Chapter 29 – and a new chapter! I really debated on whether or not to put Cassie's pov in this chapter when she heard certain 'sounds' from next door. I finally decided not to, it just didn't seem to fit with the story. Nothing else would be from her pov, after all. However, if you pester me, I might post it separately, like a missing scene.
Dean couldn't help it, he was in a good mood this morning. He knew Cassie saw them last night, he'd even found the bathroom door to her room open early this morning. Now, the question was how intently she had watched. If he read her right nearly five years ago, she wasn't just watching.
Frankie was so close as they headed through the house to the kitchen for breakfast if he'd been running a fever Dean was sure he would be able to tell. Frankie nearly had a fit when he pulled out the blue and green plaid shirt to wear, but since he didn't bring much else, he got away with it.
"Good morning!" Cassie's mother greeted them. "I wasn't sure what to make. Scrambled eggs okay?"
"No!"
She jumped at their combined voices. Frankie's cheeks reddened. "Uh, I'm allergic," he said quickly. "Even the smell is enough to make me sick."
"Oh." She covered her mouth with one hand. "Oh, dear. Really? I've never heard of a food allergy that bad."
"Oh, yeah, it's horrible," Dean put in. "He can't go anyplace that serves breakfast." He thanked Frankie with his eyes and was rewarded with a bright grin. God, Frankie was awesome.
Then someone else slid into a chair at the table across from them. Dean glanced over to see Cassie not looking at them.
"Morning, Mom," she said, her voice slightly muffled from looking down.
"Sleep well?" Dean asked as her mom handed him a cup of coffee.
"Yes, dear," her mother said, grabbing Cassie by the chin to force her face up. "You look tired. Don't tell me you were up all night?"
Dean almost choked on his first sip of coffee. He watched as her cheeks highlighted with a rosey hue high on the cheekbones. Her eyes skipped over him and Frankie and the rosey hue deepened. Yep. She was up last night. Dean grinned as Frankie gave him a really confused look. Dean shook his head. Oh, no. No way was he owning up to this one. But knowing Frankie, the big guy probably wouldn't mind anyway. Okay, Dean might tell him later. He threw Frankie a wink as he took a gulp of her mother's store-brand coffee. Frankie's shoulders relaxed as he sniffed his coffee. Frankie made some pleasant small talk as he avoided drinking the lousy coffee.
In Sam's humble opinion, Norfolk was a bust. They didn't learn anything new and Dean and Frank were still missing. Dean wasn't even answering his cell now. Sam wanted to kick himself for never asking Frank for his cell number. He was pretty sure Frank would pick up.
"I don't supposed Serene's heard anything?" Dad asked.
They hadn't slept more than a few hours each while the other drove, to Norfolk and now on the way back.
"She would call," Sam replied, trying not to sound as irritated as he felt. "What I don't understand is why Dean won't answer."
Dad sighed as his grip tightened on the steering wheel, evidenced by his white knuckles. "He's mad at me." Dad cleared his throat and Sam had the feeling it was confession time. "Dean rarely, if ever, asks for a favor. He asked me to do this, on the way. I wouldn't."
"But if we'd waited any longer we probably wouldn't have found anything but that burned house," Sam argued. "Dean knows how important this is."
"To us," Dad snapped. "Not to him."
Sam had to stare in disbelief over that. "But it killed Mom. Of course it's important to him."
Dad's head shook swiftly. "Living people mean more. Think about it, Sammy. When has Dean ever put revenge first? Ever?"
Being called Sammy rankled, but Dad's comment penetrated deeper. Had he ever seen Dean thirst for revenge? The closest he could think of was when Frank had been taken, but even then Dean had knocked the guy out in favor of getting Frank to the hospital. Granted, he was pretty sure Dean had broken the guy's jaw, but Sam wasn't sure that counted in the 'revenge' category and it didn't come first. Frank had. The living.
"Crap," Sam breathed out. "So when I told him we could do it on the way back, I was taking your side against him." He threw his head back and scrubbed a hand over his face. "Shit."
