I've Got a Crush on You Chapter 9 I Got You, Babe!!
Staring at the unconscious hunter collapsed in his arms and seeing the big wall clock strike 5:15 Stan knew he had to come up with a plan. He had his hands full and his teenaged mind was racing frantically.
Shit, Stan!! Think! Get a fuckin' grip! Okay…okay… He's out and we gotta get outta here. Got a lousy forty-five minutes to get out those front gates! Okay… Breathe, Stan… Think… What would Dean do? Do I get his brother? Naw, take too damned long… I could put him in the car and drive him outta here… Nope! Can't! Gotta get the ledgers and tow truck… What would Dean do? Oh, yeah…!
Carefully leaning the senseless hunter against the rear wheel of the big car, Stan gently extricated himself from under Dean's dead weight. Running quickly to the far end of the shop, he tore the cover off a small white plastic cabinet hanging on the wall. Grabbing an even smaller white container from the unit, he spun on his heel and raced back to Dean's side, sliding to his knees as he stopped.
Quickly tearing the small package open, Stan dumped its contents onto the concrete. Fumbling through the small items, he found the small cardboard cylinders he needed. Smiling grimly, he positioned himself with Dean's inert body draped across his legs. Cradling the hunter's head in his free arm, Stan's hand clenched one of the two little tubes and squeezing it hard he felt the glass tube shatter inside it.
Instantly the bitter sharp odor of ammonia was released, making Stan's eyes water as he tried to hold his own breath. Extending the broken tube under Dean's nose, he was rewarded quickly with a twitch of the man's body and a flutter of his eyelashes. Gasping for breath, Dean blinked several times as he tried to regain his bearings, remembering where he was and why he was there.
"Dean, don't sit up yet. You passed out. Blood loss, I think. Lay here for a second or two, okay." Stan became aware that he was still holding the ammonia-laden tube close to Dean's face and with a flick of his wrist he tossed it across the garage floor. "Sorry about the smell, man. Ammonia. Thank God for first aid kits though!"
With the acrid smell at a distance, Dean now took in a few head-clearing breaths and smiled up at the pimpled face of his young guardian. "Stan, good move. Thanks, dude. Think you can get me back on my feet? What time is it? We gotta get a move on!"
"5:20 ! Yeah, come on, you can lean on me. Dean, I've been thinking… You're cut up real bad! My grandmother is a retired surgical nurse. We gotta get you to her house as soon as we're outta here. She's real cool. You'll like her… She's got supplies. She can fix you up." Stanley's blue pleading eyes locked on Dean's pain-filled green ones.
Nodding his head at the boy, Dean pushed his arms beneath him. He knew the kid was right. "Okay, Stan. I promise we'll visit Granny before we leave town. Let's get going. Not much time and we've got a lot to do."
Rising to his feet, Stan bent low to gently slide an arm around Dean's waist, slowly easing the hunter onto his own wobbly legs. "Okay. Do we just leave this all here and just grab all the books for my friend's dad or do we call the cops? Or what?"
"I'm thinking, Stan. Gimme a minute, huh?" Leaning back against the workbench for support, Dean looked around the garage, noting all the flammable materials in it. After a few moments he broke into a grin. "Okay, Stan. We've got a plan… But first, man, I hafta get outta this crap." He gestured with a wave of his hand towards his nasty-looking attire.
"I'll help, Dean." Moving to the box on the trunk lid, Stanley seized the lab coat and booties Dean had snagged from the lab. "Is that why you grabbed these?"
"Yeah. Can't get in my girl dressed like this. Might need some help though…" Dean peeled his way out of his ruined flannel shirt with great difficulty until Stan helped with the gummy, gross material. Grabbing a fistful of the ruined t-shirt, Dean attempted to pull it over his head, but once again Stan came to his rescue, tossing the clothing into a small pile.
