Bobby's Boys
Title: Bobby's Boys
The Horsemen of the Apocalypse 'verse
Author: Saberivojo
Characters: Dean, Sam and Bobby
Warnings/Rating: Gen.Some potty mouth...PG-13
Summary: . Cowboy!Dean, Cowboy!Sam and Cowboy!Bobby. And horses.
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Not getting paid. Just like playing with the boys.
Y'all asked for some more cowboy!post Apocalypse 'verse. This is completely new to me. Just testing the waters and seeing if it is something you like. No beta, if anybody notices anything, give me a yell. I guess this is my second attempt at a WIP but I have a lot done. It should all work out. *crosses fingers*
You don't need to read The Horsemen of the Apocalypse but I think it would help a bit. saberivojo.livejournal.com/18786.html
“Well, Hell.”
Bobby rolled over, feeling every bit as old as he was. This sleeping on the ground with nothing more than a sleeping bag was for younger men.
He glanced at Sam and Dean. Both were sprawled in various positions around a dying fire. While neither one looked terribly comfortable, the contented snores and deep breathing were of men who were down for the count.
From the picket line, he could hear the soft shift of horses and an occasional pull at a clump of grass. He hear Buck blow softy. His old boy knew that Bobby was moving around. It gave him a little comfort. Little comfort because the damn rock digging into his hip was overwhelming so he shifted again and sat up, wrapping his arms loosely around his knees.
Daylight was just around the corner anyway. Bobby’s knees, back and just about every other joint he could think of protested when he slowly rose from the relative comfort of the sleeping bag. It was then that it hit him that that despite the uneven ground at least he had been warm.
He grumbled low to himself and step staggered to the nearest tree where his dick protested the cold in the usual way.
“Fuck.”
He shook it off, then stumbled back to the fire with every intention of getting some coffee going but Dean looked so damn peaceful sleeping there that he just naturally felt like a boot to the boy would get breakfast moving just a bit faster.
“Ow. What the fuck, Bobby? This ain’t even the ass crack of dawn.”
‘
“If I’m up, you're up and if I am draggin’ my ass to that stream to get water for coffee, you better be rustlin’ something up for breakfast. - We sure as hell ain’t gonna find an open 7-11 anywhere around here.”
Dean mumbled an obscenity that Bobby had not heard in so long he was not sure he heard it right.
“Right back atcha. And get your brother movin’ we got a lot of ground to cover today.”
“M’up, Bobby.” Sam muttered from the other side of the fire. “How could I not be up with you two gabbin’ like a bunch of teenagers?”
And then, just because he had booted Dean in the ass to wake him up, he reached down, despite the protesting back and pitched a stone at Sam’s ass to get him moving too.
Sam yelped. “Shit Bobby, wake up on the wrong side of the campfire?”
Bobby’s response was to grab the coffee pot and head out of camp toward the stream.
So what if he was pissed. He was cold. His back hurt and watching out for two grown men who at times had the mentality of 12 years olds was a full time job. That and hunting. Because really, Bobby did not expect to find himself still alive and doing a job with such a high mortality rate at this time in his life. Surviving the apocalypse had just been the icing on the cake.
He had outlasted most of his buddies and friends. There was some luck involved but mostly Bobby was alive by being smart. Something that the Winchester boys seemed to lack in droves. Oh they were smart, both of them, it’s just sometimes their neurons just did not seem to be firing all at once. Occasionally, they needed Uncle Bobby to kick them into gear.
It was nothing new. Old Bobby was phone call away; they had no problem calling him and he had no problem helping them. Back when John was alive, he and the boys had spent so much time together that he really was Uncle Bobby. But now, now when they spent more time together than three men ought to, they seemed to pluck his nerves even more than usual.
Maybe he was just old. And cantakerous and just plain mean. Or maybe he just worried more if that was possible. Because when John was around, well, John just naturally called the shots. When the boys were on the road and askin' for help, they were askin' for it but now? Now, they were partners except that two of the three still had a bit of growin’ up to do. But it was a responsibility that went three ways, they all watched out for each other. Still, Bobby worried more than a mother hen about these boys. They were his boys for all intents and purposes. So yeah, he worried.
And despite their competence and skill, damn if they still weren’t kids sometimes and damn if Bobby just didn’t find himself yelling at them for some stupid damn move. Once he popped Dean so hard upside the head that Dean actually grinned. Fuckin’ grinned and said. “Dad, could so out beat you ol’ man.”
Idjjts. Plain idjits.
Damn good hunters though and damn if that didn’t please the hell out of the old man.
