Chapter Four – Action vs. Chick Flicks
Dean maneuvered the Impala into the motel parking lot and pulled into the empty spot directly in front of their room. He sat there with his hands clenched on the steering wheel, staring through the rain soaked windshield, contemplating one last plea, one final bid for help. The drizzle of the rain reflected his mood. Damn, I never ask for anything… ever.
"Dad… "
John shifted in his seat, waiting for the words he knew Dean had been struggling with since they left the theater. Damn, what's up with him? Since when does Dean wimp out on a job?
John kept his voice low and steady, "Dean, what is it?"
Dean shot a quick glance at his dad before his eyes returned straight and center, boring a hole through the glass of the windshield and attempting to tunnel all the way into their room. His fingers still clenched tight, his voice tight enough to match as he barely got the words out.
"Dad, this job. Can't we just…?"
"What?"
"Can't we just, you know…?"
John had no patience for this, no stomach for weakness, and goddammit, he knew his son was balking at the job. A simple, straight-forward haunting. A mischief maker that was barely a one on the scale of deadly creatures. A freaking, piece-of-cake, ten-year-old-child-could-handle-it, shit-ass gig. What the hell is wrong with this picture? John could feel his fury building, almost to the point of erupting. Almost.
"Dean, NO. It's our job and we are not going to just walk away. You understand me?"
A submissive, barely audible response quietly escaped his son's lips, "Yes, sir."
John roughly swung open the door. "Dean, let's get some rest. First showing is at ten tomorrow. You better get your head on straight and be ready to do the job."
This time Dean's response was a crisp snap, almost a military response, albeit slightly more subdued, "Yes, sir."
John grabbed his shoulder pack of supplies, stepped out into the rain, and stalked to the door of their room.
Dean cracked open his door and swung his legs out, his head hung down, his shoulders hunched over with the rain washing over him. Damn, I don't know what's wrong with me. I am a freaking wuss. Dad's gotta be ashamed of me.
Just before John opened the motel door he paused and turned back to his son, observing the man before him… the teenager before him. He's young, he'll do it. He won't fail you. He never has before and he won't now.
"Dude, it's just nerves. You'll be fine." John offered up a hesitant smile, a tight-lipped acceptance, the best he could come up with for now. "I'm not worried."
Dean shuddered as if he were standing on the deck of that ship facing an ominous, blue wall of ice, the chill settling in his bones, emanating out from his core to envelope him in a cold, deep-seated terror. He stared into the face of the most frightening sight he had ever come across and meekly returned the smile. Still unsure of himself, he was determined to trudge on. There'd be hell to pay before he'd ever disappoint his dad; that much he knew.
Sam was lying on the bed watching TV, but he shifted his position towards the motel door to observe his family as they entered the room, a thousand questions on his mind as he studied them to gauge how the job went. One searching look into his brother's eyes and he knew the job wasn't yet over, no matter how much Dean wanted it to be.
Dean noticed Sam's intent gaze and his game face quickly fell into place, a cocky smile greeting his kid brother.
"Hey, Sammy, whatcha watching?"
Sam hesitated a moment before answering, wondering if he had misjudged Dean's state of mind, his brother suddenly appearing calm and collected, confident and sure. "Die Hard. McClane just got Karl's brother."
"Man, this is the best part. You don't mess with a man's brother," Dean exclaimed as he stood watching the small screen. "Move over." Dean pushed his brother's legs so he had room to join him on the bed, thankful he could at least wash away the effects of that horror of a movie for the time being by enjoying a real movie. "Damn, McClane's awesome!"
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Dean grunted out a low, rumbling moan as the warm touch of the morning sun glistened against his pale skin, but instead of heat he only felt a chill, deep down in his bones. He shuddered and buried his head facedown in his pillow, pulling the musty comforter up over his shoulders in a feeble attempt to hide from the intruding morning. The offending sunlight streaming through the window cast the bed in a brilliant glow, like a spotlight showcasing the troubled hunter and bringing the promise of a new day filled only with torment.
