Riding the Fence - Part 6
Part Six:
(Friday)
Bobby’s cell phone rang early Friday morning and although he was standing within reach of it, he was hesitant to answer, recognizing the ring tone that Dean, himself, had programmed for that particular caller.
Originally, Bobby had balked at the idea of even a cordless phone, but had since come to rely on them. Portable, they made research on the fly much easier. He’d even spent the extra coin to get the fancier 900 megahertz version so that he could carry the phone out to the shop with him.
At the time, the boys had both laughed, Dean teasing, ‘Bobby, you’re on the verge of the 21st Century. You’re only one step away from getting a cell phone.’
‘What’s a cell phone?’ had been Bobby’s reply, erupting Sam and Dean into a fit of teenage giggles and mocking howls. John had pushed them out of the room, unable to hide his own smirk when Bobby repeated, ‘What’s a cell phone?!’
It had been another five years before Bobby finally caved into the boys’ argument and allowed them to take him into Walmart to purchase his first pre-paid cell phone. ‘Strictly for during hunts,’ he’d said. Three days later he’d used that same cell to call and tear into two teenage boys when he’d received a slew of text messages. It had taken him fifteen minutes to figure out why his phone was beeping at him, another fifteen to access the text and just seconds to realize the boys were sending dirty jokes to him using their Daddy’s phone. Dean laughed it off, citing that Pastor Jim had thought the jokes were hysterical.
After nearly five years of working out of his home, Bobby’s kitchen wall was lined with cordless phones and his cell phone was never far away. It seemed that even a semi-retired hunter needed to be technologically savvy and current with the times and Bobby was proud of himself for that. That was until Sam had arrived one weekend and began drilling Bobby about the importance of computers and something called the internet. Damn kids anyhow.
Hesitantly, Bobby lifted the phone and sure enough, John’s alias flashed like a warning across the screen at him. After a brief internal argument and a deep resolute sigh, Bobby answered the phone.
“Singer,” he answered in an even tone attempting to sound as neutral as possible.
“Hey Bobby.”
The eldest Winchester sounded absolutely exhausted, his speech loose and sleepy and maybe just a bit sad. Briefly Bobby considered asking when it had been that John had last slept, but then he thought better of it, knowing that John would not appreciate the mother hen routine. Instead, Bobby pretended not to notice.
“What can I do for ya, John?”
“M’kid. How’s he?”
Well that did it. There was no use in Bobby pretending that he didn’t hear the slurred speech and know exactly what was going on. He might as well get it out in the open.
“John? You been drinkin’?”
“Maybe,” was John’s almost child-like answer.
“Well, you sound ‘bout three towns past maybe. So what, you’re just rollin’ in from an all-nighter?”
On the other end of the line, John huffed out non-committal response, but Bobby heard ‘yes’ loud and clear.
“Jesus, John. It’s almost noon. Where’s Sam?”
“Out. Got mad at me for not comin’ home. Bobby, d‘you think I’m outta control?”
“Mostly.”
Bobby sighed, realizing that John really was in a bad way. For as tough a man as John appeared, a great majority of it was for show. Buried beneath all the hard ass, Marine, ‘cram it with walnuts’ bullshit that John used as armor was a soft underbelly of grief, worry and self-doubt. And just like any man, alcohol had a way of bringing all John’s demons to the front, the worst of them being that a drunken John was a talkative, emotionally messy John.
“John…”
“No, wait,” John interrupted, his voice panicky, “I got somethin’ I gotta ask ya. Sorry…I. You just gotta. You understand what I mean?”
“I might, if you actually spoke in complete sentences.”
“Right, sentences…Dean.”
“What about Dean?”
“I need you to…you gotta look out for him for me.”
“I’m not letting him run wild if that’s what you mean.”
“No, s’not what I mean. I mean you have to look out for him. I don’t do such a good job a’that. Since Mary…I dunno, I just kinda forgot ‘bout him. He was just a lil boy, ya know? An I put this…impossible…heavy…thing on him, and I didn’t mean to, I just forgot that he was just a baby himself.”
When the babble paused, Bobby waited patiently; listening to the deep breaths formed around the lip of the beer bottle that he knew John was draining. He didn’t have to wait long, because all too soon, John swallowed hard and gasped a deep breath and was off again.
