AN: Well, this turned into a chapter full of angst, angst, and more angst. No action or violence (sorry sfaulkenberry, in case you're reading! Ha!) It wasn't intended that way, but I started with a flashback and Dean just had so many feels.
Lena: Are you saying I'm good at thinking up torture? I wonder what that says about me…hehe. Dean might have learned some things from Alistair, but the mutant crocs are all Dean! I'm just so darn pleased that you like the details like the Slurpee and Sam stepping back. And I'm SO glad you like the title. I suck so bad at titles, but actually liked this one, because the actions the Winchesters take are never just straight lines – they always rebound and ricochet and have affects they never saw coming. I'm laughing about the emotional support squirrel. I suppose that would be a lot more practical than a moose.
Stormy: I hope you don't mind me shortening your screen name to Stormy. Thank you very much for your comments. I see a lot of parallels for Dean between Sam and Ben, because he had a hand in raising both. I'm glad you like the flashbacks, because that's one of my favorite techniques and there are a lot more to come. What you said about Dean being doomed to lose those he loves is so sad and so true. Je t'apprécie.
Dean flipped the spatula with a deft twist of his wrist, catching it by the handle again. "Watch this one," he told Ben, who was already perched on the stool where he ate his breakfast. He flipped it harder, so it rotated twice in the air before he caught it. "Good, eh?" Ben laughed.
"If you get eggs on the ceiling again, you're cleaning it!" called Lisa from the other room.
"Yes, dear," Dean called out exaggeratedly docile. He flipped the spatula once more, so it spun three or four times and almost touched the ceiling. He winked at Ben and went back to stirring the eggs. He'd added parmesan and sour cream this morning. Ben might want eggs every single day, but that didn't mean they had to be boring.
Ben laughed again as Dean began to sing Ramblin' Man using the spatula as a microphone.
Lord, I was born a ramblin' man
Tryin' to make a livin' and doin' the best I can
And when it's time for leavin'
I hope you understand…
Dean jerked out of his memories to see Sam was showing signs of stirring. You spend a lifetime sharing motel rooms with a guy, you know all his tells. Sam's nose scrunched up and his brow furrowed like he was considering the merits of just staying asleep. When he'd done that as a bald little baby, Dean always thought it made him look like a little old man. Now, conversely, it made him look like a little kid again. Sam sighed softly and turned onto his side, and Dean quickly woke up the laptop and looked away so Sam wouldn't catch him. Watching someone while they slept was admittedly creepy.
Sam smacked his lips, which meant 3..2..1. "You sleep at all, Dean?" Sam sounded like Batman.
"I'm getting coffee and breakfast." Dean answered without answering. He checked his watch. Almost six. Too early for the cop shop or Lisa. Dean stopped in the doorway, gripping the doorjamb so hard his knuckles turned white. "Take you time getting ready," he said, when he was sure he had his voice under control. "I'm gonna drive around and see if I can't find a few parts for Baby." Damn. If Sam sounded like Michael Keaton as the bat, Dean sounded like Darth Vader.
"If you want company, pick me up in maybe 20 minutes," Sam responded after a pause, and Dean relaxed marginally. He was not ready for a 'talk.' "And be careful, Dean. This demon might be looking for you."
Just like that, Dean's muscles locked again. A demon might be using Ben as a tool, as bait or leverage to get to Dean. Again. "Yeah, I will," was all he said.
Dean drove, listening for any sign that his Baby was more damaged than he'd realized, but other than the cracked radiator (which Sam had faithfully kept filling with water on their drive), the engine sounded perfect. But the wind noise and the messed up alignment were driving him crazy. And those were things he could get started on.
The lights were on in the office of a salvage yard just south of town, so Dean pulled up. A kid who couldn't have been more than 20 ran out before Dean was even out of the car. "Oh man, sweet ride!" he called to Dean, eyeballing the Impala. "What year?"
"67," said Dean, relaxing a little at the pleasant distraction of talking about the apple of his eye. "But she's had it rough lately. That's why I'm here."
"I can see that." The kid reached out like he was going to touch the hood, but stopped short, looking at Dean like he was asking permission to pet a dog. Dean recognized a fellow connoisseur and nodded slightly. "What happened?"
"Last job I was on." Dean shook his head sadly. "Crashed right into one of those water-filled barriers they use for construction. And you know what? I set the choke and she started right up again. Good thing, too. She's saved my ass a few times." Dammit, he was getting sentimental.
"Whoa." The kid sighed. "My dad and I are restoring '69 goat, but it's taking forever with the classes I'm taking. My parents are dead set on me getting a college degree."
Dean whistled. "That's a hell of a car. That why you're here so early?"
"Nah." The kid gave Baby one last, regretful pat. "Just doing inventory. Trying to make sure I'm useful enough that when I finish my business degree, they have to let me work here." He grinned, and Dean's heart did a back flip. With his slender build and dark hair, the kid could be Ben in a few years. Or Sam more than a few years ago. And hadn't Dean dreamed of owning a garage with his own dad with Sam working the books? What would it be like to do that with Sam…and Ben? He swallowed down the snake that was roiling in his belly; that traitorous thing that reminded him that his dreams of an apple pie life were what had put Ben in danger in the first place. "I'm Josh, by the way. What are you looking for?"
Dean shook himself. It was the second time the kid had asked. Dean made himself smile and stick his hand out. "Dean. A radiator is the biggest thing."
