#also im obsessed w bobby hating john because he sees his abusive father in him | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

dcforts · 3 years

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[day 4: cooking and baking]

Now, Bobby Singer didn’t always exactly enjoy having Sam and Dean around – he was used to living alone and he liked his routine; they got loud when they bickered and he always had to make sure they were clean and fed and far from the stuff he had laying around that they weren’t supposed to touch.

He never wanted to be a father after all, nor get stuck running a daycare for hunters for that matter, but he just couldn’t bring himself to say no to John whenever he asked, even if he had his garage to run and hunting on the side.

He felt bad for them. He might have known nothing about raising children, but he sure knew that they were supposed to have a home, not to be dragged across the country in an old car, exposed to all kinds of dangers.

So, if washing an extra set of bedsheets and hiding his booze and getting a headache or two from their feet stomping upstairs meant giving them a roof over their head for a few days, a familiar place where to feel safe and proper food in their belly – if one could count canned soup as proper food – then he could bite the bullet.

And they were good kids, they always did what he told them and never complained about anything.

Even when one year they got stuck at his place on Christmas Eve. The air was heavy around the dinner table and Bobby had turned on the tv in an attempt to liven up the atmosphere and distract them. Still, they remained quiet, hunched over their plates wearing gloomy faces.

Their father was supposed to pick them up but he’d called and said he wasn’t gonna make it. Bobby knew it was gonna happen as soon as he’d heard the phone ringing that afternoon.

"But it’s Christmas!” he’d hissed angrily trying not to be heard by the kids, “What am I supposed to tell them?”

“Uh - I don’t know, Bobby," John had replied, with that tone he got when he was uninterested in what you were saying and had already uncorked one too many beers. "It’s just this one time.”

When Bobby had delivered the news, Dean had shouted "Why hasn’t he called me?" and Sam had grumbled "You should have convinced him", so they most likely hated him too.

Bobby didn’t take it personally, if he were a kid he sure wouldn’t have liked to spend Christmas with someone like him and without his only parent.

Bobby didn’t do holidays at all. He hanged a wreath on the front door just cause he kept it in the hallway all year round. He made himself a turkey sandwich. He enjoyed a classic movie just as the next guy and he passed out on the couch with a glass of store-bought eggnog. That was it. It was not like he had anyone to share it with. It had been like that for years and he didn’t mind.

Knowing that the kids would be around though, he’d hanged on the window a string of lights he’d found in the basement and had put on display a weird looking statue of an elf - although if he wasn’t sure if it was Christmas related or just an old dark artifact. The boys had spared those things barely a glance and not brought up Christmas at all so Bobby had just figured that they didn’t do holidays either.

But then a commercial featuring a big holiday banquet came on tv for the umpteenth time, filling the kitchen with its obnoxious jingle and Dean finally spoke up.

“Hey Bobby,” he asked, tearing his eyes from the tv. “Did your mother ever bake for the holidays?”

Bobby didn’t even remember the last time he’d talked about his mother with anyone. It always brought up bittersweet memories he didn’t like to deal with. Still, he cleared his throat, “Sure,” he said, but now Sam was watching him too so he added, “she was a good baker - made a mean blueberry pie.”

Dean gave him a small smile. “Really?”

“Yeah, and she’d always make two, one for everyone and another one just for me."

“A whole pie? Just for you?" Sam asked with a glint of amusement in his eyes.

"I could eat that," intervened Dean immediately.

Bobby snorted, “Yeah, I know that, kid."

Dean smiled proudly, but then Sam said "You couldn’t, Dean. You’d get sick."

"No, I wouldn’t," he shot back.

"Yes, you would. Not even an adult can - "

"What do you know, if you never - ”

“I know - ”

Bobby groaned and got up from the table to start collecting the dirty dishes, "Alright, break it up".

They fell into silence again as he put the dishes in the sink and started washing them.

"Go get ready for bed."

He heard the scraping of chair legs on the floorboards, but he was still thinking about his mother and didn’t realize that only one pair of shoes had left the room and the other one had come to stand next to him.

"Does your oven work?" Dean said, making him jump.

"Wh- my oven? Yeah. Why?”

"Just ‘cause... you never use it," was his reply, a little unsure.

"That don’t mean it don’t work."

"Have you ever used it?”

"Can’t remember, honestly.”

"Mum used to bake pies for me too," Dean said then. "Sammy wasn’t there so he gets upset when I talk about it."

Bobby gave him half a smile. "Bet Mary's pies were the best, uh?”

"Yeah", he said, but he sounded thoughtful. He still made no move to leave and Bobby didn’t know what else to say. The last thing he wanted was to make the boy sad, or worse, make him cry for his mom.

He started working faster on drying those dishes.

"Maybe your father remembers the recipe. You should ask him,” he said, casually.

Apparently it was the wrong thing to say. Dean tugged the hem of his jacket and looked at him with the most scared expression Bobby had ever seen on him. “Don’t!" he said, "Please. Dad doesn’t like talking about these things. Don’t tell him I told you."

Bobby gritted his teeth and tried to not let his rage show on his face. He put down the rag and grabbed one of his shoulder, “It’s okay, Dean. I won’t.”

Dean gulped and quickly nodded and Bobby itched for a drink.

“Now go. It’s time for bed.”

"Yes, sir," said Dean.

