6. Hot Wheels
"Don't." Dean's hand slowly retreated from his lingering position around the tape deck, his eyes never leaving the flexing jaw line beneath his father's stubble-laden skin.
With an exaggerated sigh, the sandy haired son rolled his eyes. "Dad, don't you think--"
"You are in no position to tell me what I should think," John interrupted sternly through gritted teeth.
Deafening silence found its way throughout the Impala's interior and Dean nervously played with the newly acquired protective symbol draped around his neck. His father's deep, angry breathing punctuated the eerie stillness and echoed in his ears as the minutes dragged on. However, it was far better than the creaking and clunking of their currently mangled ride in Dean's ears seeing as that's why his dad was so pissed as of late.
Tension, the sandy-haired son decided, seemed to be a good word to sum up the moment, and he did his best to just keep silent. He'd only seen his dad this upset a few times and knew a hell of a lot better than to talk at all when it came to stuff like this.
"Dammit!" The curse flew furiously from the mouth of John Winchester as the car's busted undercarriage scraped against the pot-holed asphalt. "Did we lose something?"
The younger man chose wisely to just shake his head no, but made an extreme effort to crane his neck and check just in case. "Here's a better question, son. What were you thinking?"
Dean hesitated for a brief moment, weighing his options. "I was thinking my dad was trapped by some pissed off ghost without backup."
He hadn't really meant to snap out the reply, okay well maybe he did, but at the moment he could care less that his father bit down on his tongue and seethed. At least he wouldn't get a black eye. Although, he really couldn't blame his dad if the old man wanted to.
It was his fault after all. Granted, his dad had been the one to get trapped in the deteriorated excuse for a hunting cabin with no way of escape. The doors on the cabin had proved to be sealed to superglue tightness, and even the bullets couldn't break the jamb.
In his mind, Dean could only have foreseen one way to save his dad, and that had been in the shape of a classic '67 Impala. Never mind the fact that John Winchester treated that car like his own child, or the way his eyes gleamed every time the sun shone off it's sleek black in just the right way.
Nope, Dean had ignored every loving feeling ever bestowed upon the treasured car and had issued a simple 'sorry, girl' before gunning the car straight into the side wall of the rotting building and crashing through it Duke style. It would've been okay if people in the old days didn't believe in iron being the only way to make a stove seeing as he roared right through the open room and collided with that next. All that work, only to find out his dad had already off-ed the ghost and was on his way out the door before Dean's elaborate entrance.
Dean couldn't even imagine a suckier situation. His dad went Marine in all of two seconds, screaming like a banshee about expenses and lack of money and how the hell Dean could be his son after doing something so stupid. It didn't help that Dean had been more than apt to inform his father that the guy they were helping was a mechanic so it's not like they couldn't get it fixed, and he soon wondered if that charm his dad had got for him worked against humans too.
Okay, so it wasn't his most brilliant moment, but one would think that his father would have been remotely grateful for the gesture. After all, he was only trying to save the man's life.
Instead, however, Dean ended up getting the car out of the cabin all by his lonesome, which proved tricky seeing as there was wood everywhere not to mention a load of other crap. His dad had merely watched on, glaring eyes burning into Dean's skull waiting for him to finish so he could order Dean to the passenger seat for all eternity and snatch the keys away.
And, thus, here he was, riding along side a less than furious more than angry John Winchester and hoping to everything good in the world, he would get to see what car keys looked like some other time in his life.
"You better hope this works." Dean startled out of memory at his father's gruff voice and snapped his attention to the window, taking in their surroundings. He recognized Smitty's Car Shop before the big red and black sign flooded his vision, and shifted in his seat when his dad maneuvered the battered car into the parking lot.
John exited the car, loudly slamming the dented door behind him, but turned around as if sensing Dean's attempt to escape the Impala as well. "Stay in the car!"
Dean jerked at the heat of the statement, but was already halfway out of the car by the time the order was received and chose rather to lean against the open door—the dented door. "He's just gonna dock it anyways."
"I said get in the car," John repeated forcefully, and to add some emphasis to the statement he took a slight step towards Dean.
"Okay, okay!" The intimidation factor worked as Dean quickly retreated back into the car, shutting the door and locking it quickly—just in case.
His dad wasn't in there long, really mere minutes. From his position, Dean could see the graying old mechanic thanking his father through the shops wall of windows and then gesturing towards the back of the shop. The smile plastered onto John's face when he had offered his response and shook the man's hand faded instantly into a scowl when he exited the building and headed back to his son.
Cracking the driver's door open, John leaned over the seat and snatched up his duffle. "Get your stuff."
Dean scrunched in brow in confusion. "Where we going?"
"Now, Dean." The loud command ached in Dean's ears and he quickly shut his mouth and obeyed. "Oh and you hit a tree."
"That's the best you could come up with?" John bit his tongue, and waited for his snarky son to join him outside the battered vehicle before turning to hand the keys to the approaching mechanic.
The greased man whistled under his breath as he surveyed the damage, giving Dean a sympathetic yet amused glance. "Wow, you really did a number on this one, didn't you boy? No wonder you're daddy's hot for wear. Damn, what is this…'67?"
"Yeah," Dean breathed, his eyes looking anywhere but his dad's, "It was a friggen' massive tree though."
"I'm sure it was," the man placated, then jerked his head towards the shop once more, his attention on John, "The truck's out back."
