I'm definitely not a mechanic, so feel free to correct me on anything technical. Thank you so much to RackOnInNC! I've updated this to something which hopefully works better.
Cas wasn't completely right about the "a little rough at first" bit; Bobby never stopped being rough, even after he'd proved himself as a good guy.
It was the longest Dean had stayed in one place for a long time. At first, it was about the bike, and about Dean working at Bobby's so he could pay off the repairs. Or, about Bobby noticing that Dean wasn't a bad mechanic himself, and wanting to keep somebody like that around for a while. But, after two months the bike was fixed, and Dean was still at the garage, rebuilding the carburetor of a '77 Chevy K10 pickup. It was amazing how much interesting work Bobby had given him, outside of the numerous oil changes, alignments and the like. He was actually enjoying himself at Singer Auto, more than he had in a long time. And, it seemed like the locals were enjoying him too. He'd acquired a certain ability to lay on the charm in his years of drifting from place to place, and Bobby was putting him to work dealing with customers when he didn't feel like it. Dean had a coworker who was one of the cutest girls he'd ever seen, but she was rougher around the edges than Bobby, as impossible as that might've seemed,
"Hey, Tiny Dancer!" Jo barked from across the garage, her voice almost drowned out by the loud country music pumping through the radio.
"Thanks, Sarah. Do you need a receipt?" He asked the woman in front of him, ignoring Jo and the look their customer shot her.
"That's alright. Thanks," Sarah answered, picking up her new set of high-end wipers and giving a faint wave as she hurried out of the shop.
"Have a good one," Dean called after her, waiting until she was gone before turning a glare on Jo.
"Who you callin' tiny, midget?" he shouted back. Jo rolled her eyes and turned away from him.
"Just get that ass over here and help me with this jack," she called.
"Yeah right, you could probably lift that damn Honda with your bare hands. Don't think I'm gonna fall for that damsel in distress crap," he answered. Shooting a glare over her shoulder at him, he watched her pull the tie out of her hair and put it back up in a tighter bun, smudging dirt through her bright blonde locks. If he wasn't sure she was five kinds of "don't fuck with that" he'd say she was just his type. As it was, any attempts at flirting on his part had been shot down by brutal and often graphic commentary on hers. He was clearly there to act as a punching bag and source of amusement for her. He'd learned early on that she didn't care that he was a better mechanic than her, as long as he didn't try to help or offer her advice. That was punishable by several hours of menial tasks and, once, the wasting of some good synthetic oil when she decided he could use a "scalp treatment."
"Just suck it up and keep her happy, son," Bobby growled, slapping Dean hard on the back as he came out of his office and stalked to the other side of the garage. Dean saw Jo smirk on the other side of him, and rolled his eyes before making his way over to her.
"I've got some errands to run. I'll be back in a few hours. Don't tear the place apart while I'm gone, y'hear?" Bobby didn't wait for a response before grabbing up a set of keys and stalking back through his office and out of the building.
Dean was at the back of the Honda with Jo. She'd already positioned a jack under one side of the vehicle and he watched as she went around and slid another one under the other side.
"I just need to check the rotors real quick," she said, "Lemme get this started and do the other one for me." Not the easiest way probably, but Dean wasn't about to argue with her. He let her work her jack up until the hatchback was coming off the shop floor on one side before he quickly joined in with the other. After a second the rear end was a couple of feet in the air. He looked up for her next order but she was already walking away.
"What're you doing?" he asked, a little irritated at being abandoned.
"Take a look for me, wouldja sweetheart?" she called back sweetly without turning. Dean rolled his eyes as she fiddled with the radio.
Whenever Bobby left for more than an hour she would change the station from the twanging country ballads he liked. She said it was too depressing, but Dean wasn't the kind of guy to question his boss' quirks. Although, even if he wouldn't admit it, the fact that Jo's favorite station was classic rock and not christian or the popular mix station that played the same twelve songs over and over kind of impressed him. He always worked a little better with some Sabbath in the background.
He glanced at the Dale Earnhardt clock situated high on the back wall before crouching down to shine a flashlight under the Honda. Sadly, he even knew that they were still early enough to catch the tail end of Rock 102 "The Map"'s morning show, "Taking the Highway" with Gabe and Anna. Despite the cheesy name, it was actually pretty funny.
