Long, Long Way From Home

Previously…

"Son of a bitch," He swore. "I want to be with you too." He sighed, "With my Dad," He swallowed hard, "passing and all, I'm just not sure, uh. Well, I guess I just need-" His voice broke. His eyes glistened in the dark.

Christine's eyes began to fill with tears when his voice broke. "some time," She finished for him, "Honestly Dean, I need time too." She let go of his shirt and stepped from his arms. She pulled back the covers and sat on the edge of the bed. "Will you stay?" She asked in a tiny whisper. If he hadn't been looking at her, he would have missed it.

Dean found himself undoing his belt buckle. His arousal had thankfully subsided for the moment and he stepped out of his jeans, hanging them on the chair with his shirt. Christine slid under the covers and made room for him in the bed. He knelt down and unplugged the light string before joining her on the bed. She was still sitting up, so he took the opportunity to pull her to him and kiss her thoroughly. He wanted to reassure her that she was desired, and wanted. "Always," He answered her earlier question. "Thank you." He said, laying down and pulling the covers up over them.

She had never felt so loved in all her life. "I think I should be thanking you, Dean." She giggled, "You're one hell of a kisser." Christine settled down with her head on his chest, one leg thrown over his. Dean's chest rumbled with a deep chuckle in response to her complement. Her fingers splayed along his jaw, playfully scratching at his five o'clock shadow. He grunted in pleasure and closed his eyes. Just like that fateful night he left, sleep came for him swiftly.


Chapter Seven : Traveling Riverside Blues

Dean woke to a empty bed. He blinked at the empty space beside him, wondering how the hell Christine had managed to wiggle out from between him and the wall and he hadn't felt it. He rose to a sitting position and looked at the clock. 0800. Suddenly the bedroom door flew open and Christine burst into the room.

"Oh, you're awake!" She exclaimed excitedly, "Fantastic!" She was wearing a red tank top, well worn jeans, studded belt and work boots. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and she wore a red bandana as a headband, the tied ends sticking up like antennae. Her nose had a grease swipe, just above the silver hoop she wore in her left nostril. A second spot on her forehead sported evidence of her working out in the garage.

"I'm awake alright," Dean mumbled, flopping back down on the bed.

She launched full force into an explanation of what she had been doing that morning, "I've got the Impala on jack stands, wasn't easy since the frame's bent. I have all the doors laid out together, and the seats are all in the garage awaiting evaluation. What's left of the engine's out on the cherry picker. The engine is pretty much destroyed, but I wanted you to take a look at it before we just scrapped it-"

"We?" Dean asked, venom dripping into his voice. He sat up again, this time he threw back the covers and crossed the room to her desk.

The deadliness in Dean's voice stopped her cold in her tracks. Dean stepped into his jeans and boots. Christine held out his plaid shirt, and he jerked it from her grasp. His eyes bore into hers for a split second, blown wide with anger. He disappeared into her bathroom, the door slamming shut, shaking a few pictures on the adjacent wall. Christine collapsed, sitting on the edge of the bed, cradling her head in her hands, nose to her knees. What was she going to say to make it better.

Dean stared hard at his reflection in the mirror. He had made quick work of emptying his bladder, and cleansing his hands. He splashed cold water on his face, letting it run down his cheeks back into the sink. He knew Chris was only trying to help. Losing his father, and losing the Impala too was almost like dying. That car was more than just a car, he named it for crying out loud. That car always made sense to him. When the rest of the world couldn't be explained, everything had order and a solution when it came to that machine. That car meant they weren't completely alone without Dad. It was family. It was home. He pushed off the counter and yanked open the door.

Christine tried really hard to not cry. A few tears escaped her eyes, and her shoulders shook a little from the effort of not relenting into total meltdown.

Dean emerged from the bathroom, his chest heaving. "We?" He asked again, this time, the coldness had been replaced with piping hot rage.

Christine took a deep breath and peered up at Dean through her fingers. She sniffled and stood up, wiping her nose on her knuckles, crossing her arms.

"Sounds like to me that you have been quite busy this morning. Doesn't sound like there's a 'we' to me." Dean spat, staring at her for a moment, almost as if he wanted her to start speaking so he could just cut her off. Christine took the bait, hook, line and sinker.

