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10. Red eyes
It was Dean’s 12th birthday, and John never called.
It had actually been a good day, Dean reflected as he turned the hot water on in the shower. Bobby’d let him have a few friends over, they had pizza for dinner and an ice cream cake decorated with old cars for dessert; Bobby and Sam had even gotten him a handful of presents—things that didn’t come from the 50 cent bin at the drug store, things he actually wanted—and Dean’d had fun.
But John had never called.
Dean let the tears fall once he was in the shower, big fat alligator tears that rolled down his cheeks and made the corners of his mouth taste salty. He cried until he felt like he couldn’t breathe, until he was trembling and the water was starting to run cold , and then he got out, dried off, and pretended everything was just fine.
Bobby knew something was up as soon as Dean entered the kitchen after his shower. “Doin’ okay, kiddo?”
Dean nodded, avoiding Bobby’s eyes as he filled a glass up at the kitchen sink.
“I’m sorry your daddy didn’t call,” Bobby said gently. He didn’t want to make the boy more upset; he could tell Dean had been crying by the redness in his eyes and the way his cheeks were flushed.
“It’s fine. I don’t really care,” Dean replied, the lie feeling like it was ripping its way out of him. Of course he cared. Of course it wasn’t fine.
Bobby sighed and tossed the towel he’d been using to wipe surfaces down on the table. “Come here.” He crossed the small room and pulled Dean into his arms.
Dean was stiff at first, not wanting to be touched lest he start crying again, but he gave in after a moment. He wrapped his arms around Bobby’s middle and squashed his head into Bobby’s chest, biting his lip until he tasted blood to hold his tears back.
“It’s okay to be upset, Dean,” Bobby whispered, moving his hand so that he was cradling the side of Dean’s head against him. “Let it all out, I can take it.”
Dean started crying then, the alligator tears starting up again. He quickly soaked Bobby’s shirt with tears and snot, but the older man didn’t seem to mind—just held him while he cried. After awhile his tears died down and Dean felt empty inside. “He always calls on Sam’s birthday,” he whispered.
Bobby bit the sides of his cheeks at Dean’s words. “Maybe he isn’t near a phone,” he suggested, the excuse as flimsy as damp one ply toilet paper. John was almost always close enough to civilization to make a call. “How about a movie on the couch tonight?”
“Even though it’s a school night?” Dean asked.
“It’s a special occasion, ain’t it?” Bobby gave Dean a tight squeeze and kissed the top of his head. “Go pick one out, I’ll be in in a second.” He watched as Dean scurried into the living room to tell Sam the good news and smiled at the sound of Sam’s gleeful giggles. It boggled him, how John could walk away from these brilliant boys and not even remember to call on their birthday.
Bobby sighed and ran a hand down his face, his hand resting over his mouth when he got to the bottom. He’d already decided to raise the boys as his own, but the fact that John couldn’t make a simple phone call really solidified his decision. And he’d be damned if he let that man cause his boys anymore unhappiness.