“He does such a good job, Bobby, at…everything. I never gotta worry ‘bout anything, long as I got Dean there taking care of it; all the lil things I forget all the time. ‘Cept I don’t have him now, do I? Cuz I forgot him. Again!” The last word was punctuated with the tell-tale smack of fist against drywall; just one more thing for Sam to have to clean up when he finally did come back to their motel room.
“Sammy’s right,” John conceded, sadly, “I am outta control. I forgot him, forgot ‘em both, but Dean’s the one who got hurt and it’s my fault. I got this tunnel vision thing and I just get so…focused on the bad guy that I don’t see m’boys. And they’re right there! Growin’ up on me and I’m missin’ it. And I don’ give either of ‘em the credit they deserve. They’re so smart, Bobby, so smart. Sammy’s book smart, like a lil professor or something. That’s what Dean calls him; Professor. And Dean…He didn’t need the books. S’like he looks at the world and it just opens up for him and spills out all its secrets. Bobby, he’s gonna be twice the hunter I could ever hope to be. The best. No thanks to me.”
“No, John. It’s no secret that we don’t see eye to eye on a lot of stuff, yer boys included. But I’ll never fault you for doin’ what you had to do to raise them up. That’s a big, scary crap shoot out there and you gave them the tools to survive it. Dean got hurt, sure, but it ain’t your fault. He’s not a little boy any more. He’s a grown man.”
“I know he’s a grown man, Bobby. But it’s my job to protect him; protect Sammy and I’m failing miserably at it.”
“Teaching them to be responsible for themselves, for each other…that’s not failure, John. That’s parenting. Even I know that. I ain’t never had boys of my own, but if I had…I’d pray they were like yours.”
-X-
Dean limped around the front of the old Buick Century and lifted the handle on the passenger door, opening it. He reached down to place a steadying hand beneath Gert’s elbow and helped her to step free of the car and up onto the curb.
“I’ll just be a little bit,” she instructed, tucking her purse beneath her arm, “Would you like me to pick up anything special?”
He didn’t hesitate, just batted his eyelashes at her, smiled sweetly and said, “Chocolate milk?”
“Anything for you, my sweet boy,” she answered, patting his cheek where the faintest shadow of hair was growing at full speed.
Dean closed the car door, leaning back against it to wait while Gert went into the grocery store to pick up a few staples. Arms crossed over his chest, his booted foot crossed lazily over his right ankle, Dean smiled contently letting his head roll back to soak in the warm sun, the light burning bright spots into the retinas hidden behind closed eyelids.
“This is your car?”
Dean’s eyes snapped open and then instantly slammed shut, squinting and watering in the too harsh light. He shaded his vision with his hand and sought out the owner of taunting voice. Slowly his vision cleared.
She stood directly in front of him - Mira, he remembered - looking sassy with one hand on her hip, the other hanging loosely to her side, her fingertips brushing bare skin beneath the hem of shorts much too short for the likes of someone as sophisticated as she had first appeared to him.
Gone was the goddess-like stance that had made him stammer like a teenage boy. Gone were the perfect curls, tied neatly at her neckline. Gone was the indifferent attitude that he’d attributed to her snooty college sorority. What was left was long, supremely tanned legs framed perfectly in short shorts, tank top exposing way too much midriff, begging to be touched, just enough cleavage to peak interest, curly golden hair tied messily on top of her head and a spark of interest in her mahogany eyes that hadn’t been there before.
In fact…Dean was fairly sure she was checking him out too, looking him up and down in all his casual, ‘I don’t give a fuck’ leaned back attitude. Maybe it was the beard growth coming in or the way his freckles lit up across sun-kissed skin or maybe it was the way he looked in torn up work jeans that fit too snugly in the seat and a tight black t-shirt that he was fairly sure belonged to Sammy. Whatever it was, the heat of her gaze had him itching in his skin and the tips of his ears tinging pink because he didn’t want someone reading something into his stance that he hadn’t purposefully put there himself; especially if that someone was the same girl who just a day ago wouldn’t give him the time of day.
“Is this your car?” she repeated, “Dean, right? I’m surprised. I just assumed that with as cool as you claimed to be, that you’d be driving something better than a…what is this? An ‘89 Century?”
He nodded, still not having said a word, more because he didn’t trust his own voice not to crack under her stare, not because he didn’t have anything to say. Oh, he had plenty to say. He just wasn’t entirely sure whether it would be good or bad. But he didn’t need to worry, because as luck would have it, Gert was a quick shopper and was back, leading the store clerk with an arm full of groceries out to her car.
