Happy New Year!! May 2010 bring you all more happiness than 2009. And now, the much awaited and anticipated phone call - as promised.
Chapter 43: A Good Day
For one of the few times since his mutant gene became fully active, Dean was full. He felt bloated, engorged with delicious foods. Sighing happily, he looked across the table at Dad.
"This was a great idea," he told his father.
Dad chuckled and wiped his mouth with a napkin. "I'm going to help clean up. Any other volunteers?"
"I'd help with the leftovers, but I'm stuffed," Dean complained.
Dad waved for him to stand. "Then you can put them away. It'll make 'em easier to find during one of your midnight snack raids."
"Come on, Dean. I'll show you where everything goes," Adam offered.
Reluctantly Dean stood, figuring he might topple over from being so top-heavy. Amazingly, his feet remained underneath him. Dean moved slowly to the kitchen, following Dad and Adam, until his phone went off. The sudden reminder that Sam would be calling seemed to pierce the house.
"Oh, uh, I gotta take this," Dean protested, heading for the front door.
"We'll save some dishes for you!" Dad threatened with a grin as he rushed out.
"Yeah, yeah, whatever," he muttered, checking the digital display on his phone. Sam. Wow, he really meant it when he'd said he would call. "Hello?"
"You answered," Sam said, complete surprise in his voice. "I-I mean, last time it went straight to voicemail."
"I was in class," Dean replied with a shrug Sam couldn't see. He headed for his car, intending to sit on the trunk while they talked. "How's school?"
"Oh, uh, good. Good. Keeping my grades up, like you said."
Dean chuckled. Yeah, like Sam was doing it because he said so. Sam used to pitch a fit if a teacher dared give him a B. "That's good. How's your girlfriend? What's her name again?" If he could get Sam talking, then he wouldn't have to talk as much. Dean slid on to the trunk of his car to talk.
"Jess. She's great, Dean. I'd, uh, like you to meet her, actually."
"Why? Aren't you afraid I'll hit on her?" Dean teased. "I bet I could steal her from ya, Sammy."
Now Sam laughed, a real laugh, the nervousness fading from his voice. "You can try. I already told her what a flirt you are, so she won't be surprised. Oh, and don't call me Sammy."
"Surprised?" Dean asked, rolling his eyes over the 'Sammy' comment. "Sam, what are you talking about?"
"When you meet her," Sam replied. "Oh, maybe I skipped that part. I'd like you to come here for Christmas."
"Why?" The word was out of his mouth, he couldn't stop this conversation now if he wanted.
"Jess wants to meet you and I want you to meet her. And, well..." Sam's voice trailed off, but there was a big thing behind that 'well'. Dean would bet on it.
"Well what, Sam?" Dean pressed.
"Come on, you know you don't have plans already. Why not come here?" Sam asked, totally avoiding the 'well'.
Oh, yeah. Sam and Dad were exactly alike. Both of 'em were stubborn jackasses.
"Actually, I do have plans," Dean replied stiffly, feeling his new emotional defenses kicking in. Before all of this mutant crap happened, he could take any of Sam's little unintentional insults and barbs right in stride. Now they cut through him, ripped right into his heart. Had to be a freaking girly empath, didn't he? Couldn't be a teek or have laser eyes, could he? No, Dean Winchester had to wear his heart on his freaking sleeve now.
"Who would you have plans with?" Sam's tone was pure astonishment, tearing a fresh wound in his most tender emotional spot. Yeah, and no Hank here to calm him down either.
"Why do you ask?" he said slowly, his irrational anger mounting. Just because he knew it was irrational didn't mean he could control it. "Don't I rate high enough to make plans? Am I a complete loser?"
"What!" Sam's voice squeaked. Like a mouse. Literally; he squeaked. It was the weird, uncharacteristic squeak and the sudden panicked panting from the other end that made Dean stop, his anger back in check. He listened carefully to a thumping noise, like the phone had been set down hastily, and sounds of Sam looking for something. Then it went quiet. Dean checked his phone's display but the call was still live, Sam hadn't hung up on him, so he waited to see what would happen.
The noise of a door closing had Dean's head turning to locate the source. Dad walked purposefully across the yard towards him. Dean lifted a hand in greeting, still waiting on Sam to do something, anything.
"Dean?" Sam's voice was calmer now, non-squeaky.
"Still here," he said in a tight voice. He wanted to add that he didn't know why, he but managed to keep his trap shut. Dad gave him a puzzled look as his father joined him on the trunk of the Impala.
"I-I didn't mean it that way." A deep breath came through the phone. "I, uh, just want to see you."
