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Bobby and Rufus had just dismembered an Okami, with the help of two draft horses from the barn on the Indiana farm they found themselves in. Which wasn't easy. It was hotter than a supernova in an Alabama August.
Thankfully once they'd put Bert and Ernie back in their stalls and buried the remains embedded with blade fragements blessed by Shinto priests, the farm owners were so relieved, they offered them the use of their shower and a stiff drink. Neither hunter turned down such an offer, so when they climbed into Bobby's truck at sunset, both were tired but feeling pretty decent, all things considered.
They had to head back through the town of Butler to reach the interstate, so when Bobby pulled off the road into a large strip mall, Rufus was expecting a pit stop. Still silent on the matter, he was dragged into a place that from the outside looked like some fancy pizza place. But when they walked inside, he thought they'd stepped into some millennial casino.
"Bobby what the hell kind of place is this? Looks like Chuck E. Cheese meets Jersey Shore in here."
"And how would you know what Jersey Shore looks like unless you watch it?" Bobby accusingly popped his jaw at him with his hands on his hips.
Crap. Bobby had a point. "At least I don't waste time on Tori Spelling. People do anything to stay relevant these days."
That threw Bobby off for a second or two when followed up with, "What are we here for? Cause I could use some dinner."
Squinting he found somewhere he wanted to check out, so Rufus followed suit. They cozied up to a neon diner bar and were given a few menus. Bobby ordered the bacon wrapped shrimp and sirloin.
Rufus was stumped. Bobby rarely splurged, especially at establishments like this. "Huh..Since when do pieces of skewered Okami put you in a finger food mood?"
"Can't I have a hankerin' just cause?" came his reply.
Come to think of it, he was having a fried craving so he shut his trap and ordered the onions rings and fried chicken strips. And a beer.
"Well look who's drinking on Sabbath…" Bobby snarked, though Rufus knew he was just joking.
"Not til sundown it's not."
Bobby gestured to the darkness outside and Rufus defended, "I was born on the west coast. Five o'clock or not it's before sunset."
With an incredulous look, Bobby grumbled, "You were born in Kenosha, you idjit. But it's always five o'clock and not Sabbath for you ain't it?"
Rufus shot him a stern look but knew Bobby never bought his bullshit. "I had my Bar Mitzvah in Oregon. That's it."
Pushing empty plates away and firing back a few chasers of Blue label after their beers, they decided to check the place out for real. It was Friday night and the place seemed to be hopping. Whole lotta young folks playing glorified adult Chuck E. Cheese games. At first, Rufus was a little judgemental, but then he got a gander at the rows upon rows of skeeball and his inner kid went brezerk.
He found a token machine and plunked in a twenty dollar bill, grabbing a plastic bucket to catch the tokens as they spilled out. When he turned around, he bumped right into the wall that was Bobby, who looked at him with a sharp expression, as if he just knew he'd find him there and handed him two plastic bags.
"You save yer tickets in'em. We ain't going to the counter til we're done though, cause I don't want another Mardi Gras Bowlin' Alley incident."
Ruffled feathers and all, Rufus defended his behavior. "When a man's got prizes coming to him he has a right to take his time selecting."
"Not for forty five minutes while yer holding up two birthday parties worth of frothing six year olds ya don't."
"The kid said he'd check for Hubba Bubba in the back. Bobby that's some classic bubble gum, they don't make them like that anymore, with the comic strips on the back of the wrapper," Rufus explained, smacking his arm.
Rolling his eyes, he asked, "You mean Bazooka? The squares that you could chip a tooth on and tasted like bubblegum flavored cardboard?"
"That sounds like something a Fruity Stripes fan would say and you can just stay here, defending the flavors of rainbow zebras, I'm gonna win some skeeball. Go get us some more shots if you come to your senses," he declared, marching back to the skeeball rows before they were all taken up.
Rufus barely registered when Bobby joined him a while later. Yet he registered the tumbler full of whiskey set down below his ball rack just fine and each times it was refilled. He was on a winning streak for hours it seemed and had so many tickets spilling out the front slot of the game that the stack of tickets was nearly as tall as the end of ramp itself.
"You gonna leave some prizes for the other folks here, just look at ya!" Bobby roared, obviously having refilled his own tumbler of whiskey as many times as his own.
While he still thought he had a chance, Rufus yelled, "Holy shit Bobby look! It's Dean Winchester kissin' on that wrestler Gunnar Lawless!"
Immediately Bobby twisted and turned, trying to spot that very scene he'd tossed out and Rufus flew to the end of the skeeball lane to toss a wooden ball underneath the cage. It landed in the right one hundred point pocket and the alarm began blaring instantly. He flew back to start of the lane, landing just as Bobby turned around. He tried calming his breath and hoped he wasn't sweating.
Bobby eyeballed him suspiciously. "That was no Gunnar Lawless over there, but the guy kind of looked Dean, if you're drunk and ya squint."
"Huh, well that boy's about as straight as blinking U turn signal."
Bobby paused for a minute with an unreadable expression. "Be that as it may, the kid's going right down John's path. He deserves happiness whenever and with whomever, he can grab it."
"Amen to that," Rufus commented then downed the last bit of whiskey. It was the kind of night where he could keep drinking, not get drunk, and yet manage to wake up with a hangover from hell. Best to salvage the old liver and kidneys.
"Time for me to tap out,"
Bobby looked distraught at the notion of having to count the tickets he'd won and they spend who the heck knew how long selecting prizes. So Rufus surveyed the joint and quickly zeroed in on a girl dolled up real pretty with a tiara on her head with an "I'm 21 Today" beauty queen sash around torso. She was surrounded by friends and smiling. Rufus walked up to her and said, "Happy Birthday Miss, here's a bunch of tickets I really don't need."
"Are you sure? Cause you've been killing at skeeball tonight," she verified.
"Nope. You've got a good birthday. Enjoy it."
"Thank you!" She waved and smiled.
"That sure was nice of you," Bobby commented in disbelief.
"Nice? I was nice once. 1988. Worst year of my life. We staying at that Wagon Wheel motel next door?Cause we sure ain't driving."
Bobby pulled out a cheesy plastic wagon wheel key chain with the number 14 on the back and jingled it around. Once they'd dumped their bags on the floor and fell onto the queen beds, Rufus was compelled to thank his best friend for the evenings frivolity.
"I appreciate what you did for me tonight, Bobby. Bet you thought I forgot my own birthday," he grinned.
"You did. But you headed to hand over your license at the bar to run a tab and when you beat me to closing it out I heard the bartender wish you a Happy Birthday. And you plum forgot because you asked him the date."
Rufus grinned. Not much ever got by Bobby Singer.
"But I let him go on thinking it was cause you were three sheets in and not cause yer an old fart like me."
"I ain't old, yer old."
"You were born in Wisconsin four months before me. We ain't spring chickens no more and don't you dare pretend like you've passed out Sleeping Ugly, you know damn well I'm right."
He did know Bobby was right, he just didn't want want admit it. But Rufus was smiling on the inside, thankful as all get out for the best friend he ever had and for the best birthday he'd had in a long time.