Dean pushed away from the car, thrusting bodily into Mira’s space, startling her and making her pretty face flame at his closeness. With a three inch height advantage, he looked down into her brown eyes that were growing darker by the second and he smiled, his lip curling up in what was no way intended to be a warm smile.
“No,” he said quietly, his voice bottoming out, “it’s not my car and you should never make assumptions about me. You’ll be wrong. Every time.”
He turned and grabbed the handle, opening the car door once again, offering his hand to help Gert down into her seat, bending down to give her a quick kiss to the cheek when she stopped in front of him. Once Gert was safely inside, Dean closed the door and then directed the clerk to place the grocery bags in the back seat before turning back to the now gaping Mira. Only God knew what she was thinking but judging by the look on her face, Dean would bet a hundred that she’d be replaying this scene in her head all day long; Dean and his Sugar Mama. He couldn’t stop the low chuckle that escaped his chest. It was out of character for him to play a dick to a pretty girl, but turnabout was fair play.
“Good talking to you again,” he said brightly, with just a barest hint of sarcasm. With a polite yet somehow still condescending wave, he circled the vehicle.
“Yes!” she agreed, eagerly waving back at him as he climbed in behind the steering wheel and without another look, pulled away.
“A friend of yours?” Gert asked once they were on the road.
Dean cast a surprised glance in her direction and caught sight of the sly smile that she was hiding behind her hand.
“Something like that,” he answered, attempting for nonchalant.
Carefully, Gert turned in her seat, pulling her leg up onto the bench, her back against the door, her side into the seat back with her arm draped over the top. She did these things often and normally they would seem out of character for someone her age, but then again, Gert didn’t exactly act her age. She had the mind and the attitude of a twenty year old, the instinct of a mother in her prime and the wisdom and experience of seventy-one long years on this earth. She was an enigma, a beautiful and loving puzzle that everyone who knew her had tried at one time or another to work out and whom Dean was fairly certain he never would.
“She’s very pretty,” Gert noted.
“Really? I hadn’t noticed.”
Gert reached across the seat and playfully pushed into the shoulder, knocking him sideways.
“Dean, shame on you. Don’t you know you should never bullshit a bullshitter?”
“Gert!” he exclaimed, laughing, “Watch your language young lady or you’ll get paddled.”
“Promises, promises.” she replied and then laughed openly when Dean gasped in shock and the car swerved just a bit.
They drove silently for a few blocks, she watching him and he trying either to process or repress Gert’s bold, teasing statement.
But try as he might, Dean kept coming back to the blonde girl teasing him from the sidewalk.
“She was pretty hot, right?” he finally asked, not ashamed to talk openly in this way with Gert.
Gert nodded and then leaned into the seat further, resting her chin in her hand to look at him, thoughtfully.
“Are you going to see her again?”
Dean chewed that over for a moment and then answered, “Doubt it. Dad’ll be back tomorrow and I’ve got a list of things to do before he does.”
“What things?” Gert asked in mock-outrage, “What’s more important than pretty girls to a young man? Tell me. What’s this list of things to do before your family comes for you?”
“Well, there’s fixing your front door for one.” Dean looked straight ahead, both hands on the wheel, afraid that if he glanced at Gert, his resistance would crumble, because Lord knew, Gert could be persuasive.
“Nonsense. That door is perfectly fine.”
“It’s not. You have a ten mile an hour draft going through the window alone not to mention that horrible paint job.”
“Bobby painted that door,” she defended.
“When?! In the 60’s? It needs to be done again, Gert,” he barked, leaving no room for further argument.
Dean did glance at her then and was impressed to see that the authority voice that he’d picked up after years of hearing it from his father actually worked pretty well on people other than him and Sammy, because Gert was sitting stiffly, arms crossed over her chest and a frown firmly in place. She was absolutely adorable and Dean could feel the twitch of a smile fighting for control of his mouth, but he swallowed it down.
“Besides,” he continued, “I already have plans tonight.”
He reached over and gently pried her slender arm out of the knot it was in, sliding his hand into hers and giving it an affectionate squeeze.
“Whadya say? Wanna be my date tonight?”
The seventy-one year old’s cheeks tinged pink instantaneously, but she didn’t pull her hand away, instead she squeezed his hand right back.
“That’s very sweet of you, dear. Sick and kind of twisted, but sweet.”
