Chapter Text
Bobby woke up fairly early which was the usual for him. Dean Winchester had been staying with him during his post-suicide attempt recovery and the boy tended to sleep in quite late. That’s why Bobby was surprised to hear someone moving around, making noises in the house at such an hour.
The self-proclaimed paranoid hunter slid out of his blankets, grabbed a heavy Louisville slugger that he kept next to his bed (one of the few weapons he hadn’t locked away during Dean’s convalescence), slipped out the bedroom door, and slowly crept down the hall. The room Dean had been staying in was currently unoccupied, bed made up already, and it was only after glimpsing the following that Bobby relaxed a little.
Since the boy was awake this early, Bobby hoped it didn’t mean something bad had happened during the night. Although considering what happened yesterday, the older man certainly wouldn’t be surprised. When he considered just how much Dean’s father and brother had antagonized the boy as of late, it was no small feat that Dean hadn’t completely fallen apart yet again. "Idjits," Bobby mumbled to himself. He had to believe Dean’s not falling apart meant some type of healing and progress. He was nonetheless nonplussed by what Dean did next.
“Come to beat this pie out of my cold dead hands, have ya?” the boy joked.
Stunned, Bobby wandered from upstairs out into the kitchen and replied rather stupidly, “Uh, pie…....what?” The boy hadn’t genuinely teased him about anything, much less his own death, during the prior week. He’d barely been able to say a word to anyone at all, in fact.
“Sorry,” Dean said, somewhat contritely, as he finished chewing up what he’d been eating. Then he joked again. He gestured toward the bat at Bobby’s side, using the fork in his hand. “If you want any of this pie, you’re gonna have to fight me for it. But not in your boxers. I love ya, Bobby, but that’s just too weird.” Okay. So...suddenly Dean Winchester was behaving more like the playful friendly youth he’d always known and loved. Am I in the Twilight Zone? the older man couldn't help wondering. He hoped this elevation in Dean's mood would last. Best to run with it, regardless, Bobby supposed.
“How on God’s green earth did you manage to pick up a pie at this hour in South Dakota?” the red-haired man questioned curiously.
“Hand-delivery,” Dean replied with the barest hint of smirk on his face. He stabbed his fork into the contents of the ceramic pie plate with relish and shoveled another bite into his mouth. Now that the older man was standing closer to him, Bobby could see some of the life had returned to Dean’s tired eyes.
“Wuh...what?” questioned the older man distractedly, both appreciative and stymied as to this magical mystery pie that his boy had somehow obtained overnight.
Dean pushed an opened greeting card across the bar toward Bobby with his index finger.
The older man’s eyes squinted as he picked up the card and read the neat tiny cursive script to himself:
Hello, Dean. My name is Jess and I’m Sam’s girlfriend. Although you and I don’t know each other I still felt it was important to reach out. Sam confessed to me how he never knew your dad had abandoned you this past year. But don’t worry, he’s aware that’s no excuse for his ignoring you. He also said how you were practically responsible for raising him. Sam thought back over the years and he counted at least 30 instances in which you were also directly responsible for saving his life, and those were just the times that he could remember. I have you to thank for that, so thank you!! I told him that ignoring you for a year was a lousy way to treat the one person who always had his back and he agreed. He finally knows he screwed up and wants to do better for you from now on. But he wasn’t sure how to go about saying it without making things worse. As he attempted to think of an appropriate peace offering, I asked him what your favorite dessert is. Without hesitation, he said, ‘Apple pie.’ You and I both know Sam can’t bake worth a rat’s hiney, thus he and I arrived at the compromise that I would make a pie and he would give it to you from both of us.
It’s homemade with a lot of love inside.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” Bobby whispered incredulously, allowing himself to feel some genuine hope might exist for the youngest Winchester after all. This must’ve been what was in the box that Sam had given Dean the night before.
That’s when Dean reached out, took the card from Bobby and flipped it over, returning it to the older man’s hands. The boy contentedly shoveled some more pie into his mouth and cupped his hand over an ear, this time signaling the red-haired man to read the last bit aloud.
“P.S. Please say hi to your Uncle Bobby for me,” and Bobby smiled slightly in spite of himself, grateful that Sam at least had the sense to fall in love with someone who was not only quite clearly a very good person, but in particular she was very good for keeping him in line when he needed it. “P.P.S. Sam doesn’t know what I wrote. I wouldn’t let him read a word of it prior to sealing the envelope. Your New Friend, Jess Moore.”
Underneath her flowing signature, was the swift, sure, and almost spiky handwriting of Dean’s brother. Several prior attempts had been crossed out, and Bobby read aloud the final legible line on the card, “Sorry for being such a little bitch. Sammy.” The older man blinked back at the candid words in a daze. Then he looked up again at the boy in front of him.
Dean’s expression had softened and he was actually sporting a small genuine smile; his eyes were even crinkling around the edges a little.
“Whodathunk apple pie was the answer to all our troubles?” Bobby quipped and smiled back in spite of himself, knowing full well it wasn’t just the pie. Not by a long shot. That got a real, if shy, flash of grin from Dean.
“I was just kidding about fighting me, of course,” Dean said, halfway holding out the pie plate, “want some?”
“Nope -- nooooo,” Bobby said, holding up his hands and backing off a step. “No sirree. I ain’t a idjit. Taking a gift pie from Dean would be like stealing spinach from Popeye.”
That got actual laughter out of Dean, whose spontaneous “Ha!” nearly caused him to spray pie crumbs from his mouth. Then he politely said, “Speaking of super-strength...thank you for leaving me some pain medication on the bar. It’s why I was awake so early in the first place. But I didn’t wanna wake you.”
Nothing like a little dose of cold reality to bring down the situation a notch. Both of them had been too distracted after the day they had and both had forgotten to make sure Dean had any medication before the boy had gone to bed. Therefore Bobby had left a couple of doses for Dean in the kitchen, should he need them before Bobby could awaken. He reached out and gingerly put a reassuring hand on Dean’s shoulder and replied, “You bet.” No flinching away, no fear, the boy was able to accept this show of affection. Progress.
“I took just one of the two,” Dean reported. “It’s doing the trick so far. Did I need to give the other one back?” Bobby was testing the waters when he left out those two Vicodins. So far, Dean was passing with flying colors. “Just lemme see the medication with my own eyes now and then again right before you gotta take it.”
Dean took his modified bullet shell necklace and unscrewed the back piece, upended the shell part, and the pill came tumbling out onto his palm. “Looks just fine to me,” said Bobby, nodding once in affirmation, as Dean restowed the pill and picked up the pie plate again. “And you took the first one...when?”
“‘Bout 20 minutes ago,” Dean replied through another mouthful of pie. Even more progress.
“Okay. I’ll be right back,” Bobby said, as he went up to his room, stowed the slugger, changed to normal day clothes, fixed his hair, and trimmed his beard somewhat. He was utterly gobsmacked with how the day was turning out and prayed it would last. The boy had certainly needed some more bright spots in his life.