Graveyard Digger, Coffin Case Sinner

Resting Place

Bobby Singer was sitting at his kitchen table, glancing through an old address book, beer in front of him. He raised his head to crack his neck, then rubbed at his eyes. The last few days had been long ones: he needed sleep. He sighed and rubbed a hand over his mouth, dropping his eyes back to the black book on the table.

Most of the addresses had large black X's through them already. Phone calls to each of them had proved fruitless.

Bobby raised his head as a sound caught his attention. He recognized it for what it was immediately - the rumbling purr of a car engine - and shoved his chair back from the table. The man almost knocked it over in his haste, did knock the beer bottle over; he caught it with surprisingly nimble fingers and righted it, before heading for the front door.

The sight of the sleek, black '67 Impala crawling down his dirt drive punched a ragged sigh of relief through him. He watched as it drew closer, his fingers twitching against his thigh in his impatience and nervousness. It rolled to a stop in front of his porch moments later. He was moving down the steps toward it before the engine was cut off.

"Boys," Bobby breathed the word as he spotted the two figures through the car's front windshield. The tension that had been tying his entire body, as well as his mind, in knots for the past three days eased slightly as he watched the two teenagers climb out of the car.

"Boys," louder this time as he reached them, both a greeting and a prayer of thankfulness.

"Hey Uncle Bobby --"

Sam Winchester had barely gotten the words out before Bobby had him wrapped in a hug. He sighed against Sam's hair as the 14-year-old hugged him in return, almost clinging to him. Bobby's eyes shifted to the older of the brothers as Dean approached, eyes on them. Only a second's hesitation from him as Bobby opened an arm, and then he was stepping into the embrace also.

Bobby hugged them both for a long moment, before pulling back to study them. "Boys," his features were grave, eyes taking them in, "Are you alright?"

"Yeah," it was Dean who answered, "Yes, Sir." The older brother dropped an arm around the younger, tugging Sam into his side, "We're okay."

"I heard about your dad -" he winced, "I'm sorry, boys. Police called me two days ago, I tried calling but it kept going to voicemail. Tried every number I have of your dad's contacts, but no word of you two. I was worried --"

Both boys exchanged glances, guilt in their features. "Sorry Bobby," Sam grimaced, "We've been on the road for a couple days, didn't think to call. It was stupid. Didn't mean to worry you."

The man waved a hand as he shook his head, "Long as you two are okay, that's what matters. You are okay, aren't you?" His eyes shifted to the bruises on Sam's face, "Considerin' -- ?"

"We're okay," Sam answered softly, leaning against Dean and resting his head against his brother's shoulder.

"Well come on in," he nodded toward the house, "I'll fix you a bite to eat." He watched as Sam reached into the Impala to grab a backpack from the backseat, then allowed them to lead the way into the house.

Five minutes later, the boys were sitting at the table, and Bobby was pulling a pack of hamburger meat out of his fridge. He washed his hands and turned on the front burner to warm the skillet sitting on it, then began to pat out hamburgers. He glanced toward the boys again as he seasoned them, and couldn't help but notice how tired they both looked.

"Upstairs bedroom is made up if you boys wanna catch a nap after lunch," he offered as he began to cook the burgers.

"Thanks Bobby," Dean shot him a smile, "We'll probably take you up on that."

He kept his attention split between the teenagers at the table and the food he was cooking over the next few minutes. The boys didn't seem exactly devastated by their father's loss, and whether that was shock or something else ( relief, probably, a small voice in his head whispered), he wasn't certain. He knew the boys hadn't had the best relationship with their father, and he knew the kind of man John Winchester had been. A drunk, and cruel, and abusive, even if Sam and Dean had kept silent about it. He had tried several times over the years to convince John to let the boys stay with him, but his request had been refused every time.

He wouldn't be a bit surprised, nor would he blame them, if Sam and Dean were relieved John was gone for good.

He plated the burgers, adding the fries he had deep-fried while they were cooking, and placed them on the table in front of the boys. He sat down across from them and took a drink of his beer, watching with a smile as they began to eat.

"Your burgers are the best, Bobby," Sam shot him a smile after swallowing the bite he had been chewing, "Thanks."

"Any time," he chuckled, "I can whip you up more in no time if you want more, just let me know."

They chatted amicably for a while, before Bobby asked, "What do you plan to do now?"

"Dunno," Dean swirled the last fry on his plate through his ketchup, then offered it to Sam. The younger brother rolled his but ate it from his fingers. "Figured maybe we might travel a bit, least til school starts up. Y'know, go see all those places we've always wanted to see. We can find a place we like, settle down for a while so Sammy can finish his education."

Bobby nodded; at least they had some foundation of a plan formed and weren't flying by the seat of their pants. "You boys know you're welcome to stay here, for as long as you like. Not sure how the schools here rate, but there are a couple high schools in the area."

The boys exchanged another look - Bobby had always marveled at the silent communication between the two, the way they could talk to one another with mere looks - before Sam answered, "Thanks, Bobby. We really appreciate that, and we will think about it. The idea of travelling a while is nice, so we'll probably do that first, y'know?"

He did know, and he nodded an acknowledgement. He chuckled and suggested, "I'll clean up in here. Go take a nap before you two fall over," as Sam yawned suddenly, his jaw popping from it. Both boys nodded and stood to head for the upstairs guest room.

Sam left the kitchen first, and Dean was following right behind him. He paused as Bobby called, "Dean."

The older brother turned to look at him, and he asked again, "You sure you two are alright? I know John gave you boys hell more often than not, and you weren't close, but if you need to talk or anything, well I ain't the best at it, but I'll sure try, and I can certainly listen."

Dean's eyes shifted to Sam, gazing following him as he moved through the front room. He glanced back at Bobby and told him, "We're good now, Bobby. Thanks."

Bobby nodded, then motioned toward the direction of the stairs and Sam, who was climbing them, "Go get some rest."

After cleaning up from lunch, Bobby sat at the table, nursing another beer. His thoughts turned from the boys upstairs to his last conversation with John Winchester, three short months ago:

"Why don't you let the boys come stay with me, John? Might be better for them to have a little stability for a while, not move around so much."

"Sure Bobby, when I'm dead. Until then, they're not going any damn place."

Karma or just the bad luck of a drunk, but John was gone now, and the boys were free.

Bobby finished his beer.