The Story continues...
Castiel's question of why Bobby was so pissed at the lateness had Dean frowning and trying to remember just what had happened that first night in the bar on the way back from Jackson.
I remember we got drunk, well kinda, I mean nothing too bad but there were these girls. I thought we were gonna get lucky. Yeah, typical, no such luck but hey, it all turned out for the best in the end, I guess. So the girls . . . well, we'd bought them a few drinks, had a few laughs, things were going well, then one of them went to the restroom and didn't come back for ages . . . Eventually her friend got worried and went to look for her. Yeah, not such a pretty sight, turned out she'd been throwing up, she could barely stand up, she'd obviously had more than anyone else realized and her friend just had to take her home. Eliot and I made sure they got in a cab safe and that was it. Then he turned all responsible on me and said that I couldn't drive, I'd had too much to drink. He'd seen a motel on the other side of the road and insisted we check in there till the morning.
It wasn't what you're thinking, nothing happened. Doubt the thought had even crossed his mind, certainly hadn't crossed mine. Anyway, we checked in, got some sleep and then headed for Bobby's in the morning. He was only an hour away, so it didn't take long to get there.
Bobby cruised along behind the Impala, thankful for the peace in the truck, knowing full well that Dean would have something loud playing as they raced along the highway. For a moment he wondered what Dean's taste in music would have been like if John had let the boys have a more settled childhood, would he have been into the same type of music as other kids his age, rather than just mimicking his father.
How much of Dean's personality even now was tied up in what his family wanted and needed of him. The evidence of it being too much was clear in the fact that despite everything that had happened over the previous few weeks, Dean had still dropped everything, put his relationship with Eliot back on hold again, all because of a call from his brother. Hell the apocalypse was almost surely well on its way by now. Bobby had little optimism left that they'd be able to stop it before it was too late, no matter what Castiel tried to say to the contrary. But what grated even more than the thought the angel might be lying was the fact that Dean still wouldn't face his brother with the truth about Eliot.
It was stupid; it always had been stupidity to hide this truth. What he wondered did Dean imagine was going to happen when the truth came out. He thought back to when the boys had first become friends, how bizarrely good they were for each other and how often they'd driven him to the point of wanting to bash their heads together to see if it would knock any sense loose.
He remembered that first few days, sending them off to dump the junker that Eliot had turned up in, too unique a car for him to start salvaging parts and too much of a disaster to make it worth fixing. He wouldn't have been surprised to find that someone else had bought it for parts. Even more than sending them off, he remembered the concern when they hadn't returned by midnight, the panicked pacing at the thought they'd been in an accident or been picked up by the police, wondering how he was going to explain that one to John Winchester.
The Impala had finally rolled into the salvage yard around nine thirty in the morning and at the first hint of its distinctive rumble, Bobby had headed straight for the porch steps, worried about what he was going to find in the car. When the two young men climbed from the car, laughing but also clearly still suffering the after-effects of heavy drinking, his temper got the better of him. Winchester he could deal with, the boy was almost like a son and there was no way a son of his was going to behave so irresponsibly and get away with it. Spencer was a little more awkward. He had a fondness for the boy, but couldn't for an instant begin to suggest that he had anywhere near the knowledge of the kid that he had of Dean. So bearing that in mind, it was Dean he headed for first, not sparing any sympathy for any signs of hangover the kid might be showing as he clipped Dean round the ear and immediately began to bellow a tirade about drunken irresponsibility and letting people down. He'd barely got started, when Dean tried backing away, objections to the treatment falling swiftly from his lips, "Geez, Bobby. What the f-?"
Bobby just pursued him even swifter as he shouted, "Don't you swear at me now, boy! Not after the night I've just had . . . You don't think the business with your brother was enough. You want me to tell your father you've dropped off the face of the earth, or wrapped your car around a tree or been locked up by the police. Is that the plan? Eejit!"
Dean smirked. Boy should have known better than that after all these years. Mind you, Bobby knew his punishments didn't even begin to rival those his father would regularly mete out, yet still Dean would react in exactly the same way with his father. Bobby's frown deepened as Dean snarked, "'m not a kid, Bobby. Quit acting like I am one!"