"Alright, Cupcake, I'll take it from here," Jo was already back at his side as the station played through a commercial for a carpet cleaning service in Greensboro. He got out of her way so she could start disassembling part of one wheel, and went back over to where he had been working on the carburetor less than an hour ago. He was content to look busy while listening to Gabe make jokes about the latest celebrity faux pas while Anna dryly objected to most of what he said in a soft voice that hardly ever matched the tone of her words.
It was four hours before Bobby finally came back and yelled at Jo for changing the radio station. By then it was on to Two Timing Tuesday, a program that played two songs from the same band back to back, and they were half way through "The Magic Bus" by the Who when it was abruptly cranked back to the warbling of Dolly Parton. Jo's face was pinched into a pout but Dean just shrugged. At least Dolly was hot.
Bobby told him to go home not long after that, saying he was too quiet and it was creepin' him out. Dean figured he probably just thought Dean was spending too much time at the shop, or didn't want to pay him for the extra hours. Either way, he didn't argue, dragging his grubby ass around to the back of the garage and hopping on his bike for the short drive home.
Home. He'd had quite a few of those and this one wasn't any different. After the first month, when he realized Bobby wasn't going to fire him any time soon, he'd given in and moved out of his hotel room and into a rental house. Well, his boss had practically strong armed him into it. Dean briefly wondered if it was just because he wanted to help out the gorgeous woman who was renting out the cabin, but Bobby really wasn't a devious guy and Lisa was Dean's age with a seven year old in tow. Dean had a huge crush on the single mom and loved the kid, Ben, but he wasn't dumb enough to jeopardize the great deal she was giving him. She was probably too smart for him anyway, and Dean had decided she wasn't going to make a move on him because she'd correctly interpreted his request for a month-to-month lease as a desire to be able to leave any time he wanted. She'd still managed to force him to come over for dinner more than once without making it weird or trying to become his best friend. Even though he hadn't known her for a long time, he could tell it was just in her nature, and that she must've taken care of a drifter or two before he got there.
She was out in her vegetable garden when he got home, the one that looked like it was trying to force its way through his kitchen window. She waved as he rode past, down the driveway and around to the back of the cabin, where he always parked the Harley out of sight. A lot of time in bad neighborhoods had helped him build up a few cautious habits that he couldn't shake, even in a place where most people didn't even lock their doors at night. Back on his feet, he pulled off his helmet and unzipped his leather jacket, setting the helmet down on the stoop of the back door and picking up a black tarp he kept under the awning. He covered the Road King with care, making sure it was nice and neat before turning toward the door.
"Hey, Dean, hold up!" Lisa called, rushing out from the other side of the building. Her ponytail swung behind her, the skin above the collar of her t-shirt shimmering with sweat and her hands dusted with black soil. God, Dean loved a natural woman who didn't mind getting her hands dirty. She paused at his expression, raising an amused but wary eyebrow.
"Hey, Lisa," he replied sheepishly, pulling off his gloves.
"Hi, Dean," she smiled, "Dinner plans tonight?" It was like she almost hoped he had some, because that would mean he was starting to have a social life in this town. But of course, all he had was a handful of visits to a biker bar on the highway, the Roadhouse, where the owner and her employees were a little too weird to call friends.
"Nope," he answered. No need to lie. They'd done this one before and Lisa's cooking was awesome.
"Well I'm making enchiladas if you feel like crossing the yard," she offered.
"Sounds fantastic. What time do you want me?" he asked. She grinned at his flirtatious, intentionally juvenile phrasing, and glanced at her watch.
"I have to pick up Ben soon, but we should be back around four, and you can come over any time after that. Even help if you're feeling generous," she answered, half decisive and half playful.
"Alright," he nodded, "I'll be there."
"Great, see you in a bit," she said, sounding satisfied and taking several steps backward before she stopped, remembering something. "Oh, and, Dean?"
"Hm?" his hand was on the doorknob.
"No more glorious nomad stories, okay? My son's already a little too in love with you," she teased.
"No problem," he laughed, "See you later." He opened the back door and she waved before walking back the way she'd come. No strings attached enchiladas. Damn, Dean loved this place.
