GAH. SORRY. Had a couple of family things that I had to do. Thankfully that's over with now. :D
He left through the front door, but had to pause just outside.
Of course he'd seen her when he came in, but he'd been sort of busy. Now he had time to stop and appreciate the view.
And what a view it was.
"Oh, Baby," he said. "I've missed you."
He couldn't leave her with Sam, he just couldn't. He put the sleeping boy on his shoulder and ducked back in the house. Sam looked kind of peaceful there in the closet and snored quietly as Dean frisked him down for the car keys.
He opened the shotgun door, laying Ben on the seat before tucking a blanket around him. He smoothed a hand over Ben's hair, then straightened and shut the door.
He looked down to see Sniffles holding onto her leg-snack, her stubby tail wagging furiously, and sighed. "You're lucky I love you. I don't even let Sam eat in the car most of the time. Come on. Let's see if there's a tarp we can lay down."
He led the way to the trunk and popped it open. It was cleaner and he rolled his eyes at that, but everything important he remembered was still there, including the big old marine-issue tarp that was older than even him. Possibly older than the car itself.
It had been patched several times over the years, but it still did the job and he would keep it as long as that was true.
He ducked in and got the thing spread out over the backseat, making sure that it properly draped over the back and filled the footwells so it would catch any drips or leaks or splatters. That leg looked pretty juicy.
Maybe they'd stop for burgers on the way out of town. He was getting kinda hungry, he thought, patting his stomach.
"Okay," he said pulling back and then extending an arm. "Get in there, girl."
Sniffles eagerly jumped up, careful of her weight and mindful she didn't move the tarp too much, then sprawled out over the seat, setting the leg down so she could pant and smile at her master. She gave a single deep, "Woof!" and he grinned back at her.
"Sure thing, sweetheart."
Then the door was shut and he circled round and slipped behind the wheel and just closed his eyes and sighed as his hands wrapped around the familiar creaking leather before him.
"Damn," he whispered. "This feels good. It feels right."
Only thing that would make it better was if Ben was awake in the back with Sniffles, laughing and petting her, and Sam sitting in the seat next to him, making that bitchface of his as he traced their route out on a map.
Then he turned the car on and the radio started.
Something whiny and emo and oh-so-Sam leaked out of the speakers and his lip curled. From the backseat Sniffles offered a mournful howl of mockery in accompaniment and complaint all in one.
"I agree completely," he said and jerked the little cord that connected the freaking iPod to his baby's sound system. "Fuck, Sam, grow a pair already, would you?" He rolled down his window and almost tossed the little player out on its shiny metallic ass, but stopped and looked at it.
With a shrug he tossed it on the floor under Ben. It wasn't the iPod's fault its owner had shitty taste in music. He'd switch that emo shit out for some good ol' classic rock and when Sam came back maybe he'd have better taste in music.
And if not, he would just beat good taste into Ginormo. Hadn't worked before, but he knew a few more tricks now.
The box of tapes was, fortunately for Sam and the rest of human race, still tucked under the front seat. He rifled through it until he found the tape he wanted and popped it into the deck with a grin.
AC/DC blasting Back in Black out of the speakers, his girl in the back chewing on that bitch demon's leg, and his son curled up asleep next to him.
For now, life was pretty damn good, he thought, tugging Ben closer until his head was resting on his thigh. He ran his fingers through Ben's hair and the kid shivered, but he didn't pull away. Good enough for now.
With a rumbling roar the classic beauty pulled away from the curb, answering the call of the open road.
o.o
Sam came awake to the sound of approaching sirens.
His first thought, under a furrowed brow, was, Sirens?
And then adrenaline was flushed into his system and his next few thoughts in rapid succession were, They found us! Shit! DEAN!
And then he jerked forward and opened his eyes and found things to be much worse than he'd anticipated.
Because he wasn't sleeping in an old motel, his brother in the next crappy bed, the feds about to bust down their door for crimes Dean—mostly—didn't commit.
He was stuffed in a closet at an awkward angle and there was a bloody corpse and an empty bed in front of him—and, he had a feeling a lot more of the former spread throughout the rest of the house—and not only was Ben gone, but Sam was the only survivor left behind and he wasn't really supposed to be here anyway.
