2. Driver's pick
The mass of yellow, red, and orange flew by the dew-laden window as the black classic roared down the Pennsylvania out road. Every stretch of nature along the highway exhibited Fall against the dark, dreary morning sky. The array of golden haystacks and plaid-baring scarecrows announced it as October and the more Dean took it all in, the more his mind screamed he had only two more weeks to brace himself for November's harsh coming.
He shook his head at the fiery memories and averted his attention back to his father, the older man's dark, tired eyes fixed on the road and tense hands gripping and twisting almost nervously as they held the wheel. It didn't help because a complete fool could take in his dad's appearance and know the man being scrutinized was a ticking bomb.
One look and the sinking, churning feeling that had ravaged his stomach from childhood returned with a vengeance. The images of his father hugging the porcelain bowl and spewing his emotion, pain, and weakness into it violently were still too clear in his mind for Dean's liking.
He had to work to not grimace at the memories. Jim, Jack, Jose, Johnny had quite an appearance when he was younger, and had stayed, their presence reeking throughout the cramped living quarters for the better part of four years.
Dean had to laugh, well, at the very least smirk at the fact that the mere second he manages to adjust to anything that darkens his doorstep, his entire life shifts gears again. At a young nine, Dean had figured the stale, thick air and hot breath were to be a staple of his existence and was learning how to hide the empty bottles, scrub the floor, and partially clean his father. But it changed.
Dad's friends made one hell of exit, refusing vehemently to be exiled. To say it was a painstakingly slow process would be the major understatement of the century and Dean had wished many a time since those dark days that his mind wasn't the steel trap it had always been.
Dean shifted uncomfortably in the passenger, a position he didn't like to begin with, and rested his head against the cool pane. Dad only got drunk four times a year now. Four days out a three hundred and sixty five—mom's birthday, their anniversary, mom's death, and Christmas, because apparently the idea of family coming home for the holidays and every other touchy-feely chic flick moment sickened his father as much as him or maybe it was just because Mom had always gone the extra mile come that holiday.
Those days were rough. Horribly rough. Dean hated to admit it, but he'd gotten used to being able to actually "see" his father's eyes rather than the alcohol induced glaze. He sincerely relished hearing his dad's deep voice instead of the dragging incoherent slur.
Dean deeply admired and dare he say loved his father, but these days were dangerous, anything could fly from his father's mouth, and Dean always had to mentally and emotionally prepare himself for these days starting weeks in advance constantly reminding himself that the man that would appear during the horrid 24 hours was not his real father.
Trying his best to look nonchalant in the presence of his father, Dean tossed a glance over his shoulder to get a good long look at the backseat. The empty back seat. It hadn't been more than three months ago that the midnight bench had held his little brother's lanky form.
November's were easier with Sam. If nothing else his little brother had given him something to focus on other than the issues of a dead mother and drunk, ranting father. Dean had a routine, a ritual, that started the last week of October and ran until the end of the dreaded month.
Operation Complete Interest and Involvement in Every Single Aspect of Sam's Life usually went off without a hitch. Dean simply increased the amount of time he spent with Sam and asked far too many personal questions that neither he nor Sam really wanted to discuss. But it was a much needed aversion and as much as Dean tried to hide the real reason for his heightened awareness he knew Sam relented to his 'hovering' only because little brother wasn't as clueless as Dean wanted him to be.
Sam had that small bit of his mother that neither he nor his father possessed. That desire for normalcy, the will to linger and stay, draw from the moment not rush past it. And that's exactly how big brother justified the younger's abandonment. Sam was like Mom, and Mom would want this for Sammy. Even though it hurt, allowing Sam to have a life outside of hunting seemed almost right.
Dean snapped his attention back to the outstretched road ahead, he was thinking too much. He didn't want to dwell and drudge through memories--he'd done enough of that in the last couple of months to warrant five years worth of chic flick production and the complete silence that hung in the car didn't help one bit.
He wanted an escape, wanted to forget momentarily. His release was music, always had been. Nothing cut to the core more than an excellent riff accompanied by powerful eloquent lyrics that resonated with everything he kept bottled up inside him.
