You weren’t hard to find, seeing as you had only gotten as far as your bike parked right outside the door, and his eyes widened as he took in the reason you hadn’t come in. Bobby had had it. His voice got louder with every word as he bellowed, “Of all the confounded, idiotic things… what in the hell are you doing?”
You froze and the Winchesters stumbled out the door behind him, coming to see what had Bobby so upset. You were looking up at him, feigning innocence- still frozen with a wrench in hand, from the floor next to your beloved motorcycle, grease and dirt all over your face and upper body. The four of you just stood there for a second- Sam and Dean confused, Bobby fuming, and you looking like an innocent deer caught in the headlights.
“Have you no sense in your brain, girl? That wound is going to get infected and I’m going to be the one to have to lop your arm off,” he fumed, pointing at your still unbandaged shoulder.
“Save it,” he seethed, yanking you up by your good arm to demand, “Inside. Now.”
You began to babble something about getting distracted, hum in the engine not being quite right and so on, but Bobby wasn’t having any of it.
“In. Now.” he commanded, letting his voice fall back to a foreboding but even tone. You gave frustrated sigh and turned on your heel, complying since you knew you didn't really have another option.
“Someone’s in trouble~” Dean sing-songed, unwittingly turning Bobby’s wrath upon himself.
“Don’t think I don’t know that you're avoiding getting your own scrape patched up.”
Dean shrank back as Sam chuckled.
“In.” Bobby repeated and they obediently returned to the kitchen with him following on their heels. You were already at the sink with a clean towel to sponge the grime off your shoulder, still grumbling under your breath. Sam and Dean headed towards the living room but Bobby caught the collar of Dean’s jacket and yanked him back, “Oh no, you don’t. Sit. Now. Sam, grab the first aid kit and the bandages from upstairs.”
Sam disappeared through the door, glad to be in the clear, and you focused on your shoulder. Once you were satisfied that your wound was clean, you tossed the towel in the sink and turned to watch Dean and Bobby.
“So what’chu in for?” you asked, a smirk playing across your face.
Dean’s eyes flickered from Bobby to you and before he could answer, Bobby said, “Same as you,” while tugging at Dean's jacket until it slid off revealing a similar shoulder wound.
You nodded, “Impressive. Cause?”
“Ghost,” Dean said flatly before turning his attention to Bobby, “Bobby, really Sam can-”
“Too late, boy.”
You felt for him, Bobby, while skilled at fixing people up, was not the most sympathetic or gentle- especially when angry. Dean noticed your look of sympathy and grimaced. Sam came back in with the supplies in hand and Dean started to wriggle in his chair like a child. You chuckled to yourself- for someone who dealt with pain on a regular basis he was being such a wimp.
You voiced this thought, “Oh quit being such a baby. It's just some stitches,” while picking up the thick bandages and quickly wrapping your own shoulder. Dean glared at you and then set into pouting as Bobby went about laying out the things he needed.
“You brought this on yourself dude.” Sam shrugged, no sympathy for his difficulty older brother, and then glanced at you with curiosity in his eyes. He opened his mouth slightly to say something and then closed it, thinking better of it since Bobby had specifically warned them away from you and he preferred not to anger the man any further. He turned round and retreated to the living room, as it seemed like the safer place to be at the moment.
You glanced back at Dean, who was squirming again, and sighed, “Bobby, let me do it.”
Bobby’s eyes shot up from his preparations and locked on to yours with a glare but you were more used to it and held his gaze with equal intensity.
“Fine” he finally sighed, unhappy with the change of events, but he knew that look in your eye- you weren’t taking no for an answer. You were too much like him at times. He turned and left the kitchen, mumbling just as you had earlier about “driving him to an early death bed” and “needing a stiff drink.”
“I heard that,” you called.
“Good,” came the answer from elsewhere in the house and you shook your head.
Dean, a silent observer to this whole exchange, couldn’t help but chuckle as he noted the similarities between the two of you that were now all too obvious