Different than John. Same as John. A strange combination. John had been the best hunter Bobby Singer had known. It was possible that Dean was better. Sort of. Or maybe it was the combination of Sam and Dean that made hunting into an art form. Because Dean was sometimes too quick, didn’t think things through. And his father? Well, John had contingencies for contingencies. Bobby remembered more than one time after reviewing a plan over and over, Dean mouthin’ the words behind John’s back. He never got caught though, which was another reason why he was so damn good. He had instincts like a cat.
He was fearless, like John, brave like John but he needed Sam to temper the impulsiveness. Sam was just about as quick as his brother and stronger than him, which said a lot, but Sam thought it through. Between the two of them, well, they were hard to beat.
Bobby sniffed hard as he leaned down to the stream, squatted at the water, coffee pot in hand, than spat something he would rather not think about against a tree. He filled the pot and stood. Rolled his shoulders in an attempt to ease some of the stiffness.
Yeah, good hunters. Good boys.
Then a single shot. Shotgun, but not loaded with salt. It sounded like Dean.
Bobby stretched one more time and headed back to camp, wondering what was on the menu.
**********************************************************************************************************************************************************
“Duck. You fuckin’ got duck for breakfast?” Bobby scowled as he walked into the camp and saw Dean cleaning the recently deceased duck.
Dean arched a brow and smiled his most charming shit-eating grin. “I don’t know who complains more, you or Sammy.”
Sam growled as he stoked the fire up a bit higher. “Told ya not to shoot the damn
duck."
Bobby leaned forward in the saddle.
“Pow wow, boys.”
Sam glanced at Dean, quirked an eyebrow in his direction.
“Okaayyy. What’cha got?” Bobby could see he had his attention.
“Rules, boys. We got rules.”
Dean laughed deep in his chest, and lord if Sam didn’t smile as well.
“You think I’m jokin’ here?”
That settled both boys down, Bobby had his serious shit voice going on. So they sobered up pretty quickly.
“No, sir.” Came the automatic reply from Dean. He straighten just a bit in the saddle and Bitch shifted her weight in anticipation of some kind of direction from her rider.
“Simple shit but important…keep it in your pants.”
Bobby watched as all semblance of military bearing was shot out the window. Dean leaned back in the saddle and was almost pitched off for his troubles. Bitch humped her back and offered a bit of a show. Bitch did not take kindly to Dean’s apparent inability to sit a saddle.
“You’ve got to be kiddin’ me?” Dean snorted, once he got Bitch under control.
“Do I sound like I’m laughin’ here, Dean. ‘Cause I don’t hear no fuckin’ laughin’”
Bobby glanced at Sam who was doing his best not to fall off Marcus. But unlike Bitch, Marcus could have cared less. Sam could be dancing a jig on his back and Marcus would simply stand there, eyes half slit and hip cocked.
Dean continued on. “Bobby, shit I haven’t seen a woman in a month and Sammy, here? Well, lord knows the last time he has been up close and personal to someone with boobs. You can’t possibly mean that we are headin’ into a real town, with real women and you are dictating that we aren’t getting a single roll in the hay?”
“You heard me, the only thing that best be stroking your dick is you.”
“Bobby.” This was Sam, trying to keep his voice as calm as possible , using his considerable powers or persuasion. “Bobby, damn, I am 26 for cryin’ out loud and Dean there is positively geriatric.” The caustic glance that Dean shot Sam made Sam tilt his hat back and shift his weight into the saddle.
“I mean, we are not kids any more, I think we can decide who we sleep with.” And damn if Sam didn’t blush, a quick reddening from his neck to his cheeks.
“Okay you idjit, let me explain it to you in terms you and you and your moron brother might be able to understand.”
“We got us a pretty stocked med kit. But it ain’t a never ending supply and if you think I am using tetracycline to keep your dicks from falling off, when I might need it to keep you alive then you are sadly mistaken. - It ain’t like there is a Walgreens around every corner stocked to the hilt with condoms that you can just waltz in, purchase and waltz out. So unless you got a personal and rather large supply,” he bored a whole into Dean, “that I don’t know about, then your dicks are staying right where there are.”
“Well, Christ, Bobby, you are even less fun than dad was.” Dean positively pouted.
With that Bobby gathered up his reins and effortlessly lifted Buck into a lope. They had miles to go before they hit that town.
*****************************************************************************************************************************************
They walked into town, three abreast. Despite the horses, the town was just a town, not something out of the wild west. There were paved streets and neat rows of houses. At least there were some of them. Others were in various states of disrepair. It was typical of post apocalypse living. Some folks were making it, others didn’t.
