"You lied to me, Dean," Charlie accuses him in lieu of hello as soon as his foot hits the asphalt of the parking lot.
An hour ago, she calls him with an intel about some hunt, hella urgent, which is disconcerting in itself — whatever happened to accepting monsters but not seeking them out? She orders to ditch Sam, somehow; meet her up outside of Wichita. He hops on the Impala, breaks at least three speed limits just to get there in time… and this — this is what he gets for it?
"I did?" he blurts out, not the least bit offended, but pretending to be.
Chances are he did lie to her at some point. Or multiple points. So sue him — lying's in his job description.
Charlie crosses arms on her chest, which would maybe look a little intimidating, if she wasn't at the same time leaning against the side of most ridiculously yellow car.
"Yes. Well, by omission," she clarifies, "but that's still a lie."
Very helpful, isn't it? All that does is widen the search criteria by a whole friggin' lot.
"You're gonna have to be more specific."
"We meet last week, kick some ass, win an epic battle—" she pauses to give him a pointed look—"then have a long heart-to-heart over a beer. All that time—" she nods her head in disappointment—"and you never mentioned it was your birthday!"
Dean snorts. His birthday. Omitting that is not a lie, if he never paid much attention to it. He'd note it was happening, add another year to his age. When he was younger he'd treat himself to a chocolate bar from the gas station or a piece of fresh pie if money dad left them allowed for it (it seldom did). He still does, sometimes.
But this year? All the fun he had in Moondoor, the LARPing, the battle. Meeting Charlie again and getting all the stuff off his chest. Probably the best birthday he's had in his whole life. And it lasted two days, too.
"Oh, that." He waves his hand, relieved that Charlie was just messing with him and not being mad. "How did you find out about it?"
Charlie looks at him trying really hard not to roll her eyes.
"I'm a hacker, remember? And, apparently, you're a wanted criminal," she says matter-of-factly. "Zero challenge."
Dean smirks. "That's fair."
"Well, you're lucky I managed to secure you the perfect gift." Charlie pushes herself off the car and pats its roof. She notices the mix of bewilderment and fear in Dean's eyes as they fix on the vehicle. "No, not my car, dummy."
Dean lets out a sigh of relief that doesn't last long.
"Get in," Charlie urges, reaching for the handle.
"Wherever we're going we can take mine," he insists.
"Can I drive?"
"No."
"Then we're taking mine," she cuts the conversation, slipping into her driver seat.
Out of options, Dean gets into the car. "Can you at least tell me where we're going?"
Charlie hands him her phone, an address in Velma, Oklahoma displayed on the screen.
"What's there?" he asks, suspicious. That's gotta be like a four-hour drive. While he's all for a road trip with Charlie itself, this better be worth it.
Charlie gives him a sly smile. "Oh, just something we've talked about."
—
"We're here." Charlie nudges Dean with an elbow to pull him out of his light slumber. There's just something about an easy ride in the passenger seat, steady rhythm of it, that lulled him once they slipped into a comfortable silence.
He wipes his eyes with the top of his palm and glances around. They are in a parking lot in front of a shitty motel. Looks like a home sweet home to Dean.
"How sure are you of your Intel?"
"Ninety-three point seven percent," Charlie replies quickly.
Dean lifts an eyebrow. "Really?"
"Do I look like Tony Shalhoub to you?"
Dean moves his gaze to the window, the one Charlie pointed to, in hopes of seeing… something. A silhouette of a person moving behind the thin curtains. But it's too dark inside to see anything. He might be asleep. He might be out.
He might have left here already and move to another town.
"And how exactly did you locate him?"
"A girl has her ways. Let's just say I hope I won't have a vamp equivalent of FBI on my back."
Dean narrows his eyes at her but elects not to pry further. Nor say VBI out loud. There's something else already on his mind. The feeling that's been there, at the back of his thoughts the entire way but by now it's grown and radiated all the way to his stomach.
"He won't want to see me. I ditched him."
"You're here now, aren't you?"
Dean drops his eyes to his palms, his jaw tense. Yes, he's here. He's here because Charlie dragged him here and only revealed where they are going once they reached Oklahoma. He would not be here otherwise. He wouldn't reach out to Benny on his own. Because when he broke the contact off, he meant it.
Even if he really, really didn't want it.
"Guess I won't know if I don't try," Dean murmurs, reaching for the knob.
"Atta boy." Charlie pats him on the shoulder. "I'll be waiting here. And Dean?" she stops him before he can shut the door. He leans down to look at her. "Happy belated Birthday."
