A/N- I asked for a suggestion on Tumblr and this was what I got. I didn't follow the given prompt exactly, but I'm the writer and I get to decide what I write and what I don't write. This was written because I got back from summer camp and needed to write something.

Bobby Singer was pretty damn nervous. After the whole fiasco with the roadhouse, he had offered his own salvage yard as a haven of sorts for Ellen Harvelle. He had offered it to Jo, too, but Jo was off somewhere, hunting something in another part of the United States. She had called and told her mother she'd be there soon, and Ellen proceeded to get some spare stuff she had hidden around the property. She was supposed to be back fairly soon.

With a sharp, three-beat knock on the door, Ellen announced her presence, entering without waiting for Bobby to open the door for her. She glanced around the living room first, eyeing everything a bit distastefully.

"This place is a mess, Singer," Ellen said. Her voice was as sharp as it always was, but it somehow seemed more well meaning now.

"Right," Bobby replied, dripping with sarcasm. "And your Roadhouse was so much better."

Ellen shrugged. "I had other people barging in and messing my Roadhouse up. What's your excuse?"

"Those Winchester boys ain't exactly clean, Ellen." He was fishing for excused and Ellen could tell.

"And how often are they around?" Ellen said, her eyebrow raised and her lips pulled up in a slightly triumphant smile.

"Shut up," Bobby grumbled good naturedly.

Accepting the victory with another smirk, Ellen headed out and picked up her bag from the passenger seat of her car. Bobby, while she was gone, smiled at the door with uncharacteristic softness. As soon as he heard the car door slam, he wiped it away and composed himself. When she came back, he was standing by the fridge with two bottles of beer in hand. Ellen set her bag down and grabbed one of the beers, popping the cap off expertly.

"You got a room for me, or are you sleeping on the couch?" She lifted the bottle to her lips, not taking her eyes off Bobby.

Bobby huffed. "I got a spare room. If you behave, I might even let you use it."

Ellen grinned again. "Your kindness is overwhelming," she informed him, grabbing her bag again and heading up to the room he mentioned.

She stayed up there, and only came down when the smell of cooking food began wafting through the house.

Bobby was in the kitchen cooking when she headed over to him, peering over his shoulder to look at what he was making. He wasn't looking at her face, but from her tone he knew exactly what her face looked like.

"Bobby Singer, are you making pancakes?" she asked incredulously.

"Sue me," he replied, still not looking at her. "I had some pancake mix and this ain't a five star hotel."

Ellen laughed, not the dry chuckle from earlier, but a genuine laugh. It sounded great, and Bobby wondered why she didn't laugh more often. "Well then."

Bobby managed to dig some butter out from somewhere, but he had no syrup of any sort. They sat across from each other at a too-small table, eating slightly undercooked, too-buttery pancakes and drinking beer, carefully not making eye contact. When the time for them to get up to bed, neither of them said a word to the other. The silence was deafening as they headed to bed.

The next few days progressed much like that until Bobby got a call from Sam on one of his landlines.

"Hey, Bobby," Sam greeted, sounding tired and exasperated.

"Sam," Bobby greeted. His eyes jumped up as Ellen came over and watched him intently. He knew that she felt very motherly toward the Winchester boys, and since he was their surrogate father, he understood why she looked worried.

"So, we had a bit of a mishap, and we need somewhere to crash for a couple days. Can we come over?" Sam sounded alright, which meant that whatever happened, it had probably happened to Dean. It probably wasn't too bad, judging by the lack of panic in Sam's voice, but going by the exasperation, it was enough.

"What did Dean do this time?" Bobby asked, smiling as he heard a surprised pause. Apparently, he knew the Winchester boys better than they thought he did.

"He's fine-"

"For the last time, Sam, there's nothing wrong. You're overreacting!" There was the other boy, shouting at Sam, voice coming through surprisingly clearly.

"If there's nothing wrong, get up and take the phone away from me, Dean," Sam snapped back. Bobby sighed. Here we go again….

"Fuck you…." Dean grumbled.

"He broke his leg," Sam explained.