"Sure seems like you're the one acting like a kid," Bobby growled in response. "You think it's fine to leave someone waitin', expectin' ya to get here. Ya think it's okay to let me pace the floor for a night worrying that ya're dead! Ya think it's okay to leave me not knowing." Bobby could see the moment when the reality hit Dean, the knowledge of what it would have been like to be Bobby the night before. Experience, the boy'd got a darn sight more experience on that front than Bobby would ever have, but the kid'd grown on Bobby over the years. There was no way he was giving up now on treating the boy like he mattered. John Winchester had deserted him often enough, put too much on his shoulders, and Bobby knew full well that it had left the kid with a completely screwed up view of the world and of his own value in it. As a fully functioning adult when he first met John Winchester, he could understand just how much John loved his kids, but he could also, with that infallible outsider's point of view, see just how badly the life they were leading was affecting the boys, Dean in particular.
Dean had been a mess for years and his brother's departure a couple of months ago had only made matters worse. Sam had stormed out without a final word to Dean, too wrapped up in the anger at John to even begin to take notice of the effect it was all having on his older brother, and he hadn't been in touch since and Dean hadn't been able to handle it. Dean had been falling apart from then on and after one particularly vicious argument with his father, Dean had finally got himself in the car and driven all the way to Sioux Falls, because he knew that Bobby would give him the time he needed, would support him all the way without letting John breathe down his back all the time. John'd been by twice since Dean had arrived, Bobby had spoken to him both times but not let him stay in the house. On the second visit, he'd insisted that Dean sit down and talk with his father, but had stayed with him and not let John pressure him into leaving.
Bobby knew that Dean had too often experienced what it felt like to be the one left waiting, the one believing someone was coming back and what it felt like when they didn't come back on time. He had never particularly wanted to use guilt on the boy, but right now, it was quicker and more effective than anything else. He could apologize later, he could explain later, when Dean would be ready to listen. Hell, it wasn't like he begrudged the boy a night in the bar, was actually pleased that they hadn't been stupid enough to drive drunk, but all it would have taken was a phone call. All they needed to do was call and let him know they weren't going to be back last night.
Dean's face showed every ounce of the guilt he felt. He'd fallen silent, head hanging for a moment, no further objection to Bobby's tirade. When he spoke again, it was to say, "I'm sorry," before he walked away deeper into the salvage yard and out of sight. He wouldn't be too hard to find later, Bobby would make sure of it.
Eliot was still standing there and Bobby could almost feel the objection to the tirade that was about to spew from his lips. He just held up his hand and said, "Shut it and listen! All you needed to do was let me know that you were staying out. A little consideration, that's all. You left here in a stolen car that was barely running to go and dump it in a lake. You arrived here on the run from god only knows who, don't even begin to suggest that I had nothing to worry about. All of that you could have brought down on the pair of you! Then Dean . . . he's a hunter, Eliot. A young one, I admit, but he's been doing it for most of his life. Any number of things can be drawn to a hunter or can attract one's attention. It's easy to find ways to die if you look close enough, Eliot. A phone call was all I needed, a common courtesy."
Bobby couldn't say that he was surprised when Eliot didn't say anything beyond a genuine sounding sorry. His eyes flicked up in the direction Dean had gone earlier as if wondering whether he should follow, but Bobby just stopped him, assuring him that he was going to go and speak with Dean himself.
Eliot settled the empty bottle on the top of the porch railing, before leaning back and lifting his legs up to rest against the wood to push himself back and forth.
He'd been relieved when the bad feeling had blown over, Dean had returned from a talk with Bobby quiet, but he seemed okay, going so far as to throw an apology Eliot's way as well. It took a couple of days before they all seemed to be truly relaxed around each other and the next time they found themselves in a bar together, it was at Bobby's suggestion.
Over the next few weeks, Bobby kept them both busy, sending them out on a few car retrieval jobs together. Dean, it appeared, knew plenty about cars. He was able to get some of them going long enough to make it into an auto shop or back to the salvage yard, and failing that he was also pretty good at hooking them up and towing them back with Bobby's tow truck. Eliot wasn't really sure what his role in all of this was, beyond companionship for Dean when the drive was long. Still there were times when it took the two of them to maneuver the cars into the right position for towing or Dean managed to get the car running again but the driver wasn't going to sit behind the wheel again for whatever reason. Eliot decided he wasn't going to complain, it was a good way to get to know Dean better and the kid was definitely growing on him. He'd checked with Bobby and Dean was definitely old enough to be in bars, which relieved one lingering worry. He was surprised when Dean told Bobby how he'd managed to hustle Eliot, but with Bobby's loud guffaws, the surprise just melted into embarrassment as Bobby told Dean it was time he taught Eliot a thing or two.
