The summer Dean is ten and Sam is six, they stay at Bobby’s for a month.
John doesn’t ask Bobby if they can stay–he pretty much just dumps Dean and Sam on the porch and drives off. Dean hears the squeal of Bobby’s front door opening as he watches the Impala’s tail lights fade into the distance.
Bobby didn’t plan to take care of them, so they end up going to the grocery store at nine pm. Sam gets excited about everything–riding in the cart, getting to choose what kind of bread they have, carefully holding the egg carton, telling Bobby how this is the most they’ve had to eat in weeks.
(Dean carefully avoids Bobby’s gaze when Sam says that.)
The next day is a Sunday, and at breakfast Bobby tells them that he’s signing them up for some free summer program at the Boys and Girls Club downtown.
“There’ll be other kids your age,” Bobby says. “It’ll be good for you.”
The first day, Monday, Dean lasts until pool time after lunch.
“You can’t drown the other kids,” Bobby says sternly in the truck, a dripping-wet Dean in the passengers seat.
“They were pullin’ Sammy’s hair,” Dean complains.
Tuesday’s not much better–some other kid at lunch says they’re “weird” because they don’t have a mom, so Dean dumps his milk carton out onto that kid’s head.
“You just said I couldn’t drown anyone,” Dean says to Bobby’s stern face when he picks him up.
“I also said to ignore ‘em.”
Wednesday: Dean shoves someone on the playground for teasing Sam about the soles of his sneakers falling off.
Thursday: another boy makes fun of Dean for “eating too fast.” Dean leaves with a split lip.
Friday: the secretary at the club tells Bobby regretfully, “We can’t keep Dean anymore.”
“What about Sam?” Bobby asks.
“He’s been an angel.” The secretary beams at Sam. “You can go inside the gym with the other kids.”
Sam’s lip wobbles. “I’m not goin’ without Dean.” He grabs Dean’s hand.
Dean bends down to his brother’s height. “I’m sorry, Sammy. You gotta go by yourself.”
“Sucks.” Dean ruffles Sam’s hair. “Go on, go play with your friends.”
The secretary really does look sorry.
The whole ride back to Bobby’s, Dean’s sure he’s gonna get it. If his dad was around, well…
Dean’s glad his dad’s not around.
“Get out of the truck,” Bobby says after skidding into the drive, and then he gestures for Dean to follow him into the house.
Bobby pours himself some coffee.
“I got a Pontiac in the yard that needs work,” Bobby finally says. “You wanna help?”
“What–help?” Dean stares at him. “You’re not mad at me?”
“Oh, I’m mad, but shoutin’ at you ain’t gonna fix anything.” Bobby stoops down to Dean’s level, mirroring Dean and Sam’s conversation from half an hour before. “When a kid says shit about you or your brother, that ain’t a reflection on you. It’s a reflection on them. But you can’t just lash out at ‘em every time, okay? You wanna be frustrated? That’s fine. Then you gotta find another way to get that frustration out.”
Dean keeps staring. The room is getting blurry.
“You can cry, too,” Bobby says.
“Screw your dad. Boys can cry, and if you don’t you might explode.”
Then they go fix up that Pontiac.
(Years later, Dean smashes the windows of the Impala in that same scrapyard. He cries then, too.)
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