"Of course there is!" She shouted, crossing the room to stand in front of him. "All I'm doing is laying things out so you can-"

"So I can tell you how good of a job you've done?" Dean mocked, "That car means the world to me Christine! How could you just assume-"

It was his turn to be cut off, "Of course I know what that car means to you Dean!" She shouted, "You practically make love to the thing!" Dean scoffed, shaking his head, turning to go, this was going nowhere. She stepped forward, placing a hand on his shoulder to stop him from leaving. Her voice dropped down to a husky tone, breaking a little from the previous effort of shouting, "Seriously Dean," He turned toward her, resting his shoulder against the door frame, recrossing his arms. He raised his eyebrows at her, begging her to continue. She took a sharp breath and paced the floor in front of him, talking with her hands, "I know she's more than just the means to criss cross this country year after year. She's part of you." She stole a glance his way, his eyes glittered in the morning sun back at her. Before she lost her nerve she continued, "Baby is special. She's home. She's a piece of your father you can hold on to forever. Well, assuming we manage to fix her."

Dean watched her pace back and forth, his anger continuing to boil. She really did know him. It was still terrifying. Ten years had passed and yet, here they were thick as thieves all over again. His anger began to subside, instead he found himself amused by her antics. Her hair bounced at an alarmingly attractive rate, and her hips swaying as she paced drove him crazy. Forget the fight they were having, he was now fighting everything within himself not just to devour the sexy creature before him.

Christine clapped her hands over her mouth when she realized she had said "we," again.

Dean clicked his tongue in disapproval, "There's that 'we' again." He came toward Christine, slowly backing her up against her desk. His hands rested on the smooth wood surface, pinning her between his body and the piece of furniture. "I think we're going to have to come up with some punishment." His eyes bore into hers, this time they were blown wide with excitement instead of anger.

"Punishment?" Christine squeaked. Dean's eyes had taken on the light she had seen last night, just before he had kissed her the second time.

Dean nodded, "Mmm hmm." He practically growled at her, gathering her up in his arms before she could protest, depositing on her the desk top, forcing her to wrap her legs around his waist. Her desk sat unusually high, and he took full advantage of it. Bobby found it at an estate sale for her when she moved in ten years earlier. The 'desk' was a workbench that someone had brilliantly added a hutch to, giving the instinctively cool bar height surface functionality.

Christine gripped the front of Dean's t-shirt for support, her mouth fell open in a gasp at the feel of him pressing against her, her eyes locking with his. Dean's hands left her shoulders, cradling her head, positioning her just the right way so he could kiss her thoroughly.

Dean wanted to make Christine feel as crazy as he felt. It wasn't fair how innocently she turned him on. The smallest thing made would make his blood run hot, and his jeans tighten just so. Here he was grieving his father, trying to honor him by rebuilding the Impala, and all he wanted to do was to feel Christine against his body, her mouth opened for him, her body his for the taking.

Christine was sure that she was on fire. She felt as if the fire that had started burning in her belly when she first hugged Dean in the library, had spread to every part of her body. She let out a whimper as Dean bit down on her lower lip, it felt as if his hands were everywhere at once. As suddenly as he had assaulted her, not that she minded, he pulled away. Christine kept her eyes closed, her fingers coming up to feel her swollen lips, reveling in the feeling of being thoroughly kissed by Dean Winchester. "Dean," She whispered with a giggle, reaching out in front of her. No response. No Dean. Her eyes flew open as the sound of boots thudding down the stairs reached her ears. She took a deep breath and raced to the stairs. "Dean Winchester!" She shouted, "You get back here and finish what you started! " She reached the landing and caught up with him in the kitchen, spearing him the chest with her forefinger, "You can't just kiss me like that and-" Bobby cleared his throat cutting her off. Obviously she thought he was still out in the garage.

Bobby had greeted Dean warmly when had entered the kitchen. He was no fool. He knew the boy had spent the night in Christine's bed. Despite his wariness of the two kids exploring a romantic relationship, he knew Dean needed support. Maybe Christine could give him that.