"Can we turn on the radio or something?" Dean murmered, twisting in the seat to face his father's profile.
"Huh?" John startled, jerking out of his driving stupor, "Yeah, uh…I saw a billboard for 102.2, see if you can get that one."
"No way." Dean refuted, shaking his head. "I saw that sign too and there is no way in hell I'm listening to that crap."
"It's country, Dean. Not crap." John argued, crackling static filling the air as he scanned the FM stations, the buzz replaced by the twanging melody moments later as he located the desired station.
"Yeah, because everyone loves listening to some man whining about how all his ex-s live in Texas." Dean shot back, reaching under the seat and pulling out his worn shoebox filled with precious plastic.
"Hey, George Strait was simply providing insight into something that is a serious problem for many people. The poor man can't even return home cause of all those women." John defended, reaching to turn the volume up a little higher.
"Well, he shouldn't have married them then" Dean retorted, smirking as he shifted through his collection, "The way I see it, we should all just "live in sin" as Pastor Jim puts it. I mean, that way at least there's no alimony involved."
"Where did I go wrong?" John murmured, feigning exasperation although not having to work too hard at it.
"I think it's when you started listening to this stuff." Dean offered, selecting Metallica's Black Album and removing it from its protective case.
"You think it'll be hard to hunt with only one hand?" John posed, eyeing his son's outstretched hand as it approached the tape deck.
"Probably, but I hear chics dig injured men. It's that whole Florence Nightingale thing. And no offense Dad, but I'd take a hot nurse over you any day."
With lightening speed, Dean made a brave attempt to flip off the radio and insert the tape, but while youth provided a slight advantage, experience and years of training thwarted the attempt. The clatter of plastic was heard as the revered item banged its way to the floor, accompanied by a pained yelp from Dean due to the death grip currently smashing his hand.
"Now, are we going to leave the radio alone?" John questioned, speaking as if instructing a small child.
"Maybe." Dean smirked, the response however was short lived due to the screaming the bones in his hand were doing, "Alright! God, let go!"
"I told you not to do it." John reprimanded lightly, a smile plastered on his face, "Who knows this stuff may grow on you."
"I doubt it." Dean sulked, "How many more hours we got?"
"About 4. Probably make it in three and a half though. Oh, this is a good one." Dean sunk down into the seat, bringing his knees in towards his chest and covering his ears to silence his father's purposefully off-key rendition of "Friends in Low Places".
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Thud
Thud
Thud
"Dean, stop that!" John ordered, frowning as he watched his twenty-two year old's reaction to not getting his way.
"Can't. thud Take. thud. Any. thud More!" Dean slurred, continuing his repetitious movement of lightly hitting his head against the passenger window, but hard enough to make a sound because apparently his father had a knack for completely ignoring his constant protests and suggestions on changing the radio station. But what father could resist protesting damage to his son's brain? Screwy logic, but it worked, well, sort of, at least his dad was paying attention.
"Son, I'm the one driving this damn car hundreds of miles, and furthermore, it's my car." John lectured, turning his head to catch his son's eye, although turning the volume down.
"I could drive." Dean offered smugly.
"Hell no." John exclaimed, "I value this car way too much."
"I'm not that bad." Dean protested, his tone radiating offense.
"Well, you're not that good either." John countered, "It's just the rules of the road son. My car, my music."
"So what? I'm supposed to suffer?"
"No, you're supposed to…how does Sammy put it? Shut your cakehole?" John let out a small victory laugh and Dean frowned. It wasn't that the joke wasn't funny it just would've been better if the phrase was coming out of Sam's mouth, not his dad's. Dean had a good comeback but didn't get to use it, as soon as he opened his mouth, Dad shifted from light banter to full on combat mode.
"Son, get the journal and tell me the location again. We'll be there in just a bit. And check the silver bullets because from most of the research I've done, this werewolf is one son of a bitch. And we don't want any screw ups tonight"
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Waiting. There was nothing in the entire world Dean hated more. Well, at the moment anyways. Especially when such a state required crouching in the midst of prickly bushes that housed hundreds of insects and whatever other god-forsaken overgrown foliage that provided a hedge around the small opening known to be the wolf's primary feeding ground.