Eliot had been able to get a little of their shared history out of the two of them, with them both admitting that Dean and his younger brother had sometimes stayed over at Bobby's when their Dad was away hunting, that at some point in his life Dean's dad, John, had been a mechanic, but that in Bobby's opinion it was Dean who had the natural gift for it. Sometimes Eliot felt like the more he learnt, the more questions he had, the less he was sure of. There had been no mention of Dean's mother and he didn't like to ask, talk of both his brother and father were always in the past and nobody was talking about where they were now and Eliot wasn't sure how much he should push to find out the rest of the story.
Dean insisted Castiel pull the car off the road at the next gas stop, in definite need of an opportunity to stretch his legs if nothing else. He wondered whether he could convince Castiel that he should ride with Bobby for a while. He'd never really experienced Castiel being quite so tenacious about prising information out of him before, and all he could think about was how different Castiel's approach was to Sam's and how effective.
He took the opportunity to visit the rest room and to wander around the shelves for while pondering the merits of various snack foods and how really what he wanted was to be back at Bobby's with Eliot deciding what they were going to eat. Suddenly being away from Eliot was more than he wanted to deal with. He didn't want to be sat in a car heading for Sam with Eliot left behind again; he realized that this really wasn't what he wanted from his life anymore.
He strode to the store door and headed outside and round the back of the building away from prying eyes and ears. He didn't even notice that Bobby was now standing alongside Castiel or that the two of them were watching him. He pulled out his phone as he walked and was already calling up Eliot's number before he found a secluded spot and leant back against the wall before pressing dial. The phone was answered pretty quickly and Dean hadn't fully got his head around this sudden need to speak to Eliot, so he didn't really know what he was planning to say. "El . . . God, El, I'm sorry," the words stumbled out awkwardly and he knew he needed to clarify. "El . . . I don't wanna do this anymore, I don't want you to be a secret, man. Can – can you hang on at Bobby's a few days . . . Please El. I'm gonna get Sammy to come back with me, I'm gonna tell him, I'm gonna tell him about us, man. Can you stay? Can you be there when I get back? Please." If it wasn't suddenly so important that Eliot understood and agreed to his request, Dean knew he'd feel embarrassed by the sudden needy desperation in his words.
Eliot'd heard the desperation and Dean could have kicked himself for all he'd managed to do was worry Eliot. "You okay, dude? Talk to me, man. You're worrying me now."
"No, 's not like that, El. 'S just . . . 's just I'm sick of this, of only seeing you when Sam's not around, of not being able to be 'us' when he's there, of not being able to call you and speak to you. I want to be able to do that. I want . . ."
"Dean," Eliot's firm tone silenced the words that were falling from his lips. "Listen up. I'll stay here as long as I can, I'll let you know if I have to go – I'm assuming you've already asked Bobby if I can stay on longer?" There was a smirk in his voice that told Dean he knew perfectly well Dean wouldn't have thought of any such thing. "Dean, I'll stay, don't worry, but just . . . be sure this is what you want to do. Things don't have to change, we can still have this, what we have now - you don't have to tell Sam."
"I do. I want more. If Sam . . . if Sam can't . . . can't handle it, then that's – that's his problem." Dean wished Eliot could be with him right then, that there wasn't the distance between them, but had to resign himself as he'd done so often before to the reassuring lilt of Eliot's voice being enough to steel his resolve.
"Dude!" There was a world of unspoken words in the exclamation; all the things they never said aloud, all the things they wanted the other to know but couldn't bring themselves to say. It was enough, Dean knew he'd done the right thing. He breathed a sigh of relief and felt a warmth grow through him as Eliot said softly, "Take care . . . come back soon."
It took him another couple of minutes after hanging up from speaking to Eliot before he was ready to head back to join Bobby and Castiel. He saw their perplexed expressions and shrugged unwilling to let go of the good feeling inside. When he was closer, he spoke quietly to Bobby, "'ve just spoken to Eliot. It okay for him to stay a bit longer at yours? He's gonna try to stay 'til we – we get back. 'S okay, right?"
Bobby's mouth dropped open in shock for a moment before he nodded and finally regained his composure enough to reply. The tension dropped from Dean's shoulders and he quickly turned back to the task at hand, urging both Bobby and Castiel back into the cars, so they could get back on the road immediately.