"Deep shit," Dad added. When Sam glanced over, his father looked more worried than he had seen Dad in a long time. "It might be why he keeps hanging up on you."
"Why haven't you tried calling?" Sam demanded.
A sad, deep chuckle came from Dad. "Because he wouldn't have answered at all. Payback's a bitch, Sam. Especially when it comes from Dean."
Frank stared over the nasty wet truck fender, covered with years of slime and pond scum, at Dean. "You what?"
Dean grinned at him. "I unlocked the bathroom door."
"You mean...so she could..." Frankie couldn't quite finish his question.
Dean's eyes, so wonderfully deep and mysterious, sparkled with mischief. "And she did. Didn't you notice how she couldn't look at either one of us this morning? And her face turned all red?"
"It did?" No, Frank had not noticed. Any of it. "But why? Why would you do that?"
Dean beamed. "Pay-back is a cold blooded bitch, Frankie." He poured more accelerant over the nasty truck with one hand. "I really think I should take this stupid thing off. Just in case."
"In case of what?" Frank demanded. "And how was that pay-back?"
"In case it shows up while we're trying to torch it," Dean replied as he walked around the truck. He motioned to his arm and Frank gave in, undoing the straps. Dean could take it off himself, but he tended to just yank it off and then the next time it was put on all the straps would have to be readjusted and Dean wasn't long on patience. Frank would take the small favors when he could get them.
"You still haven't told me why that was pay-back," Frank prompted.
Dean chuckled as he tossed the sling into the back seat of the Impala. "Are you kidding? Isn't it obvious?" He grabbed a bag of salt propped against the truck to pour inside the truck's cab. "I got you, so I win. Oh, and I'm pretty sure she wasn't just watching either."
"Oh, man," Frank moaned, "don't tell me any more. I don't want to know."
"What can I say, Frankie?" he asked lightly. "I attract the kinkiest people." Dean tossed the empty bag of salt inside too. "Dude, get in the car. I'm ready to light it up." He glared over his shoulder as he held up a package of motel matches. "Passenger side."
Frank sighed as he sat in the passenger side of Dean's car. The instant flames sprung up in the cab, he noticed lights in the rearview mirror. As he watched the lights, he realized that they were headlights. Then he heard the roar of a large motor.
"Dean!"
The driver's door slammed hard enough to rock the car, the engine firing up almost instantly. "I was afraid of that," Dean mumbled as he slammed it into drive.
"Afraid of what?" Frank demanded as they left the truck-b-que in a cloud of smoke and dust. "You don't think it worked?"
"Oh, it worked all right," Dean snapped as the Impala slid onto another dirt road, "now it's really mad."
Frank's head spun between the road in front of them, Dean driving with an intense look on his face, and the black phantom truck chasing them. "So what do we do?"
"Not stop," Dean relied, jerking the wheel hard to the left and sending them on to yet another road. Didn't these people believe in pavement? What did they do when it rained? Stay home?
"Not stop?" Frank demanded. "That's your plan?"
Dean glanced over briefly with a sheepish look. "Unless you have a better one?"
Panicked, he scrambled to pull out his cell. Frank scrolled through the numbers, but he did not see the one he wanted. "Shit! Why don't I have Sam's number? I can't believe I never got it from him."
"Then call Dad," Dean said as the car fishtailed with his evasive maneuvers again, "they're together."
"Together. That's right." Frank picked John out of his list. "They're together. Your dad will just, you know, willingly hand over the phone. Right. This is as good a plan as not stopping."
Dean chuckled as the Impala swung completely around to head back the way they'd just come. Frank couldn't tell where the truck was now. "Dad keeps saying we're a pair."
John's phone was ringing. "Pair of what?"
"Frank? Is that you?" John demanded. "Sam's been trying to call Dean, but he quit answering his phone. Now tell me where the hell you are!"
"Right now?" Frank asked. "On a dark country road being chased by a ghost truck. Can I talk to Sam?"
"Ghost truck!" John thundered. "No, you can't talk to Sam. What's the problem?"
"I told you!" Frank shouted, desperately trying not to be thrown all over the interior of the car. "It's chasing us!"