The pale moon waxed and waned against the midnight darkened sky. From the shimmering light Dean could vaguely make out the dark brown patches that marred the circle of lush green. Blood. Whether human or animal was unknown, but considering the town's number of missing person's during this particular lunar cycle, it wasn't hard to guess.
Slowly, Dean shifted his weight and lowered himself to his knees, giving his cramping legs a much needed break. Almost unconsciously, he began softly humming as he checked over his gun and counted the number of silver bullets his dad had distributed.
"Do you want to get yourself killed?" A harsh voiced whispered, snapping Dean completely out of his trance.
"Uh…no?" Dean shrugged, meeting his father's hard stare before routinely checking his gun again, picking up the tune where he had left off.
"Son." John reprimanded, "Stop."
"It's a werewolf, Dad. I doubt my humming is gonna bring it to us, but I'm pretty sure your yelling will." Dean shot back, smirk in place.
"I'm not yelling." John refuted forcefully.
"Whatever."
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The light glow from his watch held the passing of another hour, and John rubbed his free hand furiously over his face, biting down on his tongue to prevent him from lashing out. Dean had hummed the same bars over and over again, never once switching tunes and was still at it. It was a song John didn't know, but if he ever found the man that penned it, he was going to personally beat the crap out of him.
"Dean. I'm not gonna tell you again son." John muttered, hawk eyes scanning the hunting ground for any sign of movement.
"So I have to put up with your idea of music for almost 5 hours and you can't take one of Metallica?" Dean uttered disbelievingly.
"Metallica? That's that screaming drowned out by guitar you listen to, right?"
"It's good stuff, Dad."
"Maybe if you could understand it." John shot back quickly.
"I can understand it." Dean argued, "Plus it helps me focus and keeps me calm."
"What?"
"I'm serious. This song is like the banner anthem of all things werewolf, I swear. Totally gets me ready to kick some werewolf ass." Dean stated proudly, watching his dad's face morph from comic to confused and back again.
"And what song would this be?" John chuckled, the idea of a werewolf theme song would only make sense in Dean's brain.
"Of Wolf and Man." Dean replied knowingly.
"That's what you're humming?" John asked, to which Dean simply nodded.
It would be another half hour before the flicker of yellow eyes and stench of wet fur wafted through the air. Ten more for the beast to make its move and lunge for Dean only to receive a clip of silver in its body for even thinking it a possibility to attack the son of John Winchester.
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Dean flung the last shovel load of dirt over the make shift grave for the man inside the wolf. Hurriedly, he gathered the rest of the gear and hustled over to where his father was collecting the rifles and placing them in the trunk.
"Everything set?"
"Yes sir."
"Alright then let's go." John grabbed the shovel and flung it over the top of the gear before slamming the trunk closed and sliding into the driver's seat. "So this Metallica stuff, really calms you down, huh?"
"Yes sir." Dean nodded, "Don't know why, but it works. Somehow it helps."
"Well, it can't be all that bad then can it?" John considered, not failing to note the way his son's eyes lit up at the question. The more he thought about it the more John realized that Dean had hummed during most of the more intense hunts and almost every day since Sam had left. John could've slapped himself for not grasping his eldest's form of therapy. "So what was this one then?"
"Of Wolf and Man." Dean answered excitedly.
"Hmm…Might have to check it out seeing as every werewolf uses it as their theme song." John joked, more than happy to see a huge grin sweep over his oldest's face at the proposition. This was one area where he could take part in what Dean enjoyed, something that his cause and mission rarely allowed for.
That was all it took. Within two minutes, Dean had dug the tape out from beneath the leather seat and the pounding bass line and monster guitar riffs poured out from the '67's speakers with Dean singing along and John desperately trying to understand the words.
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Okay so there ya have it...nothing but craziness...i promise the next one will be more on the drama side of things. Lemme know what you think and also if there is something you'd like to see addressed seeing as you guys are the ones reading and I write for you...thanx for reading and reviewing!