"It's fractured!" Dean shouted from the background, sounding very unhappy.

"You were in surgery for 3 hours, Dean. There were two fractures in your femur and one rather alarming fracture in your tibula. There are rods in your leg, and you can't even walk right now. We're going to Bobby's." With a click, the phone was shoved down, and Bobby set his end down, too.

"What's happening?" Ellen asked, her eyes narrowed.

"Dean busted his leg pretty badly, and they're coming over for a few days," Bobby explained.

"How badly?" Ellen wasn't kidding around.

"Three fractures on two different bones. He's alright, but apparently he can't walk." And didn't that sound just like a Dean problem. Sure, they weren't overlooking the fact that he'd basically gotten his leg smashed, but he would be alright and seemed to be okay.

Ellen and Bobby didn't really avoid each other, but they didn't talk. Ellen wordlessly cleaned up the house while Bobby went out and purchased some painkillers, because he knew that the elder Winchester would need them, whether he admitted to it or not.

Two hours later, a knock sounded at the door. Ellen answered, opening with a "Hi, Sam."

"Ellen?" Sam blinked, and Bobby was standing next to her.

"I've been picking up strays," Bobby explained. He smirked at the murderous look Ellen shot him, and them looked around Sam's shoulder. He could see Dean, standing outside the Impala, leaning heavily on a pair of crutches. His left leg was supported by a brace, and he looked very much like he wanted to move forward but couldn't figure out how to do it.

"How'd you get him out of the hospital so quickly?" Ellen asked, sounding displeased at that choice.

"We went AMA," Sam said, flashing an apologetic look at Ellen. "Dean insisted."

"Sam?" Dean called. His voice sounded airy and tired, and they all immediately turned and watched him take a shaky step forward and falter, almost falling backwards.

Bobby and Ellen went out to help the boy, and they each slung one of Dean's arms over their shoulder and carried him, Sam grabbing his crutches. They at first were not careful, but when the jostled his leg carrying him up the stairs and he let out a guttural cry of pain, they were much more wary. They maneuvered the house, both glad Ellen had cleaned up, and gently set him down on the couch.

Dean hissed in mild pain, but as soon as he settled, he seemed alright, just very tired.

"You okay, boy?" Bobby asked, voice gruff with concern. Normally, Dean would have some smartass comment, but he did not have near enough energy to do that today.

"I'm okay," Dean said, leaning back a little and closing his eyes. It took him very little time to fall asleep, slumped against the couch. Ellen, who had been sitting next to him, carefully lifted both his good and bad leg and laid them on the couch, gently resting his braced leg on a pillow. She moved from that couch to the other one, pressed close against Bobby and the edge of the couch. Neither of them minded much.

Sam eyed them with a slightly surprised expression, but smoothed it out before either of them could say anything.

"How come his leg's in a brace instead of a cast?" Ellen asked. The pants he'd been wearing were cut off, so his good leg, his right leg, was in pants as usual, but the other was entirely wrapped up in white cloth.

"They need to be able to access it to remove the pins from his bone later on. After that, they'll plaster it, but not for very long. He's fine. Just tired from all the drugs they had him on." Sam, too, seemed tired, and it wasn't long before Bobby and Ellen decided to call it a night.

Ellen fetched a blanket and draped it over Dean, smiling softly at the peaceful expression he wore while asleep. He never looked as untroubled while awake.

Sam curled up on the couch, acting as though he planned to sleep there.

"Come on, ya idjit. I got a spare room," Bobby ordered. No way was he gonna make Sam sleep on the couch.

"Isn't Ellen using that room?" Sam murmured, sounding half-asleep already.

"We can share," Ellen said, face turning pink at the words. Bobby felt a flush creeping over his own cheeks, too, but said nothing. Sam was tired, maybe he wouldn't notice.

He did, but didn't say anything. The three hunters made their way to the rooms, Ellen and Bobby to one room and Sam to the other. Ellen and Bobby eyed each other awkwardly, but they said nothing as they climbed into the bed.