"And it's pissed!" Dean shouted at the phone.
"You're being chased by a pissed off ghost truck?" John asked. "Well, at least it's original."
"So you don't have any ideas?" Frank asked, his last hope faltering as a tight pressure began in the center of his chest.
"Who's driving?" John demanded.
"Dean," Frank replied as the pain grew more intense and the truck looked like it was closing in on them.
"I don't suppose you two idiots have a map of the area?" John asked.
Frank reached over in to the back seat to grab the local map, the first thing Dean had picked up. "Couple of idiots," he informed Dean.
Dean nodded grimly. "What I figured," he mumbled as Frank sat back down, map in hand.
"Got it. What am I looking for?" he asked, trying to figure out where they were. One of Dean's hands slapped the map, presumably in the area they were in.
"Any place that might be considered holy ground," John told him. "Like an old cemetary, church grounds, any area that might have been consecrated for what ever reason. Unless there's a salt dome nearby?"
"Like we'd be that lucky," Frank grumbled. He scanned the map looking for anything that might fit John's description. Dropping the phone from his ear, Frank turned to Dean. "Remember the story about burning the church? Wasn't that right around here?"
"Think so," Dean replied in a tight voice.
"Yeah, me too," Frank said as his eyes dropped to the map again. "Next right," he ordered and held on as Dean swung the car around. The painful tightness in his chest was still there, demanding his attention, but that stupid truck was closing ground.
"Where?" Dean demanded.
Frank forced his gaze back to the map. "Uh, two roads...one more road and then another right."
"What's going on?" John's voice demanded from his left hand.
It took him a moment to process that Dean's dad was still on the phone. "I'll call you back," he said absently as he closed the cell phone.
"Dude! Did you just hang up on Dad?" Dean demanded with wide eyes, like they weren't dealing with enough trouble at the moment.
"I'll call him back later," Frank snapped. "Just worry about driving." He looked out the back window. How could it go so fast? Did ghost trucks have automatic after-life options like nitrous? "It's gaining on us."
"Uh-huh. What am I lookin' for, Frank?"
Crap, he was losing it. Wrong time to lose focus. Worst time to lose focus. Had he lost focus like this before?
"Frank!"
"Map," he mumbled as he forced himself to read the map. Where was that church? Jesus, if that pain in his chest would just go away, he might be able to concentrate. Oh, there it was. "Right here!" he shouted as they nearly passed the entrance. The black truck was right on their ass.
Dean was really, really good. Maybe he could have been a racecar driver, in another life. They skidded around with a broad fishtail before zipping through the open gate in the fence. As the car skidded to a stop, Frank reached over. He grabbed Dean by the neck and forced him down to the seat. The headlights from the truck made the interior of the car seem like daylight. Covering Dean's body with his own, Frank held on in sheer desperation. The roar of the truck grew, crescendoing with the pain in his chest and filling his ears.
Then it was gone. It was dark in the car again. So why couldn't he catch his breath?
"Frankie?" Dean mumbled from under him. "Can't breathe, dude."
Frank pushed up, off of Dean. "Sorry." He rolled down the window. It was hard to breathe in here. "Better?"
"Yeah." Dean sat up. Frank couldn't look at him right now, it was all too much. "Hey," Dean grabbed him by the bicept, "what's wrong? You feeling okay?"
He wanted to say yes, everything was fine, but he couldn't. Then Frank remembered this pain, realized that it was familiar, that he knew what was happening to him. "Shit," he hissed between clenched teeth. He looked Dean in the eye. "You do know where the hospital is?"
All the color drained from Dean's face as his eyes widened and a rare expression set in. Panic. "Shit!" But he didn't reach for the steering wheel, he opened the glove compartment. Frank wanted to ask what the hell he was doing, but there was something Frank had learned in the past few years: trust Dean.
"Here," Dean opened a white bottle and poured some round pills in his palm, "take those. Hurry!"
Aspirin. Relieved, Frank popped them in his mouth and swallowed them dry. As he choked them down, Dean threw the car into reverse. Frank was slammed into the door as Dean floored the accelerator and put the car back on the road.
