FINDING BAMBI
Chapter 10
The Impala is reunited with her family.
xxxxx
Dear journal
I felt myself drifting awake, but wasn't entirely sure why.
Of course, I couldn't be sure because I was half asleep but a tiny little instinct buried deep in my addled semi-conscious brain was telling me it was obscenely early.
Then from the kitchen I heard something clatter, a dropped spoon I think, followed by an angry grunt of "oh balls!"
Now I know what woke me.
I know from long experience there is this mysterious and directly inverse relationship between how quiet Bobby is and how quiet he's trying to be.
When he's just going about his daily business without a care in the world, the man moves like a cat burglar; but this morning, he's clearly doing his best not to wake us, and his simple act of brewing a coffee is registering 5.9 on the Richter scale.
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Sam smiled and rolled over with a grunt as Bobby attempted to fill the kettle and the plumbing let out a long and painful rattle as if it were carrying ball-bearings instead of water.
"Oh BALLS!"
Despite his original intention to pretend to be asleep for another hour for Bobby's sake, Sam felt himself struggling to hold back the laughter.
Within moments, he heard something being placed on the table beside the couch and the mellow aroma of coffee assaulted his nose, washing away any last trace of sleep.
He opened his eyes, body still jerking with suppressed giggles, and looked up at Bobby.
"Seein' as yer awake, laughin' boy, ya may as well have a caffeine kick."
Sam smiled his thanks.
Both men looked down at Dean at the same time.
He was still fast asleep, Sam was pleased to note; Bobby's theatricals in the kitchen had gone completely un-noticed. Lying on his back, the shallow rise and fall of his chest was smooth and reassuring, and his face looked relaxed, no sign of the pained tightening that Sam had noticed previous mornings.
He looked about as well as Sam had seen him look since the accident.
"He okay?" Bobby asked.
Sam nodded, "yeah, he's doin' good I think," he smiled, easing long unco-ordinated legs off the sagging couch, and heaving himself into a knock-kneed standing position, gripping the arm of the couch to avoid faceplanting into the middle of Dean's bed.
xxxxx
Sam held his coffee mug in shaking hands and stood in Bobby's yard staring at what Bobby had driven through the night to bring home.
The Impala.
Or more appropriately, the wreckage of the Impala.
He felt sick.
Bleeding oil all over Bobby's yard, she listed drunkenly toward him, her front end a grotesque confusion of crumpled metal and broken glass, the odd stray wire hanging out of the wreckage like a redundant sinew.
The worst of the damage was on the drivers side - that was clearly where the main impact had been.
It was then Sam noticed, in a terrifying echo of the fate Dean could have suffered, her drivers side front wheel was missing, completely sheared off in the impact.
He walked over and peered into the drivers side of the car and saw how her engine and it's component parts had been forced back, invading the drivers footwell with a solid block of unyielding metal.
That's where Dean's leg had been.
His eyes scanned along the shattered dash to the misplaced and twisted steering column, then to the bent steering wheel.
Bent by the impact with Dean's chest.
He saw how parts of the intruding wreckage had been torn away by hacksaw and bolt cutters, cut away by the rescue services to extricate his brother from the terrible bone crushing tangle.
It was only then he realised that the drivers door was completely absent. Also removed by the rescue services.
Bobby stood behind him, calm and ready to reassure. He had already seen this horror show, registered the shock and put it behind him.
Now his concern was for the younger Winchester. He hadn't told Sam nor would he ever, of the bloodstains he had cleaned up as best he could, before he hit the road yesterday.
Sam made no attempt to hide the tears welling in his eyes as Bobby guided him gently but firmly back to the house.
xxxxx
Dear journal
Now that I've seen the wreckage, I'm still not entirely sure how I feel.
Horrified, shocked, upset, sure … all of those things. But above and beyond everything else, I feel strangely euphoric.
Dean should never have got out of that mess alive.
But he did.
And not just alive, but in one piece (sort of).
And I simply can't stop smiling. Perhaps Winchester Luck wanted to watch the game too, and she was too busy to screw with us this time. Perhaps it was just random good luck, or divine intervention, or Santa or the Easter Bunny? The tooth fairy maybe?
Who knows?
Whatever it was, just … thank you.
xxxxx
Sam's euphoria was not shared by the elder Winchester who, as Bobby had rightly predicted, practically tore the place apart to get out to see his baby.
