Sunday Night

"You seriously spent two whole months here, just being a mechanic. The whole time me and Cas were tearing around trying to find you, you were here. As a mechanic." Sam didn't sound upset, wasn't blaming Dean for anything. It sounded like he was trying to wrap his head around the idea but needed more data to make the idea compute.

Dean glanced at his brother as he parked, trying to pick up on his mood. "Well yeah. I couldn't Hunt. Not by myself with that Mark on my arm. I couldn't trust myself. So. I found a garage that would hire me for cash under the table. Working on engines is practically therapy for me. It was...nice."

"You miss it? Just being a mechanic?" Sam asked, curious and a little pensive about asking.

Dean surprised him by admitting, "A little. Sometimes. You know, if I had never heard of monsters or Hunting, I'd probably be running my own body shop. A lot like Mercy's, really: low prices, fun projects, good people for customers." He stared off in the distance for a moment before shaking himself out of it. "But that was never in the cards. And most of the time? I'm good with that. No regrets, okay?"

Sam nodded. They both occasionally wished that their lives had been different, but that didn't stop either of them from enjoying the life they did have. Changing the subject, he said, "So, is there something special about this bar? Or did you just really need a beer?"

"This is the unofficial cop bar of Kennewick PD. I ah..." Dean looked a little sheepish as he cleared his throat. "I wasn't Hunting, but I might have done some consulting with a couple of local detectives whenever our kind of thing popped up in town."

"Consulting?" Sam repeated.

"Yeah, you know, told them what to look for and how to kill it."

Sam was fighting a smile. If Dean was still checking out crime scenes while working his grease monkey therapy, at least he didn't have to wonder if his brother actually wanted in or out of the Hunting life. That made it pretty obvious he'd miss it if he ever had to quit. Aloud he said, "You? You were the reference desk for all things supernatural?"

"More like a Cliff's Notes Pocket Guide," Dean countered as he unbuckled and got out.

Sam followed him in. The interior was the same as a thousand other drinking establishments his brother had dragged him to through the years; dim lighting, polished wood bar, a scattering of tables, and a couple of pool tables in the back. He was willing to bet there'd be a dart board somewhere. It was the clientele that made the place feel different. Dean usually picked biker bars and roadhouses where everyone inside favored flannel or leather.

Here was a mass of the cheap suits, professional dress code on a budget.

Although there was probably the same number of guns in both kinds of places.

"Hey, hey, Papi!" Dean called, a big smile on his face. "You sure you're old enough to drink?"

A latino man jerked his head around in surprise, but grinned when he saw Dean. To Sam's eye, the man didn't look that young. He wondered what the inside joke was.

"Sharp!" The man laughed as he hugged his old friend. "Save my life a few times, then disappear on me for two years? Not even a phone call? My Sylvia is beginning to believe you were a guardian angel and not a real person."

"Wow. No one has ever accused him of being an angel before," Sam laughed.

"Tony, my brother Sam. Sam, detective Tony Montenegro," Dean made introductions and hearty handshakes were exchanged. "She's your Sylvia now, is she?" Dean demanded with a wicked glint in his eye. "Does that mean you finally stopped dicking around and made your move?"

Tony blushed slightly and for a moment looked like a shy teenager being teased by an older brother.

A little, unworthy part of Sam got jealous. Ruthlessly, he squelched that line of thought.

"Well, good on you!" Dean clapped him on the shoulder.

"Dean Sharp," a new man joined the group.

"Clay," Dean greeted with a handshake.

"You back?" Clay wanted to know.

"Visiting. Showing my little brother here all the wonderful sights to see on the Tri-Cities area." Dean gestured around the bar.

Clay jerked his head, indicating that the three men should join him at a table. Once they were seated and had beer in front of them, the older detective got down to business. "Now, I'm not complaining, but that was one hell of a mess you left us in that warehouse two years ago. Our department, Internal Affairs, even a few feds were crawling all over the place. All of them know the guy who skipped town knows what happened and all of them want to talk to you about it."

Dean sighed. "See Sammy? This is why we don't crap in the same crapper twice. Its messy."

"Learn to flush," Clay advised without a trace of humor.

"I did suggest you people torch the place down to nothing but ashes," Dean reminded. "There wasn't that much worth saving after all the explosions."

"Explosions?" Sam cut in. "Dean, what did you blow up this time?"

"Oh, get off my back, Sammy!" Dean whined. "Its not like I was screwing around with Caleb's nitro and napalm again! I'm not twelve anymore. It was the judicious application of home made plastique for distraction purposes only. The was no integral structural damage to the building."

Tony gaped. "It was missing parts of three walls and had a hole in the roof."

After a beat, Dean grumbled, "It was abandoned anyway."

"Did I really just hear that you were playing with nitroglycerin and napalm when your were twelve?" Clay demanded. One would think that after all they had seen Dean do, they wouldn't be surprised anymore.

"Blow up one rental's kitchenette and your brother never lets you live it down." Dean shook his head at the unfairness of it all. "Oh well. You were saying?"

"There were twenty-four bodies on the ground, Papi." Tony reminded him. "The feds saw decapitations and thirteen women dead with no apparent medical causes."

"We kept telling everyone the same thing, we got hit over the head and kidnapped." Clay added. "Then we were inside an exploding building. We were concussed and shocky and don't remember much. No one was happy to hear that. Especially our bosses and those feds."

"Okay, okay, I got it, I will keep my head down," Dean groused. "Can we please enjoy out beers now?"

"You're not worried? At all?" Clay demanded. He was a cop through and through, dammit. People should show all law enforcement officers the proper respect. Even really annoying federal agents who stuck their noses into other jurisdictions.

"Dude, we're not gonna be in town that long. Besides, how would they even know we're back? C'mon man. I just wanna shoot the breeze, talk a little shop, and trade some stories. Y'know, relax a bit. That's why people come to places like this."

"Talk shop? I thought you were a drifter and occasional mechanic?" Clay challenged.

Dean smirked. "Less Kung Fu: The Legend Continues mechanic, more private investigator."

"Except for the part where we don't get paid," Sam added helpfully.

"Hey, Bella coughed up a few grand for saving her ass," Dean reminded. "And Reddington threw a stupid amount of money at us for curing that hot-chick of his. Its not always pro-bono."

Sam snorted. "We've been doing the job how long? In the past ten years we have been paid twice. And both of them were crooks."

Dean turned back to the detectives. "Oh yeah. Zero pay, crappy hours, no benefits. People are lining up for this job."

Finally, Clay Willis cracked a smile. "So getting paid in steak sandwiches and beer was actually a high point for you?"