Dec 17, 2007 23:37
John Winchester is dead.
Bobby Singer might be a little drunk. Just a little. Not enough to leave him in a world of hurt tomorrow morning, not enough to really kill his aim, but -- drunk enough.
There's a fine drizzle going on outside, and the reason he knows that is because he just went out back to check the tarp on what's left of the Impala for the umpteenth time. Whether or not Dean can get it up and running again -- and Bobby's got his doubts on that score, and he's not stupid enough to voice them -- Dean's likely to get a little (more than a little) furious if the frame's rusted. So -- not on his watch.
Like my watch does any goddamn good.
At the thought, he sits upright. "You just stop that," he says to the air. "Right now."
Hunters get into the life for plenty of reasons; John got in because of his wife. Lots of people knew that. And that probably explains why Bobby provided John with the necessary supplies to summon a goddamn demon -- and then John turned around and died, while Dean, who wasn't even conscious, suddenly turns up as Mr. Miracle Recovery.
It doesn't take a goddamn genius. And Bobby doesn't think John's toasting marshmallows, where he is.
And coming up on fifteen years ago --
"That," says Bobby to the air, "is kind of the definition of irony. Here's Dean." He sweeps his arm out. "And there goes John."
Coming up on fifteen years ago, John Winchester asked Bobby Singer to do him a favor; Bobby didn't do it for John's sake.
Memory's a bitch.