fic: don't know how things got so tangled
rating: g
character(s): bobby-centric; it may seem like it but there is absolutely no implied destiel.
summary: There came a time when Bobby had to suck it up and write about the angels, because sometimes there are things that need to be done.
beta: the absolutely lovely sailoreyes67
wordcount: 593
a/n: this is the original version i wrote for kamikazeremix, but it was too short ): the extended version can be found here, but i like this one better.
don’t know how things got so tangled
Things changed after the Apocalypse.
Hunters were no longer strictly solitary. More groups cropped up; information was shared freely-hell, it was even posted on the Internet. There’d been a Swedish ex-hunter who had painstakingly digitalized her extensive collection of books-scanned and rescanned and annotated and catalogued just to help hunters from around the world. The overwhelming response that followed may not have been on the Internet (IP tracing is a dangerous thing) but the lovely Margit had received an outpouring of thanks in the form of letters, protective charms, hex bags, and the like delivered to her home. She’d publicly posted a thank-you, and subsequently several more hunters had followed in her footsteps, sending their own troves of knowledge into the world.
Not that there hadn’t been information online before, but now there was an entire database for the whole damn world to see. Quite frankly, Bobby was pretty shocked there hadn’t been a panic of any sort, but apparently several authors had written about vampires and werewolves, making the whole ‘saving people, hunting things’ spiel a lot easier to swallow.
He’d been thinking about adding his own information for a long time (‘why feed the monster’, he’d protested-funny how the Apocalypse changes peoples’ minds) but every time he got around to posting something online, he’d found that someone else had beaten him to the punch, and Bobby knew it’d be useless to even try to chip in. There were too many people in the world and not nearly enough information to go around.
{+++}
Sam and Dean always asked him for help during their hunts because the two idjits often had their heads stuck so far up their asses that they couldn’t see which way was up and which was down.
Of course, Bobby helped them. He used to pore through dusty old tomes and translate ancient languages and rifle through index after index so they could live to argue another day.
The database made it easier, yes, but the surplus of information on monsters meant that sometimes Bobby had to choose between two very possible monsters before realizing that they were two different names for the same creature.
At this point he’d make a neutral comment suggesting that the articles be merged and brace himself for the inevitable backlash and weeklong debates that would occur. He’d have to brave the disgruntled authors who insisted that the monsters were completely different and the book-reading supremacists who complained that ‘conjecture is not canon’ and avoid the computer in general for a few days while the really weird people tried to triangulate his position so they could invite him to their ‘conventions’ or whatnot. Crazies, the lot of them.
Sometimes he wished for simpler times when the only thing he had to worry about was making sure he came back home to Karen.
{+++}
There came a time where Bobby had to suck it up and write about the angels, because sometimes there are things that need to be done.
Angels, he typed, Dickheads in human bodies with no real emotion and the illusion of self-importance. Utter assholes.
After a moment’s pause, Bobby frowned and shook his head at his screen. Unfortunately, he’d have to do better than that.
{+++}
“Jesus fuck.”
Grabbing a beer, Dean closed the refrigerator door. “What, Sammy?”
“Bobby posted about you and Cass. Online.”
Dean rushed over to the laptop and read about his first meeting with Castiel (in alarming detail). He nearly spit his drink out.
“Jesus fuck.”
character(s): bobby-centric; it may seem like it but there is absolutely no implied destiel.
summary: There came a time when Bobby had to suck it up and write about the angels, because sometimes there are things that need to be done.
beta: the absolutely lovely sailoreyes67
wordcount: 593
a/n: this is the original version i wrote for kamikazeremix, but it was too short ): the extended version can be found here, but i like this one better.
don’t know how things got so tangled
Things changed after the Apocalypse.
Hunters were no longer strictly solitary. More groups cropped up; information was shared freely-hell, it was even posted on the Internet. There’d been a Swedish ex-hunter who had painstakingly digitalized her extensive collection of books-scanned and rescanned and annotated and catalogued just to help hunters from around the world. The overwhelming response that followed may not have been on the Internet (IP tracing is a dangerous thing) but the lovely Margit had received an outpouring of thanks in the form of letters, protective charms, hex bags, and the like delivered to her home. She’d publicly posted a thank-you, and subsequently several more hunters had followed in her footsteps, sending their own troves of knowledge into the world.
Not that there hadn’t been information online before, but now there was an entire database for the whole damn world to see. Quite frankly, Bobby was pretty shocked there hadn’t been a panic of any sort, but apparently several authors had written about vampires and werewolves, making the whole ‘saving people, hunting things’ spiel a lot easier to swallow.
He’d been thinking about adding his own information for a long time (‘why feed the monster’, he’d protested-funny how the Apocalypse changes peoples’ minds) but every time he got around to posting something online, he’d found that someone else had beaten him to the punch, and Bobby knew it’d be useless to even try to chip in. There were too many people in the world and not nearly enough information to go around.
{+++}
Sam and Dean always asked him for help during their hunts because the two idjits often had their heads stuck so far up their asses that they couldn’t see which way was up and which was down.
Of course, Bobby helped them. He used to pore through dusty old tomes and translate ancient languages and rifle through index after index so they could live to argue another day.
The database made it easier, yes, but the surplus of information on monsters meant that sometimes Bobby had to choose between two very possible monsters before realizing that they were two different names for the same creature.
At this point he’d make a neutral comment suggesting that the articles be merged and brace himself for the inevitable backlash and weeklong debates that would occur. He’d have to brave the disgruntled authors who insisted that the monsters were completely different and the book-reading supremacists who complained that ‘conjecture is not canon’ and avoid the computer in general for a few days while the really weird people tried to triangulate his position so they could invite him to their ‘conventions’ or whatnot. Crazies, the lot of them.
Sometimes he wished for simpler times when the only thing he had to worry about was making sure he came back home to Karen.
{+++}
There came a time where Bobby had to suck it up and write about the angels, because sometimes there are things that need to be done.
Angels, he typed, Dickheads in human bodies with no real emotion and the illusion of self-importance. Utter assholes.
After a moment’s pause, Bobby frowned and shook his head at his screen. Unfortunately, he’d have to do better than that.
{+++}
“Jesus fuck.”
Grabbing a beer, Dean closed the refrigerator door. “What, Sammy?”
“Bobby posted about you and Cass. Online.”
Dean rushed over to the laptop and read about his first meeting with Castiel (in alarming detail). He nearly spit his drink out.
“Jesus fuck.”