Shotgun Friendship - Part Two
What was the saying? Like a bad penny - yeah, that was John Winchester alright. Bobby was laid out on a creeper underneath a ’62 Buick when he heard - no felt - the tell-tale rumble of Winchester’s Impala as it pulled slowly onto the lot, roaring one last time before the engine was cut.
A moment later, the door to the Singer Salvage garage swung open, letting in a blast of South Dakota winter that not even Bobby’s kerosene heater could tamp down.
“Singer, you in here?” John called over the noise of the heater.
“Shut the damned door,” Bobby hollered back. “You’re letting all the heat out.”
The door was closed and from beneath the car, Bobby watched as John Winchester’s well-worn combat boots crossed the floor to stand beside the Buick.
“What are you doin’ here anyway?” Bobby asked from beneath the salvaged car.
“Can’t a guy stop by and say ‘hi’ to an old friend?”
“You trying to tell me you got friends? That’s news to me.” Bobby grabbed the frame of the Buick and pushed the creeper out from under the old car where John was standing over him waiting with a hand to pull him up.
“How ya been, Bobby?” John asked, gripping the older man’s hand tightly and tugging him to his feet with a quick, almost friendly smack on the shoulder.
“Fine, I guess. How’ve you been?” The question was more of an accusation, because Bobby had a strong sense that something was off, and Bobby eyed him warily.
“Good!” John answered brightly, deliberately ignoring Bobby’s probing look. “Good. I’m real good.”
It wasn’t as if the unannounced visit was out of character for John. In fact, in the seven months since he’d met John Winchester, the man had made a habit of showing up out of the blue at the oddest hours, oftentimes for no reason other than a brief layover between this hunt and the next; just an hour to let his boys stretch their legs. It wasn’t an easy life, being cooped up in a car for hours on end, and even though they were used to it, Sam and Dean were still little boys. They needed time in the open air to run around and really exercise their lungs, and Bobby was happy to oblige them…when he didn’t feel like he was about to get Shanghaied into more than he bargained for.
“Alright, Winchester. What’d you do this time?”
Smirking, John held his hands up in surrender. “Nothing. I swear,” he said, chuckling. “I’m on my way up into Minnesota for a job and you just happened to be on the way. Like I said, just saying ‘hi’ to a friend.”
Bobby uh-huh’d and directed his ‘friend’ out of the garage. They stopped at the car, to collect John’s boys. While Bobby shook Dean awake, John hoisted Sammy out of the car, and hugged the limp boy to his chest.
“That boy sleeps like a rock,” Bobby said, tipping his head in Sam’s direction.
“Naw,” Dean replied, yawning. The ten-year-old climbed out of the backseat and fumbled sleepily to slide his arms into the straps on his loaded backpack. “He’s just pretending to sleep cuz he likes Dad to carry him.”
-O-o-o-O-
Bobby poured fresh coffee into two mugs; the piping hot brew splashing over the rim that was chipped and stained from years of use. John was waiting beside him, leaning back against the counter with his arms crossed over his chest and looking out into the library where his boys were. Seated on the floor, in front of Bobby’s sofa, Sam and Dean sat shoulder to shoulder, their legs stretched out in front of them; Sammy’s little tennis shoes rocking from side to side with unspent energy. With a book held between them, Dean’s index finger followed along the large-print words as he read to his little brother, and every once in a while, he stopped to ask Sammy to ‘help’ him sound out a word.
“Kid’s gonna be whip smart,” Bobby said, offering John a cup.
John accepted the coffee with a nod. “He will be if his big brother has anything to say about it. He spends hours in the car reading to Sam. Hell, I’ve run out of those Little Golden Books; can’t find a one that they haven’t already read a hundred times. And when they run out of stuff to read, Dean just makes shit up. Little stories about knights and dragons, and every one of them’s gotta have a damsel in distress.”
Bobby chuckled. “Of course they have. That boy’s got an imagina-”
“And they all look just like Mary,” John added sadly, cutting Bobby off mid-sentence.
