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For the day's last class, the teacher makes them draw father's day cards. She says they should draw something their father likes. Dean stares down at the blank paper he has folded into a card. Dean doesn't really know what his dad likes. All he can come up with is Mom. But talking about Mom also makes Dad angry. It makes him leave and come back with a bottle of something that turns him into a scary man. So drawing Mom is a no-go.
Dean chews at his fingernails and glances at Abby, who sits next to him. She's drawing a big house and a family standing next to it. Mom, Dad, and two kids are all smiling and holding hands. His tummy hurts when he looks at her drawing. It does that sometimes. When he sees his classmates getting dropped off by their mom in the morning and getting a kiss on their forehead or when they talk about what they did for the holidays.
After biting his thumbnail until it bleeds, he decides to draw flowers. Dad used to bring Mom flowers when he returned after being away for a few days. Dean always liked when Dad came home with flowers; that meant things would go back to normal, and Mom wouldn't cry, and Dad wouldn't yell.
Dean covers the card with drawings of colorful flowers. Roses, tulips, and others he doesn't know the name of but has seen during the countless hours he has spent staring out of the Impala's windows.
Dean leaves school with the card in his hand. He can picture the smile on Dad's face when he hands it over, making him giggle as he skips back to the apartment they are staying in.
When he opens the door, Dad is packing their bags. Dean's tummy starts to hurt again.
"We're leaving. Get your brother and meet me at the car." Dad doesn't even look at Dean as he swings the duffle bags over his shoulder and heads for the door. Dean does what he says without questioning it, and it's for the best. Dean has learned that the hard way. He still has the card in his hand as he carries his little brother down the stairs.
Sammy falls asleep in the backseat almost immediately. Dean looks over his shoulder and studies his little brother. He looks pale. Wonder if Dad remembered to make lunch today? He wants to ask, but Dean is a master at reading his dad, and judging by the deep frown on his father's face, he should keep his mouth shut.
"What's that?" Dad snaps and nods towards the card in Dean's hand. The harshness in his dad's voice makes him flinch and he has to force the response out of his mouth.
"A card."
"You made it?"
Dean nods and brushes a finger over one of the roses. The surface is glossy, and red crayon wax gets stuck underneath his nail.
Dad snorts and shakes his head.
Dean deflates in his seat.
"Flowers are for girls, Dean.
"I'm sorry," Dean mumbles. He is so stupid . He always makes Dad angry, even when trying to make him happy.
Stupid stupid stupid.
They are quiet the rest of the drive. Dad slaps his fingers away when Dean leans forward to turn on the radio, so he settles for staring out the window. He carefully avoids looking at the flowers.
Dad drops them off at Bobby's. He tells Dean to take care of Sam, then drives off.
Dean stands in the junkyard, staring at the bend down the road the Impala just disappeared around. He still holds the card in his hand.
"What'cha got there, kiddo?" Bobby places a heavy hand on his shoulder and squeezes. Dean looks down on the card in his hand. It has gotten wrinkly and bent around the edges from the stiff grip he's had around it the whole day. He opens it and reads his own crooked handwriting.
Happy father's day.
Dean comes to a decision, and the pain in his stomach subsides. The lump in his throat dissolves. Determined, he hands the card to Bobby who wipes his greasy fingers on his shirt before taking it in his hands.
"This for ya daddy?"
Dean shrugs and points to Bobby who swallows loudly.
"You want me to have it?" Bobby asks, and he sounds different, his voice is thicker than usual. Dean studies the emotions flashing over Bobby's face. He can't read Bobby the way he can read Dad, but he has seen him angry before and to Dean's big relief he doesn't look like that right now.
Before Dean realizes what is happening, Bobby wraps him into his arms. Dean stiffens first, not sure how to react, before relaxing into the burly man's arms. Dean clings to him like his life depended on it.
"If you tell another soul I said this, I will hunt ya down for sport, are we clear?" Bobby gruffs, "but tulips are my favorites. Especially the yellow ones like those you painted." Dean smiles into the flannel that smells of whiskey and engine grease.
"Come on, kid. I gotta put this up on the fridge. When you get something as nice as this, ya gotta put it up for show. Dont ya think?" Bobby takes Dean's hand and they walk back towards the house.