"Hang on, baby," Dean said in a tight, determined voice. "Five minutes." He glanced over as they hit paved roads. "How're you feeling?"
"Like I'm having a heart attack," Frank replied honestly. The pressure in his chest had eased, it was tolerable now. Since he took some aspirin maybe there wouldn't be much damage.
"Make that two minutes," Dean growled. The car leaped with renewed fury, probably fueled by Dean's worry alone. That was one thing Frank could always count on, Dean to worry about him.
At the hospital they skidded to a stop just outside the ER doors, the Impala at a weird angle. Frank was going to suggest Dean just find a parking spot, but Dean wasn't in the car. He stared at the empty driver's seat, trying to process why it was empty, when he felt a hand on his shoulder. Looking over, Frank found Dean pulling him out of the car.
"You should be wearing your sling," he said as he stood up. It felt good to move again. Okay, not good, but better. It definitely felt better to move.
Dean glared as he steered them toward the ER entrance. "I'll make a deal with you," Dean was saying, "you walk out of here, and I won't bitch about wearing the sling ever again."
"Deal," Frank agreed readily. "I'm holding you to that."
"You better," Dean said. "Wait here," he said before rushing off to the admissions desk. Frank waited, but he couldn't just stand in one spot. He had to pace.
Next thing he knew, Dean was at his elbow guiding him to a room labeled 'triage.' "Didn't they do that on M.A.S.H.?" he asked.
"Yeah," Dean replied. "I have a feeling you're next."
Once again, Dean was right. They slapped some monitors on his chest and started an I.V. before putting him on one of those rolling beds. Dean stayed right by his side the whole time, calmly answering all the doctor's questions and hanging on to his hand tight enough to allow Frank to focus on that instead of the pain in his chest.
Finally the pain eased. Frank was able to take a deep breath. He smiled at Dean, who sat close by his bed still holding his hand. "How long have you been keeping aspirin in the car?"
Dean stared right at him, unflinching as he spoke. "Remember the first visit I made to see you, after two months of awesome phone calls?"
Frank nodded. "Yeah. So?"
"I bought it on the way," he replied evenly with a shrug of his good shoulder.
Frank grinned broadly, relief over being alive flooding through him. "On the way? Dude, you had it bad."
Dean's eyes glinted with a similar relief to the one coursing through Frank right now. "I know," he said in a soft, honest voice as the thumb with the wonderful silver ring on it rubbed across the back of Frank's hand. "I still do."
Frank glanced around before asking his next question. "So what are we going to do about-"
"Nothing," Dean cut him off in a hard voice. "I'm going to call Bobby. He can handle it. You and I are going home the minute they release you." His hand tightened around Frank's. "It was stupid to come here in the first place."
"No. It wasn't," Frank tried to argue gently, knowing just how sensitive Dean was despite his rough-and-ready exterior. "I understand why you had to come. That's why we came. This isn't your fault."
The far too familiar look of self-incrimination dropped away, thankfully. Confusion reigned at the moment. "You do?"
"Sure," Frank told him, hoping to be believed. "You make decisions with your heart." Dean's eyes rolled back and his hand threatened to pull away, but Frank held on tight. "And there is nothing wrong with that. It's just one more reason I love you." He smiled at Dean. "It's part of what makes you such an amazing person."
Those wonderful, mysterious eyes rolled again, but Dean wasn't pulling away now.
"So," Frank figured it was high time to change topics, "are you ready to talk names yet?"
Dean chuckled as his tense frame relaxed in the visitor's chair. "Sure, baby. Do you want to start with girl or boy names?"
Frank grinned widely. "Gender-neutral."
Dean's hand clamped tighter around his. "Sick bastard." But then he sighed. "Fine."
Frank's eyebrows shot up. "Really? You have some?"
"Dude, we have to be prepared," Dean said, but his eyes gave him away. This was just to appease Frank, and Dean had been saving it to surprise him. What a sweetheart, though Frank would never say it aloud.