Back in the car, talking about Eliot didn't seem like such a bad thing anymore, there was no reason not to answer Castiel's questions. He started by returning to the beginning of the story and explaining that when they first met, he had thought his Dad was off on a job without him and that Sam had not long left for Stanford. He remembered how angry and alone he had been feeling when Sam left and how the arguments between himself and John had escalated to it being almost their only form of communication. In the end he admitted that after a vicious argument in which he had demanded to be allowed to accompany his father, even if it meant being left in a motel room there doing research, that his Dad had let rip with a stream of invective that would have had army drill sergeants blushing and boiled down to Dean was only good enough to follow orders and if he couldn't even do that properly then he may as well clear out now.
Dean left the motel room, stunned and speechless. He had no idea what to do, where to go, what ought to happen now. He was shaking, hands trembling, breath short and panicky. He opened the Impala door and sat down, leaning forward to drop his head closer to his knees and try to take deep breaths and calm himself down. It was nearing dark when he finally pulled himself together enough to even think about making a decision. He stood up and closed the door, walking down the block to a phone booth he'd seen near the diner. Shoving a few loose coins into the slot, he dialled the number he'd memorized as a kid and listened as the phone rang and rang but no one picked up. He held himself steady, determined not to fall apart now, not to read anything into the fact that Pastor Jim hadn't picked up. A few more deep breaths and he was dialling Bobby's number relieved when the older man picked up with his usual gruff greeting.
It hadn't taken long for Bobby to invite him to stay and he'd gratefully accepted, heading instantly back towards the motel parking lot. Reaching the car he paused, all of his stuff was inside the motel room. He could feel his resolve waver at the thought of yet another brewing argument. Eventually he decided he couldn't just head out, he had to go in and fetch his duffel bag. He drew himself up, bracing himself for the impending outburst, crossed the lot and let himself quietly into the room.
He couldn't fail to see a certain irony in the time it had taken him to steel himself and the emptiness of the room. The sound of the shower running was enough to remind him he didn't have long and so he strode deliberately across to his bag, looking round for the few things he hadn't already had packed. There was no sign of the shower stopping when he hoisted the bag onto his shoulder and heading for the door with barely a backward glance. He'd stop on the way to pick up a replacement toothbrush and paste and some shaving foam. Everything else he had with him. There was a brief hurt flash in which he wondered how long it would take his father to notice he'd gone.
He'd been at Bobby's for four days before the first phone call came through from John. It wasn't pretty and in the end Bobby had reached over and cut the call off, saying gruffly, "No one needs to listen to that crap."
It had been almost another two weeks before John had appeared raging at the door about responsibilities. Dean had been embarrassed but relieved when Bobby had taken action again, this time dragging John into the kitchen to talk and sending Dean out to finish working on a car they'd started on the previous afternoon. Half an hour later, Bobby had called Dean in and the three of them sat down around the table to 'talk'. It had been unlike anything Dean had really experienced before. Every time his father tried to bulldoze his way through the conversation, bombarding Dean with demands, Bobby would interrupt and say something to the effect of John perhaps wanting to rethink what he'd said. When his father finally got round to the point of instructing Dean to take a solo job, Bobby had put his foot down and said that it was one thing for John to 'ask' Dean to accompany him but right now, he didn't think it was a good time for Dean to be hitting the road alone. John had made a final demand of Dean and shakily his son had refused.
Dean had watched horrified as his father stormed from the house, hoisted himself into the cab of his truck and with a roar of the engine had left. The solid grounding that came with the arrival of Bobby's hand on his shoulder was quite possibly the only thing that kept him from flying apart.
He knew that over the next few days he'd been dissolving, a welter of emotions threatening to swamp him, drive him under permanently. He knew he had a lot to be thankful to Bobby for and probably three times as much to apologize for, but Bobby hadn't wavered. He'd stood by throughout the ranting, through the depressive moments and refused to allow either to last beyond the initial expulsion of emotion, insisting that Dean got on and forged his own way. It hadn't stopped Dean feeling incredibly vulnerable and he knew that without the consistency and stability that Bobby was providing, he'd have given in and either run to his father begging forgiveness or tried to get his brother to take him in.
Then Eliot had turned up.
