A/N: garrisonbabe on tumblr asked for something like this so I decided to take it upon myself to write, because I was in the writing mood. Here you are, hope you like!

It wasn't obvious to Bobby. In fact, it took him a good set of years to figure it out. But when he did, he wasn't quite sure what to do about it. He still isn't.

Bobby figures it's something that has been going on under his nose for a lot longer than he really cares to think about. Then again, he's not quite sure that it's really the truth. After all, as he walks into the kitchen on a regular morning, the day after the boys have returned from a hunt in southern Oregon, all he sees is the two of them being their regular selves.

Sam is sitting at the table, laptop open before him, a newspaper in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other. He brings the mug to his lips every minute or so to take a sip, but his eyes never once leave the print in front of him. Dean, on the other hand, is standing at the stove, stirring something in a pan as a fresh pot of coffee finishes filling on the counter beside him.

"Mornin' sunshine," Dean says over his shoulder, noticing Bobby. It's definitely not morning, though, but none of them really care. Bobby was up late the night before researching about a case that just showed up in Arkansas that he's thinking of giving to the boys. Dean and Sam drove all through the night and finally showed up at the house around two a.m., only to crash into the spare bedroom upstairs and leave Bobby in a silent house once again.

Bobby grunts in reply and gathers his own mug to pour some coffee into. He makes a face at the awful bitter flavor, but he knows he needs the caffeine so he keeps drinking it anyway.

"Eggs anyone?" Dean asks, grabbing a couple of plates from the cupboard.

"Yeah," Sam replies distractedly.

"Bobby?"

"As long as they're not burned, yeah." Bobby takes the offered plate and grumbles his thanks before sitting at the table across from Sam. Dean joins them a moment later setting a plate in front of his brother.

Sam's eyes glance up, finally, from the paper and he gives a little smile to Dean. Bobby glances at the elder brother and sees a mirrored smile on his lips. The old hunter shakes his head to himself and gets busy stabbing the bits of egg with his fork. The clinking noises of silverware on ceramic and the sound of chewing and swallowing are all that permeate the air.

After a while, it's Sam's voice that enters the fray to break the relative quiet. "So, get this," he starts, earning a groan of protest from Dean. Sam cocks an eyebrow, but continues, "There's something going on in Arkansas…"

"Yeah, I was up all damn night getting the scoop on that one for you two," Bobby tells them over his mug before taking another sip of his coffee.

"So what're we dealing with?" Sam asks, putting down the paper. He leans an elbow on the table and Bobby notices out of his peripheral vision that Dean is watching Sam closely, a contemplative look on his pouty lips.

"Salt and burn, best I can tell. Seems there was some bat shit crazy witch over there and she…was… what in hell are you two doing?" Bobby glares between them. Sam had been trying very hard to hide a grin, his mouth twitching and reshaping itself constantly, though he really hadn't been trying that hard and had glanced over at Dean multiple times while Bobby was talking.

"Nothing," Dean says with a shrug. He waves his hand. "Please, continue your bat shit witch story." He gives a shit-eating smile and Bobby rolls his eyes.

"So, like I was sayin'. She went crazy, started killing people, had some grudges or something, so she called up this old army ghost and had him killing people for her in nasty ways."

"So we gank the ghost then the witch?" Dean asks, leaning his chin on his palm, elbow resting on the corner of the table. Sam's mouth is still twitching, but he's doing a little better at hiding his smile.

"No," Bobby says slowly, looking between them suspiciously. "The witch is already dead, ghost killed her, but now we've got this guy on the loose. Best I figured, he's some no-name in an unmarked grave in one of the cemeteries around the city. You two boneheads gotta go ask around and find him."

"Alright." Sam looks at his brother.

"We'll head out in the morning," Dean tells Bobby.

"Whatever." Bobby stands and stiffly makes his way to the sink to put his plate down. He's about to turn around and ask what the two are going to do for the rest of the afternoon when one of the phones starts ringing. He sighs and picks up his regular house phone, answering with a casual, "Yeah?"

"Bobby Singer?"

He glances over when Sam barks out a shout of laughter. Dean's got a straight face, but Sam is having issues holding back his laughter. Dean suddenly gets up and mutters something about working on his baby before he grabs his jacket and heads towards the back door, hiding an obvious grin.

"Uh, huh," Bobby says into the mouthpiece in eloquently, turning away from Sam with a grimace.

. . . . .

Bobby sits at his desk. There is an old, leather-bound book open in front of him to page 458. He only pays attention to that number because he's been staring at it for the past ten minutes. He can't stop thinking about what's up with those boys. For years, they've been together, always together, in what most people would consider an unhealthy relationship. Hell, Bobby considers it unhealthy. But really, all that these two have are each other. Of course they have Bobby, but Bobby has never been a part of their weird co-dependency shit.

And that odd behavior that they've been showing? It feels strange for Bobby not to see them just be civilized, but actually getting along, smiling at each other, and shit, they were probably playing footsieunderneath the table at breakfast. Making up his mind, Bobby stands abruptly, making Sam look up at him from where he's been sitting on the couch reading. Bobby doesn't say anything to him, but walks through the kitchen, grabbing two beers on his way to the back door, and heads to where he knows Dean will be.

As he expected, Dean is lying on a board underneath the Impala, humming along to some song inside his head, occasionally singing a line or two of it. He's so off-key, though, that Bobby can't even put a name to the song. Instead, he just calls out, "Brought you a beer," and snickers when Dean visibly starts and mutters something unintelligible before sliding out from under the car.

Bobby offers a hand to him and he accepts it along with one of the beers that Bobby is holding. "What's up?" he asks, twisting off the cap and leaning against the side of his car with Bobby.

Shrugging, Bobby just says, "Nothing, really. Just been wonderin' something…"

"Yeah?"

"You and your brother… you two getting' along these days now?" He looks at Dean to see the boy watching the house and sipping his beer. It's not really what he wants to ask, but he can't seem to get the words to work right.

"Yeah, I guess."

"Well, with your dad just dead an' all…"

"What's your point, Bobby?"

"I'm just asking! It's kind of a nice change to not see you two at each other's throats all the damn time."

"Yep," Dean says, pursing his lips before taking another swig.

. . . . .

Sam retires first that night, saying he's tired of reading and wants an early start on the day in the morning. Dean stays up for a while afterwards, sipping a beer and watching mindless TV. Bobby leaves the phones when night rolls around in favor of his desk for some hardcore research. This time, not about a case, but about fixing the pipelines that somehow seem to have broken around the entire property. Just another nightmare on the plate of Bobby Singer.

When Dean finally heaves himself up, he mutters a short goodbye to Bobby and slowly makes his way upstairs. Bobby sighs in the relative silence that he's now surrounded with, occasionally taking a sip of hunters' helper from the glass sitting next to the plumbing book he's currently enraptured with.

It feels like he waits hours before he starts hearing it. The walls of the house muffle it, but there's no mistaking the steady thump, thump, thump that Bobby can hear coming from upstairs. It's honestly not an uncommon sound. He just never really knew what to chalk it up to when he's heard it in the past. Old and wise as he is, it took him more than twenty years to see that there's more than meets the eye with the Winchester brothers.

And so, being the old coot Bobby Singer is, he just shakes his head, grumbles into his beard, and decides he really needs to learn to ignore the things that happen in his house. Especially where they concern a certain two men.

At least he can say he's glad they're getting along.