There still wasn't an explanation of that 'well'. "Why?" Dean tried pressing for an answer again.
The frustrated grunt which followed brought a smile to his face. Then he noticed that there were gooey feelings assaulting his irritation. "I want to be sure you're all right," Sam whispered.
It was all he needed for the gooeyness to win out. Dean grinned broadly and leaned into Dad's side, like a kid. Dad responded by throwing an arm around his shoulders and squeezing, along with a fresh burst of gooeyness. Dean sighed, the irritation quickly being replaced by pure contentment.
"I'm fine, Sam," he repeated what had been in all of his recent letters. "If you don't believe me, will you believe Dad?" Dean quirked an eyebrow at his father and motioned to the phone.
Dad made a sour face as he cleared his throat. "He's fine," he said in a blaring voice, loud enough to reach the phone.
"Dad's there, huh? Maybe I should-"
"Don't you dare hang up on me," Dean snapped, irritation spiraling back out of control. Then Dad's hand pressed between his shoulderblades, massaging that sore hot spot.
"Easy, son," Dad said softly. "He's talking to you again. Don't blow this. I know you, you'll never forgive yourself."
Dean squeezed his eyes closed and listened to his own breathing.
"I wouldn't do that, Dean," Sam replied, not sounding as confident as he had earlier.
"Good." Dean needed a few more breaths before he regained a normal rhythm. Chocolate. He needed freaking chocolate. He fumbled with his front shirt pocket, but it was empty. "Damn it," he muttered.
Both of Dad's hands landed on his shoulders and gave a gentle squeeze. "What is it?" he whispered.
"Chocolate," Dean replied.
Dad patted his shoulders. "Be right back." He rushed to the house with the urgency equivalent to needing to take care of a deep flesh wound.
"Chocolate?" Sam asked. "What are you talking about?"
"I'm out of chocolate," he snapped, like it should be obvious.
"Did you hit your head, too?" Sam asked.
Yeah, okay, maybe he sounded like a crazy person demanding chocolate like that. Dean sighed and ran a hand over his head. "Nah, that would've been better." He forced a chuckle. "At least I would've been unconscious."
"Dean, what happened?" Sam was pleading with him. "How bad were you hurt?"
"Bad enough," Dean admitted. "I told you about the two wendigos, right?"
"Yeah." Sam paused. "And?"
"The second one kicked my ass. I'm telling you, if it weren't for Logan, I woud've been dinner," Dean admitted reluctantly.
"So he's a hunter?" Sam asked. "Must not be very good to let you get hurt like that." Lil' bro sounded kind of bratty, like he was about twelve.
Dean shook his head, wondering where the hell Dad was with that chocolate. "Lay off Logan!" he snapped, then mentally berated himself for joining in acting like an adolescent. "Uh, I mean, he's kind of new to the whole hunting supernatural creatures thing. He's been catching on fast, though."
Sam went dead silent as Dad jogged from the house up to the car. When he opened his hand it was full of miniature chocolate candies in bright holiday wrappers. With a smile of thanks, Dean took all of them. He dumped most of them into his pocket, keeping a couple out. Sam was still quiet when Dean shoved milk chocolate into his mouth, wedging it in his cheek.
"Dude, did you hang up?" he demanded, hoping the chocolate would work its magic NOW.
"No," Sam replied softly. "You're still hunting?"
"Part-time," Dean replied, his voice a little muffled due to the chocolate.
A whoosh of air, like a large sigh, sounded through the phone. "Well, that's a relief," Sam said in his normal voice, much to Dean's shock.
"It is? I thought you were hoping I'd found my freaking calling, whatever the hell that's supposed to mean," Dean replied, the sugar and caffeine of the chocolate not quite doing its job of pushing away that nasty irritable feeling. Dad's hand was on his back again rubbing in large circles, pressing down hard enough to make the hot spot feel better.
"Well, I uh... I thought you'd been hurt bad enough to force you to quit hunting."
Dean rolled his eyes. Not this crap again! "Sam, I told you-"
"If it were true you'd lie about it," Sam interrupted. "If you're still hunting, you couldn't have been hurt that bad. Dean, I'm relieved. You have no idea how worried I've been. I almost came to that Parents' Weekend thing."
His shoulders tensed and his body froze in place. Dad's hands moved to massage his shoulders, shaking him gently trying to force him to relax.
"How could you have known about that in time to come?" he asked slowly, knowing the answer but at the same time not willing to believe it. "I wrote you about it afterwards."
Sam sighed. "I was invited. I guess Mister Xavier really thinks a lot of you, to send mine himself."