Oh, and his brother had returned from Hell as the worst demonic plague since the days of, you know, those guys who built the pyramids.
Dean really was kind of an overachiever when he put his mind to something.
Imagine what he could have done for electrical engineering if he'd gone to college instead of making EMF meters out of old busted Walkmans.
The sirens were getting closer and louder and that was bad for reasons beyond the way it was making his head spike and throb with pain like he had a porcupine in his skull throwing a temper tantrum instead of a brain.
He grabbed the door jamb of the closet and pulled himself up and to his somewhat cooperative feet, then staggered forward, almost slipped in some kind of unspeakable gore, and narrowly missed a faceplant into Ruby's former lower GI tract.
He coughed once, trying desperately to keep from adding to the loveliness by puking on the corpse, and used a nearby wall to assist in his standing up efforts.
Once there he had to blink a bit until the colors returned to his vision and then he headed for the window.
No way he was getting out the front door. A nosy neighbor would be the least of worries. Although it occurred to him, he might be the only living thing for several blocks. He couldn't be the only surviving cop wading through a sea of dead police to inconspicuously climb into his totally nondescript car. And he couldn't pop out to the Impala and change either so he was stuck in the monkey suit until he could break into the impound lot and steal her back.
Hopefully they'd forgo looking in the trunk or trying to get into his laptop, just tow the unknown car from the crime scene, but really he couldn't do a damn thing about that at the moment so he just crossed the back lawn quickly and vaulted over the wooden fence, grateful that it was both tall and faced on an ally, so he didn't end up in another backyard, but landed on pavement with another high wooden fence on the other side.
The bad news was that there had been guards out here too and Sam had landed ankle deep in what was left of one of them. He made a face and scraped his shoes against the grass hoping the blood on his cuffs wasn't too obvious.
Then he was off down the alley and turning onto the street at the end, walking along like it was a perfectly normal thing for a man in a suit to take a late morning stroll through a suburban neighborhood in which he didn't reside.
Fortunately—and yet unfortunately—there were much more interesting things for the local homemakers association to be gossiping about right now. He went pretty much unnoticed all the way to the bus stop where he caught the 809 westbound and headed for the city and greater anonymity.
He took his seat and blew out a breath.
It was going to be a long fucking day.
o.o
Dean drove for a while, finally pulling into a diner on the edge of the city, one of those truck stop extensions full of grease and salt and anonymity. He'd have to be more careful now, since Sam would be on his tail and where the FBI and the local 5-0 didn't have a chance in hell of tracking him, Sam would be after him before too long.
Sam'd have to find a new car first, but Dean was confident that wouldn't slow his brother down all that much.
He'd released Ben from the enforced sleep, but didn't wake him, content to let him sleep or wake as he would. He'd stayed down which made Dean frown. Kid must be exhausted.
He left Ben in the car, gently easing his head down to the seat from the pillow he'd made of Dean's leg and cracked a window just a fraction before he went in to the diner. Normally Dean took Sniffles in with him, but someone needed to watch Ben and she was still working on that leg of hers.
"I'll be back," he assured her and then left, locking the door and closing it gently enough to not wake Ben.
The diner was crowded, lunchtime rush well under way, so Dean took a seat at the counter. He flirted with the waitress, smiling as he imagined how her pretty green eyes would look filled with terror, her mouth stretched wide in a scream as he flayed the skin from her bones—maybe after he'd made her eyes glow with lust and stretched that mouth with sighs and moans of pleasure first—but he had to get going and couldn't do much more right now than imagine and make her blush for all the wrong reasons.
He waited for his order, slowly spinning the stool to observe the diner's other patrons, wondering which among them would be screamers, which would be beggars, and which would just cry and pray to a God who never seemed to listen.
And then he heard a gasp from the waitress and he turned back to see there was a television up above the counter on the far end that she—along with most everyone else in the place—was now watching. Whatever program had been playing was replaced by the breaking news report of Dean's latest handiwork.
His lips curled up on the side and he chuckled softly.
"Fuck me," the guy next to him said. "That crazy psycho's near here? Fuck."