Christine whirled around, and came face to face with Bobby. "Hi," She squeaked while flushing a deep red from hairline to throat. "I thought you were o-out i-in the-"

"Garage?" Bobby finished for her, his face splitting into an amused grin. "Guess I'm not." He said reminiscent of her infamous retort the night she discovered the world of the supernatural. She also used it a few times during her semi rebellious phase in high school. He winked at her, placing a hand on her shoulder as he moved past her out of the kitchen.

Christine turned back to Dean to find him leaning against the counter and sipping a steaming mug of coffee. He handed her a steaming mug of her own, and a plate of scrambled eggs. Christine cocked an eyebrow, "Bobby?" She asked, grabbing a seat at the eat in kitchen table. Bobby must have stayed in the kitchen instead of heading out to the garage like he said he was going to do when she came back to the house a short while ago.

Dean sat across from her, "Bobby," He confirmed, forcing himself not to smile at the enthusiastic way she dug into her plate. He did appreciate a woman with an appetite.

The pair ate in companionable silence. Christine found herself scarfing down breakfast, not caring that the man in front of her could possibly be turned off by her wolfish behavior. It was like old times, except now Dean knew the helplessness of losing a parent. Dean finished first and left his plate in the sink. He flashed her a small smile before heading out the house. Christine huffed out a short breath and sat back in her chair. She just hoped after seeing Baby he would speak to her again.

Finished with her plate, Christine rinsed it in sink, setting it and her empty mug in the dishwasher she insisted Bobby install a few years back. She chanced a glance out the window to the salvage yard. Dean had found a pair of work gloves and was inspecting the engine. Before she could lose her courage, Christine headed out to the yard.

Dean felt like his heart was being ripped from his chest. Baby was destroyed. The frame was bent just behind the driver's door, and the engine, well it looked like a complete rebuild was in order. Christine had done an amazing job of laying everything out and getting it ready to be evaluated. Sam was going to be no help under the car, so he knew Christine or Bobby were his best bet for getting Baby running again. He heard footsteps approaching and turned to find Christine carrying a pair of creepers from the garage. He met her a few steps from the workbench she had wheeled out from the garage. He silently took the equipment from her, and set them both on the ground.

"Dean," She spoke after watching him return to inspecting the ruined engine. "I need to show you something." She said quietly, not wanting a reprise of this morning's outburst.

He took a breath and studied her for a moment. "You're right. The engine's ruined. The frame's bent, the suspensions all twisted to hell." He kicked the passenger door, "Son of a bitch!" He swore, "What could you possible show me that could make this better, huh?"

It was her turn to stare at him for a moment. She was debating on whether to show him the treasure trove Bobby had found yesterday morning, or let him flounder a bit more. She chose the former. "We've got a '67 Impala that's been exposed to the elements, but at least the sheet metal is straight and the frame isn't bent. The interior is crap, but the suspension is solid and I can order the other parts you need in town." Christine started to walk away, leading Dean towards the other car she had Bobby tow to where Baby was. She pulled off the tarp she had thrown over it yesterday, revealing a solid car that looked like it needed a little TLC and a good coat of paint.

Dean didn't show the relief he felt on his face. "Sure," He shrugged, "only what she needs." Christine nodded in agreement. He turned away from Christine to get to work on Baby. He grabbed a few wrenches, and settled himself on one of the creepers, and slid under the car. Who was he kidding? He stared up at the mangled undercarriage of the Impala with a heavy heart. Baby needed a complete rebuild, and this little diamond in the rough was their saving grace.

Christine let him be, she'd wait for him to ask for her help. She didn't want to intrude on his way of moving on and honoring his father. Instead of going back to the house, she headed to the garage where the interior had been stashed. Both bench seats miraculously didn't have any tears in the leather. The hardest part was removing the blood stains. The front seat didn't have many stains, the passenger side was the worst from the bullet John took in his right leg. She made short work of the front seat, letting it dry in the morning sun streaming through the main garage door. The back seat proved to be more of a hassle. Dean lost a lot of blood during the crash. It was one of the reasons he had slipped into a coma so quickly.

