetically.

"I got bored yesterday," you prefaced, "and I baked. A lot. Too much for Bobby and I to get through."

Bobby snorted, remembering. "She made like, eight pies. For no reason."

An eyebrow of Dean's shot up, and it was already seen by his brother when he said, "time off won't hurt anyone, would it?"

Bobby nodded. "Want that beer now?"

Sam nodded for his brother who had already come inside. "Yeah, I'm guessing so."