“Aw geez, Gert!” Dean cried out in disgust, pulling his own hand free, “I didn’t mean it like that. I just thought it would be nice if, I don’t know…maybe I fixed you dinner tonight for a change.”
“Oh, sweetie. That’s very nice of you to offer, but I’m sure you have other things that you’d rather be doing then spending a Friday night with an old woman.”
“Cut it out, you’re not that old. Besides, it’s perfect. Bobby’s got plans tonight and I don’t, so unless you got a little sumpin’ sumpin’ on the side that I don’t know about…maybe that Mr. Fitz that drives by and waves every day?”
“Oh you!”
Gert’s hand sailed out to strike at him playfully, but he dodged it easily while still keeping the car on the road and gave her a cocky grin.
“So whadya say? Is it a date?”
“It’s a date,” she submitted, shaking her head at him, “but just so you know…I don’t put out on the first date.”
“Huh,” he laughed, “that’s not what Fitz said.”
This time her hand connected smartly, flat open across his bare arm, leaving four red marks where her fingers had smacked. The rest of the drive home, Dean spent grinning and rubbing at the stinging flesh.
-X-
"He's a good kid, ya know?”
Bobby had relented, after many reassurances from Dean that he would be fine and that he did, in fact, have plans for the night, ‘Go! Have fun! Get laid! Just, get the Hell outta here already! I’m tired of lookin’ at ya.’ Bobby had raised his hands in defeat and gotten himself ready for the night out that he and Josey had been planning for a couple of weeks.
A nice dinner, a bit of impromptu dancing in the restaurant and an old drive-in movie theater playing Casablanca; it all made for a very nice evening. Those were the formalities, however, because Bobby and Josey didn’t have a ‘nice’ relationship they had fun. So all throughout dinner, Bobby did his best to keep his composure while Josey’s bare toes crept up his leg, squirming their way into his lap.
And while everyone noticed the happy couple dancing in the middle of the crowded restaurant, no one noticed them disappear into the ladies restroom or the shrieks and giggles that followed.
Later in the evening, they may not have been the oldest couple at the drive-in; they were however the oldest couple not actually watching the show. ‘Hell, do you know how many times I’ve seen this film?’ she asked, tossing her shoes over her shoulder into the front seat.
What they hadn’t planned on in all of this was Bobby’s mouth. Every quiet moment or pregnant pause in the conversation or the action was filled with talk of Dean. ‘The kid’s smart…He brought pie home today…Dean did six oil changes in two hours yesterday…I remember this one time…His leg seems to be healing nicely…It’s gonna be real quiet when he leaves tomorrow…’
"Bobby." Josey's voice was imploring, her warm, moist breath, painting the side of Bobby's neck before she let her lips and teeth softly graze his ear lobe. With one hand entwined in his hair, she pulled gently until he was looking into her eyes. "Look at me, Bobby. Do you think I'm beautiful?"
"Y-yeah," he swallowed thickly, letting his eyes trace over the supple body settled over his lap, his hands grazing down her back until they'd found their natural home at her waist. He found her eyes again and with all the sincerity he could muster, answered, "you're amazingly beautiful."
"What's your favorite of my attributes?"
"Oh..."
"Are you a boob man, Bobby? Or an ass man?" Slowly and very purposefully, Josey arched her back. Bobby's hand slid down the curve of her hip, settling at the lower swell of her jean covered bottom. She sucked her lower lip into her mouth, her teeth teasing it gently.
"Truthfully?"
"mmm hmm," she nodded, leaning into the hunter until their chests touched, just barely.
"Your mouth, your lips. Could kiss those lips all night,” he answered huskily.
"Among other things," she teased. Josey lowered her lips to his, meeting his request with a smile, enjoying the soft moan her lips pulled from somewhere deep inside of Bobby‘s chest. She sat back, her hands resting on his shoulders for support. Her long eyelashes beat out a rhythm that matched the thumpthumpthump of his heart, which had relocated somewhere below his waistline.
"And we have a good time, right?" she asked sweetly, resting her forehead against his.
"Great time," he ground out, his vision whiting momentarily, when she rocked her hips in his lap.
"So why are you still talking about that boy?"
She kissed him again, a little more forcefully and pressed him into the bench seat in the back of his Chevelle, her hand working its way between them, cupping against the length of him before going for the button of his jeans.
"What boy?" he breathed between kisses.