“Oh.” Bobby stalled out, the information sinking like a stone in his gut. “John, I uh…”
“It’s okay.” He blew out a long breath between pursed lips and pushed away from the counter, wandering towards the back door and out onto Bobby’s porch with Bobby following close behind. “I guess this way, Sammy’ll know who she was whether he realizes it or not. Lord knows I can’t talk to him about her.”
“Is that what’s botherin’ you?”
John scoffed and opened his mouth to broach an argument, but Bobby beat him to the punch.
“It’s obvious that somethin’s up with you. You show up out of the blue, acting overly friendly and all buddy-buddy. It’s settin’ off warning bells throughout the three adjacent counties.”
When John didn’t respond, Bobby plowed on. “Look, I ain’t gonna pull it outta ya, but if you absolutely gotta talk about it, I guess I can listen.”
Without another word said between them, they dusted the snow from the top step and dropped down simultaneously. They let an uneasy silence build between them as they sat looking out over the frozen yard, silently sipping their coffee, but after a long moment of silence, John finally spoke. “He asked about her the other day. He asked Dean about Mary.”
“What’d Dean say?”
John considered it for a minute, and then shrugged, saying, “He lied to him. Told Sammy she’d died in a car accident.” John’s eyes ticked towards Bobby as if he was watching for any signs of judgment on Bobby, but the man’s face gave nothing away and he didn’t say a word. Instead he just waited for John to continue, and after a breath, John did. “I don’t know what made Dean lie to his brother like that, but like you said, Sam’s smart. If Dean doesn’t tell him the truth, he’s gonna figure it out on his own.”
“Or you’ll tell him.”
John looked up then, sharply, looking like an animal that had caught the scent of a predator. He was scared. Bobby was aware that this was a tough subject for John. He’d known since the first time he’d met the man, and he understood to a degree. They did, after all, have similar pasts, just different…circumstances. Bobby didn’t have any kids; didn’t have to comfort or explain to anyone where Mommy was or why she wasn’t coming home, but that didn’t mean Bobby couldn’t sympathize. What little family Bobby’s wife had, had turned away from him after Karen’s funeral, which, if he was being truthful, hadn’t hurt his feelings none. He didn’t want to have to look any of them in the eye after what had really happened. Not that they would ever know the truth.
But, unlike Bobby, the dirty little secret John was carrying would eventually come to light. That was the nature of the beast. Sooner or later his youngest was going to figure out what kept his dad out all night. He was going to ask more questions and he was going to put two and two together and discover what had actually happened to his mother. And John had better learn to face the inevitable future and come up with a plan to deal with it.
“It’s gonna happen one of these days, John.”
“Yeah, well…one of these days doesn’t have to mean tomorrow,” John grumbled into his coffee and turning away.
Bobby rolled his eyes and shook his head, just this side of exasperated with the man. If he looked up stubborn in the dictionary, Bobby was quite sure he’d find a picture of John Winchester beside it.
“Fine. You hold onto that denial as long as you can. It’s not gonna be pretty when this all comes out in the wash, but who am I to tell you how to live your life? Just remember…that boy’s goin’ on seven years of age. That’s an awful lot of resentment you’re buildin’ up there. There’s gonna be some hard feelings and you’re gonna have to live with the consequences.”
“Thought you weren’t tellin’ me how to live my life?” John asked, dryly, but then he flashed a small smile, and Bobby saw the dimples that lay beneath John’s day-old beard growth; the same dimples Sam had.
“Whatever,” Bobby said, shaking his head. “You know…I’m not fooled by all this heart-to-heart crap. I know you came here for a reason, so, why don’t you quit your pussy-footin’ an’ just tell me what it is you really want?”
“Well, there may be one…small thing.”
“Oh, so it wasn’t to say ‘hi’ to an old friend?”
“Shut up,” John smirked. “I was trying to get on your good side, but I can see now that you don’t have one. Grumpy old codger,” John added, mumbling under his breath.
