If God had chosen Bobby to stop the apocalypse, he would have done it in half an episode and spent the other half drinking beer and watching sport.
Oh, look, the perfect gifset to encapsulate my feels on Bobby.
My thing about Bobby is that if you just saw him on the street, you’d probably assume a lot of things wrong about him. Not because you’re a douche, but because Bobby looks and sounds like a very particular stereotype, and that’s the redneck. I mean, he’s got the tattered cap, the busted clothes, the slight twang, and the fucking salvage yard. He drinks a lot, and he’s gruff, and you know he probably cuts off the cashier trying to ask about his day because “How is that your damn business, you idgit?”
But the way Bobby looks and who Bobby is create an amazing character. Yeah, he looks and acts in ways that are rather stereotypical, but then he builds a ghost-free panic room in a weekend. That thing is made of solid fucking iron. Bobby welded that shit himself. And he is the absolute go-to for information. You got weirdness you can’t figure out? You call Bobby. You got an archaic weirdness that doesn’t have a website devoted to it? You call Bobby. You need quick and dirty research that’ll get you results? You call Bobby.
There is a really, really good chance that Bobby Singer is smarter than you. He drinks cheap beer and wears a hat that probably smells like gasoline and head sweat, and he’d rather tell you to cram it than listen to your opinions on politics, and he’s also a compassionate, smart, hard-working guy who raised up the two best damn hunters in the business. Yeah, John was their father, but you know Bobby was their Dad. There’s no way John taught Sam to research the way he does. John taught the physically practical side of things. How to swing an iron axe, how to aim a gun, how to break a hold. Bobby? Bobby taught those boys how to be book smart and that it’s as valuable to sit down and research as it is to knock something’s head off.
I really, really like Bobby.