#RUN AROUND AND DO APESHIT ON THE SCHOOL ROOF

[shadowlinktheshadow]

@inkshroomart

You, Green, Blue, and I gotta become famous YouTubers or some shit so we can do this sometime

I wanna fucking do this please- *sobs*

Green, you, and I all running from Blue

Please-

[darkstar6782]

Fade to Black - 1.22: Devil’s Trap

“Anything you wanna know about demons, go see Bobby Singer. If there’s any hunter who could be considered an expert in demons, it’s him.” He can hear Rumsfeld barking from inside the garage at the back of the property. Pup’s got a good set of vocal cords on him; assuming he’s not going apeshit over another squirrel on the roof, he’s gonna make a great guard dog. He’s wiping the grease off his hands as he comes around the house and sees that he’s got a visitor: there’s a black ’67 Chevy Impala sitting in his driveway. It looks well-maintained, if a little hard-ridden, and there’s a dark-haired man in ripped jeans and a battered leather jacket leaning on her hood, well out of the pup’s range.

“You Bobby Singer?”

Bobby nods. “Rumsfeld, hush!” he commands, and the dog goes quiet. Yup, gonna be the perfect guard dog. “Who’re you?”

“Name’s John Winchester. I understand you’re the man to see about demon lore.”

Bobby shrugs. “You understand correctly, but I don’t usually discuss it in the front yard. Wanna come inside, do this over a few drinks?”

John hesitates a moment at this, then glances over his shoulder at the car. “Sure,” he says, “long as it won’t take too long.”

“Why?” Bobby asks, getting suspicious. “You got someplace else you need to be?”

“No,” John says, crossing his arms defensively and moving to get in front of Bobby as he gets closer to the car. “Let’s just take this inside.”

Bobby’s about to agree, but then he catches a flash of motion from one of the car windows that has him on high alert. He sidesteps John and gets a good look into the car’s back seat before the younger man grabs him by the arm and practically throws him away from the car.

“What you got in the car, John?” Bobby’s cursing himself for not having a gun on him, but so far, the man has simply been defensive, not aggressive, so he keeps his cool as he waits to see how this plays out.

“Nothing. Why?”

“Because it looks to me like you got two kids back there. And you better tell me they’re yours, otherwise I’m siccen’ Rumsfeld on you here and callin’ the cops.”

John relaxes only a fraction at this. “Yeah, they’re my boys. What of it?”

“And you were just gonna leave ‘em out here?”

“Most hunters ain’t too keen on havin’ a couple’a kids runnin’ around,” John says with a shrug and a hard look.

“Well, I ain’t most hunters.” That’s not entirely true. Bobby has no interest in children, and, in truth, would rather not have them running all over his house, but he isn’t about to just let two little boys sit in a car in his front yard when it’s threatening snow outside. “You bring ‘em inside, and ‘long as they don’t go playin’ cowboys with any ‘a my weapons, I’m sure we’ll get along just fine.”

“Don’t worry, they know better than to treat weapons as toys,” John says, a look of pure relief coming over his face as he turns to the car. “You can come on out, boys.”

The car’s rear door opens with a creak, and two sets of feet drop down to stand in the dirt behind it. The older one comes out first, carrying a backpack and leading the younger boy by the hand. Bobby has no idea how to guess children’s ages, but he knows the older can’t be more than eleven or twelve, and the younger looks like he’s probably only just started school.

“Sam, Dean, this is Bobby Singer. He’s going to help me with some stuff for work, so we’re going into his house for a little while. While we’re in there, you’re to be quiet and not touch anything, you understand?”

“Yes, sir,” the older one says, while the younger one sticks his thumb in his mouth and nods. Bobby leads the way into the house, John herding his boys behind him.

“Doggy!” the younger boy whispers as they pass Rumsfeld. “Dee, can I pet him?”

Bobby is about to turn around and give them both a stern lecture about leaving the dog alone, but the older boy beats him to it. “No, Sammy. He’s a guard dog, and he’s on duty, so no petting, okay?”

“‘Kay.”

Well, that solves the mystery of which one is Sam and which is Dean, at least. When they get in the house, Bobby sets both boys down at his kitchen table with glasses of water—he doesn’t have anything else in the house suitable for a child to drink, unfortunately—and a stern warning about not touching anything—especially the weapons—then he and John retreat to his library with bottles of beer to discuss demons.

A couple of hours later, while John is buried deep in a book of demon lore, Bobby pops back into the kitchen to see exactly how much trouble the two boys have gotten into. He was a boy himself, once, so he’s expecting something skirting the edge of complete chaos, but, to his surprise, the boys are still sitting in pretty much the exact same spot where John had left them. Sammy has climbed into Dean’s lap, and is staring avidly at the pictures in the book that Dean has open on the table while Dean reads to him about knights and castles and a princess with long hair.

“Uncle Bobby? Can Sammy have another glass of water, please?”

Bobby’s just turning to leave when the sound of his name stops him in his tracks. “Who said to call me that?”

Dean shrugs. “That’s what Dad says to call all his friends, since we don’t got any real uncles. Is that okay?”

Uncle Bobby. Huh. He kinda likes the sound of that. He’s never been anyone’s uncle before. “Sure, kid. It’s just fine. Some water, ya say? Coming’ right up.”