Crabby Mechanics Unite
By PaBurke
Distribution: The Nook
Disclaimer: No copyright infringement intended, no money made, no characters created.
Spoilers: Pre-Season 1 of Supernatural, mystery cross
Summary: All Dean needed was an ignition for the Impala. He found a little more.
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Dean Winchester walked into Hannibal's Repair in Hannibal, Missouri like he walked into most places, aware, wary and observing. That didn't mean that he didn't enjoy the sights he was seeing. The large garage was filled with the smells of grease, gasoline and rust. There were several classic 70's cars in various states of rebuilding. Dean smirked at the dilapidated Impala in the corner. His dad's, rather it was his car now, looked so much better. He wondered how the two convertibles in the front bay managed to sparkle in the midst of the grime. The GTO out back had racing stripes and someone had added a bit to the engine. The '72 Charger was more apart than together. There were more classics here than at the last car museum he had stopped at and they were all in better shape than anything at Bobby's Salvage.
Dean wandered through the extended garage looking for some personnel to help him. He didn't see any inventory and the antique cash register was behind a dead bolt lock up front. Maybe all the parts were stored in the basement?
Where was the owner?
The helpful, pretty girl at the gas station said that this was the place for historical car parts. She had also mentioned that the owner was… well known among the street racers. So far, it looked like both were possible, if he could ever find a human being in this mess. Dean followed a hallway that ended with two doors. The first door he tried had several airplanes behind it. It was a hanger and he didn't see anyone at a glance. Dean promptly shut that door. He'd look in there as a last resort.
The other door had a van in the midst of a shocks replacement. Dean almost backed out of the door but then he realized that the shocks were being replaced with something heavy duty. A quick tap on the windows confirmed that the glass was bulletproof. This was interesting. Dean circled the van. No, it wasn't a van- it was a fortress on wheels. And it had a big engine. Dean wondered how fast it could move. This was an impressive piece of work and one by someone who didn't care about appearances, someone doing some sort of undercover work and not necessarily for the cops. It didn't feel like something for a drug deal; all dealers Dean had run into were flashier. They wouldn't be caught dead in a van, not even one with this many extras.
"Sucker!" a voice growled. "What do you think you're doing?"
Dean looked up at the old black man and stepped away from the van with his hands raised. Though the man was probably older than his dad, he moved like him. He had a lot of muscles revealed. He was scowling and clenching his fist braced on a gold handled cane. It matched with the pounds of gold chains wrapped around his neck. Dean didn't think the man was carrying a gun, but he didn't want to chance it. Street racers were a rough lot and they wouldn't respect an old guy unless he could still beat the crap out of them.
"Sorry," Dean tried to smile and smooth the way. "I was looking for the owner."
"That's me."
"Oh, good. I need an ignition for a '67 Impala. I was told you'd have it." Flattery might or might not work, but Dean wasn't above trying.
The old man grunted and limped to the front. He paused once to make sure Dean was following. He didn't tolerate dawdling. Dean unconsciously tried to accommodate him. There was another old man, this one white, sitting at the cash register. He was coloring a kids book on airplanes with crayons, very carefully coloring everything but the plane. He was ignoring Dean and the crabby, old man.
"You goin' to replace it yourself?"
"Of course." Dean hadn't meant to answer so sharply, but no one else was touching his baby.
The man grunted again. He disappeared behind a door that Dean hadn't seen. Dean wasn't sure whether or not he should follow. The man disappeared down a flight of stairs.
"Do you like airplanes," the old guy with a coloring book asked. He had sharp eyes, if a little distracted.
"No," Dean answered firmly.
The first guy returned and handed over the box. "Fifty."
Dean nodded, though that was a little low for a new one. He debated handing over his fake credit card and then decided that this old man would chase him down for tricking him and beat him with his cane if he ever found out about it. So he used cash from the last game of poker.
It was odd how the first guy grumbled and called the other a 'crazy fool,' but gently maneuvered him out of the way of the register. From this position, Dean could see the glock, the shotgun and the AK47 poised under the counter. That was a lot of fire power and it was also a choice for each circumstance.
The 'crazy fool' kept chattering away, trying to convince his friend- or Dean to go flying with him. The first guy was wise enough to refuse –vehemently. Dean tried to be polite, even though he privately thought that someone that old shouldn't be anywhere near the cockpit of a plane. Planes were scary enough as it was.
Dean accepted his change and left.
The two old men watch him leave. They were opposites in so many ways, but they were bound by a team half dead.
"BA?" asked the second man. "Why did you give him the veterans' discount?"
BA grunted. "He was like Face."
Howlin' Mad Murdock considered it, and then accepted the idea. The sharp eyes, the fit body, the gun hidden behind his leather jacket and the smile that had succeeded with a long, long line of women; they matched up with his old friend. Then Murdock returned to coloring. The young stranger would not return, not for a very long time, if ever. Face Peck rarely went over the same ground twice either.
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I certainly don't own the A-Team either. I didn't make one cent off of this. This bit of fluff is brought to you courtesy of too much real world work and not enough time to write on my WIPs.
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