They lay back to back, and Bobby found it much more comfortable than he would ever admit. Ellen, too, was comforted, and they scooted closer to each other in the night, until she was practically using his shoulder as a pillow. When Bobby awoke in the morning, Ellen's long, light brown hair was spread out over his own pillow, and he sighed contentedly.

The puff of air, the movement of his chest, and the sound woke her up, and she immediately lifted her head and stared at Bobby as though he had become something else in the middle of the night, with shock and confusion. He shuffled away from her on the bed, and she blinked and got up, heading into his bathroom to take a shower.

Bobby sighed again, but out of disappointment this time. That had been the best night's sleep he'd gotten since Karen died.

He headed downstairs, and wasn't surprised at all to see Sam down there already, somehow managing to make french toast on his stove, with a very tired-looking Dean standing behind him, leaning on his crutches and giving Sam advice, coaching him through the process.

Sam looked up as soon as Bobby entered, and Dean shuffled around more slowly, trying not to let the french toast burn. "Sam," he warned, and Sam expertly flipped the endangered toast onto a plate.

"Where's Ellen?" Sam asked, handing Dean the spatula. Dean held it carefully, and he managed to awkwardly flip some of the toast over, although with no where near the grace Sam had. Maybe it was because of the crutches.

"In the bathroom," Bobby answered, refusing to give his boys a clue of what happened last night. Luckily, Dean was too tired to notice and Sam was too polite to bring it up. Sam grabbed the stack of toast, and placed two slices on a plate. He handed the plate to Bobby, and another two slices on another plate was for Ellen.

They had butter again, and although there was still no syrup of any kind, the french toast was very good. Dean ate one slice before he had to go throw it up, coming back with Sam lingering by his side and looking more exhausted than ever. "Stupid drugs," he muttered, staring longingly at the food.

"Sorry, Dean," Ellen said, and she did sound truly sorry. Dean's eyes were shadowed and his face was pale, he looked very much like he needed the food that his stomach couldn't handle.

"It's okay. It's been happening almost every time I try to eat something. I'll be okay." Dean looked dead tired, but they took his word for it. He didn't sound like he was lying, and sure enough, when Sam offered to take him to the spare room, he didn't refuse the offer. Sam came back alone and said Dean was sleeping again, and the three of them ate french toast in silence.

Bobby and Ellen finished quickly, and together they stood up, and went to Bobby's bedroom.

"We need to talk," Ellen started as they closed the door. Bobby nodded.

"We shouldn't start anything with the boys around," Ellen said, "but we're starting something anyway. I'm not goin' to deny it, Bobby Singer, I do like you. But forming connections is dangerous when you're a hunter."

There was truth in her words. Most hunters stayed alone, worked alone, died alone. It sure wasn't glamorous, but it saved from a lot of heartache. The thing was, Bobby knew that that wasn't always true.

"Not always. We've got a connection with Sam and Dean, and they haven't gotten us killed yet." He smiled slightly. Those two idjits were his boys, just as much as they were John's. And they were Ellen's, too.

"That's different."

"Are you implying we're more than just friends?" Bobby couldn't help it, he had to make sure he wasn't drawing bizarre connections. Ellen groaned.

"Idiot," she mumbled, and she leaned in and kissed him. It was a soft, chaste kiss, but it was a kiss all the same, and Bobby didn't react as her lips landed on his. They were chapped and hot, but it felt wonderful, and he didn't resist either. When she leaned back, they both looked away.

"Sorry," Ellen said, sounding not very sorry.

"Don't be," Bobby said, and he leaned in close.

When Bobby and Ellen emerged not too long later, they were much closer together, both literally and figuratively. Sam knew, they could see it in his face. He smirked knowingly, as they ate slightly odd tasting sandwiches. They had some soup for Dean, but the elder Winchester was deeply asleep and could not be woken. They let it cool on the stove, deciding to save it for dinner.

Sam was seated on the couch, laptop in hand, researching some hunt or something, and Bobby and Ellen were back in Bobby's room. They weren't doing anything, but being in each other's presence was enough to make them feel much better.