A couple of hours of cleaning and Christine had both seats gleaming. Cleaning Dean's blood off the seat proved to be more emotionally taxing that she had originally anticipated. Instead of trying to figure out what the doors needed, she headed back up to the house. The clock in the garage read 12:25 PM. Considering how long she had been up, she was long over due for a pit stop. She emerged from the garage into the blinding sunshine, catching sight of her prized Roxy. The car didn't gleam like it should under the cloudless sky. Dust and mud from the journey to St. Cloud and back caked the under belly and quarter panels. She passed the car, giving it a loving caress along the trunk lid, blowing a kiss of promise to give her a bath this afternoon.

Dean had made significant progress on Baby. All the suspension had been stripped as well as the sheet metal. The skeleton didn't look that bad once it had been cleared of the carnage. He discovered the frame wasn't bent like they originally thought. The chassis was somehow still straight, just the door frame was crumpled from the impact. The truck must have sat just a few inches too high for the impact to bend the foundation. He glanced at his watch, polishing off the last water bottle he snagged from the fridge. 12:26 PM. He turned towards the sound of footsteps coming from the garage. Christine emerged from the doorway, stopping in front of her prized Challenger. He watched curiously as she walked along the rear of the car, following the edge of the trunk lid with her palm, almost like a lover's caress. His lips twisted into a wry smile as she blew the car a kiss, and sauntered on her way, hips swaying softly to some song she hummed under her breath. Christine shared his insanity alright. "Time for a break already?" He teased, falling into step beside her as they approached the back porch.

"I feel like I could eat a horse!" She laughed, climbing up the steps and yanking open the screen door. Dean held it open for her, and followed her inside. She stopped just inside the door, bent over and unlaced her work boots. Dean choked on the groan that escaped his throat at the sight of her bent over like that. This woman was going to be the death of him. He followed suit, stripping off his boots and joined her at the sink in the kitchen. He glanced sideways at her, discovering red blooming across her cheek. He quickly grabbed her shoulders to look at her full on.

"Are you hurt?" He asked, his still soapy fingers skimming over the red marks on her cheek. To his surprise the color melted at his touch.

"No, Dean!" Christine exclaimed covering his fingers with her own, "I've been cleaning the seats. I must have splashed some of the water on my face." Understanding flickered across his face. Those seats were probably full of blood. He was been told that he almost bled out at the scene. It was practically a miracle he survived the trip to the hospital. He took up the wash cloth and gently cleaned the red stain from her skin. Christine released her grip on his shirt to reach up fluff his hair a bit, since it had wilted from being under the car. Dean returned the wash cloth to the sink and dried his hands. He turned to find Christine bent over again, this time she was fishing out ingredients for sandwiches from the fridge.

"Turkey sandwiches sound good?" She asked, placing a loaf of bread on the counter and diving back into the fridge for the meat and cheese. She set the rest of the ingredients on the counter and grabbed Dean a beer from the bottom shelf, closing the door with her hip.

Dean cleared his throat. "Sure," He choked out, sitting down at the table, cracking open the beer she handed him.

Christine moved around the kitchen with practiced ease. She made quick work of the sandwiches, forming a little assembly line. She made two extra, she knew Bobby would be hungry, and Sam would be too, even if he didn't feel much like eating at the moment. After slicing some apples she placed a sandwich in front of Dean, and one at the place opposite him at the table, a plate of apple slices between them. "I'll be right back," She said, balancing two plates that held the sandwiches and apple slices in one hand and grabbed two beers and two waters with the other. She disappeared up the stairs first. Sam had holed up his room with some books.

Dean took a bite of an apple slice as he heard his brother thank her, and a few moments later, she descended the stairs and opened the basement door with her hip. She gave him a saucy wink just before she disappeared down the steps. He didn't have to wait long to hear Bobby exclaim his thanks. Suddenly he was back to eating peanut butter banana sandwiches and apple slices on Bobby's back porch while the sunset. Christine's golden hair was plaited neatly into two braids that barely brushed her shoulders. Her pretty mouth was open mid laugh and he was grinning from ear to ear. He was telling her about the first time his Dad had taken him shooting. Even his twelve year old self knew there was something special about her. He remembered how much he wanted to be near Christine and share in her world. He loved her smile and her laugh. He would do almost anything to get her to giggle and grin just because of him. Dusk crept up on the house, lightning bugs appearing at the edge of the woods along the house.