Stan looked enviously at the man's tightly muscled chest and arms, knowing how muscles impressed the girls. He'd been trying for years to gain a bit of muscle but nothing seemed to work. Perhaps even more impressive was the myriad of bruises and scars covering the hunter's upper body. What the hell does Dean do for a living?!
Seeing Stan's appraising, inquisitive stare, Dean tried to change the subject, temporarily avoiding the inevitable questions in the kid's eyes. "Stan, the lab coat… please?"
Snapping out of his reverie, Stan quickly unfolded the lab coat and held it open allowing Dean to slide his arms into the crisp white sleeves. Dean slipped a few buttons through the slots provided and tucked the booties into the coat pocket for later use.
"So… Let's get on this. Where's this tow truck of yours, Stan? Can you get the ledgers safely into it, before we set a torch to this place?"
At the mention of setting a fire, Stan's eyes grew large. "Torch it?! Seriously? Won't that get us in a lot of trouble? I don't want to get arrested."
Dean laid a hand on the boy's shoulder forcing him to stop rambling. "Kid, we can't let them continue with all this shit. A couple of arson spots will bring in fire investigators, today! No way Malone will stay in operation. Once your buddy's dad sees the ledgers the cops'll be on Malone and the others like white on rice, trust me. You'll be a hero. Okay?"
Blinking under the bright lights, Stan nodded like a bobble-head doll, "Yeah, yeah, I know you're right, Dean."
"Okay, you get the books and box stowed and I'll start our firebomb preparations. Go!"
Quickly snatching a small set of keys attached to a six-inch wrench lying on the workbench, Stan headed toward the far end of the big building. With a few hard shoves, Stan managed to force open the large double doors until they were fully open. From Dean's location, he could see a massive red tow truck sitting just outside. The motor cranked to a roar instantly and with Stan at the wheel rumbled inside.
Downing the contents of one more bottle of water, Dean smiled, feeling a little more strength seeping through his beaten body.
Retrieving the empty water bottles from the floor, he stiffly headed towards the multitude of containers along the wall near the side door.
Oh, yeah. There'll be a hot time in the old town tonight!! Malone, you are so going down. Teach you to mess with my girl!
Dean carefully filled the three plastic bottles with some of the highly flammable liquids, happily finding toluene and acetone among them, and then cautiously carried them back to the big workbench.
Now, for a few long wicks… and our Molotov cocktails are ready to be served!
Yanking his poor deceased t-shirt from the floor Dean tore several long strips from it, wadding the fabric into the mouth of each of the bottles. Easily shattered glass bottles would have been his first choice, but it might take time to find glass containers and time was something they just didn't have.
Glancing across the aisle, he saw that Stan had finished dragging the box to the big truck. Dean headed on over to assist with the loading. Stanley flashed him a huge adrenaline-fed grin as they slid the ledger collection across the huge truck's bench seat.
"Oh, the Boss will have a surprise this morning, won't he?"
Dean ruffled the kid's dark curly hair. "I'd start packing my bags if I were him."
Moving to the big, beautiful black car, Dean scooped up the supply box off the trunk. He wrapped his fingers around the chromed driver's door handle and pulled. The familiar loud creak as the wide door swung open brought a huge smile to his dirty, still bleeding face. Is that a sweet sound or what?!
Before tossing his leather coat onto the seat back he fished around in its inner pockets with a relieved smile. Retrieving his cell phone and .45, he shoved them into his lab coat pocket along with his keys. Grabbing his shotgun from the box, he laid the Remington on the floorboards. Reaching into the car he slid the food and water onto the black leather seat. Seeing a plastic bag already there, he grabbed at it remembering his gas stop and snack shopping in the morning.
Oh, shit! A sugar fix!! Just what the doctor ordered! Peanut M&Ms… a coke!
Spotting the big, bright yellow package he greedily pulled it out of the wrinkled plastic bag. What the friggin' hell…!
The empty bag fluttered from his stunned fingers to the floor. Dean's head swung accusingly to the face of the teen next to him. The boy flashed a quick sheepish grin in Dean's direction. Seeing the angry, surprised look on the hunter's face, Stan wasn't sure what to say.