Dean focused on the man, his eyes squinting in humor as he surveyed the poor bastard who didn't realize he was sitting right next to the 'crazy psycho'. Not that he was offended. He was down right amused, matter of fact.
"That's some crazy shit, isn't it?" he said in agreement, smiling, sipping on the coffee he'd ordered while waiting.
The guy turned. He wore a generously stuffed flannel shirt over a greyish-white wife-beater and well-worn jeans over biker boots—all of which could stand to see a laundry cycle or twelve—marking him as a likely operator of one of the big rigs sitting outside. A belt buckle the size of a hubcap at his waist marked him as a Texas fan, if not a native, both by its size and the fact that it had a big star on it with the words 'Everything's Bigger In Texas'.
Now that, right there, that was amusing, Dean decided. He'd have to pick one of those up next time he was in the Lonestar State. Ben would like it. Maybe they'd head there next.
"Don't know what's wrong with people today. Fucking crazy bastards running around killing everything they can get their hands on. I hope they catch that son of a bitch and put him down like the rabid dog he is."
"Amen to that," Dean said and lifted his mug in a toast and then took another drink, hiding his ironic smile.
Yeah, right. Like some dumb Fibbies were gonna catch his ass. He snorted. In their fucking wildest dreams.
He finished his drink and accepted the bag the shell-shocked waitress brought to him, thanking her politely after she stuttered out a, "Have a nice day."
Damn he wished he could stay. He could only imagine how awesome it would be to make her beg and scream for more of his touch, then tell her who he was and what he'd done, and hear her beg and scream for mercy, watching those green eyes change from passion and lust to disbelief and horror. They would just shine.
Maybe they could stay one more night. Sam wouldn't expect him to stop so soon, right?
He stepped up to the car, fingers flipping the keys around to separate the right one, before looking up at Sniffles' ass instead of his empty seat or Ben's head.
The hell?
He leaned to the side so he could see in the windshield and realized what had happened.
Ben must have woken up finally and tried to make a run for it.
Sniffles, loyal girl that she was, had crawled over the seat and was now standing over Ben, keeping him from running off.
Dean shook his head in amusement, then straightened and opened the door.
Sniffles glanced over her shoulder, teeth bared, but dropped the act when she saw it was him. Her tail started wagging and her tongue lolled out, thick gobs of drool landing on Ben's face and making him scrunch it up in disgust and try to move out of the drop zone.
Dean ran his fingers along Sniffles' flank in a quick scratch, then patted her with a, "Go on. Get in the back now. I got this."
She nimbly stepped back over to lie down with the remains of her leg and set to work on it again. Most of the meat was gone, the bones themselves licked almost clean, but there was marrow yet to be dug out.
Ben didn't look much calmer for her retreat as he pushed back and scrunched himself up against the passenger side door, pulling his legs in close as Dean slid in.
He set the bag down between them and waved a hand.
"Got some lunch. You hungry?"
Ben's eyes flicked to the back where Sniffles was noisily gnawing on the ball joint of Ruby's hip, trying to get a little shred of meat out, then shook his head, arms tightly clasped around his knees.
Dean shrugged. "Okay. If that changes, feel free to dig in." He reached in and snagged a few fries, before pulling back out onto the main drag.
His priority now was finding a place for the night. Safety wasn't really a concern—Sniffles wouldn't let anyone get near the boy now except for Dean—but he didn't want the kid staying in a pit. And with a task to do, he wouldn't have to worry about her sneaking out and stirring up trouble.
They could keep each other company until dawn while Dean was busy with his waitress. And that trucker from the counter. He hadn't liked that guy very much and he didn't think he'd blown up a big rig yet.
o.o
Turns out, when you're 6'4", wearing a suit, and have reasonably good looks it's really hard to blend in no matter where you go.
So Sam used one of the cards he had in his wallet and bought something a little more casual, a little more comfortable, and hopefully a lot less flashing neon sign, and stuffed the suit in a backpack he also purchased.
He tossed the shoes in a dumpster. Even with his attempts to clean them immediately, and then more thoroughly later on, they smelled . . . unpleasant.
