FOR THE LOVE OF THOSE BOYS
Wifey McWiferson is celebrating a birthday this week, Huzzah! She would like a 100, 200, or 300 story showcasing our beloved Bobby, and containing the words: journal, apple, motion sickness, quilt, and panic, so I am, of course, very happy to oblige with 300 words of Bobby love!
Disclaimer: I don't own Bobby or the boys, but am I bitter? Um, I'll get back to you on that one.
It seemed like a good idea at the time ...
xxxxx
Bobby bit back a panicked curse as the car careened onward, pitching nauseously around each bend, throwing him and his two young charges back and forth like three peas in a drum.
Swiping a shaking hand across his clammy brow, he gritted his teeth, pulling in a deep breath to halt the churning nausea that was rising within him as they hurtled down a dizzyingly steep slope.
Bobby had never suffered from motion sickness, but damnit to hell, he and his cast-iron constitution were seconds away from chalking that one up as an entirely new experience; one that definitely wasn't going into his journal for future reference. Because this was never gonna happen again. Ever. Period.
Clinging tightly to the two squealing boys who were rattling around inside the car with him, partly to keep them safe and partly to steady himself, he reflected that if he was about to powerchuck his breakfast across the car, the back of Dean's little head was dangerously in range.
Feeling a sudden judder as the car gradually slowed; Bobby couldn't help letting out a relieved groan. He began to feel he might actually make it through the day after all.
xxxxx
Later:
Bobby lay in bed staring up at the grubby apple-green paint adorning the wall opposite him.
What a day!
He'd finally stopped shaking and managed to survive without puking his guts up or having a heart attack, so he guessed he ought to be thankful for small mercies. No wonder he was darn well bushed.
Pulling the threadbare quilt over his head, he reached over to switch the lamp off, and managed one more conscious thought before sleep overtook him.
Little Sammy was getting a baseball mitt for his birthday next year. Bobby sure as hell wasn't going anywhere near a freakin' rollercoaster ever again.
xxxxx
end
Happy birthday Wifey McWiferson; hope it was a grand one!