Keep walking, keep walking.. Almost there...
"Hey Smith! Where's your shitty Chevy today?"
Son of a bitch…
Freakin Enrique.. Crowley's parts supplier. Greedy weasel. Grade A smarmy douchebag.
Everything about him screamed 'don't trust me'. Even his name was misleading. For one, Enrique was a Spanish name but the greaseball standing before him was as Scottish as the Lucky Charms leprechaun. His skin was a shade of pale that rivaled Casper, with the hair of a fiery ginger that ran halfway down his back and a Scottish accent so thick it put Crowleys to shame.
Dean cast his eyes toward the Heavens. Every time, every freakin Tuesday… If Crowley wasn't such a cheap ass and would fork over the dollars for a delivery fee Dean could avoid this particular level of Hell. He'd never been able to sneak off to eat his lunch in peace just once over the last few years. God knows he'd throw himself head first into traffic if he had to wait here while the parts and supplies were loaded. But once, come on, one time, couldn't the guy ever skip a day of work like a normal human. He wasn't asking for much, but every damn time he came here that douchebag Enrique had to press his buttons about his Baby.
"Now, you know the drill Rick!" Dean called out as he began his trek toward food and freedom. And peace. "Baby's too beautiful to be caught haulin around your greasy crap parts. Now that Talladega of yours, that piece of crap is made for haulin shit around."
"Screw you Smith!"
"What? Just speaking the truth Rick. It hauls your dumbass around doesn't it!" Dean shouted at him.
"You mother-"
"How bout you bring it down to Crowley's and we can scrap it for you! Put you in a real man's car. How'd you like a nice Yugo? Oh, I know! How bout a Pacer, that seems like your speed!" Dean gave him the fakest grin he could manage.
"Piss off Dean!"
"I would if you'd shut up and get that shit loaded. I don't wanna be here all damn day!"
Dean picked up the pace and quickly left the supply yard. Truthfully, he wasn't in any hurry to get back. He had his 5 to 11 shift at Ridley's this evening and they had him scheduled as a cashier, his least favorite position there. The manager, an evil demon of a man named Alastair, always made sure he was the last to leave on his check out days. He must have assumed that, since Dean lived alone and was single, that he also didn't have a life. Dean always had to stay late, helping sweep and mop the floors after closing, take out all the store's garbage and accompany Alastair to the bank for the night deposit.
He hated it, he never made it home until well after midnight. By the time he showered and grabbed a quick bite he only managed to squeeze in around three hours of rest before his usual 4:30 wake up call.
Lately there were more and more of those cashier shifts. More and more late nights with less sleep and more cups of coffee for breakfast instead of actual food. More dark circles, more pounds lost..
Meg had noticed it during his last few sessions, unfortunately, and wasn't happy with his recent turn of events. She saw it as a sign that his PDD could be advancing. She even suggested that he give up one of his many jobs, citing that (while she applauded his work ethic) he needed some time for himself. Self care was essential to his mental and physical health. Good self-care was key to improving his mood and alleviating his depression.
When he explained his reasons to her for working so much Meg realized she'd hit an emotional jackpot. It took three more sessions after her discovery before Dean began to see things in a different light. Dean was now seriously considering giving up either the market or his motel clerk job. He just couldn't decide which he hated more. Meg had given him the task of making a pros/cons list but so far it was still blank, he hadn't had time to worry over it.
At the moment though, he only had one thing he was worrying about. He was freaking hungry. It was just shy of 11am and his empty stomach was making itself known. One of the things he enjoyed about his weekly trek was hitting up his favorite restaurant. Well, technically it was an alehouse, mostly they sold beer but since he was driving he couldn't partake in that favorite pastime.
He stumbled on it mainly by accident, Enrique was being particularly bitchy one long ago Tuesday and Dean found himself with several hours of downtime waiting for him to load. To feign off boredom he wandered the streets of downtown Boise. He found an awesome record shop, The Record Exchange, that sold actual vinyl. He threw all caution into the wind and left there a few hundred dollars poorer and wandered a ways until he found GuruDonut, where he'd stuffed his face with (get this! She's My Cherry Pie) sweet sugary goodness until his body couldn't take the rush anymore.
