Riding the Fence (A Supernatural FanFic)

Part Six

(Friday)

Bobby’s cell phone rang early Friday morning and although he was standing within reach of it, he was hesitant to answer, recognizing the ring tone that Dean, himself, had programmed for that particular caller.

Originally, Bobby had balked at the idea of even a cordless phone, but had since come to rely on them. Portable, they made research on the fly much easier. He’d even spent the extra coin to get the fancier 900 megahertz version so that he could carry the phone out to the shop with him.

At the time, the boys had both laughed, Dean teasing, ‘Bobby, you’re on the verge of the 21st Century. You’re only one step away from getting a cell phone.’

‘What’s a cell phone?’ had been Bobby’s reply, erupting Sam and Dean into a fit of teenage giggles and mocking howls. John had pushed them out of the room, unable to hide his own smirk when Bobby repeated, ‘What’s a cell phone?!’

It had been another five years before Bobby finally caved into the boys’ argument and allowed them to take him into Walmart to purchase his first pre-paid cell phone. ‘Strictly for during hunts,’ he’d said. Three days later he’d used that same cell to call and tear into two teenage boys when he’d received a slew of text messages. It had taken him fifteen minutes to figure out why his phone was beeping at him, another fifteen to access the text and just seconds to realize the boys were sending dirty jokes to him using their Daddy’s phone. Dean laughed it off, citing that Pastor Jim had thought the jokes were hysterical.

After nearly five years of working out of his home, Bobby’s kitchen wall was lined with cordless phones and his cell phone was never far away. It seemed that even a semi-retired hunter needed to be technologically savvy and current with the times and Bobby was proud of himself for that. That was until Sam had arrived one weekend and began drilling Bobby about the importance of computers and something called the internet. Damn kids anyhow.

Hesitantly, Bobby lifted the phone and sure enough, John’s alias flashed like a warning across the screen at him. After a brief internal argument and a deep resolute sigh, Bobby answered the phone.

“Singer,” he answered in an even tone attempting to sound as neutral as possible.

“Hey Bobby.”

The eldest Winchester sounded absolutely exhausted, his speech loose and sleepy and maybe just a bit sad. Briefly Bobby considered asking when it had been that John had last slept, but then he thought better of it, knowing that John would not appreciate the mother hen routine. Instead, Bobby pretended not to notice.

“What can I do for ya, John?”

“M’kid. How’s he?”

Well that did it. There was no use in Bobby pretending that he didn’t hear the slurred speech and know exactly what was going on. He might as well get it out in the open.

“John? You been drinkin’?”

“Maybe,” was John’s almost child-like answer.

“Well, you sound ‘bout three towns past maybe. So what, you’re just rollin’ in from an all-nighter?”

On the other end of the line, John huffed out non-committal response, but Bobby heard ‘yes’ loud and clear.

“Jesus, John. It’s almost noon. Where’s Sam?”

“Out. Got mad at me for not comin’ home. Bobby, d‘you think I’m outta control?”

“Mostly.”

Bobby sighed, realizing that John really was in a bad way. For as tough a man as John appeared, a great majority of it was for show. Buried beneath all the hard ass, Marine, ‘cram it with walnuts’ bullshit that John used as armor was a soft underbelly of grief, worry and self-doubt. And just like any man, alcohol had a way of bringing all John’s demons to the front, the worst of them being that a drunken John was a talkative, emotionally messy John.