-X-
It was well past midnight when Bobby steered the Chevelle up the drive through the salvage yard, pulling up behind Josey’s little green grocery-getter. The house looked quiet, the only lights on were those inside the kitchen, just enough to guide a person through the downstairs. He turned off the engine and for a moment there was only the quiet tic-tic of the engine.
Smiling to himself, he climbed out of the car and jogged around to the passenger side, opening the door and offering his hand.
“We‘ve got the house all to ourselves,” Bobby assured Josey, hoping to coax her inside for a night cap and whatever else happened to cross their minds.
She accepted his hand and let him pull her up, wrapping her arms around his shoulders as she came to stand, one hand crawling up his neck into his hair and pulling him down to meet her mouth.
When they nearly toppled back into the car, Bobby caught them deftly, one arm wrapped firmly around Josey’s waist, the other hand braced against the door frame holding them up.
“Woman, you’re gonna be the death of me,” he panted, “but what a way to go.”
She tilted her head back, the rolling laugh that escaped, echoing back from the salvage yard.
Bobby loved listening to her laugh, a hearty sound bubbling from deep inside her chest, brazen and energetic; it enlivened him, made him feel years younger, but then again, Josey had always seemed to have that effect on him. It was just one of the reasons he enjoyed spending time with her, even if they both knew their ‘relationship’ wasn’t going to ever lead to anything more. Two widowed people, set in their ways and comfortable in their lifestyles; neither were looking for more than the companionship and affection they received from one another. And the sex.
Bobby pushed off the side of the car, pulling Josey with him, her body slotted comfortably, warm against his. He walked them backwards toward the house, hands and mouth exploring her skin as they went, stopping only briefly at the bottom of the stairs, to slide his hand into hers and race her up the steps.
At the top, though, Josey slammed to a halt, gasping audibly when a dark shadow moved out of the doorway.
“Out past curfew, aren’t ya?” Dean stepped out onto the porch that was white-washed by the yard light, cocky smirk in place over the mock-authoritative voice.
“Dean, Dammit! Are you trying to give us heart attacks? How long you been standin’ there?”
“Long enough to understand why curiosity killed the cat.” Upon receiving Bobby’s scowl, Dean ducked his head, shrugging, “What? It’s your fault. If you weren’t so…out there…I mean…God, Bobby. I don’t remember ever seeing it, but I imagine this is about as traumatizing as catching Mom and Dad.” The young man shuddered visibly, his eyes rolled up into his head and his gag reflex kicking in.
“Alright!” Bobby snatched Dean by the back of his shirt collar and pulled him roughly out of the way, allowing Josey entry into the house, but she pulled up short.
“He’s right, Bobby. I don’t want to be the reason your nephew needs therapy.”
“Josey, he‘s just joking. For God sakes, tell her you‘re joking.”
“Bobby, it’s okay,” she assured, palming his bearded cheek. Josey leaned in close, her lips ghosting across Bobby’s ear, her voice dropping into a husky whisper, “I had a great time tonight and we’ll have other nights, I promise.”
Pulling away from Bobby, she looked to Dean to be sure that he understood that what she was saying was now for his benefit, “besides, it’s late and I have an early shift in the morning. I hope to see you there for breakfast…one last time before you go.”
“You can count on it,” Dean answered with a genuine smile. “Wait. Do you serve pie for breakfast?”
“For you, sweetie? Anything,” Josey laughed. She looped an arm through Bobby’s. “Walk me to my car?”
“Of course.” He walked her to the edge of the stairs and then thought better of it and turned around to face the young hunter behind them. “I’ll meet you…inside. Don’t let me catch you watchin’ out the window, either.”
“Scout’s promise,” Dean said raising his fingers in a salute that was-Bobby was fairly certain-not correct.
“You were never in scouts. Idjit.”
Dean shrugged, turning back into the house. “Sounded good,” he tossed over his shoulder.
Escorting Josey down the stairs and to her car, Bobby’s mind raced, looking for words of apology, swarming with thoughts of regret and shame and his payback plans for Dean.
“I can hear you thinking,” Josey nudged his shoulder carefully. “Don’t be upset with him. Please?”
They stopped in front of the driver’s side door of Josey’s car but just as Josey went to open the door, Bobby laid his hand across hers.
“How do you do that? Know what I’m gonna say right before I say it? Or what I’m thinking?”
“We are two of a kind, Bobby Singer.”
She smiled and pressed a chaste kiss against his lips just in case Dean stood watching out the front window.
“Good night, handsome.”