“Keep up the sweet talk…see where it gets ya.”
Apparently the sweet talk did get John somewhere, because two minutes later, Bobby had agreed to a week-long sleepover with his two favorite rugrats, while John slipped up into Minnesota to work the job he’d found.
-O-o-o-O-
Dean had become surprisingly handy in the shop and was eager to learn from Bobby, and Sam seemed more than content to run around the yard with Bobby’s latest junkyard dog puppy named Abrams. Together they trounced through the snow, digging deep holes into the snow Bobby had piled up while plowing the property. And when Dean became bored in the shop, he joined his brother and together they created a network of tunnels and forts in which to play war; launching great snowball battles that lasted well into the late afternoon. They’d come in soaking wet and happily exhausted, with barely enough energy to eat their supper.
It wasn’t until Saturday, just two days before Christmas, that either of the boys thought to inquire about their father. Bobby had just poured a bag of macaroni noodles into a large saucepan when he felt a rush of cold air sweep through the room, followed by the tell-tale swoosh swoosh swoosh sound of snow pants as six-year-old Sam tore through the house. He set the pan on the burner and turned the heat up to boil just in time to turn and catch the boy around the waist as he rounded the corner and slid across the linoleum.
“Where are you goin’ in such an all-fire hurry?”
“Bathroom! I gotta go!” Sam pleaded.
“Sit,” Bobby commanded, pushing the boy to the floor and up-ending him so that Sam’s socked feet stuck up into the air. He grabbed hold of each pant leg and gave one swift tug, pulling off not only Sam’s snow pants, but also his too-large hand-me-down blue jeans. Sam shrieked and giggled and jumped up, peeling out of the room; his skinny, bare legs a blur as he ran for the upstairs bathroom.
A few minutes later, Sam returned.
“Can I have my pants back?”
Bobby turned around and upon seeing the youngest Winchester, burst into a wide grin. Sam stood awkwardly in the open doorway, flushed pink from the cold; the neckline on his three sizes too big t-shirt hung loosely, falling off of one shoulder completely, while he tugged at the hem in embarrassment.
“Shirt’s a little big on you, doncha think?” Handing Sam his blue jeans, Bobby glanced down at the boy’s socked feet, where the fabric of what should have been crew socks was stretched beyond its elasticity and bunched around his ankles. “All your clothes are. Haven’t you got anything of your own that you didn’t inherit from your brother?”
Sam shrugged deeply. “None of my old clothes fit anymore. Dad says I grow like a weed. ” He tugged his jeans up over his hips without even bothering to unbutton them. “S’okay Uncle Bobby. If I do this,” Sam stuffed his shirt down into his waistband, “they don’t fall down so much. See?” He held up his hands in triumph and to Bobby’s surprise, the pants held, if just barely.
“Yeah. I see, Sport. Remind me after dinner and we’ll dig ya up a belt. I’m sure I’ve got something that’ll work.”
Sam’s face split into a happy smile, his eyes growing wide with anticipation. “Dinner?”
“Yep. Why don’t you go hang up your snow pants in the front hall and then you can help me fix the macaroni.”
“Okay!”
Sam snatched up the snow-soaked nylon pants and ran from the room, returning almost immediately. Bobby patted the counter top and with his help, Sam hopped up to take a seat.
“You washed your hands upstairs?”
“Yessir,” Sam answered immediately.
“Good boy,” Bobby said, pulling out a butter knife, a large block of Velveeta and a bowl and setting them on the counter beside Sam. “I’ve gotta big job for ya, kiddo. Think I can trust you with a knife?”
“Sure.”
“It may not look sharp, but it can still cut you if you’re goofing around with it.”
“I won’t, Uncle Bobby. I helped Dean fix supper lots of times.”
“Alright then.”