The horses hooves sounded sharp and staccato on the asphalt. Before they hit what passed for the center of town they were greeted by a man sitting a chestnut horse in the middle of the street. There was a shotgun leveled carefully at Bobby’s belly. All three men pulled up simultaneously and stood still in the street.
Sam spoke quietly on his right. “At two-o’clock and another at four”
Dean on his left. “Eight and Ten, Bobby.”
Bobby took a deep breath. “We got some behind him too, let’s just take it easy boys.”
Almost as if on cue, they started walking toward shotgun guy. Quiet, nothing but the jingle of Bitch’s bit as she tossed her head.
“Howdy.” Bobby spoke to the man.
“State your business.” Shotgun was obviously not feeling particularly happy about new faces in his town.
“Just passin’ through. We were hoping for a little home cookin’. Maybe a place to stay for the night.”
“Well, you can keep right on passin’. We ain’t got no hotel to speak of, it burned down. And the food we got, is for this town, not for outsiders.”
“You the law here?” Bobby queried.
“Me and this.” The man motioned subtly with his shotgun, but never moved it off his target of Bobby’s belly.
“Won’t help much if we are demons.” Bobby noted, he shifted his weight in the saddle.
“True, but there’s others with other amo. Stuff we’ve figured out. And this town is sigiled out the ass, so if you made it this far in, you are probably okay.”
Dean spoke from Bobby’s left. “If we are okay, then how about some pie for chrisakes. “
Bobby resisted the temptation to roll his eyes at Dean. There was a shotgun trained at his belly and a myriad of others with the same thought as Sheriff Shotgun so it was just reasonable to try a different track.
“Listen, me and these boys here have just spent the better part of a month huntin’ the demons that you and yours are trying to keep out away from the good folks of this town. We’re tired and hungry and it would be just plain hospitable if you would offer us a place to stay.” Bobby’s voice was edged with irritation.
The man stood his ground. “What’s your names? And your business other than killing those sons of bitches.”
“Bobby Singer, and this here is Sam and Dean Winchester. And killing sonsofbitches is our business.”
The man dropped his gun a notched. Then nodded. “Travis Winston.”
"I don’t know whether to shoot all three of ya or throw you a parade.”
The Horsemen of the Apocalypse 'verse
Author: Saberivojo
Characters: Dean, Sam and Bobby
Warnings/Rating: Gen.Some potty mouth...PG-13
Summary: . Cowboy!Dean, Cowboy!Sam and Cowboy!Bobby. And horses.
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Not getting paid. Just like playing with the boys.
Y'all asked for some more cowboy!post Apocalypse 'verse. This is completely new to me. Just testing the waters and seeing if it is something you like. No beta, if anybody notices anything, give me a yell. I guess this is my second attempt at a WIP but I have a lot done. It should all work out. *crosses fingers*
You don't need to read The Horsemen of the Apocalypse but I think it would help a bit. saberivojo.livejournal.com/18786.html
“Well, Hell.”
Bobby rolled over, feeling every bit as old as he was. This sleeping on the ground with nothing more than a sleeping bag was for younger men.
He glanced at Sam and Dean. Both were sprawled in various positions around a dying fire. While neither one looked terribly comfortable, the contented snores and deep breathing were of men who were down for the count.
From the picket line, he could hear the soft shift of horses and an occasional pull at a clump of grass. He hear Buck blow softy. His old boy knew that Bobby was moving around. It gave him a little comfort. Little comfort because the damn rock digging into his hip was overwhelming so he shifted again and sat up, wrapping his arms loosely around his knees.
Daylight was just around the corner anyway. Bobby’s knees, back and just about every other joint he could think of protested when he slowly rose from the relative comfort of the sleeping bag. It was then that it hit him that that despite the uneven ground at least he had been warm.
He grumbled low to himself and step staggered to the nearest tree where his dick protested the cold in the usual way.
“Fuck.”
He shook it off, then stumbled back to the fire with every intention of getting some coffee going but Dean looked so damn peaceful sleeping there that he just naturally felt like a boot to the boy would get breakfast moving just a bit faster.
“Ow. What the fuck, Bobby? This ain’t even the ass crack of dawn.”
‘
“If I’m up, you're up and if I am draggin’ my ass to that stream to get water for coffee, you better be rustlin’ something up for breakfast. - We sure as hell ain’t gonna find an open 7-11 anywhere around here.”
Dean mumbled an obscenity that Bobby had not heard in so long he was not sure he heard it right.
