SPN FIC - Not With a Bang But a Whimper
A little silliness: Dean drunk-dials Bobby on Christmas Eve, 1999.
Characters: Dean and Bobby
Pairings: none
Rating: PG, for language
Spoilers: none
Length: 612 words
Disclaimer: Nope. Still don't own anything.
Not With a Bang But a Whimper
By Carol Davis
"Hey, Bobby."
The two worst words in the English language -- considering that Dean sounded way too drunk for two o'clock in the afternoon. It was the kind of drunk that meant Dean was looking to talk. And talk. And talk.
"Dean," Bobby replied, knowing that Dean was too far gone to pick up nuances.
He might have been too far gone to pick up a good solid smack upside the head.
Winchesters, Bobby thought with a sigh.
"Merry CHRISTMAS, man."
Loud.
Way too loud.
Damn Winchesters.
"And a happy New Year," Bobby said dryly.
There was a long moment of silence that made Bobby think maybe Dean had passed out, except there'd been no thump of a body hitting the floor. Or the bar. Or a table. The thought that Dean was calling him from somebody's bed made Bobby wince.
"That's..." Dean said finally. "That's the thing."
"What is?"
"New Year. The whole...new year."
"Would you like to elaborate? Or is this a test?"
"Dude," Dean said.
Bobby buried his face in the palm of his free hand. He'd given over a lot of downtime during the past ten years to wondering about the feasibility of being able to choke someone over the phone. It'd involve a little spell-casting, a little dabbling into the black arts, but...
Damn Winchesters.
"Is there anything?" Dean asked with a ridiculous amount of sincerity. "You know."
"No. I don't."
"You got to, man. You always know about that stuff." Someone giggled in the background. Then Dean giggled. "Hey," he said to the original giggler, his voice a little muffled. "Say hey to Bobby."
There was some fumbling, then a girl's voice chirped, "Hi, Bobby!"
"Give the phone back to Dean," Bobby said.
"Okay! Merry Christmas!"
More fumbling, during which Bobby considered dropping the phone into the garbage disposal. Or running it over with the truck.
"Omens," Dean blurted.
"Omens of what? Dean. Come to the point, son."
"End of the world, man." It came out more like ennathawhirl. "You know. Y2K."
God have mercy. Bobby pulled a chair out from the table and sank down onto it. A couple of the black arts books were within reach. Finding the right page wouldn't take more than a minute -- during all of which Dean would probably keep on yapping.
"People are grinding their own corn," Dean wheezed. "What's UP with that?"
"Nothing. Dean. Nothing's up with it."
"Don' wan' the whirl to en, Bobby."
Bobby propped his head on his hand. "People have been predicting the end of the world for centuries. You know that. It creates a lot of chaos for a while, then -- as you might be aware -- the world doesn't end, and everything goes back to business as usual. It's not going to end this time either. There might be some computer glitches here and there, but there are a lot of smart people working on the situation."
"Sammy."
"The world's not going to end, Dean. You will turn twenty-one right on schedule."
"Yeah?"
"Trust me."
"Thass good, then."
"You don't intend to drive anywhere anytime soon, do you?"
After a moment of silence, Dean chuckled. "Nah."
"Then Merry Christmas. And if you call me again, I'm going to hang up on you."
Dean snorted into the phone.
"You aren't anywhere near South Dakota, are you?" Bobby asked.
"Noooooo."
"Good. Keep it that way."
Bobby leaned over to place the receiver back in its cradle. Right before it landed, he heard Dean's voice chirping out of the speaker. "And to all a GOOOOOOOD NIGHT!"
"The same to you," Bobby sighed.
Winchesters.