"Professor Xavier," Dean corrected his brother. "And how do you know he sent it?"
Dad's massage stopped, his father leaning in to listen. Dean shifted the phone to his other ear and turned it out a little, to make Dad's eavesdropping easier.
"When it came in, I noticed that the address for the Xavier Institute is the same as your new, uh, address. So I called to see if you worked there. As soon as I said my name, the woman who answered the phone put me on hold and the next thing I knew I was talking to Charles Xavier."
Dad grunted and nodded. He mouthed to Dean 'same here.' Dean rolled his eyes. Freaking busybody. You'd think somebody with a whole school of mutants would have better ways of spending his time than meddling with the Winchesters.
"That was your idea, huh? The Parents' Weekend?" Sam asked.
"Well...I..." Hank's voice echoed in his mind – 'don't be afraid to accept validation for your ideas.' "Yeah. It was."
"Wow. Uh, I'm shocked they didn't already have one," Sam said.
"So was I," Dean replied. "But it went pretty well. I think I told you about that already."
"Yeah, you did." The ensuing silence was uncomfortable and strained. "Look, I don't want to keep you, but, uh, I was serious about Christmas."
Dean rolled his eyes, but the irritation did not come flooding back. "Dude, you're west coast. I'm east coast. You know how long it takes to drive across the whole freaking country."
"Then fly," Sam suggested, like it was the most natural thing in the world.
"No." What a stupid idea! Fly? Sam was freaking crazy. "Besides, I already have plans. I told you that."
"I could come see you," Sam offered, reverting back to the smaller voice. "I've been budgeting my money, I can scrape enough together for a plane ticket."
Dean shot his father a searching look. They were supposed to be here for Christmas and Sam didn't know Adam existed. Dad took the phone from his hand.
"Come for New Year's," Dad suggested. "We'd both love to see you. I owe Jim a phone call, maybe we can all meet at his cabin, make a weekend of it."
Highly relieved by Dad's simple solution, which eliminated the possibility Sam finding out the true nature of the Institute and the need for him to board an airplane at the same time, Dean breathed out in relief. Plus – Dad and Sam were talking. Now he had wondered if he would live to see this day.
"I have a feeling we all have a lot to talk about," Dad said. "I'll let you and your brother work out the details. All I need to know is when and where. I'll be there." He said the last part while looking Dean right in the eye.
"Thanks, Dad," Dean said sincerely as his father passed over his phone. "So," he said to Sam as Dad headed back towards the house, "New Year's?"
A few minutes before ten Dean slipped out the front door. Dad and Bobby were arguing loudly about some clunker back at Bobby's place, whether or not it could be restored. Neither was the slightest bit upset either, they were thoroughly enjoying themselves. Adam and Kate were trying to talk everyone into just one more round of some silly game they liked. Logan had disappeared someplace by himself about twenty minutes ago. He'd lasted longer than Dean expected.
There was a chill in the crisp autumn night, forcing Dean to zip up his jacket. He glanced around before pulling out his cell. There was just one little phone call he needed to make, someone he wanted to wish a Happy Thanksgiving.
The phone rang so many times Dean figured he had called too late and would wind up delivering his message to an automated voicemail service.
"Hello?" a sweet feminine voice answered.
"Libby?" Dean asked. She sounded different on the phone, more like a regular girl and little less like The Librarian.
"Hunter!" And she sounded excited. This was good, he told himself. "Oh, dear, is everything all right? Do you need some research?"
He grinned into the night. "No, everything is fine. I just wanted to tell you Happy Thanksgiving."
"Really?" Her voice rose a full octave, he'd swear to it. She cleared her throat before speaking again. "Uh, I mean, Happy Thanksgiving to you, too."
"Thanks." Now what? Normally this was the easy part because he usually didn't care too much if the chick shot him down, but he didn't have a back-up plan this time. "I was kind of wondering about something."
"Yes?" Libby sounded hopeful, but she was so nice she was probably just expecting him to ask for more advice.
"Are there any good movies coming out?" Dean held his breath, hoping.
"Well, there is one that starts tomorrow the critics have been giving rave reviews. Why?" she asked.
"Is it a movie you'd like to see?" Dean tried.
"I was thinking of going this weekend," she replied casually, "if Julie makes it back in time to go with me."
He unzipped his jacket, needing the cool air as a strange rush of heat hit him. "Well, if you don't mind waiting until I'm back," he told her, "I could take you."
He closed his eyes, turned his face up to the night sky, and waited. There was a clunking sound. She was so disgusted by him asking her out she threw her phone? Well, he couldn't really blame her. Disappointed but not surprised, Dean started to lower his cell when he heard "Oh, no!" through the phone from a distance. His curiosity winning out, Dean opened his eyes and pressed the phone tightly against his ear.