After hours of meandering he found Boise wasn't all that bad for a city, even though he preferred the small town feel of Jackpot. He bought truffles at The Chocolat Bar, browsed the vintage prints at Ward Hooper and splurged on books (hey, he reads!) at Once and Future Books.
But his pot of gold was the Bittercreek Alehouse, and the best burgers he'd had since leaving South Dakota. Every Tuesday while he waited for the boys to load up the trailer and trunk he walked the few blocks, sat down at the bar and spent an hour chatting with old Stan (the ninety year old bartender) about everything from the weather to their mutual love of comics.
Today, unfortunately, Stan wasn't around and there was some barely old enough to drink hipster panicking behind the bar. Dean wasn't even going to try and have a convo with that kid, he'd already watched him spill three drinks and flipped some poor woman's plate onto her lap, so he was just going to sit and eat his huntsman burger in peace and try not to lose himself in many sad thoughts.
Wishful thinking on his part as he pulled out his phone and did the same thing he did every Tuesday.
He googled his family…
Dean knew that he shouldn't. That it would just bring back the loneliness, but this was his only way of making sure they were ok. His only way to make himself a part of their lives again. He had never been a tech savvy guy but for once he was grateful for his meager stalking skills.
And for Instagram...
At Lucifers prodding (because the guy wanted more than his eight followers)he made himself an Instagram profile, being careful not to let anything about him show that would tip Sam off and piss him off even more. He kept it simple, pictures of Banner and things he found interesting, a random street sign in Boise, an oddly shaped tree near his backyard, one of Mrs. S dressed up in her Friday night best sequined ball gown and gargantuan diamond earrings.. His username was Jack_Pot_D, simple, random.. Never anything that might give away that he was one of Sam's six thousand followers.
Who the hell even knew that many people.. Dean's page had 43 people, and those were all people he worked with. But Sam always was a popular guy, it made sense that he had so many followers.
By creeping on his page he knew Sam had made partner at the firm he was working at, there had been a picture of him and his boss, a skinny little guy named Gabe, at his promotion party. He knew that Sammy had been engaged about three years ago to a fashion model named Ruby, which had apparently fizzled out fast as a few months later he was engaged to a girl named Jess, a nurse Sam met running a 10k.
There were pictures of Bobby frozen in fear as he finally married Ellen two years ago, Sam and Jo serving as the Maid of Honor and Best Man. Numerous ones of Sam running marathons, him with his coworkers, with Jess and her family, with Gabe and his stoically faced brother with a weird name, Casty something..
There was even one of Sam, Bobby, Jess and Ellen with John… Taken a few weeks ago at the facility Dean paid out the ass for.. That one.. Well that one had hurt. After everything Sam had said about their father why would he even bother to visit him, why now? Sam had captioned the photo, "Family reunion day. I saw my Dad for the first time in five years. Things are going well. Planning another visit in October Wish the rest of you were here". He had tagged Gabe and the Cas guy along with a few others, while Dean just felt sick.
He had had a rare evening free and was a bit drunk and it was the only time Dean had ever commented on anything that wasn't Lucifer's, he wrote "Family has always been everything to me. I'm glad you have people who love you."
He had panicked and deleted it the next morning. Hopefully Sam hadn't read it.
Dean didn't go visit John often, maybe once a year, usually at random times. He never called him, never let him know anything about his life. In his eyes once was good enough since everything that had ever went to shit in Dean's life seemed to be because of John.
Dean had tried to be a good son, even after everything. After John's delusions had him breaking into a house in Nebraska because he was convinced the family inside were demons, after he tormented them for hours until one of the kids broke free and fled for help.. When the police showed up and arrested him and found his car stuffed with illegal weapons, when Sam refused to represent him in court, when the family's lawyer pushed for an attempted murder charge. Dean had still been there, trying his best to help his dad.
In the end they had a choice, life in prison or a prolonged stay in a psychiatric facility in which John's family would be forced to pay for, with the only possibility of release depending on six different state appointed doctors. Dean, still trying to keep what little family he had together had decided to put John in the psych facility. When he went to Sam and Bobby to ask for a little help in footing the bill, well, it didn't go well, which was why he was currently sitting in an alehouse in Idaho scrolling Sam's Instagram feed.