"Dean," Christine whispered, sliding into her chair across from him. She could tell Dean had lost himself in a memory.

Dean blinked a few times, realizing that Christine had returned. "Sorry," He sniffed, pinching the bridge of his nose. He forced a smile and sighed. If she only knew how much he thought about her.

"Don't be," Christine said softly, covering his hand that rested on the table top with her own. Staring into his eyes for a moment, she saw the familiar look of helplessness that comes from losing a parent. Granted, her mother was still alive, but she knew the feeling. Dean at least had the chance to avenge his father. She let go, picked up a few apple slices and deposited them on her plate.

They ate in silence for a few moments. Dean's thoughts were a jumble of what Baby needed and how he was going to ask the woman across from him for help without actually asking for help. He sighed, as he swallowed his last bite of sandwich. Christine looked up from the newspaper she was skimming her brow lifted in question. He cleared his throat, "Chris, uh," he swallowed again, "could you, um maybe, well-"

"Take a look at the rest of the interior?" She offered, trying to help him out while trying to play it safe. He seemed to be trying really hard to ask for her help without it seeming like he was actually asking for help.

"Yeah," Dean sighed with relief, that was remarkably easier than he had imagined. He had finished his food, and took the plate to the sink. "I remember what Cherry Pie looked like before you fixed her up." Bobby had acquired the two toned 1972 Dodge Challenger the fall before his falling out with John. Christine had decided then that she wanted to restore the car, she had proudly showed it to Dean. He called it, 'Cherry Pie'. She naively went along with it. Now that she was older, she took severe offense to that reference. Her pride and joy wasn't only sex on wheels. Roxy definitely had sex appeal, but she was also her best friend.

Dean turned around to face her, polishing off the beer in his hand, leaning against the counter.

"Still calling her that, huh?" Christine played it cool, not wanting a repeat of this morning's fight.

"What?" Dean asked aloof, "I love pie." He said placing the beer bottle in the recycling bin.

"Uh, huh." Christine answered, rinsing her plate and placing them both in the dishwasher. "Speaking of 'Cherry Pie', I'm going to give her a bath before my gig tonight." She was bent over again in the fridge, this time Dean was unable to help himself. He let out a grunt of approval. Christine straightened, handing him a bottle, "Did you just-"

"Check out your ass?" Dean finished for her, backing her up against the now closed refrigerator door. "You have been bending over like that all damn day." He growled. Dean released her for just a second to shift his hands from her shoulders to what she presumed to be her waist and she took the window. She ducked grabbed his right arm and slammed him against the fridge, pinning his arm behind his back. "Son of a bitch!" He yelped in protest.

"Tell you what, I won't tell Bobby you've been checking out my ass if," She thought for a moment, "If you come to my gig tonight." She knew going out to a bar was the last thing Dean wanted to do right now. He wanted to bury himself in Baby until she was one solid piece again. Dean barked a laugh that quickly turned into a wince of pain as Christine tweaked his arm a bit. "I'm serious." She purred into his ear.

Dean nodded and Christine released him. He rubbed his arm while Christine disappeared through the kitchen door and out of the house. How could he have underestimated her so much? He knew from talking with other hunters that Christine Elliott was one of the best damn hunters around. Most people that worked with her trusted her, but they all agreed she was one hell of a force to be reckoned with. He picked up the bottle of water Christine handed him from the floor where it had landed during their little scuffle. Regardless of how he felt about going out at the moment, he did want to see Christine play. He wondered if she had a band or flew solo. The clock in the hallway struck 2:00PM. Only a few hours left until he would have to shower and head out. He took a deep breath and sighed. He had work to do.


from the author's desk

Traveling Riverside Blues - Led Zeppelin - Most of you know this to be Dean's favorite song, rather its in a tie with another LZ master piece, Ramble On. I personally favor this song for Dean and Christine. It just suits them better than the latter.

Cherry Pie - Warrant - This song is not what Christine wants her car's anthem to be. Dean's only teasing of course, but we may see him use this to rile her up in the future...

The next chapter will give you a peak into the Christine's world. It's a little detour, but we'll get back on track and head out to the Roadhouse and meet Ellen and Jo. Up next is, Small Town.

xoxo

Lumora The White