Everything had changed, Dean had, by virtue initially of embarrassment alone, begun to pull himself together, not willing to show how he was feeling in front of a stranger, bad enough that Bobby had had almost a month of it by then.
They'd settled into a routine, working together, Eliot accompanying Dean to fetch cars for Bobby. He was a good enough driver but all the technicalities of trying to restart cars, he would leave to Dean. When that didn't work, the two of them would hoist cars onto Bobby's tow truck and drive it back to the salvage yard.
They spent the odd evening in a downtown bar, their friendship growing as they learnt more about each other and discovered a shared love of music, Bruce Lee films and hockey that Dean admitted he'd never shared with anyone before as his brother and father despised any sport other than baseball. It was a new experience that Dean was currently relishing, a friendship on equal terms, not a soldier to do the bidding of a sergeant major or a parent struggling to raise a recalcitrant teenager. It was a friendship that asked nothing he didn't actually want to give and asked of him if he was willing to give at that, nothing ever just assumed like his opinion didn't count.
Dean swore that he could never have put a finger on when exactly things began to change between them, never really say how or why his feelings changed, morphed into something more. They were at the bar one night, worse for wear and getting steadily drunker when a brawl broke out. He could honestly say he'd got no idea why all of a sudden a bunch of guys turned on the two of them. If he remembered rightly they'd not been playing pool, not tried hustling anyone, but then all of sudden some guy took a swing right at him and well, there was no way he was going to stand there and take it. Before long the brawl was in full swing and the cops were wading in and arresting people left, right and center.
Thrown into the drunk tank alone after initial processing, Dean had felt a wave of horror as he saw the looks on the other guys' faces in there, older, darker and he felt like nothing more than fresh meat before a pack of lions. He backed himself up into a corner as one or two of them began to pay more attention to him and tried to make himself invisible, dreading Bobby finding out where he was at the same time as he was hoping the older man would find out soon and would come fish him out. Some huge brick shithouse of a man suddenly loomed over him and Dean tried to keep a glare on his face that said he wasn't afraid but the guy just leered in his direction and Dean pressed in tighter to the corner.
The door to the cell opened seconds later and the big guy backed off a little with a warning glare. Dean didn't make a sound, hoped that maybe they were gonna get him out of there, or maybe at least take away the big guy. As far as he was concerned right then, either option worked for him. So it was a surprise when Eliot strode into the cell like he owned the place, glaring at the huge monster man before glancing round, seeming to assess the room. Dean was relieved when Eliot's eyes settled on him and showed concern rather than disregard. Eliot hardened his gaze and stared at the other men in the cell before striding across to Dean's side. He stood alongside for a moment or two before giving a tilt of his head towards one of the benches in the cell, currently occupied by several other men. Dean knew when he was outnumbered, knew perfectly well that while he knew how to take out a poltergeist or a lingering spirit, there was a limit to how many humans he could take on.
Eliot didn't seem to share his concern, just striding across to the bench he'd indicated before and stood over two guys. When Dean stood alongside and tried mirroring Eliot's intimidating posture, the two guys hurriedly moved from their perch, allowing Dean and Eliot to take their places. Eliot nudged Dean into the corner and then sat alongside. Even Dean could work out the unspoken message and was embarrassingly thankful for the implied protection.
By the time they were released in the morning, Bobby was stood glaring at them both at the door to the jailhouse. Dean looked chastened, Eliot worried. Neither spoke a word as they headed for the truck and Bobby didn't break the silence as he drove home. He wasn't going to rein his anger in for long though once they were back, immediately demanding an explanation
Dean knew that something in his head had changed that night and the days that followed, something that right then he couldn't have identified or explained. There was the whole 'being protected' thing which even thinking back on it alone, made his cheeks flare with embarrassment. Fuck! No wonder his Dad was disappointed in him, he was supposed to be an adult, supposed to be able to stand on his own two feet, yet he'd been ridiculously grateful for the presence of Eliot at his side, the implied barely contained violence that had the men who'd been goading him back off without a word.
He found himself avoiding talking with Eliot, worried about what he might let slip, what the other man might think of him. He had no choice but to work with him, eat with him, but he just wanted to get his own head straightened out before he made matters worse. Eliot didn't seem to change though, apparently wasn't unnerved in the least by Dean's cowardice in the jail cell. Dean didn't understand why he didn't say anything about it at all, not even teasing him. He just carried on as they had been for the last few weeks, just talking over the silences when Dean had nothing to say.
