Hey everyone. It's that time of the week again. Time to get some serious answers from Mama Ambrose!
xXBalorBabeXx, Well that would be the million dollar question! Hopefully some things are going to be cleared up in this chapter though…
Mandy, How did your three job interviews go? I've been keeping my fingers and toes crossed for you! We're good here. My mum's latest treatment seems to be working well, so that's always a positive. Hope this chapter cheers you up if you need it, or makes your good mood even better.
Minnie1015, Yep, Lauren stomping on tiny, screeching Stephanies is my favourite visual from that last chapter. Who hasn't wanted to do that to someone at some point though?! Lol!
Phoenix lord of rebirth, Yep, you're right in time for the crazy (by which I mean even more of the crazy obviously!) Stealing the cell phone was just the beginning!
Skovko, I think Roman is just so used to the crazy by now that it all just washes over his shoulders. He can't stop it, so he might as well roll with it!
Crazyredhead2005, Dean with a cell phone that isn't his and an open text message is a dangerous combination! And as for his mom? Well, answers are coming!
Wolfgirl2013, Lots of people are hiding lots of things in this story, that's for sure!
Idcam, Yeah, there *might* be more nudity to come from Tim in this chapter, so prepare yourself mentally for that. And as for Steph's phone? She totally deserved it!
Let's roll gang…
(Na na, na na na na, hey) Goodbye
Usually the drive from Ohio to Wisconsin took us a little over six and half hours, but thanks to a combination of empty early morning highways, and Dean driving like he was behind the wheel of a getaway car, we managed to make it in just five and three quarters, which unbeknownst to my money-thief-in-law, had also quite possibly been her last hours on earth, unless I could somehow convince Dean not to kill her before we hit the end of our drive and save whoever had sent her the warning the trouble of having to kill her himself.
And honestly? It wasn't looking good for her.
"Sooo," I offered brightly as we tore along Main Street like the only competitors in a rental car drag race, turning the shops into one big blurred storefront and making people wonder why we were driving so fast, "What's the plan when we get in there? I mean, is there a plan? Or are we playing it by ear?"
Dean slung round a corner aggressively,
"The plan," he grunted, almost snarling the word, which I assumed meant we wouldn't be sitting down and talking about what was going on over a nice pot of tea. Or in my case, a vat of hot chocolate, "Is for you to take back the freakin' door key you gave her, while I throw her shit out into the snow. An' that includes her weird ass boyfriend."
"Aww, but I thought you liked Tim?" I pouted, "And besides, he's actually a pretty sweet guy, once you get past the wearing my robe thing. Plus, he makes a mean scrambled eggs."
"I don't fuckin' care if he lays the eggs personally," Dean retorted, which put me off ever eating them again. And possibly eating food in general. Well, except for pizza, and cookies. And cake, "Because if he knew what that fuckin'—,"
"Charlatan," I offered, sensing he was going to say something far worse. Not that he actually took my suggestion. Although he didn't not take it,
"Was up to all this time, then he's just as much to freakin' blame for this as she is."
"Well, I guess when you put it like that," I hummed back, before being distracted by the sudden sensation that there was something I had been meaning to say. But what? Was it something about the aforementioned charlatan? Or Kelly's detecting? Or was it—
"What the fuck is that?" Dean erupted as he turned into our driveway and came face to face with a giant motorhome.
Ohhhh. That was what I'd been meaning to tell him. Nice going Lauren.
"Um, yeah, about that—,"
"Tell me my mom didn't steal some asshole's money an' use it to buy a freakin' condo on wheels?"
I winced,
"Well, to be fair, we don't know she bought it. I mean, it could have been Tim."
"Princess, the man doesn't even own clothes. You really think he has enough bacon to buy a fuckin' giant ass motorhome?"
"Okay no, but before you murder them," I countered, "Just remember that I wouldn't last five minutes in jail, and if the police offer me a good deal to show them where the bodies are hidden, then I'm sorry handsome, but I'm ratting you out."
"Ha, I'd like to see you try," Dean grunted, pulling up beside the admittedly gargantuan rig, which, now we were up close and personal to it, I could see had Tim and Dean's mom's names stencilled over the door, entwined and surrounded by fluttering love hearts, "Because I don't plan on hidin' those jackasses anywhere. I'm weighin' 'em down an' tossin' 'em into the lake after I kill 'em with a pickaxe made from an icicle. So good luck givin' that murder weapon to the cops."
In response, I blinked suspiciously across the central console,
"Um, should I be worried by the fact that you've clearly thought about this a lot?"
Shutting off the engine and flinging his door wide—which let an unreasonably cold blast of wind in—my husband offered me a cute little half shrug.
"You don't. But I know two people who definitely fuckin' should. An' they're about to find out the hard way."