"Hello? Hunter? Are you still there?" Libby sounded kind of...breathless.
"I'm here," he replied, wondering what all that clunking was about.
"Could you, uh, repeat that, please?" she asked sweetly.
She wanted him to ask her again? "Which part?" he asked. "The part about there being a movie out you want to see?"
"No, no. After that," Libby insisted. "I dropped the phone, so I'm not sure if I heard you correctly."
Dropped the phone? She didn't throw it. His confidence level rose considerably. "If you don't mind waiting until I'm back in town, I'd really like to take you to see that movie," Dean told her honest and simple, just the way he had been rehearsing it in his head on the drive here.
For a split second, he could have sworn there was a schoolgirl squeal from her end. "Yes," she said quickly a beat after the squeal stopped. "That would be wonderful. When?"
"I'd ask you to go tomorrow, but I'm out of town visiting that little brother I told you about," Dean replied.
"That's wonderful," she gushed. "I hope you're having a good time?"
"I am," he said, "but I can't speak for Logan. He disappeared about twenty minutes ago."
"Wow, I wouldn't have expected him to last that long," Libby said with a light laugh.
"Yeah, that's what I thought." Dean chuckled with her. "So, next week? We'll probably arrive some time Sunday evening."
"Long drive?" she asked.
"Twenty hours," Dean replied.
"Then you'll need some sleep. What about Monday night? If you think you'll be up to it?" Libby suggested.
"Unless you'd rather wait for next weekend?" Dean asked, rather surprised she wanted to go so soon. Maybe she really, really wanted to see this movie.
"Oh, uh, only if you do," Libby said hesitantly.
"Monday would be great," Dean insisted, now wondering what the hell was wrong with him. Was he trying to delay this date? "Since I'm not there, would you mind looking up the movie times for us?"
"Oh, sure. No problem. Are, uh, we going out to dinner? Or maybe dessert after the film?" Libby replied.
Was she leaving it up to him? "We are definitely going to eat," Dean assured her. "But depending on the show times, we might have to eat there."
"Monday it is," Libby said happily. "You'll call or come by to see me when you're back? So we can talk about, uh, showtimes?"
"Sure." Dean grinned and dragged his foot along the ground, really pleased over how well that went. He was sure that excited schoolgirl squeal was her, that he hadn't imagined it. "I'll see you then."
"Great."
"Yeah. Great." Now what? He couldn't think of anything to talk about. Maybe he should've planned for another topic of conversation. "Uh, well, my dad's probably wondering where I am. See you in a few days?"
"I'm looking forward to it," Libby replied, kind of breathless. "Bye!"
"Bye." Dean shoved his phone back in his pocket and glanced around at the serene night.
"Please tell me it ain't that librarian woman." Logan's voice shattered the quiet.
Dean sighed and turned toward the dark form walking toward him. "I wondered where you went."
"Walk. Needed some peace 'n' quiet." He jabbed at the house with the stub of an unlit cigar. "Nice family, but loud. Your pop ain't included in that, by the way."
"He's loud," Dean argued with a grin. "And what's wrong with The Librarian? She's real nice."
Logan snorted, his head shaking as he stepped into the light cast by the streetlamp. "Ain't you never heard her voice? Irritatin'. You c'n do better."
Dean scowled. "Dude, she's too good for me."
"Too smart, you mean," Logan scoffed. "But if that were really true, she woulda told you no."
He felt the grin spread across his face thinking about how excited she sounded. "How long were you listening?"
"Got good hearin'," Logan replied gruffly. "Didn't need it, though. A deaf man coulda heard you from the end of the block."
"I wasn't that loud," Dean said with a dismissive wave of his hand.
"Don't know why you was worried," Logan told him. "What with the way you collect phone numbers."
"What makes you think I was worried?" Dean demanded.
Logan made a nasty face and waved a hand in front of his face. "My nose don't lie."
"I'll remember that," he promised. Dean nodded towards the house. "Is it safe to go in?"
"Depends." A thin smile wormed its way on to Logan's typically stern face. "Interested in teachin' your new kid brother the finer points of poker?"
"Dude, that sounds like a game where even you might win a hand!" Dean clasped Logan firmly on the shoulder. "Let's go! Man, I hope there's still some of that cherry pie left."
"I'll clear the way 'tween you and the pie," Logan offered, falling into step beside him, "but you gotta save me a piece."
"Deal." Yeah, this turned out to be a really good day.