Wishing he could have been there for all those things..
But, it is what it is..
He paid for his meal and wandered his way back to the shipping yard. The boys had finished faster than usual today probably because it had started to rain, and sweet Enrique had taken a window marker and drawn a big fat dick on his back window.
He dug out some hand wipes to erase most of the hot pink penis but he'd need to get a wash soon because he could still see the residue. Screw it, he just wanted to get back, he was feeling a bit unsettled for some reason. He'd hit the carwash before he went to Ridley's tonight, if he was late and Alastair was pissed then he'd just freaking quit.
As he pulled out of the lot the skies decided to open their floodgates, bringing with it the brightest lightning Dean had ever seen. The wind started moaning around the Durango, with the driving rain visibility was so low he nearly missed the street that would take him to the on ramp to 84.
The storm seemed to follow him as he made his way back south, as he passed through Regina he saw uprooted trees, when he neared Mountain Home there were roofs blowing off homes.. He should probably find a safe place to pull off until the worst of it passed but most of the other cars on the road were still trucking along like it was a bright sunny afternoon.
It wasn't until he came up near the tiny town of Bliss that things really went to Hell. The rain was the heaviest so far, the fastest speed or the wipers couldn't keep up with the torrent of water. Dean squinted, he could barely make out the road, which is probably why he didn't see the semi he was cruising along beside at 55 decide to make a sudden lane change to get past the slow driver in front of him.
Before Dean knew what was happening the truck, which was hauling logs, clipped the side of his Durango, sending him into a spin. The front end hit the guardrail to his left with enough force to deploy the airbags, the windshield shattered, his head slammed forward, only to be jerked back again as the car, still moving with incredible speed bounced off and back onto the highway. The trailer he was pulling was ripped free from the hitch, spilling tires and busted cases of oil across both southbound lanes of 84.
The car continued it's spin, the back now slamming into the rail before bouncing him off, right into the path of Ford truck, that, because of the white wall of rain, never even saw what was coming. It collided with the passenger side, sending his head bouncing off the cracked glass beside him. Dean must have blacked out for a moment from the force, when he opened his eyes he had finally came to a stop, not far from the exit to Bliss, on tiny bridge. Unfortunately he had stopped in the middle of the double lanes and he needed to get out and fast, before something else came through the mists and hit him.
That would be easier said than done. He tried his door but the impact from the front had pinched the metal in a way that he couldn't open it. The passenger side had suffered the same fate, he was going to have to break out the glass and climb out. But he couldn't do that either, when he tried to pull himself out of his seat he screamed in pain. The impact with the rail had pushed the nose of the car inward and a piece of broken metal had pierced through his left leg. He was pinned… And bleeding heavily..
Before he could reach for his phone to call for help another truck, this time a large dump truck, came barreling out of the rain horn blaring. It swerved at the last second but still caught the right side of Dean's car, pushing him over toward the railing on the small bridge. As his luck would have it, the car hit the rail at the perfect angle, with the truck guiding him along the left side of the car bounced up, the wheels up over the top of the rail.
The truck was still attached to him, pushing him forward, the rest of his car soon followed and he found himself tilting forward toward the train tracks below.
"No.. No, no, no, no, no…" he pleaded.
With a final creak, the car nose went down he dropped about 20 feet to the ground below.. He could only scream in agony as his leg was impaled further, as the roof of the car crunched under the force of the fall and the already enclosed space became as tight as a tomb.
He was upside down, still buckled, there was blood dripping into his eyes from somewhere, probably his leg. There was a horrible pain in his back and he thought he could see a bone protruding from his right leg.
Everything was oddly silent, he couldn't hear the rain, or the wind. There was no sound of thunder, no flashes of lightning. He thought he heard the faint sound of sirens but he was too sleepy to care. He couldn't keep his eyes open.
"Sam… Sammy…" Dean mumbled, "I'm sorry Sammy.."
He thought he heard a grinding sound on the outside of the car but before he could realize help had arrived darkness overtook him...