But maybe that was why he'd been drawing attention, because now that he was in brand new sneakers, jeans, a t-shirt and button down plaid over the top of that, he wasn't garnering quite the same reaction.
With relief he ducked into the library and headed for the computers.
He'd really like to have his computer, but it was, at best, still in the Impala in an impound lot and, at worst, being pored over by any of the FBI's best and brightest who were still breathing.
He'd have to make do for now with this old, but not ancient, PC trying to load his requested web pages.
Unfortunately, the latest attack was still too fresh. There wasn't anything except news coverage, rehashing all the things he already knew. He kept checking just in case, having no other leads to look up right now and trying really hard to not think about the implications of Dean being the demon he had been chasing.
o.o
Dean checked into a suitably clean but run of the mill motel close enough to the diner to make it convenient for him, but far enough away that any noises or explosions or collateral damage wouldn't bother his boy. He was the only guest for the night so far and, after a moment's thought, he decided he'd like it to stay that way.
He got his things into the room while Sniffles watched Ben, then returned to the car, opening the passenger side door so suddenly, he had to catch Ben when he tumbled out.
It only took a single blink upward at the face hovering over him, the same one connected to the hands under his back, and then he was fighting.
Dean had to give him credit. He was a little wildcat.
But Dean had wrestled a much bigger Sam to the ground and so subduing Ben wasn't at all difficult. A hand over his mouth smothered the screams for help and a second around his knees secured the legs. Ben's fists beat at any part of Dean he could reach, but still being in the single digits age-wise meant there wasn't a lot of power behind the punches. And his left arm was pinned between his body and Dean's, limiting the number of weapons he could bring to bear.
He did get one good shot on Dean's nose that left the man blinking, but Dean just laughed as he carried Ben to the door and inside, Sniffles on his heels.
"Hell yeah," he praised, looking down at the furious and terrified eyes swimming behind tears. "One day you are going to have one helluva right hook on you. But, then, you are a Winchester."
He kicked the door shut behind Sniffles, then set Ben down on the farther bed, keeping his hand over Ben's mouth and grabbing both of his wrists with the other to keep from being pummeled again as he leaned over the boy.
"I need to go take care of something. You stay here with Sniffles and eat your dinner and I'll be back in a little while, all right?"
Ben blinked, but didn't otherwise respond.
Dean nodded and let go, straightening up.
Ben immediately scrambled back to the wall, hunkering down like in the car, knees pulled up to his chest and arms holding them there. His eyes remained locked on Dean.
Who went down on one knee and patted Sniffles' on the head.
"You watch Ben for me while I go take care of the manager, all right?"
Sniffles whined, obviously upset at being left out of the fun, but Dean just smiled and ruffled her ears and the whine turned into a throaty sort of growl, her eyes going out of focus just a bit, mouth dropping open to pant.
"I'll bring you back a treat," he promised, then stood. "If you need anything, Ben, you just let Sniffles know and she'll pass it on to me, all right?"
Ben's eyes flicked to Sniffles' then back to Dean's.
He didn't say anything and Dean shrugged into his jacket and picked up a small bag of tools that he'd need.
"I'll be back," he said, just like Arnold Schwarzenegger in Terminator, then couldn't help laughing at his own joke. He was a lot scarier than a robotic killing machine. He was a lot scarier than almost anything.
o.o
Sam stayed until just before closing, and made sure to walk out at the same time as some other patrons. He didn't need anyone actually looking at him and maybe remembering his face. He decided to get something to eat before he went to find the impound lot and tried to liberate his brother's car.
One heart-attack-in-a-sack later and Sam was crouched outside the fence of the impound lot, waiting for the security camera to swivel over to the other side of the lot.
It whirred its way around and he scaled the fence in a quick jump-pull-flip-drop maneuver that he'd done a thousand times before, panting lightly as he ducked into the shadows of a white panel van that had been rusting in place for some time now on rotting tires. Case must be real cold on this one.
He moved as soon as he could, ducking and weaving around the vehicles awaiting unspecified fates, his movements timed carefully around the cameras watching over the yard, but within an hour he'd covered the whole thing and hadn't seen tire nor bumper of the Impala.
