A Game of Telephone
A/N: Oh dear, how silly, silly, silly. I have no idea what happened to this one.
+A Game of Telephone
Contrary to popular opinion, Bobby did not spend his life inside, pouring over moldy books. He had a salvage yard to run, two annoyingly playful dogs to train, shopping to do and intel to gather that couldn’t be found in a book or computer, even in this day and age. On top of that he liked to take care of the hunts in his own backyard by himself. As a result, he wasn’t home all that much.
Combined with an old man’s habit of forgetting his cell phone, or better, carrying it around with a dead battery, that meant he wasn’t always as easy to reach as he would have liked. Don’t get him wrong, he had his phone when it counted, but just not always
So it happened quite frequently that he came home to messages from Ellen, Jefferson or Rufus, sometimes from Jo needing some help with her research. Every now and then it was another hunter looking for intel. Jim and Caleb had once been his most regular callers, with an occasional message from John Goddamn Winchester thrown into the mix.
But since those three idjits were all dead and gone, it was Sam and Dean who left the most messages on his phone, some of them heart stopping, some heart breaking but all of them very, very welcome because they meant those boys were still alive and in one piece.
Only lately, there’d been a third voice entering into the sometimes extremely random conversations those two had with his mailbox and he wasn’t quite sure yet what to think of that. It went a bit like this:
“Bobby, this is Dean. Just callin’ ta tell ya, that Nightmare bitch is dead. Really dead. That Anne girl has some sort of scythe – yeah, honest to God scythe, man – that kills fuglies as well as that Ruby chick’s knife and the Colt. She sliced and diced. Got us all out.
“She’s currently passed out in the backseat and Sam’s kinda conked out, too, but we’re alright. Just thought I’d let ya know. Gotta catch up on some serious sleep now, dude. See ya.”
“Sam here, hey Bobby. Dunno if Dean called you last night, but we’re all okay. Buffy – Anne’s her middle name, real name’s Buffy. Dean might never let her live it down – anyway, Buffy’s comin’ with us for a bit and we’re headed your way. Could take a while though. There’s this haunted house about three hours from here and we wanna check it out. Might be a fluke, but three people breaking their necks fallin’ down the stairs in twenty years doesn’t sound like a fluke. Anyway, Buffy says to tell you thanks for helpin’ with the Nightmare, she appreciates it and Dean – “
“Dean! Give me my damn keys!” A high, angry voice suddenly interrupted Sam’s monologue and Bobby heard the rustling of someone lowering a phone.
“Aw, can’t princess reach that far? Not my fault you’re such a shrimp.”
“Yeah, shrimp. Hate to break it to you, sweetheart, but you barely even reach my - oomph
- Ow! You bitch! Whaddya do that for? Oww!”
“Don’t call me short,” the same female voice calmly instructed the oldest Winchester and the phone moved again to catch the sound of Sam’s chuckles.
“Dude. That was a thing of beauty. Five food nothing of blonde fluff laying out the big bad Dean Winchester. Wish I had a camera. I’ll ring again when we get closer to your place. See ya.”
The very last thing Bobby heard before Sam ended the call was, “Did you just call me fluffy
“… Ow. Crap. What the… could you please get your damn elbow outta my lungs?”
“Shit. Not there either!”
“Sorry, Dean. Sam?”
“I’m fine. Just a bump.”
“Mhm. That ghost packs quite a punch. I think my fingers are broken.”
“Let me see.”
“It’s fine, Dean. Seriously though, who throws desks at people? I mean, knives I get, china, even books. But heavy furniture? That’s just mean.”
“That’s probably kinda the point, princess.”
“Whatever. So where – Sam!”
A shotgun was fired.
“Shit. That mother’s gettin’ annoying. We gotta find those bones.”
“Wow, Dean, you’re powers of deduction astound me. Really, you should get a– duck!”
Two shots. “I should get a duck? Really?”
“Hilarious. I just saved you from getting’ decapitated by a knife swinging ghost, dude.”
“Careful with the big words, college boy.”
Another shot. “Less bickering please, boys? We’re runnin’ outta salt.”
“Let’s just go through what we know again?”
“Eurgh, let’s not. Just think. If you were a crazy nutjob killer who just ganked his wife because the steak was stringy, where’d you hide her corpse in this place?”
“Police turned over the usual spots?”
“Yeah. Garden, basement, garage.”
“Good a place as any to start. Assuming we survive the stairs.”
“Don’t be such a party pooper, Sam. ‘Sides, am I the only one that gets the impression this thing it trying to keep us on the ground floor?”
“…. Shit. You’re right. Caspar is probably upstairs.” A beat of silence. “God, I hate ghosts.”
“I thought you hated vampires?”
“And wendigos. And poltergeists.”
“We get it, Buff.”
“And werewolves. And Sam in bitch-mode. And – “
“Hey! Can we kill that ghost now?”