Dean's recovery took many weeks, and finally, he was walking around without the bandages. He still wore the brace, but he could stay awake for longer than an hour at a time and was also much more lively. He still slept a lot, but he was definitely better, and that lifted the spirits of everyone around him. Food still made him sick, but he would get over that soon enough.

The last night he had to wear his brace was the worst. He had nibbled on something, solid food he still wasn't used to and his stomach roiled in protest. He limped as fast as he could to the bathroom and puked everything, until his stomach hurt because it was so empty. He lay there, completely exhausted, until Ellen found him. She lifted him to his feet and helped him to the couch, laying him down gently and helping him settle into the cushions.

"Dean," she whispered, laying one hand on his forehead in an uncharacteristically motherly gesture. "You've got a bit of a fever."

Dean moaned slightly and went limp against the couch, as tired as he was the first few days. Ellen brought a wet rag over, and laid it on his forehead. She watched as he relaxed slightly, then touched his shoulder lightly, watching his deep green eyes flutter closed. "You'll be okay, honey," she said, as he drifted off to sleep. She watched vigil over Dean that night, and when his fever broke, she climbed back into bed with Bobby, glad she had made Dean's night more bearable.

In the morning, Dean was still fast asleep. But someone else was downstairs, someone who brought Ellen out of her sickening worry for Dean and into a much better mood.

Jo Harvelle, looking tough and none the worse for wear, stood in the kitchen, looking at Dean with a worried expression. "Is he okay?" she asked her mom.

"Believe it or not, he's a lot better than he was earlier," Ellen told her. She pulled her daughter into a hug, wrapping her arms around Jo's neck and smiling. If Dean wasn't hurt, this might very well be one of the best days of her life. She had Bobby, that idjit, and her surrogate sons and her daughter.

"Jo…?" Dean blinked awake, eyes cloudy and confused but getting clearer.

"Hey, Dean," Jo greeted, sounding pissed but gentle at the same time. "What did you do to yourself this time?"

"Ghost dropped somethin' big on my leg. Had to have surgery to fix it. It's all a bit fuzzy," Dean admitted, voice slurring slightly. He was definitely getting stronger, though, because he didn't look like he was about to fall asleep again.

"Tomorrow we're taking him to the Sioux Falls hospital to get the pins removed." Ellen moved into the kitchen, pouring some water into the coffee brewer and getting the beans from the cupboard.

"We are?" Dean asked, sounding much more awake and aware now.

"Me n' Bobby agreed last night," Ellen told him, then winced slightly. Dean had been asleep, fevered, and/or exhausted. He hadn't noticed the thing going on between her and Bobby, and with her luck, she was going to have to explain herself to both Dean and Jo at the same time. Luckily, Dean didn't catch on and Jo settled for a confused look flashed at her mother.

Ellen handed Jo a mug of coffee, and pointedly ignored Dean's face. Damn, he was a grown man, he should not be so good at the puppy dog face. Okay, she at least owed him an explanation. Damn.

"I know you tried to eat solid foods yesterday, Dean. You couldn't hold on to those. No coffee for you yet."

Dean sighed, and lay back on the couch. He looked up at Jo, and muttered, "I hope you have a good book, because I've had nothing to do but sleep and I'm bored out of my mind."

Jo shrugged. "Sorry, Dean, I'm not too big on pleasure reading."

Dean hmphed, and closed his eyes. "I thought not," he said, before managing to drift off again.

"So, you and Bobby?" Sam and Jo had cornered Ellen in the kitchen, which she had entered for more coffee. She and Bobby had been lingering in Bobby's room all day, and now it was noon. They weren't fooling anyone, least of all Sam and Jo.

Ellen sighed. She knew she would have to explain it to them eventually, and wasn't surprised they cornered her about it.

"I like him," she stated bluntly. "And he feels the same way. Neither of us are married anymore. Is that a problem?" Being snappy was one of her best ways of avoiding issues, but Jo knew that and Sam was smart enough to figure it out. Neither of them pressed, though.

"So, are you two together?" Sam asked, smiling slightly. That ass. He knew. He was trying to make it clearer than it needed to be.