He leaned back against a late-model pickup that wouldn't survive long enough to see better decades, and tried to think. If it wasn't here . . . Sam paused when a thought hit him. He felt kind of stupid for not considering it earlier. What if Dean took the Impala? He had to have seen it sitting out in front of the house.
And while Sam wanted to believe that there was enough of his brother left inside to remember how much he loved that old car, because it would mean there might be something worth saving, he didn't want that remnant of Dean there. Because there was no saving Dean—he knew there wasn't—and even a sliver of hope made killing him an even more impossible task.
If it wasn't with the demon version of his brother, though, maybe the FBI had taken it to their lot? Where would the nearest one of those be located? Was it in a crime lab somewhere, already being picked apart and covered in fingerprint dust and Luminol?
Dean was going to kill him if that was the case.
Or, more likely, Dean was going to kill someone else—like the entire FBI—since apparently big brother had a favor to ask him.
None of which was really relevant at the moment, because he couldn't keep crouching here in the lot next to a decomposing truck until he solved his internal conflict over his duty to his brother and the world.
He looked up and got the count on the camera, then moved when the coast was clear.
The same jump-pull-flip-drop maneuver got him out and he walked away to find a cheap motel where he could seek unconsciousness for a few hours and regroup in the morning.
o.o
He thoroughly enjoyed dealing with the manager—and the relief who walked into the back room and found a surprise waiting.
Neither one had lasted very long, but they were nice warm-ups for what he had planned later and they passed the time.
He'd flipped on the 'no' for the vacancy sign before he began so now all he had to do was lock the office up as he headed out. Not like anyone was going to make a big stink with the cops when they found the office closed, but he didn't want anyone accidentally walking into the back room.
And if anyone did show up and make a big deal, Sniffles would hear and be able to deal with them.
He went back to the room to clean up, lingering in the shower and taking his time preparing for his evening.
Ben was awake, but only barely so, his slitted eyes either locked on Sniffles as she chewed on the 'treat' Dean had brought back for her, or following Dean around the room.
He hadn't eaten, but Dean knew from experience with Sam at that age that hunger strike tactics would only last so long. He'd eat when he got hungry enough. Trying to force it in the meantime would only be more trouble than it was worth.
"I'll be back by dawn," Dean said as he pulled on his jacket, patted his pocket for his keys, then left with a, "Night."
o.o
Sam found a cheap motel, checked in under the fake name du jour, and, after stripping down to his boxers, collapsed on the bed with little ceremony. He had nothing to unpack and while he felt like showering, he didn't actually have anything cleaner to change into.
He'd have to fix that in the morning before he went back to the library.
For now he was more than ready to call it a day and with a sigh sank into the pillow and forced his brain to turn off for a few hours.
o.o
He arrived just as she got off work. He could see her slipping her coat on and saying her goodbyes. She got in her car, but when she turned the key, he made sure nothing happened.
She started to back toward the diner when he first approached, but he smiled in just the right way, quirking his mouth into a lopsided grin and raising his eyebrows just like he used to when he helped someone. He knew it was working when she took a tentative step toward him, and when he offered his assistance with the car, he could see her tense muscles relax just a hair.
Some pointless tinkering, a few attempts to start, some small talk and chit chat to help her relax more, even talking about the news from today and just how very awful that was, all accompanied by his most blinding smile, and bit by bit he charmed her until she was smiling herself, and starting to touch her hair and throat, and he knew he was home when she start to unconsciously lean into him, bumping his hip as he leaned under the hood, and brushing his arm accidentally as he opened the door to the Impala for her to get in.
He'd cleaned up from Sniffles' snack earlier and the car smelled like air deodorizer and cleaners and they talked about his baby and how he took excellent care of the old girl all the way to her place.
She thanked him and then, shyly, invited him in and he politely accepted and followed her up the walk to her little brick house.
He shut the door behind himself as she shed her shoes and plunked her keys in the dish by the door and told him to make himself at home.
"Well, darling," he told her, taking her hand and tugging her back against him for a kiss, her arms still trapped in her coat. "If you insist."
Review, plz&thx!
