Mink (minkmix) wrote,
Mink
minkmix

SPN Fic: Half Time

Title: Half Time
Author: Mink
Rating: PG - Gen - wee!chesters - Bobby POV
Spoilers: General (for all aired episodes)
Disclaimers: SPN & characters are owned by their various creators.
Beta: Thank you Kat!
Summary: Bobby has the Winchesters & A Keg over for Super Bowl Sunday.



Bobby didn't like many holidays but he considered Super Bowl Sunday sacred.

Pushing back the shades, he watched John working under the hood of the Chevy. It couldn't be real comfy out there with the snow falling and the wind picking up but the man hadn't budged in over an hour. Letting the blinds fall back into place, he decided to stop trying to get the man to come inside and get to watching the game.

Dean was lounging on the throw rug and gazing in wonder at the phenomena of his breath fogging indoors.

“Sit closer to the fire,” he told him. “And put on another shirt. Yer dressed like July.”

The nine year old dutifully headed to the rattling washer and dryer that had been running all day. A few weeks worth of laundry usually came along with any visit from the Winchesters. Bobby took a gulp of beer and tossed another log on into the fireplace. When he'd gotten a phone call from John about stopping by for the Big Weekend this wasn't exactly what he'd had in mind.

He smiled to himself as he carefully adjusted the rabbit ears on the television set.

There was no cable but he'd rigged a hook up with the line down the road and the reception was almost close to decent. A frosty keg of Bud was sitting at the ready on the back porch. The stars had aligned to send his team through the playoffs so he'd dug out his tattered Denver Broncos sweatshirt to wear with unabashed pride. Duct tape and chicken wire might have been the only things keeping his favorite recliner together, but it was still the most comfortable seat in the house.

All that was missing was a pretty girl serving some buffalo wings and life would be damn near perfect.

“Is this the only TV you got?” Dean asked.

Bobby's serenity wavered when he saw the skeptical look on the boy's face. He reconsidered the 15 inch black and white that he'd kept alive since the Carter administration. The thing was usually kept buried in the hall closet behind an even dustier vacuum cleaner. For a piece of junk as old as his newest pair of boots he thought it was more than adequate. If he squinted he could even make out the jersey number on the quarterback.

“'Fraid so,” Bobby said. “Got a new ham radio antenna out back tho. Nice range on that sucker.”

Dean's bored gaze brighten slightly.

“Can I--”

“No.”

The kid made another face as he dug through the mismatched collection of snacks sitting on what passed for a coffee table. There wasn't anything much to the stale remains of potato chips and the crumby neon dust of something that might have once been Cheetos. Even Bobby knew that serving the stuff out of a frying pan was pushing it even for him, but it was the cleanest thing in the sink and kick off was coming up real quick.

“Can I have some beer?”

Bobby had to think about that one for a second.

“Dunno,” he leaned around to check if John was still banging on that transmission. “Does your daddy let you drink it?”

“Yup.” Dean replied with shrug. “All the time.”

That answer sounded solid enough for him. After transferring a sip of his brew into a plastic cup, he settled down for the last remaining minutes before it was time to start tossing around the pigskin. He frowned when another round of weird commercials interrupted the live broadcast. Speaking of lulls in the action, he hadn't heard the high pitched squeal of John's other kid for a while. He began to wonder if the little pipsqueak hadn't wandered outside to watch his father change spark plugs.

“Where's your brother at?”

John's oldest did an awful lot of shrugging.

“Look,” Bobby explained. “The deal is you keep an eye on 'em or we do it my way.”

“What's your way?” Dean licked at his foam moustache.

“For starters, how does gettin' glued to the couch sound--”

“Can I have some more beer?”

“Keg is out back,” he snapped in distraction. “You got two good legs and I'm not yer butler.”

Bobby sat impatiently through some more commercials. He groaned in distaste when two tampon ads were aired back to back.

“Found 'em!”

Dean had returned with his cup and was helpfully pointing towards the cluttered backyard that lead into the lot. Bobby narrowed his eyes at the distant sound of rattling bottles followed by the worrisome shatter of glass. When the commotion was immediately followed by shrill giggling instead of a wail, he relaxed a little. Debating on whether or not to leave the comfort of his seat, he decided to just send Dean out there in his stead.

“Go fetch him,” he ordered. “Game's starting.”

There was a slight wobble to the kid's step when he got back on his feet. Bobby watched him walk carefully in a straight line to the back door and heard him stumble down the porch stairs. When his gaze fell on the television again it was an unpleasant surprise to discover Denver had already taken Washington to the 25 yard line. How the hell had he missed the kick off--

“Uncle Bobby!”

“What!”

“The keg's broke!”

Bobby was willing to let some things slide but the free flow of beer sure wasn't one of them. Stifling a curse, he hauled himself up and got to the back door to see what exactly was going on. He supposed it wasn't a huge shocker to find Sam had climbed on top of the tap and was sucking on it like a chocolate dispenser of love and joy.

“You little son of gun..." Bobby tried to pry the hose out of the kid's mouth. “Spit it out!”

Noooooooo!” Sam was clinging to the pump with both hands. “Dun wanna!”

“Yer foaming it all up!”

In the midst of the struggle, he suddenly noticed Dean sipping from a refilled cup.

“That's enough of that!” Bobby tried wrenching Sam sideways and almost got him loose. “You hear me?!”

Dean responded by leaning over and puking all over Bobby's boots.

“Aw crap.”








Bobby watched on grimly as the Broncos were systematically pounded into the Astroturf with no signs of mercy.

It was the most brutal, ugly thing he had witnessed in a real long time. He lifted the empty mug to his lips before remembering the confiscated tap that was now locked in the cabinet with his more expensive firearms. Lamenting over an entire half barrel of beer going to waste, he listened to the front door creak on its hinges and John stomp snow onto the floor. Bobby stared hard at the TV but it was difficult not to look.

John raised an eyebrow at his children snoring blissfully on either end of the sofa at the late night hour of 6PM. Bobby realized too late that the uneaten pan of junk food might be as highly suspect as the peace and quiet. The unearthly silence was punctuated by the fire as it crackled and spit in the hearth.

“N-Naptime?” Bobby tried.

John sagged down between his comatose sons and thankfully didn't get close enough to get a good whiff.

Sammy had only got at what was sitting in the hose and Dean had yakked before putting down too much. But it had been enough to send them to bed prematurely. For a change. Bobby suddenly remembered the last time the Winchesters had been around this way. Just a few months back. He leaned over and groped around the underside of his recliner, feeling around the poke of rusted springs. With a grin of triumph, he yanked free a small white pill bottle.

He held it up so John could see it.

“Valium?” John asked.

“Aspirin.”

“We sure know how to party.”

Leaning back with a satisfied sigh, Bobby flipped up the leg rest and got properly reclined. Folding his hands on his belly, he listened as the televised crowd roared in a stadium far away on the west coast. John chewed a couple of tablets dry and had a grin of his own when he saw the tragic score appear on the fuzzy screen.

“42 to 10 huh?”

Bobby's contented smile faded.

Goddamn Redskin fans.












Tags: bobby, gen, spn one shot, wee!chesters
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