“You don’t have to cal-” he started, then sighed, “Nevermind. Just go.”

As he heard the door upstair close he opened the highest cabinet and grabbed his bottle of scotch. He sat down to pour himself a glass, took his cap off and rubbed his forehead.

His hands tightened into fists at the thought of John. How could he leave them like that? What would’ve happened if he’d died on a hunt? Who would have cared for them? Bobby certainly couldn’t – John couldn’t possibly expect –

The tv was still on.

His second glass was already empty when that stupid holiday commercial with that stupid jingle came on once again. Annoyed, Bobby stood up to turn it off and that’s when Dean came to his mind and a thought hit him.

The kid wanted a damn pie.

He just didn’t know how to ask, or even if he could ask. And of course he would think that, with that father of his, his taboos and his rules. Bobby felt anger and stubborness rise in him.

If the kid wanted a goddamn pie, Bobby would’ve given him a goddamn pie. Even if he had to drive for miles at the crack of dawn on Christmas Day for blueberries.

And now where the fuck did he put Karen’s recipe book?

The morning after, he cracked the bedroom door open and Dean blinked awake as soon as he brushed his shoulder.

“Don’t wake your brother. Come downstairs," he whispered, motioning him to be quiet.

In the daylight Bobby was willing to admit that he was a little nervous about his idea.

Yet he couldn’t resist watching Dean’s face as he entered the kitchen ten minutes later and stopped in his track when he saw flour, eggs, sugar and blueberries lined up on the counter.

It was like his face couldn’t settle on an emotion. He frowned, smiled, frowned again. Then he just looked at Bobby as if he was asking him what he was supposed to do or say.

"I was thinking it’s about time I make that oven work again. What you say? Wanna bake your own pie?"

Dean surprised himself with a laugh. "But Bobby - I don’t – I never -"

"What, you think I do?" Bobby shrugged, "If it’s bad, we’ll just throw it out."

Dean seemed too overwhelmed to say anything. He just nodded.

Bobby went towards him. "See, I got this book here, it was my wife’s. We’re more than capable to follow a bunch of instructions, right?"

It took way longer than Bobby had anticipated, and surely longer than it generally took other people. And it wasn’t easy. At all. Not just because in the last few years he’d reduced his diet to mostly pre-cooked stuff, but especially for the smells that filled the kitchen and the long string of memories attached to them - Karen and his mom, guilt and comfort, sweetness and fear.

But Bobby went through all of it, the fishing out of the egg shells, the spilling of the flour, the hour long wait for the dough to set and the million questions Dean seemed to have – because the boy enjoyed himself.

Bobby was pretty sure of it, from the way he groaned in disgust as he dipped his hands in the mixture with raw eggs, in his cheeky face when he lied about stealing the blueberries they were using, in his clear laugh when Bobby slipped and almost crashed on the dirty floor; all of that made it worth it.

When the oven door was closed and the timer was set, he even sat cross-legged on the tiles to watch it as it baked.

Bobby moved around him to clean the mess they’d made and then went to wash himself up. When he looked himself in the bathroom mirror he saw flour all over his beard and bits of dough on his flannel. He found himself smiling a little.

He might not be able to bring the boys the spirit of Christmas or whatever crap they sold these days, but he would’ve been be satisfied if he managed to make them happier for half a day.

Dean started pounding on the door right in that moment. “Bobby!” he was shouting, “The timer! Hurry up! We need to get it out!”

Bobby’s reflection rolled his eyes and sighed. “Coming!” he shouted back and heard Dean running away again.

When he entered the kitchen half a minute later, Sam had joined Dean in front of the oven. He was still in his pyjamas and looked up at him with sleepy eyes. “Dean’s screams woke me up,” he said.

“Yeah, alright. I’m here, let me through and step back. I don’t want you to get burned.”

As carefully as possible, he took the pie out under the scrutinizing gaze of the brothers. As he sat it on the table he noticed the uneven colour of the crust and the filling that had spilled all over the sides and through the cracks. He made a face. “Well - doesn’t look half bad as far as first attempts go -" he tried to say but his words were drowned by the boys shouting “Whoa!”

"It smells so good," said Dean, wearing a proud smile.

"It’s perfect," said Sam with the solemnity of a renown critic. "Can we try it now?"

"Let’s give it a moment to cool down. You go get dressed. Dean, go wash your hands."

They both sprinted in different directions. Sam immediately ran up the stairs banging a hand on the banister in excitement. Dean bolted in the direction of the downstairs bathroom.

“Be careful!” he thundered.

They both shouted back at once: “Yes, Uncle Bobby!”

A rush of affection washed over him. He shook his head looking down at their pie.

“Merry Christmas kids.”

joining @bend-me-shape-me in this!

#SPNAdventCalendar2020 #spn fanfiction #christmas at bobby's #bobby singer #2k #he does his best - i love him #sam and dean are 7 and 11 i guess #john winchester a+ parenting #i know that im kinda obsessed w bobby but i was thinking that #apart from the kitchenettes in motel rooms #bobby's kitchen was the only real one the boys got to see #maybe pastor jim's ?? we never saw that thought #honestly i have no idea if this fits into canon #but when dean was 10 bobby played catch w him so - why not #also im obsessed w bobby hating john because he sees his abusive father in him #my writing #bobbyverse

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