"Wait for me," I yelped as he climbed out of the car, nearly taking out my eye with the seatbelt buckle as I fumbled loose and scampered after him through the snow.
By the time I caught up, he already had his keys out and was muttering as he twisted them one handed in the lock—one handed since he was also still carrying his stolen belt, like Gollum from Lord of the Rings with his precious.
Except Dean was cuter.
And stabbier.
"Stupid mom. Stealin' money from some spray paintin' asshole an' then bringin' that shit around me an' my wife."
As he cracked the door open a black snout poked through it, followed by fur, a pink tongue and brown eyes that seemed to say hey, there you guys are, I missed you. Which was definitely mutual,
"Boom Boom," I cooed, dropping down into a crouch to say hello to him as he came out wiggling his butt back and forth, "Who's a good boy? Is it you? Are you a good boy?"
"Hey dude," Dean grinned, leaning down to pat his back while simultaneously stepping through the door into the great room. Where he almost had a heart attack, "Whoa. What the fuckin' fuck?"
"What? What's wrong?" I bleated in panic, launching after him half expecting all our wall art to be gone, or for the room to be stripped clean of furniture. Except no, because there was our fluffy hearth rug, and our oak coffee table, and our extra large sofa. Which Tim was laying face down on with his hands cuffed behind his back, while Dean's mom stood over him in a black leather corset, fishnet stockings and knee high boots, holding a riding crop and—
Wait a minute. Was Tim lying face down on our couch without clothes?
A secondary look revealed a pair of black lace panties. Which seemed like a pretty unusual choice. But since I was a fan of any piece of material that kept his male area from where I usually sat, I decided I could get on board with it for the moment.
Although they did look familiar.
"What the fuck is goin' on?" Dean bellowed, sounding both baffled and angry. Although nauseous would have been an understandable reaction too.
In response, his mother gazed back with indifference,
"Oh, you're home early. You should have called to let us know."
"An' you shouldn't have sex on someone's else's freakin' sofa," Dean retorted not unreasonably, as Tim inelegantly rolled himself over and levered himself into an awkward upright sit. Although the fact that he could do it all in a pair of handcuffs was actually quite impressive.
"Lauren, Dean, how nice to see you both. You must be exhausted after all of that driving. How about I make a nice pot of tea for us all?"
"Dude, what the freakin' hell are you wearin'?" Dean asked, screwing up his face in disgust as Tim's sex outfit was revealed in its entirety. Including the studded leather collar he had on, and the women's cut out bra that showed off his man boobs, which I gaped at for a second before turning back to Dean's mom.
"Is that the outfit you bought in the sex shop? I thought you were buying it for you."
"In a way I was," my mother in law shrugged unashamedly at me, as her son tried to process the latest snippet of news.
"You went to a freakin' sex shop with my mother?"
"It wasn't like I went there by choice," I huffed back, "I thought if we went shopping together she might open up to me."
"That's it. I need a drink," Dean growled, stalking towards his stash in the kitchen, which left me alone with Tim and his mom. Not to mention what they were wearing.
"Soooo," I chirped, desperately trying to break the ice, since anything seemed better than silence, "Did either of you guys catch Monday night's show?"
Their blank expressions told me they hadn't. Although luckily I was saved by Dean suddenly calling me,
"Princess? Get in here."
Uh oh. That didn't sound good. Flashing a polite looking smile at my houseguests, I scuttled through into the kitchen and dodged the central island towards the snug where my husband was stood looking at the floor. Or not the floor so much as the pen set up in the middle, which Boomer was sitting beside like a proud dad, watching over the five tiny little things inside it. The five, tiny, cheepy, feathered little things.
"Awww."
"No. No awww," Dean warned, "What the fuck are they an' where did they come from?"
"They're Burford Brown chickens. Or at least, they will be," Tim announced, coming into the kitchen behind us with a pleased looking smile. His hands had been uncuffed, but he was still in the panties, which I was trying not to look at, "I saw how much you two liked eggs and thought I would get you your very own flock of layers. Although they're a bit small at the moment."
"You bought us a flock of freakin' chickens?" Dean yelled, as I sank down on my kneecaps beside them and gently scooped one up onto the palm of my hand, since I felt very different about it,
"Okay, I've named them. This one's Spike, that one over there is Cera, and the other three are Ducky, Littlefoot and Petrie."
"Princess, stop givin' 'em names. We're not keepin' 'em."
"What? Why?" Tim and I chorused as one, as behind us, Dean's mom stepped into the kitchen, wearing—yep, you guessed it—my robe. Although at least on the plus side it covered her cleavage, so on that basis she was welcome to it. Besides which, it had recently been pressed against Tim, and since it probably still hadn't been through the laundry, it wasn't like I was in a hurry to try and get the thing back.