"Dean, man. I didn't know. They were in there. I was hungry and they were going to be trashed anyway, so I ate 'em."
Dean's frown relaxed a bit, "S'okay, kid. Least I know you got good taste in candy. Even if you got lousy taste in employers!"
Glancing up at the big clock, Dean pointed to the big truck, "5:40, Stan! C'mon, gotta run! Grab a bomb. Be careful! Don't get any of that shit on you. They got any matches around here?"
Seizing a couple packs of matches from a partially opened bench drawer, Stan tossed a packet to Dean. "I can run, you can't… let me do the office and the lab, Dean. You can torch the garage."
Without waiting for Dean's answer, the boy grabbed two Molotov's and ran toward the trailer. Dean walked to the five-gallon acetone canister and uncapping the raised spout, laying it on its side. With a painful shove of his foot Dean sent it rolling across the big floor, lazily splashing flammable liquid all along its path. He did the same thing with a big can of toluene. Knowing it was used to make explosives, Dean felt assured the building would not be standing much longer.
Grabbing the last Molotov off the workbench, he headed towards his pretty little girl… Suddenly, he veered towards the side door and reaching onto the ground outside snatched the abandoned wooden spoon from the dirt. Grinning at it, he finally moved to the big car. Tossing the spoon onto the backseat and setting the Molotov down on the concrete floor by the Impala, he quickly stowed the Remington and the unused rope in the trunk. Gingerly planting his aching ass on the edge of the seat so he could cover his filthy boots with the fabric shoe covers, Dean had a hard time bending over feeling searing pain from his wounds. Swinging slowly, sorely into the driver's seat, he leaned out to grab the firebomb and placing it carefully between his knees, slammed the massive door shut.
Holding his breath for a moment he leaned forward, placing the key in the ignition and gave the key a quick twist. As usual, his girl roared to life, the big Detroit motor rumbling beneath her sleek, shiny black hood. A huge relieved grin spread across Dean's tired, handsome face.
Oh, baby! Thank you. I knew you wouldn't let me down. Just like you trusted me to save you, huh? I got you now!
Drawing his phone from his pocket Dean hit Sam's speed dial button. A smile graced his lips as he heard his little brother's anxious voice.
"Dean… Man. I can see flames… There's a fire! You gotta get outta there!" Sam's tone was breathless, worried.
"S'okay, Sammy. We started the fires. We're coming out. Break the big gates open. Tell you more in awhile." Flipping the phone shut he slid it into his lab coat once more.
Stan ran back in just then, wrinkling his nose at the strong smell of acetone and toluene. "We ready? Dean, shit! Those bombs really work!"
""Get in the truck, Stan. Gotta really fly, now!"
"Yessir… I'm outta here." Stan scrambled up into the big truck and, with practiced ease, slid the monster backwards out of the old garage arcing it towards the electric gate.
Dean followed with the Impala pausing only long enough to ignite the Molotov's wick before firing it out the window onto the liquid-drenched floor. Tromping hard on the gas, he felt the motor's powerful response as the big car slipped into the night air. Only seconds later Dean's smile returned as a huge roaring WHOOSH! accompanied their speedy exit.
Without pausing, Stan slammed the big truck right through the gateway, knocking the big steel frames wide open and off their tracks with a metallic scream.
As the Impala followed the tow truck through the shattered gate, Dean punched down hard on the gas, maneuvering the big beast past and around the front of Stan's truck. Up ahead in the semi-darkness he twice saw a muzzle flash at the main gate and knew Sam and his Glock had forcibly removed the big lock and chains. Barreling across the big junkyard he smiled grimly as the huge unfettered gates swung open.
Man, we are cutting this wayyy too close! Shit!!
Reaching across the broad black interior Dean popped the passenger door open, pausing the car barely long enough for Sammy to slide his long limbs onto the seat. Simultaneously, Dean stuck his head out his window screaming at Stan, "You lead the way… a schoolyard or park or someplace safe! Fast, Stan!"
