Yet another story prompted by AltoOwl! Once again, thanks, Owl, for suggesting it, reading it, and anything else you did! She wanted a reason of why Bobby says 'idjit' all of the time. Hope this is alright!

Disclaimer: I don't own the Winchesters, or Bobby (insert maniacal sobbing), but I'm just having my fun with them. :)

"Alright, boys! You want some grub, you gotta come an' get it!"

Before Bobby had even finished his call, he saw two young boys rush into the kitchen and take their respective seats at the table. As soon as Dean saw the sandwich in his plate, he started swallowing the thing whole. "Twfank oou, Unkwe Bawby," he said through his mouthful of food.

"Shut up and swallow your food," Bobby grunted, playfully smacking the six year old on the back of his head.

Sammy was eating his food slower, picking up every chip and piece of fruit one by one. Like the good boy he was, he made sure there was no food in his mouth before repeating, "Thank you, Uncle Bobby!"

"You're welcome, Sam." When Dean have him a rotten look, Bobby said, "What? He gets a response because he used his table manners, unlike someone."

"Table manners are dumb," Dean muttered. "When are you ever gonna use 'em?"

"Well, if you're going on a hot date with a girl, she ain't gonna want to see all the food in your mouth."

"Eww!" Both boys scrunched up their faces at the mention of hot dates with girls. Bobby couldn't help but smile.

"That's yucky, Uncle Bobby!" Sammy spat out.

"Yeah, girls are gross!" Dean added, frowning.

"Uh huh," Sammy affirmed, looking at Bobby as if to make sure he got the point, that girls were just too gross and not worth their time.

Bobby threw up his hands in surrender. "Fine, no girls. For now," he added with a smirk.

Dean squinted his eyes and stuck out his tongue, making gagging motions.

"But you still need to use your manners in my house," Bobby continued, "or I may kick you out and make you go eat with the dog."

"I don't care, I like Rumsfield!" Dean said, crossing his arms and shooting Bobby an arrogant smirk.

"Rummy!" Sam repeated, clapping his hands.

"You two are impossible," Bobby sighed, rubbing his forehead. Sam was in a stage where he wanted to be just like his big brother, which meant him saying and doing everything Dean did, to the slight annoyance of his older brother. As much as Dean griped, however, Bobby knew he was secretly honored.

"Can we go play on the cars?" Dean asked once he'd finished his meal, looking at Bobby hopefully.

"On da cars?" Sam echoed, giving Bobby his best puppy dog eyes.

Bobby ruffled the kid's too long hair. "Sure, just stay in sight of the shop. I've got a car I need to work on in there."

"Okay!" Dean climbed out of his seat and helped his brother get down. "Come on, Sammy, let's go race the cars!"

"Race!"

Bobby chuckled as the boys ran to the scrapyard. How could anyone not love them? "Hey, Dean!" he called after the boy. "Look after your brother!"

He didn't know why he said it, for he knew that Dean would die before letting Sammy get hurt. Yet, there were many things in the scrapyard that could find their way into a two year old's knee when he tripped and fell. Dean keeping an extra eye on him would probably be best. He was answered with a swift, "Yes, sir!"

Bobby cleaned up the plates and utensils before heading outside. He had a totaled SUV in the garage, after some teenager took off with her mommy's car in the middle of the night and rammed it into a tree. She'd shattered the window shield, along with putting a nice oak shaped indent in the front of the car, but nothing that couldn't be solved. How she'd done it, Bobby had no clue, but he wasn't going to question it since she was paying well. A job was a job.

He saw Sam and Dean climbing around in a scraped corvette, with Dean claiming it was Bumblebee, just with an awful paint job, and that he was going to destroy Sam and all the Decepticons, making the younger boy squeal in delight. Dang, Bobby loved those boys. He just wished John Winchester could be there for them and actually act like a father instead of dragging them around the country fighting the things of their nightmares. Thank goodness Sam was still in the dark about the things that go bump, but Dean knew about it all, and that only omade Bobby concerned for him. He was only six years old, almost seven, and didn't need to be worried about keeping a gun under his pillow just in case a monster tried to nab him or Sammy. But the kid held his ground well, not showing Bobby any weakness that he may hold. He was his father's perfect soldier. As wrong as the statement seemed, it was true. Sometimes, more often than not, John treated him as a cadet rather than a son.

"Sam, you idiot, you can't kill me!" He suddenly heard Dean shouting, along with Sammy's soft vrooming noises. "I'm driving too fast, there's no way you can catch me!" Dean made a race car sound with his mouth, much to the enjoyment of Sammy.

"'M not an idjit, Dean!" Sammy whined back. He made the sound of a laser, pointing a chubby hand gun at his brother.

Dean laughed, cocking his head at his brother. "It's pronounced 'idiot,' not idjit, Sam."

"But you still calls me an idjit!"

From the shop, Bobby could see Sammy's bottom lip poking out, a clear sign he was getting upset with his brother's antics. Letting out an exasperated sigh, Bobby walked towards the two, just in case he needed to intervene.

Sammy, don't say it if you're gonna say it wrong! It's idiot! I-di-ot!"

"Dat's what I said!" Sam exclaimed loudly, tiny fists now clenched. "You're an idjit, Dean!"

Dean growled loudly, then called, "Uncle Bobby!"

Bobby smirked, knowing he'd be called in to settle the dispute soon. "Yeah, what's going on over here?"

"Will you please tell Sam that it's pronounced idiot, not idjit?" Dean pleaded, looking up at Bobby with wide eyes.

Bobby chuckled and shook his head. "Kiddo, now you're being the idjit. Listen to your brother, he knows what's up."

The look on Dean's face was priceless, the shock and horror flooding through him very obvious. He looked at Sammy, who was doing a weird little wiggle that might have been a victory dance, then back up at Bobby. "You're not serious, are you?" he asked, suspicion lacing his voice.

"Boy, do I look like I'm joking to ya?" Just to prove a point, Bobby made sure his lips didn't curl up in the slightest bit. Dean's mouth was hanging open, looking like everything he'd ever known was a lie.

"Idjits," Bobby murmured under his breath. He headed back to his work, hearing the boys go into another argument about who could race faster. Bobby chuckled. These kids would be the death of him someday, but for now they'd just be his boys. His idjits.

So there's that, it was a little short for my likings, but it turned out pretty good I think!

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