“Right back atcha. And get your brother movin’ we got a lot of ground to cover today.”
“M’up, Bobby.” Sam muttered from the other side of the fire. “How could I not be up with you two gabbin’ like a bunch of teenagers?”
And then, just because he had booted Dean in the ass to wake him up, he reached down, despite the protesting back and pitched a stone at Sam’s ass to get him moving too.
Sam yelped. “Shit Bobby, wake up on the wrong side of the campfire?”
Bobby’s response was to grab the coffee pot and head out of camp toward the stream.
So what if he was pissed. He was cold. His back hurt and watching out for two grown men who at times had the mentality of 12 years olds was a full time job. That and hunting. Because really, Bobby did not expect to find himself still alive and doing a job with such a high mortality rate at this time in his life. Surviving the apocalypse had just been the icing on the cake.
He had outlasted most of his buddies and friends. There was some luck involved but mostly Bobby was alive by being smart. Something that the Winchester boys seemed to lack in droves. Oh they were smart, both of them, it’s just sometimes their neurons just did not seem to be firing all at once. Occasionally, they needed Uncle Bobby to kick them into gear.
It was nothing new. Old Bobby was phone call away; they had no problem calling him and he had no problem helping them. Back when John was alive, he and the boys had spent so much time together that he really was Uncle Bobby. But now, now when they spent more time together than three men ought to, they seemed to pluck his nerves even more than usual.
Maybe he was just old. And cantakerous and just plain mean. Or maybe he just worried more if that was possible. Because when John was around, well, John just naturally called the shots. When the boys were on the road and askin' for help, they were askin' for it but now? Now, they were partners except that two of the three still had a bit of growin’ up to do. But it was a responsibility that went three ways, they all watched out for each other. Still, Bobby worried more than a mother hen about these boys. They were his boys for all intents and purposes. So yeah, he worried.
And despite their competence and skill, damn if they still weren’t kids sometimes and damn if Bobby just didn’t find himself yelling at them for some stupid damn move. Once he popped Dean so hard upside the head that Dean actually grinned. Fuckin’ grinned and said. “Dad, could so out beat you ol’ man.”
Idjjts. Plain idjits.
Damn good hunters though and damn if that didn’t please the hell out of the old man.
Different than John. Same as John. A strange combination. John had been the best hunter Bobby Singer had known. It was possible that Dean was better. Sort of. Or maybe it was the combination of Sam and Dean that made hunting into an art form. Because Dean was sometimes too quick, didn’t think things through. And his father? Well, John had contingencies for contingencies. Bobby remembered more than one time after reviewing a plan over and over, Dean mouthin’ the words behind John’s back. He never got caught though, which was another reason why he was so damn good. He had instincts like a cat.
He was fearless, like John, brave like John but he needed Sam to temper the impulsiveness. Sam was just about as quick as his brother and stronger than him, which said a lot, but Sam thought it through. Between the two of them, well, they were hard to beat.
Bobby sniffed hard as he leaned down to the stream, squatted at the water, coffee pot in hand, than spat something he would rather not think about against a tree. He filled the pot and stood. Rolled his shoulders in an attempt to ease some of the stiffness.
Yeah, good hunters. Good boys.
Then a single shot. Shotgun, but not loaded with salt. It sounded like Dean.
Bobby stretched one more time and headed back to camp, wondering what was on the menu.
**********************************************************************************************************************************************************
“Duck. You fuckin’ got duck for breakfast?” Bobby scowled as he walked into the camp and saw Dean cleaning the recently deceased duck.
Dean arched a brow and smiled his most charming shit-eating grin. “I don’t know who complains more, you or Sammy.”
Sam growled as he stoked the fire up a bit higher. “Told ya not to shoot the damn
duck."
Bobby leaned forward in the saddle.
“Pow wow, boys.”
Sam glanced at Dean, quirked an eyebrow in his direction.
“Okaayyy. What’cha got?” Bobby could see he had his attention.
“Rules, boys. We got rules.”
Dean laughed deep in his chest, and lord if Sam didn’t smile as well.
“You think I’m jokin’ here?”
That settled both boys down, Bobby had his serious shit voice going on. So they sobered up pretty quickly.
“No, sir.” Came the automatic reply from Dean. He straighten just a bit in the saddle and Bitch shifted her weight in anticipation of some kind of direction from her rider.
“Simple shit but important…keep it in your pants.”