Sending a shower of gravel into the air the big vehicles tore across and out of the huge parking lot. Motors straining, growling they moved their heavy loads at an unbelievable speed onto the roadway. Turning towards Lake City, the vehicles greeted the coming dawn.
Looking toward the junkyard, Dean saw the huge flare-ups as several explosions occurred. They could hear many smaller popping sounds as other flammable items caught fire. Turning to Sam, Dean grinned.
"We did it, Sam! We did it. God, it's good to see you." He reached a tired hand to ruffle Sam's hair. Touching Sam's chilled face he realized just how cold the night air had been. Dean reached for the controls and put the heater on full blast.
Brotherly concern replaced the excitement in Dean's voice. "Here, Sam. You have to eat something. Drink some water, too. Look, I got you fruit salad." Pulling the salad bowl from the box he thrust it into Sam's hands.
"Dean, man, why'd you burn it down? That wasn't… " Sam was incredulous.
"Necessary? Oh, hell yeah, it was, little brother. That place was unreal! Bad enough when I found out they were running a 'chop shop' … All that razor wire and electric fence shit we saw… That bastard had a damned meth lab all set up in that trailer!! A meth lab for God's sake!"
"Oh my God, Dean! Seriously?" Now it was Sam's turn to look concerned. "How's your butt? Where'd you cut your face? Who's that guy?"
"Eat something first, Sammy, then we'll talk. Okay? Sorry, have to eat with your fingers… Really didn't have time to look for silverware. " That said Dean plunged a hand into the fried chicken tub. Dragging out a drumstick he greedily and rather messily devoured it in one continuous gnawing motion.
Sam happily tore into the fresh fruit, pausing only a moment to uncap two bottles of water and after handing one to Dean, he chugged his own down in one huge gulp. Back to his sweet, juicy meal, he grinned over at Dean, who was hungrily busy consuming his third piece of fried chicken.
The bowl of fruit disappeared quickly and Sam sighed contentedly, "Okay, so… Who's the other guy?"
"Our new best friend, Stan. Kid worked there but hadn't a clue about the illegal drugs. In fact, just lost a cousin to crack a little while ago. Nice kid, really. Helped me a bunch."
Sam leaned in close, moving the supply box to his lap so he could see the lab coat more clearly, frowning in obvious concern over the pinkish tinge spreading across the white fabric.
"Dean, I'm really worried about those cuts. You may need a doctor. I should be driving; you can lie down on the backseat."
Dean turned serious green eyes toward Sam. "Sam, quick! Forgot to call 911. Report the fire. Then, we'll talk… promise."
Sam dialed emergency and had to wait to be transferred to the appropriate town's fire station. Speaking with the dispatcher he said he'd been just passing through town when he saw the fire. He listened to the dispatcher a few more moments, ending the call with… "You're very welcome, just trying to be a good citizen."
Turning with a grin, Sam stated, "Already been called, I guess. Five-O and fire department are on the way." The serious mask again in place, Sam badgered, "So talk to me, Dean. Those cuts are serious."
"Sam, we'll have professional help and still fly under the radar. Stan's grandmother was a surgical nurse and I already agreed to go see her. So, see I'm not putting up any argument."
As he mentioned Stan, the brake lights suddenly flared on the big tow truck and Dean saw Stan's arm frantically thrashing out of the truck window, pointing to the left. Suddenly the big truck veered unexpectedly across the left lane and plunged down a tiny dirt road, with the big black Impala in hot pursuit. Traveling several hundred yards, Stan brought the truck to a halt and stumbled out of the cab and up to the big black beast behind him. Just then a huge red extra-cab pickup roared past the mouth of the little turnoff.
"Stan, you okay?'
"Hell, that pickup that just went by was Malone! Recognized the foglight setup. Was afraid he'd come after the truck if he recognized it!" Poor Stanley was as white as Dean's newly acquired coat.
