Word Count: 530
"Why we gotta get Bobby a birthday card?” Moaned Dean as he trudged moodily around the mall; “we don't other years."
"Exactly" replied Sam airily, "he does so much for us, we should make the effort; I wanna give him a nice surprise."
"A strippogram!" Dean grinned, "That'd be a nice surprise."
"I don’t think so,” Sam replied with a theatrical eye-roll; “I wanna make him happy, not give him heart failure!"
Perusing the shelves in a gift store, Sam spotted a card with a picture of a Ferrari on it, "How about this?"
Dean’s nose wrinkled in disgust; "Dude, wash your friggin’ mouth out! That’s a douchebag’s car; Bobby wouldn't be seen dead in that thing!"
Sam slid the card back into it’s slot and picked out another, tilting it toward Dean with a hopeful expression.
"This one? It's a dog; Bobby likes dogs."
Dean grunted dismissively at the hapless terrier that adorned the front of the card. "That ain't a dog; it's a rat in a collar."
Sam sighed; this was going to be a long afternoon.
Card after card were picked out, perused and ultimately rejected by Dean.
Two pints of beer on a rustic looking table …
A contented looking man standing on a riverbank with a fishing rod …
"Nope … "
Two sleek chestnut horses pulling an elegant carriage …
Sam could feel the will to live slowly slipping away from him as he replaced the horses back into their slot. He was on the verge of giving up when he spied a card that even Dean couldn’t criticise.
The picture showed the sleek lines of a big, black, handsome car; Sam figured it looked like a Hornet with its curved lines and miles of gleaming chrome. Okay, so it wasn’t an Impala, but even Dean couldn’t turn his nose up at such a classic.
He waved the card under Dean’s nose and felt a flicker of hope as Dean’s eyebrows twitched in an expression that could have been something resembling approval.
Dean took the card, examining it closely before opening it up.
Sam’s brief flicker of hope diminished rapidly as Dean’s face crumpled into in disgusted scowl.
"If Bobby reads this schmaltzy crap, he'll puke," Dean grunted dismissively, closing the card and shoving it back into Sam’s waiting hands.
Sam wilted, and turned to leave the store with a sense of totally wasted effort.
He paused as he heard a voice behind him; “wait a minute dude – I’ve got an idea …”
Among Bobby's birthday cards was a plain brown envelope; he cautiously opened it, expecting a bill or something equally unwelcome.
Instead, it contained a folded sheet of construction paper on the front of which was a colourful drawing of a truck with glitter on the hubcaps. Across the truck's hood laid some kind of creature which, in bad light and with a fertile imagination, could have been Rumsfeldt.
Inside, in Dean's firm, spidery handwriting, was written; Bobby; Have an awesome birthday - love and respect from your favourite idjits.
Bobby smiled broadly; and stared at the card for the longest time.
It went pride of place on his mantelpiece.