"Yes," she said, not dancing around the topic. She needed to show her kids that she wasn't shy about the topic. At least Dean wasn't listening, though. The elder Winchester might take it worse than Sam or-

"I knew it!" A triumphant yet tired voice from the living room. Shit.

In limped Dean, looking stronger than he ever had before. He walked quicker on his crutches, grinning. "I totally knew it."

"To be fair, it wasn't exactly a secret," Jo said, reaching a hand for Dean's shoulder as he wobbled dangerously before regaining his balance.

"It wasn't exactly 'public information'," grumbled a voice from down the hall, and in came Bobby Singer, looking gruff but pleased. Who could blame him? The woman he loved and the younger adults that were practically his children were all together in one room, looking healthy and whole (mostly).

Sam laughed. "Because you're so great at keeping secrets, Bobby."

"Shut up," Bobby muttered, and Jo joined in Sam's laughter with giggling. Dean's smile widened, and Ellen chuckled through her nose. Bobby pretended to be upset at them, but they could all see the smile on his face and his hand, resting gently on Ellen's shoulder. There was no point in denying anything.

The next day, all five of them squeezed into the Impala. Bobby drove, Dean rode shotgun only because of his leg, and the rest of them were squashed in the back seat, hoping the drive to the hospital wasn't a long one. It wasn't, and soon they were able to get out.

They hadn't brought Dean's crutches, so the elder Winchester had to sling his arm around Bobby's shoulder and be half-dragged to the check in counter.

"This idiot busted his leg a while ago, we're getting the pins removed and a cast for him today," Bobby informed the woman at the desk. She glanced down at a paper, then looked at Dean.

"Are you Dean Singer?" she asked. Dean shot a look at Bobby that clearly meant really? before answering.

"Yeah," he said. He slipped a little, getting tired, and Bobby lifted him higher and supported more of his weight.

"If you will stay here for a minute," she said politely, and then scampered off to get something.

"Really, Bobby?" Dean demanded, the second she was gone.

"I had to convince them you were my son somehow, Dean. Quit your bitching."

Dean sighed lengthily, and the woman returned with a wheelchair. She wheeled it over to Dean and held it steady, indicating he should sit in it.

"No," Dean refused, his facade no where near as strong as it needed to be for that to work. His good leg was shaking and his face looked dead tired.

"Dean, if you can walk to the surgery room all by yourself, you don't have to do it," Ellen said, with a dark smirk.

Dean groaned and lowered himself onto the wheelchair, and the woman wheeled him off. She told them that under no uncertain terms were they to follow him, that they would be able to see him after surgery and that they'd have to wait.

They wasted time making fun of people in magazines ("Look at that blue steel!") and playing card games until the nurse came over to them and informed them that, after an hour and a half, Dean was fine and they could see him now.

The followed her to his room, and saw immediately the white plaster cast on his leg. He was unconscious, apparently the medicine hadn't worn off yet.

Bobby and Ellen stayed in the room, while Sam and Jo went out and bought some food. While they ate, Dean woke up.

The first sound that escaped his lips was an unintelligible groan, and he was met with four pairs of eyes fixed on him.

"How're you feeling, Dean?" Ellen asked.

Dean groaned again and mumbled, "Done," before immediately falling asleep again.

He woke again much later, and after affirming he was feeling good and that he wouldn't immediately fall asleep again, they helped him into a wheelchair and took him back to the Impala. He got into the passenger seat, relying much on Bobby and Ellen's support. The rest of them tumbled into the Impala and drove to the salvage yard.

It was 11pm. Dean immediately limped over to the couch and collapsed onto it, falling asleep. Sam took the other couch, leaving the spare bed for Jo. In Bobby's room, Ellen lay, her head pillowed on Bobby's arm, which was wrapped around her in a safe, comforting gesture. They fell asleep together, and nevermore had they felt more like a family. Sure, they weren't connected by blood, but it was like Bobby would say to Dean, about one year after this.

Family don't end in blood.

A/N2: To all the people who read One Last Goodbye, I'm sorry, I had a bit of writers block. I've started on the next chapter, but it will be a while before I update again. I'm sorry.

How about that musical episode, eh?

Read and review!