Bobby's Gift

[katleept]

Title: Bobby's Gift
Author: Kat Lee
Dedicated To: Happy Birthday, vexed_wench!!
Fandom: Supernatural
Character/Pairing: Bobby, Dean/Sam
Rating: PG/K+
Challenge/Prompt: A birthday gift for a dear friend that just also happened to hit on the 1_million_words Hurt Me Heal Me Challenge: Paper Cut
Warning(s): None
Word Count: 887
Date Written: 27 August 2016
Summary:
Disclaimer: All characters within belong to Kripke, not the author, and are used without permission.




Heaven isn't what it's cracked up to be. He hasn't really been happy the entire time he's been up here. He thought at least he'd be able to catch up with John, Mary, and Rufus. He'd believed he'd finally be reunited with his late wife. But instead all he does is sit here in a cage that looks like his old home, read the same book over and over again, and listen to the same, sappy country crap on the radio.

At least, that's what he does when he knows they're looking, but when he can no longer feel their angelic fingers probing in his mind, Bobby whips out pen and paper. His handwriting is wild, scratchy, and fast, but he knows what he's writing. One of these days, he may just copy the same story over with cleaning penmanship, but for right now, while his heavenly hosts can still pop into his mind at any time, this is better.

He licks his finger, turns the page, and keeps writing. He doesn't know if this is going to work, but he's read the theories about what one writes becoming real. He knows there are monsters with the ability, and Angels too. He's neither, but where he's writing at is the very soul of "good" magic. If he's to stand a chance of ever making what he writes become real, this is the place to do it.

He scribbles page after page, but here in Heaven, there are no calluses or paper cuts. He can keep writing for hours without his hand cramping a single time. There's no risk of writer's elbow or carpal tunnel. There's only the risk that they may find him and punish him.

He'd like to think that they could do him no harm, but he's learned the truth. Angels can be crueler than Demons. He still smarts when he thinks about the last time he helped Sam and Dean, but they're his boys. He couldn't love them more, be prouder of them, or worry more for them than if they were his own, true flesh and blood. He can't help them physically any longer, but this -- This should help.

This has to help, Bobby knows, because as much as he loves them, the idjits are never going to get their crap together on their own. He stops to reread his writing when he feels their probe begin again. He stops immediately and slips pad and pen back underneath him. His tools were hard to come by. He never would have managed to get his hands on them if it wasn't for Ash, and he'll be damned if he lets them find them.

He returns to his book, sips his beer again, and listens once more to the same, old song on the radio. God knows if he ever gets out of here, he's going to listen to Dean's rock and roll without complaint and never turn on another country channel for as long as he lives -- which isn't going to happen. He's already dead, and he knows he's not going to miraculously come back to life, which is exactly why what he's doing now is the only way he can still help his boys.

He has to wait what would pass for a day by Earth's times before he feels them move away again. Here time is endless, and he never tires -- at least, not physically or mentally. He's been emotionally exhausted ever since he came back into his own mind, realized where he is, and painfully recognized that he still hasn't been reunited with any of those he's loved and lost -- and isn't bound to be either.

But Bobby doesn't dwell on any of that. Instead he goes right back to his own story. Pen raised and at the ready, he rereads his last few lines, knowing Sam finally has Dean right where he wants him.

Sam's groin pressed against his brother's. Dean could back no further for he already felt his Baby's hard, hot hood pressing against the backs of his legs. "Sammy," he asked breathlessly, "what are you doing?"

"What I should have done long ago, Dean. Do you really think I wouldn't understand the true reason why you couldn't leave me in Hell? You love me, dude, and as more than a brother, and love you. There's nothing wrong about this," he said and pressed his lips to his big brother's. His kiss melted Dean's resolve and left the older Winchester groaning.

Bobby smiles. "Hell, yeah," he mutters and keeps writing. He might not have gotten his happy ending, but he's damn sure going to give his boys theirs. Horses aren't wishes, and Angels are evil bastards, but sometimes, stories do come true and with his magical pen and paper, Bobby's determined his will do just that.

"I love you, Sammy."

"I know, and I love you, too."

Bobby's eyes mist over at his own writing. He still loves his boys. He might not be able to tell them ever again, but they'll know, if they don't already. They know, and they'll have their happy ending, even if it's the last thing he ever does for them. "Love you idjits," he mutters and hides his story and writing instruments again as the Angels pass over once more.

The End

Comments

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Lovely! Thank you!