You do this, Dean, and you're on your own." John said simply, his hand lifting a trembling coffee cup to his lips.
Sam glanced sideways and saw the effect his father's words had on his brother. "Dad, you need to go with him. They want him to sign a contract. You should be there."
But John shook his head and gestured to the waitress. "Your brother's 20 years old, Sam, old enough to make his own decisions, old enough to leave the family, apparently. Nothing I have to say is going to matter now."
Dean's voice was steady, but his eyes pleaded with his father to understand. "Lyle says I can make pro, Dad. I could sure … sure use your support."
John eyed his son, unfazed. "You always have my support, Dean. I don't want you to do this. This decision you're making - it's selfish. People will die because of it. I need you out there, helping me battle the evil that you know exists, but if you're bound and determined to bury your head in the sand and ignore it all for your own glory … well, I don't know how to argue that." He turned to the waitress, "We'll take the check please."
Dean sat, silent, and Sam could see the wheels turning inside his brother's head. "I'll go with you, Dean, to meet with Lyle. I can look over anything he wants you to sign."
Dean nodded, grateful, but John cut in, "It's a nice idea, Sam, but I need you with me. There's a job one town over. Two kids have already died. Another one is in intensive care. We need to leave ASAP."
And then Sam didn't know what to say because it was kids who were dying. He stared at Dean helplessly, and recognized the moment his older brother made his decision. The older boy stood up, dropping a twenty-dollar bill on the table.
"You take care, Sammy." He said, ruffling the younger boy's hair affectionately. "Stay safe, and take care of Dad, okay? Call if you need me."
Sam simply nodded, not trusting his voice to speak.
Dean turned to his father, addressing him without making eye contact. "I understand, Dad. I do. Be safe. Keep Sammy safe."
John nodded, not speaking, as Dean strode to the door of the tumble-down diner without looking back. Sam watched as he crossed the street and settled onto the park bench by the bus stop sign. Minutes later, as Sam and John waited in line at the register, Sam watched silently as Dean climbed the steps of the sleek Greyhound and disappeared into its depths.
The bus pulled away then, taking the most important part of Sam with it.
###
"Let me make one thing perfectly clear, Dean." Montrose, or 'Monte', clarified. "If we both sign this contract, your balls belong to me. You do what I say, when I say it. We clear on that?"
Dean stared straight back. "My balls belong to me, and no piece of paper anywhere is ever gonna say any different. Are we clear on THAT?"
Monte challenged the young upstart seated across the desk from him. The kid wasn't afraid to speak up for himself, for sure. "Then maybe we don't have a deal, son."
Dean nodded, rising immediately. "Maybe we don't. My father didn't raise any fools, Montrose." He grabbed his jacket off the back of the chair and made for the door.
Monte let him get a hand on the latch before calling him back. "Now just hold on. Hold on. Like MY daddy said, Dean, everything's negotiable." He waved Dean back into his seat. "Sit back down, and don't fly off the handle." Monty lowered his head and stared at Dean over the tops of his glasses. "That'll get you killed faster than anything in off-road racing."
Dean smirked. "Nice to know you care so much."
"I'm about to make a damned big investment in you, son. Damn right I care." Monte stood and moved to the wall of head shots. "These guys? They all drive for me. Or they drove for me. Some of 'em had a little help from the start - rich daddies. Some grew up in racing. Others are like you, Dean - raw talent without a penny to their names."
Dean huffed up at that remark and was about to fire back when Monte help up a hand in surrender. "Just statin' a cold, hard truth, Dean. I believe in you. I've seen what you're capable of. If I didn't, I sure wouldn't be sittin' across from you at that desk, ready to hand you the master keys to my kingdom."
Dean remained silent.
"It takes a hell of a lot of work to make a name for yourself in the racing world. You want the world to know the name Dean Winchester? You work for it. Long hours behind the wheel and under the hood. You drive and drive and drive until you feel like you can possibly drive another mile, and then you drive ten more. You'll take a lot of shit too - from the guys who want to be you and ain't, from their wives and girlfriends, from reporters who have their favorite faces and you ain't it. Hell, even the fans will eat you up and spit you out the first time you disappoint 'em. You'll spin out. You'll crash. You'll get hurt. You might even die. But if you don't, the payoff is damned big, son. You want all that? I'm opening the door for you. It's up to you whether you drive on through it."
The two stared each other down - the twenty-year-old with nineteen-years-worth of attitude and talent to match, and the business man, interested only in the bottom line. And whatever they saw in each other was mutual. Monty handed Dean the pen. "Keep your family jewels then. But I get the rest."
Dean smirked, nodding, and signed the documents.
