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Bobby hadn't stayed alive as a hunter this long without learn to fit puzzle pieces together. Dean and Sam's sudden lack of calls, plus John's radio silence on the matter were his first clues. After a while, when none of the Winchester idjits decided to let him in on the joke, he decided to go looking for answers.

First stop, Stanford, which really yielded up all the answers he needed. If he could believe them, which he wasn't sure about since... this was Sam and Dean. Kids he'd known since they were knee-high to their daddy. Although, to be fair, if anybody could fuck up a pair of good kids that badly, it'd be John Winchester. The man had good intentions, but that saying about the road to Hell was just about written for him.

So, second stop. A good computer. Much as he hated the things, he needed to know the whereabouts of the younger Winchesters and if he knew Sam, the boy'd be back in school in some form. College databases finally coughed up his name attached to a college in Georgia. Polar opposite side of the country from John's usual haunts. Should have known. Now, he just had to hope that Dean was still with him, since he was the harder of the two to track.

And figure out what to do if the rumors were true.

When he arrived in Savannah, he was no more sure of what he'd do in that case than when he left South Dakota. The short ride tailing that distinctive Impala from Sam's school campus to their small apartment building didn't lend him much more time for clarity. Oh well. Have to wing it, he supposed.

He got a room at a place nearby and then waited until the early evening to drive up and knock on their door.


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Bobby Singer

February 2015

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