They set to work; Sam carefully cutting the cheese into small blocks and Bobby preparing the ground beef to add to the noodles - just how the boys liked. Bobby glanced over once to find Sam sitting quietly, licking the excess cheese from his fingers, lost in thought; a small, worried crinkle nestled in between his eyes.
“That a pretty serious look you’re wearing.” Sam ducked his head and didn’t respond. “You thinkin’ about your dad?” Bobby hazarded a guess and received a half-hearted shrug of Sam’s slender shoulders in response. “It’s alright if you are, Sam. I’d be very surprised if you weren’t, it being so close to Christmas and all.”
“I don’t like his job,” Sam muttered quietly. He wiped his spit-slick fingers on his jeans and glanced around the room, looking anywhere but at Bobby. “He’s always gone. And Dean is the best big brother ever, but sometimes he won’t play with me and…there’s nothing to do,” Sam frowned, looking guilty. “I hate it when he’s gone. I just wish Dad was here.”
“He does too, kiddo. Truth be told, he doesn’t like his job all that much either.” Sam gave him a defiant look of disbelief, and Bobby responded, saying: “Don’t get me wrong; his job is important, but not as important as you and Dean. And he just hates being away from you boys.”
“So why does he have to go away?”
“Cuz that’s what being an adult is, Sam. Doin’ the things you may not always want to do, because they have to be done. Doing this - his job - it’s the only way your dad knows to take care of you. He’s just trying to do the best he can by you kids, considering the circumstances.”
Bobby moved the pan of ground beef off the heat and turned the burner off before moving to stand in front of Sam. He pulled the boy to the edge of the counter where his legs swung free along the base cabinet.
“Look,” he said, taking ahold of Sam’s chin and gently directing the boy’s eyes to his. “Your whole life, all you’ve known is your dad and your brother, but before you boys came along, your dad just had your mom. They were partners; partners in marriage and in friendship and in love. Partners in raising you two rugrats. And when she died…well kiddo, it’s not easy raisin’ two boys without your partner, but I think he’s doin’ a pretty good job. I mean look at ya.” Bobby stepped back and tugged at Sam’s oversized pant legs; smiling. “You’re growin’ like weeds, the both of you. It takes a lot of work and a pretty good daddy to bring up two good, smart young men. So, don’t be too hard on your old man, and just know that if he could, he’d be here with you all the time.” He patted Sam’s thigh softly and smiled. “Now, what do you say, we finish up this macaroni. I don’t know about you, but I’m hungry.”
“Me too,” Sam said, nodding enthusiastically.
“Alright then, hand me that jug of milk there behind you, the butter and that bowl of cheese you just cut up.”
They went back to work and when Bobby was dishing up the macaroni, he once again caught sight of the little crinkle in Sam’s forehead.
“Hey Bobby, can I ask a question?”
“Sure kid, shoot.”
“How come you got a beard now?”
Bobby turned and gave Sam a puzzled look. “What? You don’t like it? It’s real soft, see?” Bobby snatched Sam’s wrist and brought the boy’s hand up to his auburn jaw. Sam’s eyes went wide with surprise and then softened when he smiled and curled his fingertips into the short curls.
“That is weird,” Sam said in awe. “It really is soft. Like puppy hair. Like Abrams. Are you tryin’ to look like Santa?”
“With a red beard? No, kid. Just tryin’ to stay warm.”
“Well, I guess that’s okay.”
Bobby chuckled and ruffled Sam’s hair. “I’m so glad I have your approval.”
-O-o-o-O-
After his little heart-to-heart with Sam and then watching the boys eat their dinner - each of them wearing clothes that did not belong to them - Bobby came to a decision. He put Dean in charge for the afternoon and drove into town, returning several hours later with his passenger seat piled high with packages wrapped in brightly colored paper and ribbons.
The boys stumbled out onto the porch, pushing and shoving each other to get the first glimpse of their very own Santa Claus making an early delivery.
“Don’t just stand there, gawkin’. Open the door for me.”
Sam bent in half, covering his mouth with both hands and giggled gleefully.
Previous - Master - Next