Bobby stared down at the…thing Sam was holding up to him. Sam, clearly sensing his hesitation shoved it at him a little more firmly. ( It's for you )

Muse: Bobby Singer
Fandom: Supernatural
Word Count: 796

They say a man's scars tell a story, and that might be true. But Bobby Singer is not an honest man, and his scars aren't any more truthful than the rest of him.

There's one on his left hand, small thin line starting at the base of his thumb and cutting clear across his palm. It might be from a banishing gone bad, might have needed blood to seal the deal, might have cut right into his own hand without blinking. Or it could be from trying to deal with a heap of twisted, rusted metal, could've nearly cost him the hand from tetanus. Could even have been from from a bar fight, all out brawl, all sharp smiles and you shoulda seen the other guy. Might be any of those things, or all of them, a different story told every time someone asks, different story for each person who asks. (Happens to come from an accident involving a kitchen knife, but good luck getting him to admit to it.)

Then there are the stories he doesn't have to tell, the ones people come up with themselves. When they see marks and lines and rough patches, and think soldier, fighter, criminal, just that damn unlucky.It's never bothered him. People will think what they want anyway, and half the time they make him out to be a damn sight more interesting than he really is.

Fact is, there are very few people in the world he'll give the unvarnished truth to, and even fewer who he thinks deserve it. For everyone else, if you don't like what he's got to say, you could always try asking again tomorrow.

Muse:Bobby Singer
Fandom: Supernatural
Word Count: 277

You're kiddin', right?

...You ain't kiddin. Shit, look up 'hunter' in the dictionary and it'll say 'guy who kills things' and if it doesn't, it damn well should. That's what this whole thing is, what we do. And yeah, sometimes that includes people.

And I'm not talkin' bout the poor assholes who get caught in the crossfire. You try to avoid that much as you can but it happens. There are always casualties in war, and you deal with it best as you can, you tell yourself that for every death you probably saved five other oblivious idiots and you move on. Or you don't and you wind up drowinin' in the bottom of a bottle somewhere, but that's another story.

But to kill a man, to look him dead in the eye and pull a trigger? I've done it. Will do it again, I have no doubt about that. It ain't the most popular opinion, but evil ain't limited to the non-human. I've seen men do shit a demon could only dream of, and do it open-eyed and willing. Demons, they are what they are and any damn hunter'd have no problem kicking their asses back to whatever hell they crawled out of. People, though. People can choose. And if a man chooses to do somethin' terrible then I'm gonna take him down, same as any other. I'm just ornery that way.


Muse: Bobby Singer
Fandom: Supernatural
Word Count: 233

Dear filmmakers,

I want to thank you, all of you, from the absolute bottom of my heart, for getting almost everything completely goddamn wrong. You have no idea how fuckin' greatful I am that most of the shit you put in your movies couldn't be more divorced from reality if you just pulled all of the information out of your collective asses. Alright, so sometimes you do your damn research and get things right, but happily you've gotta make it more fuckin' cinematic and add shit (as if seeing any of it for real would scare the piss out of any of you and your damn audiences worse than anything you've thought up so far).

Bad enough I gotta deal with people who actually know what they're doing raising ghosts and zombies and all that crap for some dumbass teenager to decide to try out his own demon-raising cause he saw it in a damn movie. I don't need that kind of aggravation.

So please, continue to make up whatever the hell you want. Better for everyone involved to keep on thinkin' all that shit is pure fiction anyway.

My thanks,
Bobby Singer

Muse: Bobby Singer
Fandom: Supernatural
Word Count: 193

Parents? Hell, I dunno. I the folks I had did just fine a job with me. You can talk about child psychology and nature vs nurture all you damn want (yes, I know about that stuff. You think I keep all those books around for decoration?) but the fact of the matter it we are who our parents make us. End of damn story. If I'd been raised by a nice couple out in Connecticut with a summer home you think I'd be sitting here surrounded by scrap metal? Hell no. I'd be out sipping tea in some country club somewhere. That's a damn scary thought, truth be told.

Probably a good thing I never had kids, come to think of it. I don't even want to think about what they'd have turned out like. I'd have been a lousy parent, anyhow.

I'm perfectly happy with who I am, so I'm satisfied with the parents I had. Nothin' else to it, really. They were good folk and they raised me to do what I had to. Don't think they did it with the idea of me hunting demons in mind, but not that many people do. And the ones that do, well. The less said on that subject, the better. That's an argument I've had too many damn times and I don't feel like bringin' it up again. Never did any good, anyway.

Heh, there's that too. Be happy with the folks you got. There's always worse ones out there you coulda had.

Muse: Bobby Singer
Fandom: Supernatual
Word Count: 253

Biggest mistake? Hell, sometimes it seems like I don't ever do anything but make mistakes.

First there was that thing with Lauren, and shit but I shoulda known that was gonna go bad. First off, Rumsfeld didn't like her and as mean as he tried to look, that stupid mutt liked everyone. Then she wanted me to fix up the house. Clean up the yard. I own a goddamn salvage yard, do I look like I give a damn how 'cluttered' it is?

My biggest mistake, though. That goes by the name of John Winchester. I shoulda shot the bastard first time I ever laid eyes on him. Would've saved me a hell of a lot of trouble. Pain in the ass that he was, he was a damn good man and I'm sorrier than hell that the last time I ever saw him I tried to shoot the son of a bitch, even if he did deserve it. And now I seem to have inherited looking after his boys, and what the hell am I supposed to do with two half-cocked pups? That whole family's in the middle of a shitstorm the likes of which ain't never been seen and I'm getting dragged right in along with 'em because I couldn't tell one man to fuck off. Hell, I had to go and like the bastard, and his damn kids.

Damned if I'm gonna throw myself further into it then I have to, though. They want my help, they know where to find me.

Muse: Bobby Singer
Fandom: Supernatural
Word Count: 255