“Technically, it’s already dead so – “
The shotgun again, accompanied by the sound of someone crashing into rickety furniture and groaning and Dean’s filthy mouth.
“Okay, that’s it. Ladies, this ghost is going down.”
The sound of fabric rustling and someone dug through a pocket, probably for more shotgun shells and then, “Crap. The phone turned itself on when Caspar flung us around. Bobby? You there? Ha, we’ve been filling up his mailbox for the past five minutes. Sorry ‘bout that, Bobby. Gotta – Sammy!”
The line cut off with another round of shots and Bobby was left staring at his phone with wide, incredulous eyes.
“Bobby, this is Dean. Could you maybe call us back when you get this? We need some info on a fugly and we need it fast. We thought it was gnomes hiding in old Mrs. Millers garden shed, but it’s way bigger than that and we have no clue what it is. Got Sammy though. He’s knocked out, the big wimp, so I really kinda wanna kill this thing.
“Anyway. It looks kinda like a giant, walking tree. Yellow eyes, wicked claws. Didn’t see a mouth, but then the thing had roots
so whatever. Silver didn’t do anything, nor did holy water or salt. We’re pretty sure it’s not some kind of weird ass possession and… yeah, that’s pretty much it. Buff, did I forget anything?”
“I keep telling you,” Buffy’s voice came from farther away, “It’s a plant monster.”
“And I keep telling you, this ain’t Pokemon, sweetheart.”
“Screw you, Dean, you’re –“ she was cut off by the sound of Sam groaning and then rapid movement underlined by Buffy’s, “I think he’s gonna…”
Puke. Eugh. Bobby made a face. Didn’t sound any better over the phone than in real life.
“Uncanny aim, though. He hit the trash can without knowing it was there.”
“Yeah, Sammy’s an artist that way. Hold on a second Bobby, I gotta get Sasquatch a towel.”
The phone was put down and for a moment, the only sound was Sam’s heavy breathing and Buffy’s quiet murmurs. Then the gagging noises started again.
“Whoa. I don’t remember you eating this much salad for dinner.”
“Didn’,” came the strangled reply between rounds.
“Shit, Sammy, that’s… Buffy, he’s barfing plants.”
“That’s not… hold on.” Hurried movement. Pages of a book turning. “I think I got it. Dean, hang up the phone. We need fire.”
Rustling again. “You heard the lady, Bobby. We’ll call when Sammy stops barfing.”
“Bobby, this is Dean. Dude, you’ll never believe this. The thing was some kind of nature spirit and Sam barfing up saplings? Apparently it didn’t just knock him out
but also up
when it sat on him. Him puking up that green shit was the result on that. I mean, come on, I always knew Samantha is a big girl, but knocked up
, Bobby. That’s one for the family chronicles. Wish I’da taken pictures. It’s just-“
“Dean, who’re you talkin’ to?”
“Just tellin’ Bobby about your difficult pregnancy, Francine.”
“Dean, you jerk! Gimme the phone!”
“Aw, did I upset your hormones? You - oomph
That was Sam tackling his brother, followed by slapping, groping, pulling, hitting and kicking, a giant thump as they both hit the floor and then the sound of plastic breaking and the line went dead.
“Hey, Bobby, this is Buffy. Uhh, I guess the boys told you about me. Anyway, I’m calling to say thanks for that heads up. Saved our asses. If we’d gone in there thinking it was a werewolf… well, better not. Unfortunately, Sam and Dean don’t duck nearly fast enough, so they’re both a bit banged up and we’re stuck here until they’re better.
“Although, if Dean keeps cracking Nurse Bunny jokes in my direction, I might kill him before that happens and – “
“Nurse Bunny, I have to take a leak!” Bobby looked at the phone funny when he heard a surprisingly deep growl coming from the girl on the other end. Then a thump, followed by Dean’s whining and, “A bottle? What am I supposed to do with a… oh, you bitch! I ain’t pissin’ in no bottle!”
“You can’t stand, Dean!” At least she was kind enough to move the phone an arm’s length away before she hollered at the stupid boy.
“You can hold me up,” came the pathetic answer.
“Would you like me to aim for you, too?”
“Oh, you can aim that
any time you like, sweetheart.”
“Dean?” Sam asked somewhere even farther from the phone.
“it was nice knowin’ you, dude.”
“What? Huh? No…, hold on, Buff, …Buffy, …come on…, I didn’t mean it…, you know I never…, I…”
Unfortunately, Buffy cut the line then. Just when it was getting’ good, too. Darn. And why was it that these messages always seemed to end with someone wailing on Dean? Bobby shrugged, hung up the phone and went back to his research.
A week later the three of them stood on his doorstep, grinning sheepishly as he handed them their shots of holy water. But they downed them without protest and Buffy told him he had really awesome
dogs and Bobby figured he’s have to put up with three idjits from now on, instead of two.
The things he did for the sake of mankind.