Dean turned to face her with a growl of defiance,
"Because we don't take presents that were bought with someone else's dough. Yeah, that's right, we know what you did mom. You too," he carried on, glancing at Tim, who clearly didn't have the poker face skills of his girlfriend, based on the way he'd already gone pale, and kept shooting deeply panicked looks in her direction.
Dean's mom was unflinching.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Oh really? Princess, show her your phone," Dean ordered, before blinking as I transferred Spike into his hand, since I couldn't hold a teeny tiny speckled chicken and pull up the photo we had taken of her wall.
"Does this look familiar at all?" I asked sweetly, turning the cell towards her, "Oops, let me just zoom in. The spray paint's all drippy so it's quite hard to read it."
In response, my mother in law's eyelid twitched briefly, but other than that, she stayed impassive.
Dean cleared his throat,
"It says—,"
"I know what it says," she snipped back at him, as if she thought the whole thing was somehow his fault. Either that or she was pissed that we'd managed to rumble her. Yeah, on second thoughts it was probably that one, "What I want to know is what it's got to do with me. Considering I ain't stole nothing from no one."
"So then why is there a motorhome sittin' on my drive? Because you sure as hell didn't win that from a claw machine," Dean countered, pointing an accusing looking finger towards the porch.
His mom crossed her arms,
"And I guess you're just borrowing that fancy looking title belt," she huffed, nodding her head at the white and gold strap. Dean dropped it down awkwardly onto the counter and then went back to tickling Spike, which kind of undermined his not keeping them argument, but looked super cute so I chose not to point that out.
"Stop changin' the subject," he snapped her crossly, "An' stop freakin' lyin'. Because I know you, an' this wouldn't be the first time you took shit from someone. Only this time you apparently pissed off the wrong guy. So who the fuck is he, an' how much do you owe him?"
"His name is Big Lorenzo," Tim whispered in response, like lowering his voice meant Dean's mom wouldn't hear him. Although judging by the glare she fired back in his direction it was probably safe to assume that she had.
"An' who the fuck is Big Lorenzo?" Dean asked, looking between them as he screwed his face up.
Visions of an Italian, Mark Henry-sized man mountain in a Goodfellas style suit popped up in my head, along with an image of him dipping Tim in concrete and dropping him into the bottom of a bay.
Not that my mother in law seemed as concerned as I was. Which was probably a good sign.
"He's a nobody," she sneered, waving a loose hand around for good measure, "Just a jackass I used to deliver drugs for sometimes. Even though he thinks he's the Midwest's answer to Pablo Escobar. Besides which, it wasn't like the money was even his. Considering he stole it from some other asshole."
"Oh well this just keeps gettin' better," Dean sassed back, "Since now we've got two pissed off freakin'—,"
"Charlatans," I inserted quickly for the second time that half hour.
"—Probably tryin' to get back their profit instead of just the one who wrote on your wall. Not to mention that you still haven't told me how much money you even fuckin' took from this Big Lorenzo dude."
Tim sucked a breath in. This wasn't going to be pretty.
"Two hundred thousand."
"Freakin' how much?" Dean barked, turning to look at his mother in outrage and involuntarily clenching his hands. I took Spike back before he could squish her, "Two hundred grand? Are you out of your mind? I mean fuck, no wonder the guy's freakin' mad at you."
"Is that what you used to buy the camper?" I asked, despite the fact I was 99.9% sure I knew the answer.
Dean's mom shot a glare at me,
"What's that got to do with you? Little Miss Never Does Anything She Shouldn't."
"Hey, don't talk to her like that," Dean snapped back, "Because in case you hadn't noticed, this is our fuckin' house. Which means that if Big Lorenzo shows up for his money, she has every right to know where it's gone."
My mother in law threw her eyes up in long suffering, like she thought we were idiots.
"He ain't gonna turn up."
"Yeah? Well you'd better hope he fuckin' doesn't," Dean snarled in warning, "Because if I have to choose between you an' my wife, or my dog, or even these freakin' chickens, then I'm gonna rat you out to him every single time."
"Aww," I responded, without even thinking, which made his mother intensify her glare. Unless she just had a squint I'd not noticed and couldn't help glaring?
"Then go ahead son," she snorted, putting added stress on the last word. And nope, my mistake, it was definitely a glare, "Because after today we ain't gonna be your problem."
This time it was Dean's turn to narrow his eyes. First at his mother, and then at the cases we had both suddenly noticed piled up beside the door. Although in our defence, there had been a lot going on when we'd first got home—what with weird, couch based sex games, and small chickens—so we could hardly be blamed for not having spotted them before.
