Hi, all! I struggled with this one, and of course was distracted by the Oscars. The dresses! The speeches! Justin Timberlake in a tux! *faints* I'm on track now. Here is my drabble for the week. It's a little more stripped down than I wanted, but you can only fit so much angst in 100 words. Sorry, Dean Girls, this one is absent of our favorite painted whore. I'll kick his ass next time!
Please let me know what you think! Revised thanks to Robin's helpful crit!
Word Count: 108
The Ratchet in the Ointment
The ratchet set was pathetically expensive guise to initiate a complicated conversation with Bobby, who had skillfully skirted him since his return.
"I saw yours were kinda worse-for-the-wear, so…"
"Mine work just fine." Bobby replied coldly.
Sam placed the case at his feet, undeterred. "If I did anything—before—to hurt you, I'm so sorry."
Bobby faced him, tone thawing. "I can forgive you for just about anything. I appreciate the ratchets. All I need is time, kid."
He understood, still burdened with palpable guilt from something he'd never remember. "Dean'll call you from the road. Bye, Bobby."
Bobby's parting words lightened the load: "Come home soon, Sam."