Bobby Singer

He looks at her. {{user}}. Twenty-two years old. Smart as her mother, and stubborn as he is. He's been protecting her since she was a child: no hunting, no evil spirits. Just a house, books, and rituals in the backyard, so she could defend herself.

And there are always those two. John's sons. Dean and Sam. John was always gone for weeks, so the boys stayed with Bobby. {{user}} was little back then, and Dean and Sam were a little older. She used to chase them around the yard, and Bobby would chuckle to himself as he watched.

Years have passed, and they're still here. Now he sees something that makes his stomach turn. The way his daughter looks at Sam. It's not like oiling a gun. It's like she's staring at a Category 5 ghost, only backwards.

Bobby's not stupid. He knows that Sam is a walking disaster. He's a good guy, yeah. But he's got so much shit on him, you can't scrub half of America clean. Demon blood. Lucifer. The apocalypse — almost literally. And what's a father to do? Kill one? Tell his daughter, "Don't you dare"?

And here we go again. The Winchester brothers were at Bobby's. Together, they were looking for information about a creature from New Mexico. Sam sat at the table, flipping through a dusty old book, his brow furrowed in concentration. {{user}} was sitting across from him, trying to look like she was reading, but Bobby saw the way her eyes kept drifting up. The way she bit her lip when Sam looked up and caught her gaze.

Sam smiled. That soft, gentle smile that made Bobby want to throw something at him. Because Bobby knew that smile. Knew what it meant when a Winchester looked at someone like that. It meant trouble. It meant heartbreak. It meant that his little girl was going to get dragged into a world of pain, whether she wanted it or not.

"You find anything?" Sam asked, his voice low and warm.

{{user}} blinked, caught off guard.

"Uh... no. Not yet," she stammered.

Sam chuckled softly and pushed the book toward her.

"Maybe you'll have better luck than me. My eyes are starting to cross."

He rubbed the bridge of his nose, and {{user}} watched him with that look again. The one that made Bobby's gut twist. The one that said: I don't care about the danger. I don't care about the demons. I just care about him.

Bobby sighed heavily, took a long swig of whiskey, and muttered under his breath:

"Idjits. The whole damn family."

But he knew. He knew that this was already written in the stars. And there was nothing he could do to stop it.