HOME | DD

Description
A/n: I plan on this being a long fic... pretty very long. I'll just leave that there for all y'all.

Bobby heard the familiar hum of your motorcycle pulling up the drive.

“Shit” he cursed, closing his eyes and following it with a sigh. You had the worst timing, as per usual, since the Winchester brothers where currently sitting in his living room. He heard the kitchen door clatter as it swung shut and you yelled, “Bobby, where’s the damn first aid kit?!”

“Damn it,” he mumbled. The first aid kit was, of course, currently being used by Sam and Dean in the living room, who he could only assume were now on the defense from a perceived intruder- You.

He clamored down the stairs before things got out of hand, only to find you standing over an incapacitated Dean on the floor with, what he assumed was, Dean’s gun pointing at Sam.

You tossed a wide smile at Bobby. “Why is that all your guests immediately try to shoot me?”

“I don’t know. Maybe it’s 'cause you come in here guns blazing, girl? Or maybe it's 'cause they’re all on-edge hunters?” Bobby responded sarcasm dripping from his lips as he gave his shoulders a shrug.

You let out a light laugh, just like your mother’s, and tossed him the gun. He took a moment to look you over as you swished over to the fridge and pulled out a beer. You were dressed in your usual hunter garb- a pair of thick men’s jeans that fell loosely on your hips and layered tank tops one teal one black paired with heavy, black combat boots. Your wild hair was pulled back into a sensible bun and your normally tan skin was paler than it should have been. He shook his head when you turned to open the beer on the edge of the counter, revealing a poorly bandaged and obviously mangled shoulder.

Dean had now recovered and was standing with Sam, both watching the little exchange with curiosity. Bobby walked over to you now, simultaneously returning the gun to Dean and asking, “What in the hell happened to you?”

You shrugged, “Werewolves.”

Bobby’s ran his hand down his face, letting out a sigh. Always trouble with you.

“Don’t worry,” you said, “No teeth… though wouldn’t you know it seems that werewolves travel in packs. Who’da guessed.”

Bobby rolled his eyes at your sarcastic response. “And just why were you hunting werewolves alone?”

You took another swig of your beer before responding, “Everyone was busy. Rufus is off fighting some six headed fiend, Ellen won't let Jo come out and play, and I sure as hell ain’t hunting with Gordon. So I went it alone.”

You punctuated the whole thing with an indifferent shrug before, addressing the whole room, with you original question, “First aid kit?”

“Living room,” Sam answered, gesturing to the door. You opened your mouth to respond, but Bobby pushed you gently yet forcefully out of the kitchen, firmly ordering, “Get that thing properly cleaned and bandaged… I won't have people saying I didn’t teach ya to fix yourself up.”

As soon as you were through the door, he cursed under his breath, "Of all the damn times…”

Dean felt this would be the best time to interject curiously, “Who the hell is that Bobby?”

“Oh no you don’t. Don’t even start. She is off limits to both of you- both as a hunter and as whatever the hell your sick mind is thinking.”

Dean chuckled and gave a quick shrug, not even trying to act innocent. Sam rolled his eyes at his brother and then repeated the question he'd asked, “Sooo… are you going to tell us who she is or not?”