Bobby pulled a beer from the fridge and wandered into his study.
The house was exactly as he remembered it, even down to the dust-motes shimmering lazily in the sun that filtered through the window; that same window Sam and Dean had shattered when they'd come windmilling back from some alternate reality the dim-witted angel had sent them to.
He chuckled as he remembered how pissed off he'd been; he'd made the two idjits fix up the wall as good as new.
Dean had tried to bitch that it wasn't their fault, that it was an accident, but Bobby had nailed him with a threatening glare that could stop a were-wolf in its tracks, and the boy had shut up fast and gotten on with the repairs.
Being around Sam and Dean was enough to drive a sane man crazy, bad luck followed them around like a bitch in heat, yet he missed them more than he ever believed possible.
Not that he couldn't magic their dream-selves up whenever he wanted, but he could only replay the memories, never could he know what the brothers were going through now.
He was in no doubt that some other misfortune had befallen them.
Those boys were cursed to never get a break, and he was no longer around to knock their stubborn heads together.
Good job they had each other, he mused.
Sure they argued, bitched, threw punches, even walked away from each other only to be drawn back by some invisible chain that wouldn't snap, even if it was death to separate them.
He settled himself at his desk, his mind still on the Winchesters, of how they'd been brought up.
John Winchester had loved them, Bobby had no doubts about that, but the man had gotten lost, wandered down a road that led straight to obsession, leaving his young sons in his tail-lights with no-one else to cling to but each other.
Sometimes he'd wondered about the brothers' relationship, thoughts crossing his mind that never should have!
Sam and Dean were impossibly, irrationally, close.
Even as kids they carried on entire conversations with their eyes.
They touched each other a lot too, sometimes a hand on an arm, on a shoulder, a little cuff on the neck, tousling each other's hair.
Sam especially used to flare up like a volcano when he was way smaller than he is now and Dean would hold him down and make a bird's nest out of his squealing baby brother's chestnut mop.
Then there were the casual glances; one brother keeping discreet tabs on the other, eventually dropping whatever they were doing to shuffle over and stand beside their sibling as if they'd resisted the magnetic attraction as long as they could and now just let the collision happen.
They loved with an extraordinary intensity, but it was only reserved for the other.
Bobby shifted uncomfortably not wanting to go there again, but if those two boys were more than brotherly, it wouldn't have surprised him all that much.
The way they looked at each other reminded him of how he'd once looked at Karen, as if she was the most desirable woman on the planet. That was what the Winchesters did, feasting their eyes on each other as if their sibling was the alpha and omega of all that existed.
The last time he'd seen them was when Sam had come to get him in Purgatory and the same glint was in their eyes. Sam only saw Dean and Dean, Sam.
Well they were grown men.
So what if they did take things a little further than was normal. No-one could ever say the Winchesters were anywhere near normal to begin with!
He sighed. All this reminiscing had made him nostalgic. He closed his eyes and flickered through his memories.
He wanted something happy, something to make him feel good.
He let the moment flow over him, then opened his eyes to find himself in a shoddy motel room. He'd been witness to the meeting between Dean and Sam after the elder Winchester got out of Hell, and of all the reunions between the Winchesters he'd been witness to, this was the one that had touched him the most.
The emotion and love that had emanated from them at being reunited with their brother; the way they'd thrown themselves into each other's arms, holding on as if they never wanted to let go, had made his crusty heart shed more than a tear.
That everything had gone to pot afterwards was of no importance. Here in Heaven, Bobby didn't have to dwell on the bad. He could blot it out of his memories.
He lifted his bottle in salute, and wished his boys well.
He hoped that when the time came, they would go out together, though he wasn't too sure where they'd end up.
The Winchesters were awkward customers to have around, probably neither heaven nor hell were too happy to have them amongst their inhabitants, but whatever.
Everyone was well aware that those two would bring down the whole dang universe if anyone tried to separate them.
Rumsfield came padding in.
“You know you're supposed to be out in the yard, dog,” Bobby growled gruffly.
The dog looked up at him with big soulful eyes similar to those that Sam used regularly to persuade his big brother to give him whatever he wanted.
“Guess I should change your name boy,“ he grunted. “How does Sammy sound?”
Rumsfield gave a doleful whine and settled himself comfortably at his master's feet.