"Truck?" Dean questioned in bewilderment.
"Yes, truck." John replied, and Dean's was glad to hear that the irriation in his voice seemed to have lessened. "Sean, here, has offered to let us use one of his own."
"Damn fools never came back to get it," Sean shook his head and slid into the driver's seat—John's seat, "Their loss. It's a nice one. Like I said, John, yours' if you want."
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Nice would not have been the word Dean would've used to describe the mammoth black machine parked out behind the shop. With the massive tires and raised body, the damn thing looked like it came straight out of Monster Truck Weekly, the Wanna Be edition.
"You got a ladder I can use to get in that thing?" Dean joked, lightly hitting his father's shoulder.
John smirked. "Might be hard to use one with those casts on your legs."
"Like to see you try old man," Dean challenged, although broke into a half-run the second John looked as if to take him up on it, throwing his bag into the trunk's bed and clamoring into the cab.
"You're lucky I'm such a patient father." John retorted as he climbed into the driver's seat, although Dean's scoff at his 'umph' of effort as he hoisted himself in nearly put that theory to the test.
"You know what I think?" Dean asked rhetorically. "I think that this has nothing to do with patience, but that you have a new truck and that guy's probably fixing the car for free."
"That he is," John replied with a grin that told a story all by itself, "However, I don't have a new truck."
As standard practice, the instant John gunned the engine Dean's hand flew to the tape deck. "What? Why not?"
John worked to focus his attention on the road and not his reporter son. "We don't need another car, Dean"
Dean stilled all movement, his mouth agape with disbelief. "Like hell we don't."
"In our line of work, its good to be inconspicuous." John reasoned, slapping Dean's hand away from the radio scan and choosing his own station. He deserved to pick, at least for today.
"And the Impala is the embodiment of low key?" Dean questioned loudly, "Dad, people lock their doors when we pull up at a friggen' red light."
"That's cause they see you." John retaliated, although his face shifting to one of slight astonishment. "Did you just use the word 'embodiment'?"
"Sam left his dictionary thing, okay? I was bored." All the Marine training in the world couldn't help smother the bellowing laugh pouring from the Father's mouth at that line of defense. "Stop laughing, it isn't that funny!"
"We're not getting another car." John repeated with whatever seriousness he could muster. "And this truck is huge. Probably burns gas like crazy."
"Not like we're paying for it." Dean stated, turning to face his dad, "Dad, c'mon, most dads get their kids a car at sixteen. I'm 22."
"Yeah, a twenty-two yr old who just wrecked his father's car." John pointed out, jerking the wheel for a sharp right towards the motel.
"To save his life!" Dean gushed, his hand splayed on his chest. "Because there was just no way I could let my father die!"
John shook his head, "Okay, you've made your point, Bogart."
"Who?"
"Never mind," John grumbled and selected a parking spot.
Dean was not to be pushed aside. This was his golden opportunity and he was so not letting it die. "What if I said please?"
"Are you kidding me?" John questioned as he exited the car, wasting no time getting to their room door, Dean fast on his steps.
"No," Dean practically yelled, hustling past his father and halting the older man's steps. With the best puppy eyes he could muster, Dean tried again. "Dad, please."
"I'll think about it." John offered although the fact that he brushed past Dean seconds later and his tone held the "no way in hell" quality left little mystery into the impending decision.
"C'mon, dad, I did the eyes just there. That always works for Sam." Dean complained weakly, he was at his father's mercy here, and Dad was loving every minute of it.
"He's better at it than you." John shot back and took a deep pensive breath before locking eyes with his son. "You really want a car?"
"Yes!" Dean exclaimed, hope glistening where disappointment had claimed only instants before.
"What are you going to do with it? I mean, we're going to the same places, Dean." John reasoned. The fatherly part of him wanted to grant Dean his wish, he wanted to make his son happy, but the hunter in him screamed 'bad idea'. He'd been there for Dean's first time out on his own and it hadn't been good, with a car the possibilities were endless. And not all hunting related either.
"Follow you, cruise around, explore the backseat," Dean quipped, smirk in place.
"Hate to break it to you, but it's already been explored." John winked, his masculine pride shining as he bragged.
Dean frowned in disgust. "That is sick, dad. Just sick."
"But true." John laughed shortly then jumped into business mode. If Dean could get what he wanted, then daddy sure as hell was getting a tiny ounce of relief out of it. "Okay, here's the deal. I'll give you the Impala. BUT—you are to keep that thing on your neck at all times, mister. No more "accidentally" leaving it at the hotel, or in the trash can. If you're going to be out there all alone, then you're sure as hell are gonna be protected. And that goes for all activities, by the way."
"Deal!" Dean agreed, practically jumping with excitement and headed back to the door.
"Where are you going?" John worked to break through his son's excitement and get some answers because damn if he would probably only see his son to eat and sleep now.
"To make sure Sean doesn't screw up my car." Dean called back over his shoulder and John sunk down on the bed in amusement.
The hotel door slammed to a shut, and John laid down, staring at the ceiling with an openness only reserved for such times. "That car held some good times, huh, Mary? Gonna get a few more, I think. Oh hell, who am I kidding, it's Dean—gonna get a lot more."
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Okay all just light fun, but you know figured its a way to cover it, and get something up cause seriously, it's been a while! sorry bout that too, btw. Lemme know what you think...