Pressing a hand to his chest, to move him from the car door, she opened it and climbed in. She turned the ignition over and rolled down the window.
Bobby pressed the door closed, leaning in for a last kiss, “Night, Jose. Drive careful,” and then pulled out of the car window, placing a hand on the roof.
Josey smiled, gave him a confident wink before putting the car into gear and pulling around and out of the drive.
Bobby waved, watching her taillights disappear down the road before returning to the house. It felt a bit like walking to his execution, trudging up the stairs, knowing there would be a barrage of comments and jokes made at his own expense waiting for him inside those walls. Bobby took a deep breath, doing his best to do as Josey asked and not get upset at the boy. Heart of gold, that kid, but a mouth that got him in trouble more often than Bobby dared to think about.
And sure enough, Dean was waiting inside, leaned up against the hallway wall, arms crossed over his chest, looking surprisingly regretful.
“What’s the matter with you?” Bobby growled, passing the young man by on his way into the library.
“I kinda screwed up your night, huh?” Dean asked frankly, pushing off of the wall to follow Bobby into the next room.
“Since you’re asking, yes, you definitely seem to be able fuck up a wet dream.”
Dean’s eyes dropped to the floor and for a split second, Bobby considered the fact that the kid was actually remorseful, but then he saw the slow, ornery smile split Dean’s face and Bobby braced himself, hearing the internal warning bells going off all around him.
“Wow, Bobby. I’m real sorry,” Dean offered, the sincerity in his voice tinted with humor. “How long’s it been for…ya know?”
“How long’s it…? Boy, I swear to God, if you were a few years younger, I’d take you over my knee. How long’s it been?” Bobby mimicked in a high falsetto, his mouth twisting in annoyance. “About forty-five minutes ago, smart alec,” Bobby all but exploded, “and about three hours before that, but third time’s a charm and happens to be my favorite, so thanks for endin’ my night before the high note.”
Dean’s lips smacked audibly, looking very fish-like when his jaw dropped in shock.
“Smart ass lil prick,” Bobby grumbled, turning away from the flabbergasted kid. He smirked to himself, feeling justified at having knocked the kid down a peg and just for the added benefit of showmanship, he stomped into the kitchen and tore open the fridge to yank out a beer.
“Bobby…” Dean started, his barely out of the teens voice cracking, following quickly on Bobby’s heels.
Behind the swallow of beer, Bobby smiled. It would be good for this too cocky for his own good youngster to be humbled for a bit.
“You, you…” the boy stumbled, looking for his words, “are…the man!”
Bobby hadn’t been exactly sure what he’d expected out of the boy, but it hadn’t been the elation he heard in the young voice. He groaned into his beer and rolled his eyes before turning around to have a good look at the excitement he’d inspired.
“Holy Crap, Bobby! Twice in one night, going on three? That’s like…like…awesome! Wow. I mean, I can jerk off two or three times a day, but I’m young, like a third your age or something and it’s expected…”
“Just how old do you think I am?” was Bobby’s loud argument. “Jesus, Dean, settle down a bit, before you get so excited that you pop a button and injure the both of us. Sit down.”
Bobby pulled a chair away from the table, planting it firmly and loudly on the linoleum for Dean.
“Oh…okay.” Dean submitted only somewhat reluctantly, sinking into the chair, his eyes moving constantly while he continued to process the idea of Bobby as a ladies man and the world as he knew it turned upside down.
“Dean…”
The sound of Bobby’s voice caught Dean’s attention and his eyes snapped up. He recognized that tone. It was the ‘I have something important to tell you and you’re not gonna like it’ tone.
“You’re not gonna give me the birds and the bees lecture are you?” Dean asked, warily, leaning away from the older hunter. “Cuz, you know…I’ve already been there and done that and have the stained t-shirt to prove it. And Dad gave me ‘the talk’ a long time ago, like way before I was Sam’s age.”
“Yeah, well your Daddy’s ‘talk’ probably included little gold nuggets like always wear a cover and watch out for jungle rot.”
Dean put a hand over his mouth to hide the laugh because that was indeed what his father had told him.
“Figured as much; typical Marine bullshit. Look, you’re getting to be an adult now, so if you’re gonna run around with cock in hand…and I’m not stupid, I know that you do…”
Dean had the decency to look affronted at that statement but since it also happened to be a true statement, he kept his mouth shut and listened quietly as Bobby doled out fifty years of sage advice.
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