"I'm pretty sure we've got one," Josh said immediately, and grinned again at Dean's raised eyebrows. "I do 90% of the inventory," he admitted. "I've got a pretty good handle on what's here." Now Dean was reminded of Bobby, who somehow kept up on every stinking vehicle on his property. Josh ducked into the trailer that served as an office, waving his hand to indicate that Dean should follow. "You restore cars for a living?"
"Why don't you do this for a living?" Ben wanted to know. Carole Flannigan's Lincoln Towncar had died a few feet from her driveway, two doors down. At least 80 years old but never one to let age stop her from doing anything, she'd tried to push the massive car home on her own. Dean had put a stop to that, and taking a peek under the hood, determined that she needed a new serpentine belt. She was feisty and funny, so Dean offered to fix it for her and save her some money. Besides, he needed a Saturday project. He didn't do well with down time.
So now, Dean was leaning over the engine of the old, beige monstrosity, Ben perched on top of a cooler so he could watch, while Lisa and Carole sat on the porch drinking lemonade and gossiping. Dean was 99% sure Carole's lemonade had some grown up juice in it. He was also 90% sure she'd commented on his ass at least once.
Dean ignored them and considered Ben's question. "Construction makes more money." That statement was true, but it wasn't the actual reason. Truth was, Dean loved cars. He loved working on cars. He'd always thought that if he didn't know what went bump in the night, he'd have been a mechanic, or work in a body shop, or maybe even sell car parts. That thought had grown stronger when he'd learned that Dad had been half owner of a garage before everything had changed.
Generally speaking, Dean didn't indulge in daydreaming. He was either asleep or he was busy, end of story. But sometimes he found himself injured and stuck in bed bored and unable to sleep all the time. Especially when meds took the edge off but couldn't quite carry him to oblivion, the daydreams would creep in. He'd see Winchester and Sons Garage and Dad would walk up to him, more relaxed then Dean could ever remember seeing him, wearing coveralls and wiping grease off his hands. He'd be laughing at something, and Sam would come out of the office wearing a prissy oxford shirt and bring them both beers while complaining about taxes or something.
And Dean just couldn't have that dream without Sam. But how could he tell Ben that? How could he possibly say "living with you and your mom is like a dream, but there's a big hole in the middle?" He couldn't. So instead, he pointed at the engine he was working on. "Look at this, Ben. The 4.6 liter is a popular engine, but it has one big flaw…"
Ben listened and asked a few questions and got in the way and talked about school. He reminded Dean of Sam at that age, trailing his big brother and wanting to see and do everything Dean did. But he was different, too, liking Dean's music, disliking school. He couldn't fill the Sam-sized hole – nothing could – but his presence soothed the edges just a little, and filled a different part of Dean's heart that he'd never known was empty.
Dean couldn't keep Sam out of the life, out of hunting, but he could keep Ben out. He could keep Ben safe…he hoped.
But he hadn't kept Ben safe. The cost of one year of Dean Winchester bucking reality and forcing himself into the American dream was Ben and Lisa's safety. It sure as hell wasn't going to cost Ben his life.
"Hey, I knew it!" called a young voice. Not Ben. Not even Sam. Josh. He quoted a decent price and Dean paid it without a second thought, stuck in his misery and worry and guilt. He must have somehow kept it off his face, because Josh's only comment was, "Man, I wish I had time to help you get that in. I've never gotten to work on a classic Impala."
Dean found himself dredging up a smile at the kid's enthusiasm. "I don't have time, either, kid, but thanks."
"Hey, if you get a chance to stop by after she's all fixed up, my dad would love to see her," Josh added hopefully.
"I'm just in town for work. Sorry, man," said Dean a little regretfully. He was gratified when anybody gave Baby the proper appreciation. For right now, though, he needed a dose of Sam. It was a ridiculous sappy realization, but no less true for that. He drove out of there faster than he should have, going to the little bakery Josh had recommended and grabbing pastries and the biggest coffees they offered (36 oz? Sounds like a winner!). And if he sped back to the motel, it was probably because the donuts smelled so good.
Sam had his fed suit on already and looked up, seemingly a little jumpy, when Dean walked in juggling the coffees and bag of goodies. "Sheriff's always in by 8," Sam reported, rescuing one of the cups from Dean. It was about 7:20, so the timing was perfect. "I figured we could go see Lisa after that."
Dean nodded and sat down, sliding his chair around the side of the table so they were sitting at ninety degrees instead of across from each other, Dean's left knee bumping Sam's right. He wasn't being sappy or needy or any of those adjectives that normally only applied to teenage girls or maybe his emo little brother. He just didn't want to face the window. Because that made sense. But Sam didn't say anything to make Dean use any of the arguments he was marshalling. Instead, he chose the long john – Dean's least favorite option – and leaned on the table so that his sleeve was brushing Dean's.
It was probably the fact that he'd found a cherry radiator that was making Dean's eyes water. Or maybe the dry air in the room.
Stupid, sappy little brother.
AN part two: Dean is singing Ramblin' Man by the Allman Brothers. I pulled the words from lyric dot com. Also, when Josh refers to his car as a "goat," he means it's a Pontiac GTO. The 1969 is one of the greatest muscle cars of all time, in my opinion. One of, I said. I did NOT dis Baby. LOL