They Think No One Cares

Note: This is the first piece of fan fiction that I've written in awhile and yeah I seriously need to update my other ones (I will soon, promise) but after reading weeks of Supernatural stuff on here and plotting a larger piece this one started out as a plot bunny last night and doesn't want to let go so bear with me…considering this is the very first Supernatural fan fiction that I've ever tried.

Summary: Roy and Walt think they've gotten away with their crime because after all, who really cares these days about the Winchesters? They've thought wrong.

Warnings: None except for maybe a little language. No pairings.

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An out of the way roadside bar during the coming of the Apocalypse had seen better and more prosperous days but on this night, the last night of business, the owner/bartender was finishing wiping up and keeping a close eye on his only two customers.

Rough looking men but then many who came through his doors these days had that wild or haunted look but in the case of these two the old man knew it was more of a case of hunted than haunted…or perhaps not if he had heard correctly.

He'd run this bar for over fifty years and had seen many types of hunters come through his doors but he knew the kind of prey these men hunted. Heck, he'd done his own fair share before age overtook him but on this night…the last night before he shut his place down he couldn't help but wonder what else the night held.

Over in the corner away from anyone listening or looking, not that there was anyone besides them and the old man, Roy and Walt continued their week long spree of drinking and bragging.

Roy knocked back another shot of whiskey. Feeling the burn go down smoothly as he shot a look at his nervous friend. "Calm down, Walt," he chided while pouring more drinks. "It's cool. We just ganked another demon as far as I'm concerned."

Walt was more on edge the longer it week and the further they got from that motel where they'd left Sam and Dean Winchester dead. Shaking his head, he looked around warily. "Roy, what if…" he stopped to think then lowered his voice more. "What if…what if Dean…?

"A dead man can't kill us, stupid," Walt laughed, recalling the last words the older Winchester brother spoke before he fired his weapon into his chest. "Besides, as far as I'm and probably a good many other hunters are concerned we did a good thing. Sammy wasn't human anymore if he ever was so we just ended another threat."

"Dean was human, Walt," Roy argued, drinking heavily to cover how uneasy he'd become since that night. "Dean still has friends and…"

"The Winchesters were freaks from the start, Roy!" Walt snapped, slapping his glass down on the table and ignoring the sound of the door opening to let in another late night customer. "Hell, nobody left to care about those boys if there ever was. So we killed 'em and now we celebrate."

The sound of a low cough from the side made Walt snarl, snapping over his shoulder. "Hey, you mind buddy? This is a private talk!"

"Well, that's just too damn bad, you stupid son of a bitch!" a sharp, gruff voice snapped before a butt end of a shotgun knocked Walt off the seat and two more blows to his already fuzzy head kept him on the hardwood floors.

"Walt…" Roy started to stand when a hand landed on his shoulder and nudged him back in his seat while a large handgun motioned him to stay there as a tall back man plopped down in another chair.

"Now I'd suggest you stay here." Rufus warned, shifting a small smile over to his companion who was glaring down at Walt on the floor. "Y'see, Bobby there wants a few words with your buddy Walt about a certain something."

Roy swallowed nervously but stayed seated.

Walt stared up into the angry eyes of Bobby Singer, who despite being in a wheelchair, still looked pretty intimidating from his position on the floor.

"Bobby…what…what are you and…" he blinked over at Rufus then back as the shotgun was leveled at his chest.

A top level hunter, Bobby had been around the block in the field and had known many hunters before being confined to the wheelchair. These days he rarely left his salvage yard but tonight he had personal business.

"You two are the stupidiest, dumbest hunters I have ever known!" he snapped, lifting the shotgun slightly in warning. "Not only did you not think to cover your tracks after you left that motel but you didn't bother to change plates on your truck and a good half a dozen people saw 'em!"

Bobby glared down and wished he could pound that smirk right off the younger hunter's face but shoved the barrel of his weapon harder into his face and was rewarded by the sound of a nose breaking.

"Though your biggest mistake and the most stupid of all the crap you two morons pulled was thinking you could go after Sam and Dean and not pay a price!"

Walt glared up at the older man, booze making his eyes bleary and the pain in his nose and ribs dulling his thoughts even more. "What d'ya care, old man?" he sneered. "If it wasn't for them you wouldn't be in that damn chair! Hell, you should be thanking us, Singer."

"Ohhh, that's gonna hurt." Rufua shook his head, pouring a drink and downing it while still keeping Roy covered.

The shotgun fired and Walt screamed as the load of buckshot went through his shoulder. "Crazy old…!"

"You're crazy if you think I'd let you live after what you did to those boys!" Bobby snapped, still hearing the words as Rufus showed up on his door with the news that his two favorite 'idjits' had been shot in a motel by Walt and Roy and knowing what had to be done.

"You think you could kill them because no one cares about 'em?" Bobby glared with murder in his eyes as he reached down to pull Walt up closer to him. "You don't know a damn thing about those two boys. What they've given for the world, for people, or for each other!"

The fist landed hard on an already broken nose. "You two chuckleheads at your best can't compare to those two at their worst and you dare to brag to anyone who would listen that no one cares about Sam and Dean?" Bobby tossed the broken hunter back on the floor before lifting a pistol from a pouch on his chair. "I'll tell you who still cares about Sam and Dean Winchester. I DO! Those two idjits may drive me drink, they may make me want to pull what hair I have left out but damn you, they're like my own blood and you hurt my blood and I make you see yours!"

The pistol fired twice even as Rufus patted Roy on the shoulder. "Next life, follow someone with more brains, son." he urged, firing.

Silence rang in the bar as Rufus poured two shots, handing one to Bobby before downing his. "Well, that was fun. Now what do we do after I bury these two?"

"I go home and pretend to not notice those two idjits falling apart." Bobby muttered, shooting a wave to the bartender. "Thanks for the heads up, Joe."

"Figured you'd want to deal with 'em." the old man shrugged, pulling out a can of gas and waving Rufus off. "Leave 'em. They'll burn with the place real nice once I'm done."

Bobby and Rufas knew about Joe's plan to torch the place and considered it a fitting end to two idiots who thought they could get away with shooting and leaving the only two people Bobby still had left in this world.

While Rufus pushed him outside to his van, Bobby flipped open his cell-phone to dial a number. Waiting a few beats for it to be picked up he looked back at the now fiery inferno. "Dean, it's done now get yourself, your brother and that feather brained Angel back to my place and tell me how in the hell you two got into this one!" he snapped gruffly, shutting the phone down and relaxed. "Damn Winchesters will be the death of me yet with these stunts." he muttered but grinned as he started off for home.

The End.

Came out longer than I first planned but still shorter than normal for me which makes it hard but I could just see Bobby hunting down the two morons who shot the boys. Thanks for reading this first attempt at Supernatural for me. Now back to plotting that longer one.