Dean shoots her a smile. "Thanks." He straightens up, runs fingers through his hair. "We'll see," he mutters to himself, moving toward the motel room.
He pauses right before the door, glances over his shoulder to Charlie in her happy, yellow car, showing him thumbs up. He takes a breath. Lifts his hand. Knocks. Waits.
Nothing.
"Okay," he mutters.
He knocks again.
"Who's there?" comes a cautious voice from behind the door. Unmistakable voice.
"B– Benny?" he tries. "It's me, Dean."
There's silence for a moment before the lock turns and the door opens, revealing Benny; messy hair, white undershirt, his machete in hand. His eyes scan Dean's face in alert, even in the dim, winter light, they're so strikingly blue.
"Dean? What happened?"
The corners of Dean's mouth twitch, as he fights a goofy grin. It's just so fucking good to see Benny, even if for a bit.
"Nothing, all's good," he assures, watches him relax. "I just wanted to talk to you."
"Alright." Benny nods, stepping aside to let Dean in.
Outside, Charlie cheers, as Dean sneaks a tiny thumb up before disappearing behind the door.
—
Benny's got beer in one hand, a handful of Dean's shirt in the other. His thigh's pressed against Dean's, his breath tickles as he purrs some joke into Dean's ear, chuckling every few words. It's not a very great joke, picked up from some daytime TV show.
Still, Dean can't help laughing. Maybe it's the atmosphere. Maybe it's the beer circling in his veins. Maybe it's just that he's spending the evening with two great people, simply having fun and not thinking about anything other than here and now. Or maybe it's all of it, together.
He's happy. Freaking happy. And it's Benny, of all people, he's here with. Right there in his personal bubble, a little tipsy — if vampires can even get tipsy — and seeming as weightless as Dean is.
Benny shifts back to his corner of the booth. Dean misses his closeness already.
"So Benny," Charlie starts, leaning over the table, "did Dean tell you we're here to celebrate his birthday?"
"Charlie–" Dean grumbles, feeling his cheeks flush under Benny's gaze. "It's– it's not–" He waves his hand. "Don't listen to her."
"Really?" Benny nudges Dean. "Shouldn't we get those funny birthday hats and a song?"
Dean chuckles. "I'm pretty sure that's just in the family restaurants, not bars."
"That's a shame."
Charlie sets her emptied jug on the table. "One more of this and I'll be ready to do the song."
"Whoah, no one is singing here tonight, alright?" Dean says, maybe a little louder than planned. First time drinking with new friends can be unpredictable and he knows better than to doubt Charlie's threat or the amusement painted on Benny's face. "Let's keep it civil."
Charlie pouts. "Party pooper. Oh?" she stares, surprised, at the full glass of beer appearing before her. "I didn't—"
"From the blonde at the bar," says the waitress.
Charlie turns her head, a little nervous. Until her eyes land on the mystery blonde. Gorgeous blonde. She's sitting at the end of the long counter, looking their way. She winks at Charlie and returns to her drink.
"Damn," Dean comments. "Someone's getting lucky tonight."
"You bet," Charlie replies, slipping out of their booth. "Sorry boys, hope you don't mind me leaving you two alone."
Dean and Benny shake their heads.
"Go get her, tiger."
And with that, she's gone and they're left together, alone. They sit quietly for a while, draining their beers, the soft rock station in the speakers fills up the silence.
Dean clears his throat. "So—"
"So?"
"Got anyone in mind?"
"For?"
"For a pick up, man. Buying a drink is a classic, but if you prefer a more direct approach, I'm an amazing wingman," Dean offers.
"Hmm." Benny muses for a moment. "I thought I already bought you a beer."
It takes Dean a moment to catch on. Benny's playful smirk surely helps with that. And once he does, it feels like a sudden slush of ice cold water. He opens his mouth to say something, but his brain fails to output any words.
Benny laughs, a low, guttural sound.
"Never thought I'd see you dumbfounded."
Dean's face turns hot, his eyes slip down to the remnant of the foam in his jug. He should say something. He needs to say something before this gets super awkward.
The phone buzzes in his pocket.
"Uh, hold that thought," he blurts out, at last, pulling out the phone.
It's a text from Charlie. Don't wait for me, it reads.
He reads it out to Benny.
And he knows what to say next.
"Wanna get out of here?"
Benny nods with a smile. He gets out of the booth right behind Dean, his thumb finds its way to the loop of Dean's jeans. He pulls close, leans to his ear.
"Happy Birthday, Dean."
Dean wants to thank him, right now. He picks up the pace as they go for the door.
Benny's motel room just can't seem to be close enough.