Sam firmly insisted Dean have some breakfast, his painkillers and his antibiotics, and then put Sam's hoodie on before helping him into the wheelchair and heading out into the yard where Dean caught his first sight of the picture of devastation before him.
"Holy …"
Dean's face fell into a pebble-eyed mask of shattered horror.
"Look at her," he whispered emptily; "look at what I did to my girl …"
Sam patted his shoulder, "you didn't do that bro', there was nothing you could do to prevent it."
"I'm not just gonna get Bambi now," Dean growled; "I'm gonna extinct his whole freakin' species!"
xxxxx
As they stood and stared at the wreckage, Bobby busied himself looking over it, writing in a notebook, studying, probing and examining.
"Hey Bobby," Dean called, "the wheel's sheared off, have you checked the integrity of the axle?"
Bobby, on his knees, peered over the folded hood; "not yet son, but I will."
"Okay."
Bobby continued to examine the wreckage.
"Hey, is that oil? Make sure you check the sump…"
Bobby's head appeared prairie-dog-like over the mangled hood again; "yeah, I'm gettin' to it."
"What about the steering column, it's crooked - are you gonna look at that?"
"Nah, I thought I might leave it so ya can drive round corners easier'," Bobby snapped, "'course I'm gonna look at it ya idjit!"
Dean nodded, having the decency to look abashed, and worried his bottom lip with his teeth as his damp eyes continued to scan the devastation.
"Bobby, don' forget …"
"Sam," Bobby called, ignoring the elder Winchester's entreaties, "a word please."
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Bobby dragged Sam to one side.
"Sam, do you know what I'm doing right now?"
Sam shrugged, "assessing the damage?" he offered.
"Yeah, that's right, assessing the damage," Bobby replied, nodding sagely.
"I've gotta check everything that's damaged an' see whether it's something I can fix or if it's something I hafta replace; kinda like triage in an ER unit. I have to do this before I can do any work on the car."
Sam nodded, unsure where Bobby was heading with this.
"What I find now will determine how smoothly the work goes," Bobby continued cryptically.
Sam nodded again, more vacantly this time.
"An' this diagnostic stuff is a lot of complicated, detailed work," Bobby stated with a sense of finality.
Sam nodded helplessly.
Rolling his eyes irritably at Sam's obvious cluelessness, Bobby ploughed on regardless.
"And so to make sure I can assess all the damage and make a decent plan of work, I have to give this my undivided attention," Bobby gestured airily toward the Impala.
"Yeah," Sam agreed, glancing briefly at the wreck.
"An' I can't do that with him blathering and fretting the whole time," Bobby snapped as his patience began to wane, "he's gonna drive me to freakin' drink!"
CLANG!
The penny dropped resoundingly.
"Ah, gotcha;" Sam smiled, "I'll take him inside."
Bobby shook his head, "no," he replied, lowering his voice, "that ain't gonna do any good; he's gonna worry himself into neuroses sittin' in there knowin' I'm out here workin' on the Impala."
Sam hesitated.
"Well, where then?"
Bobby sighed; jeez, when did this suddenly become such hard work?
"It's been nearly two weeks Sam," Bobby explained quietly, "ten days stuck in that crap hole hospital then another couple of days stuck in there," Bobby gestured toward the house with his head; "the boy's lookin' peaky."
Bobby looked up toward the sky; "it's a beautiful day, take him out an' let him get the sun on his face for a couple o' hours, an' more importantly, get the soppy sonofabitch out from under my feet!"
Sam got the feeling it wasn't a request.
"But where," he whispered, "he's not gonna go anywhere in that wheelchair without puttin' up a fight."
Bobby thought for a moment.
"They've opened a new coffee shop down at the mall, it's nice, lots of seats outside, plenty of room."
Sam shook his head hesitantly, "I don't know Bobby, you know how he feels about bein' in that wheelchair …"
"Well it's gonna test your powers of persuasion then, ain't it, c'mon law boy!"
Sam stared back at his brother who hadn't moved; sad eyes still latched unblinkingly onto his crippled car.
xxxxx
Dear journal
Is there some law I'm not aware of that prevents folk from tying someone into a wheelchair and dragging them off to have coffee against their will?
Um, because if there is, I think I might be about to break it.
xxxxx
tbc