A Wretched Day

Written for the schmoop_bingo prompt of "Valentine's Day - disastrous"

Fandom : Supernatural/Leverage

Pairing : Dean/Eliot (Fits in the same 'verse as "I Keep Your Picture" and "How It All Began" – kind of a timestamp) Only Dean actually appears in this story.

Rating : PG-13

Word count : a little over 1,500 words

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.

A Wretched Day

The intention was there . . . seriously, it was never going to be a red roses kind of occasion and he doesn't have much more than two cents to rub together, but it doesn't stop the intention being good. So it was bound to be a matter of everything that can go wrong will go wrong.

To start with it took longer than he hoped to track down the grave, then Sam was being a pissy little son of a bitch about digging in the rain and wanting to wait until the rain stopped or some shit like that. Seriously, it wasn't like they'd never ended up digging in the rain before or like it wouldn't happen again in the future but meanwhile, Dean is knee-deep in soft ground digging his heart out on his own while Sam sits in the car and watches in case the spirit decides to put in an appearance. Oh, and it is soft ground, it isn't mud . . . yet. If the rain doesn't let up soon it probably will be mud before Dean's finished, but then if his snot-faced bitch of a brother would actual help out . . . he sighs, whining about it isn't going to change anything and just because he's told Sam he wants to head out in time for tomorrow night, doesn't mean to say that Sam isn't going to do everything in his power to stop him going.

Part of Dean knows that he really ought to tell his brother about Eliot, but he's not sure he's ready for that. To be fair, Sam probably thinks he's just wanting to go out and hook up with some random lonely chick who's on her own for Valentine's and therefore grateful for any guy that breezes through the door looking for an opportunity. It's been a long time since Dean's really thought like that.

It takes forever and Dean is soaked to the skin, his jeans rubbing unpleasantly against his legs chafing, heavy with mud now, but he's managed to break open the coffin and he's already chanting the incantation he needs as he sprinkles salt with one hand and shakes lighter fluid with the other, knowing he needs to be quick, so the rain doesn't wash them away. Typically he can't get his zippo to light, so to be on the safe side, he sprinkles even more salt and lighter fluid before giving it another shot, relieved that this time it actually catches and the bones and coffin all go up quickly, warming him a little while they burn.

In a way the sudden heat makes it colder afterwards as he's re-filling the grave but at least the rain has stopped and Sam has begrudgingly ventured out of the car and is helping, albeit with way more moaning and whining than Dean thinks he has any right to be expressing given that he spent most of the time in the car staying warm and dry.

Dean's shivering as he returns to the car. He figures given that he can't get any colder and wetter than he already is but that he can mess up the car with all the mud and crap he's picked up digging, he may as well just strip out of the drenched clothes now. So that's exactly what he does and wraps himself in a blanket before climbing onto the back seat and slamming the keys into his brother's hand with the words, "Drive, bitch." He flops back and prays for the car to warm up quickly. The first sneeze comes before Sam's even made it to the highway and Dean just sees everything going downhill from there . . . full speed ahead!

They head back to the motel and Dean showers, tempted to stay in long enough to warm himself up and use up all the hot water, leaving Sam to shower in cold water. Contrary to most of Sam's bitching though, Dean's not deliberately that much of an asshole most of the time and so he's out as the last of the mud drains away and at the first signs of his limbs thawing out.

While Sam showers, Dean packs the rest of his stuff and sets his bag by the door, before sending a text message to say 'Running a little late, but should reach the salvage yard by tomorrow evening. D.'

Sam's not in that much of an improved mood when he finally emerges from the bathroom and Dean is sat at the end of the bed, head in his hands as he sneezes repeatedly. It's Sam's fault, definitely Sam's fault, he's decided in the time he's had to wait and so as soon as Sam says something about the sneezing, he retaliates with a snipe back about how if Sam had actually done the job with him, it wouldn't have taken that long and he wouldn't have got so cold or wet and he wouldn't be giving such a good impression of having a cold now.

They are barely talking at all by the time they get in the car, with Sam having decided they should have at least tried to get a couple of hours sleep before setting off and Dean pointing out that they never stick around towns after grave-digging in case anyone tries to link it to them.

Dean drives because . . . well there's more than one reason for him driving . . . firstly it's his car and he's not letting his pissy little brother drive when he's being such a pain in the ass and Dean is capable of driving; secondly Dean is capable of driving; thirdly, he wants to get to Bobby's this year, well today actually, but as early as he can today and seriously Sam drives like Miss Daisy's chauffeur.

A couple of hours down the line and Dean's being forced into reassessing elements of his decision. The sneezing is now almost continuous, along with Sam's bitching that it's his own fault that he feels like crap. He aches and he's tired and his eyes are turning watery and it's bad enough trying to see through the rain but he doesn't want to pull off, he doesn't want to stop now.

In the end, Sam forces him to pull off and swop places. He doesn't get Dean's determination to get to Bobby's, but he knows he lost that battle hours ago, so now the best thing to do is to swop seats with Dean and to drive there himself.

It's nearly eleven o'clock at night on Valentine's Day when they finally pull into Bobby's yard. Dean's miserable as hell, he aches all over and the last thing he wants is for Eliot to see him in this state.

As Sam turns the engine off and the rumble dies out, Bobby appears at the door, but there's no one else behind him. "Where's your brother?" he calls to Sam as he walks down the porch steps and Sam climbs out of the car. The rear door opens and Dean almost falls out of the car in his over-medicated state of grogginess.

They make it into the house and Dean is slumped on a chair in the lounge as Sam chats to Bobby in the kitchen while eating whatever Bobby had saved for him. He could be in there, but he feels like shit and the thought of food made him nauseous. To make it even worse Eliot isn't here and won't be here any time soon.

He turns the letter Bobby had given him over and reads it again,

"Dear Dean,

I am so sorry I couldn't wait for you to get here. I will be in touch soon I promise. I've been called back to work and it's going to take me a while to get there.

If I'd had the choice, be sure, I'd have been with you today. I wish I could have changed things.

Wish things were different,

E."

Dean knows it makes him a real chick but hell right now, he hates Valentine's Day and all the bastards that interfere and keep people who should be together apart. He hates Eliot's boss, Nate and his own brother, Sam. He hates Hallmark and advertisers who are still even this late at night showing adverts for presents for lovers. Worst of all, he hates TV program schedulers who have set a whole night of chick flicks.

He pushes himself up from the couch, before sneezing again. With a grunted goodnight to Bobby and Sam, he heads to bed, the letter still clutched in his hand. All in all, this Valentine's Day has been one of the worse, if only because he'd hoped for so much more.