Even so, Dean couldn't believe it.
"You're leavin'? But—you can't. I was gonna throw you out."
I reached across and patted his arm in consolation, since he actually sounded pretty bummed out. Like a child who'd been given a lump of cole for Christmas when he'd asked for an Xbox.
"It's okay. I'm sure you'll be able to throw her out some other time."
"Thanks," his mom deadpanned with a sarcastic smile, as Tim stepped forward to limit the damage by throwing his arms out.
"But this has been great. Honestly. You two have been so brilliant. Meeting you has been—," he paused to find the right word and then had to stop for a few seconds longer to wipe away what looked like a tear. Which would probably have been a lot more touching if he hadn't been stood in a woman's cut out bra, black dog collar and black lace panties, "Profound. And I feel like I'm a much better person for knowing you. Now come on, bring it in."
Dean instantly stepped back, although unfortunately I wasn't quite so speedy, which meant that I got swept up into an embrace that was easily the most awkward one I'd experienced.
And I'd been hugged by Stephanie.
And Vince.
"There," he breathed, eventually releasing me. Although he kept hanging onto my shoulders, "Oh, and one more thing. That pink bathrobe of yours—,"
"Keep it," Dean and I responded at once, which he clearly thought was some sort of going away gift, based on the way he wiped away another tear and then clasped his hands together in gratitude.
"I uh, think I might take Boomer for one last walk. There are a couple of trees I've grown rather close to and I want to say goodbye to them. Come along boy."
"Um, you might want to put some more clothes on," I called out as Boomer trotted after him into the lounge. More out of fear of our neighbors seeing than the fact that he might catch hypothermia and die. Although obviously that was also a consideration.
Albeit a small one.
"Is he—?"
"Saying goodbye to trees," I finished as Dean stared after him blankly, "Yep. I mean, I thought I misheard too. But yep."
"Where exactly did you say you met him?" Dean asked, turning back to his mom, who was staring after her boyfriend fondly. Riding crop still clutched in one hand.
She shrugged,
"I knocked him down at a crosswalk when I ran a red light. It was love at first sight."
"I'm sorry, you what?" I squeaked back in outrage. Although the more I thought about the whole nudity thing and Tim's eccentric, mildly spaced out persona, the more I guessed they might have been caused by a bang to the head.
Well, either that or Stockholm syndrome.
Dean's mom shot a look at me.
"Remind me how you met my son? Something to do with jumping into his rental like an uninvited madwoman, wasn't it?" she hummed. At which point I decided it was probably best to put Spike back with her sisters.
"Um, I'll just be over here. Since you two probably need a minute alone together to say goodbye properly."
"Coward," Dean smirked. I elbowed him in the ribs as I passed by him and then sank down beside the makeshift chicken coop, which was actually a battered looking Amazon box filled with wood shavings and overhung by the desk lamp that usually lived in the study upstairs. The chicks were all asleep in one corner, so I popped Spike down on one side of the pile and then tried—and probably failed—to pretend I wasn't listening as Dean and his mother said an awkward goodbye.
Oh, did I say awkward? Because what I meant was sarcastic.
"Well, this has been lovely an' everythin'," Dean snarked, "But don't let the door hit your ass on the way out."
See what I mean?
"Which door?" she fired back, "You got so many in this god damn mansion that I kept getting lost on my way to the john. Maybe that's why you never invited me over."
"Yeah, trust me. It's not," Dean grumbled in response.
A sort of weird truce seemed to settle between them for a couple of seconds before his mom moved in for a hug, which Dean responded to in an instant with a quick, but still there, blink-and-miss-it type squeeze. Suddenly I missed my own mom. Even though she had never been an out and out crook. Or the type to wear fishnets and black leather corsets in the kitchens of other people's homes. Which was a fact I was growing increasingly grateful for.
"Little Miss Perfect? I'll see you around," she threw my way. Although without the bite she'd served up for me earlier. And wait a second. Was that a faint smile?
I smiled back,
"Take care, Monster In Law. Send us postcards."
"Do I look like a god damn travel brochure?" she huffed, morphing straight back into her bitchy persona as she looked at Dean, "Well? Are you gonna make a start with the bags, or are you just going to stand around being useless?"
Yep, there she was.
"Oh, and by the way," she sniffed, grabbing some real, non-sex clothes from her suitcase and then stopping in the doorway as she headed off to change.
Looking up from the pile of sleeping feathers, I raised my eyebrows expectantly, wondering if I was due my very own goodbye hug, or a compliment, or a—
"Your best friend would make a horrible P.I. She's been out flapping around in those bushes all weekend. You could hear her a mile off."
Or maybe not.
Damn.
Next time, we're back to the wrestling world. So strap in prepare yourselves for that!