Bobby watched as all semblance of military bearing was shot out the window. Dean leaned back in the saddle and was almost pitched off for his troubles. Bitch humped her back and offered a bit of a show. Bitch did not take kindly to Dean’s apparent inability to sit a saddle.
“You’ve got to be kiddin’ me?” Dean snorted, once he got Bitch under control.
“Do I sound like I’m laughin’ here, Dean. ‘Cause I don’t hear no fuckin’ laughin’”
Bobby glanced at Sam who was doing his best not to fall off Marcus. But unlike Bitch, Marcus could have cared less. Sam could be dancing a jig on his back and Marcus would simply stand there, eyes half slit and hip cocked.
Dean continued on. “Bobby, shit I haven’t seen a woman in a month and Sammy, here? Well, lord knows the last time he has been up close and personal to someone with boobs. You can’t possibly mean that we are headin’ into a real town, with real women and you are dictating that we aren’t getting a single roll in the hay?”
“You heard me, the only thing that best be stroking your dick is you.”
“Bobby.” This was Sam, trying to keep his voice as calm as possible , using his considerable powers or persuasion. “Bobby, damn, I am 26 for cryin’ out loud and Dean there is positively geriatric.” The caustic glance that Dean shot Sam made Sam tilt his hat back and shift his weight into the saddle.
“I mean, we are not kids any more, I think we can decide who we sleep with.” And damn if Sam didn’t blush, a quick reddening from his neck to his cheeks.
“Okay you idjit, let me explain it to you in terms you and you and your moron brother might be able to understand.”
“We got us a pretty stocked med kit. But it ain’t a never ending supply and if you think I am using tetracycline to keep your dicks from falling off, when I might need it to keep you alive then you are sadly mistaken. - It ain’t like there is a Walgreens around every corner stocked to the hilt with condoms that you can just waltz in, purchase and waltz out. So unless you got a personal and rather large supply,” he bored a whole into Dean, “that I don’t know about, then your dicks are staying right where there are.”
“Well, Christ, Bobby, you are even less fun than dad was.” Dean positively pouted.
With that Bobby gathered up his reins and effortlessly lifted Buck into a lope. They had miles to go before they hit that town.
*****************************************************************************************************************************************
They walked into town, three abreast. Despite the horses, the town was just a town, not something out of the wild west. There were paved streets and neat rows of houses. At least there were some of them. Others were in various states of disrepair. It was typical of post apocalypse living. Some folks were making it, others didn’t.
The horses hooves sounded sharp and staccato on the asphalt. Before they hit what passed for the center of town they were greeted by a man sitting a chestnut horse in the middle of the street. There was a shotgun leveled carefully at Bobby’s belly. All three men pulled up simultaneously and stood still in the street.
Sam spoke quietly on his right. “At two-o’clock and another at four”
Dean on his left. “Eight and Ten, Bobby.”
Bobby took a deep breath. “We got some behind him too, let’s just take it easy boys.”
Almost as if on cue, they started walking toward shotgun guy. Quiet, nothing but the jingle of Bitch’s bit as she tossed her head.
“Howdy.” Bobby spoke to the man.
“State your business.” Shotgun was obviously not feeling particularly happy about new faces in his town.
“Just passin’ through. We were hoping for a little home cookin’. Maybe a place to stay for the night.”
“Well, you can keep right on passin’. We ain’t got no hotel to speak of, it burned down. And the food we got, is for this town, not for outsiders.”
“You the law here?” Bobby queried.
“Me and this.” The man motioned subtly with his shotgun, but never moved it off his target of Bobby’s belly.
“Won’t help much if we are demons.” Bobby noted, he shifted his weight in the saddle.
“True, but there’s others with other amo. Stuff we’ve figured out. And this town is sigiled out the ass, so if you made it this far in, you are probably okay.”
Dean spoke from Bobby’s left. “If we are okay, then how about some pie for chrisakes. “
Bobby resisted the temptation to roll his eyes at Dean. There was a shotgun trained at his belly and a myriad of others with the same thought as Sheriff Shotgun so it was just reasonable to try a different track.
“Listen, me and these boys here have just spent the better part of a month huntin’ the demons that you and yours are trying to keep out away from the good folks of this town. We’re tired and hungry and it would be just plain hospitable if you would offer us a place to stay.” Bobby’s voice was edged with irritation.
The man stood his ground. “What’s your names? And your business other than killing those sons of bitches.”
“Bobby Singer, and this here is Sam and Dean Winchester. And killing sonsofbitches is our business.”
The man dropped his gun a notched. Then nodded. “Travis Winston.”
"I don’t know whether to shoot all three of ya or throw you a parade.”