The agony of the night before again reverberated through his brain and the prospect of returning to that torture chamber made his gut clench tight in dread. He squeezed his eyes closed in denial as he burrowed deeper into his pillow. What you don't see can't hurt you. Yeah, right, 'cause that's always worked so well for us. He was loathe to face this new day, another day only promising more pain. Why can't I stay here in the room with Sammy? Maybe catch another action flick on the tube?
His dad's gruff voice answered his unspoken plea as he forcefully dragged his son back to his duty, the simple tenor of his voice enough to pull him from his forbidden quest for salvation. "Dean, first showing is at ten, then two, six and ten again."
"Four times?" Dean whined as he pulled the pillow over his head. His muffled voice continued his protest, "In one day?" Three just about killed me.
John held his tongue, wondering how much more of Dean's grief he could stand before he let the hammer fall. Before he lost his cool and said something he'd regret, something along the lines of 'Quit being a fucking baby about this'. He knew Dean was in pain, that was obvious, but come on! This movie couldn't possibly be all that bad.
Trying to reason with his son, John calmly reached out to him, "Dean, you don't think I've ever gone to a movie I didn't particularly want to see?"
Dean pulled the pillow from his head and shifted on the bed so he could observe this stranger before him. His look was a cross between bewildered and skeptical as he furrowed his brows and intently stared at his dad. "When was the last time you even went to a movie?"
John hesitated, nervously clasping his hands to his knees as he sat down on the bed opposite Dean, his own long-buried pain bubbling to the surface and threatening his resolve. He took in a deep breath and gazed with tentative, sad eyes upon his son. He'd started this conversation and he could finish it. It might even help Dean gain some perspective.
"Dean, your mom loved going to the movies."
Dean sloughed off his covers and quickly sat up on the bed, always hungry for information on his mom, any connection that brought her back to life. "She did?"
John chuckled softly at the memory, pleased by Dean's interest and the light that was again shining in his son's eyes. "Yeah, son, she did."
Dean's voice was eager, anxious for any new insight into his mom. He shifted closer to his dad, leaning into the aisle separating the beds they were sitting on, intently hanging on every word. "So… what kind of movies did she like?"
Oh, that… John grimaced, wrinkling his forehead at the memory. "The kind I don't."
Dean's smile froze, and then his lips quivered for a moment like he was reciting a silent prayer before turning downwards towards a frown. He'd always pictured his mom as cool and current, the kind of mom that would play video games and watch action flicks with her sons, the perfect mom, the mom of his dreams. He wasn't sure he wanted to hear about this mom, to face that maybe she wasn't the perfect mom after all, that she might actually be the kind of mom who had lousy taste in movies. He nervously arched his left brow and braced for the bitter truth. "Like what?" he softly whispered.
"Woody Allen, mainly."
Dean gasped, devastated by this bone-chilling reality. Man, that sucks big time! He was fumbling with his words, this disturbing news relieving him of his verbal skills. "So, Dad… you actually had to like… um… watch Woody Allen movies? …like on the big screen even? I mean…, larger than life? Wasn't that kinda gross?"
John released a heavy sigh. "Yeah, son, I did. And yeah, it was kinda gross."
Dean was totally speechless now, the utter horror more than he could process. It was like the rug had been ripped out from under his feet and he was crashing to the ground in an overwhelming tangle of disappointment and shock. He found new respect for his dad in that moment, not that he wasn't filled with the utmost respect and admiration for his dad before, but that was for his hunting skills and who he was as a man… this was different, beyond courageous, bordering on martyrdom. Man, oh, man… talk about devotion!
"Dad, I mean… damn." The words continued to elude him, his mind desperately trying to wrap itself around this startling revelation. "Man… oh, man!" Finally the only thing he could think broke free and he blurted out his true feelings. "That sucks… I mean, that really sucks. You must have really loved Mom." Which of course Dean knew, but the extent of that love had grown by leaps and bounds at the thought of his dad actually sitting through a Woody Allen movie for her. And it didn't sound like a one time deal. Man!
"Ain't that the truth?" Father and son sat staring at the floor, at their tense hands twisting in their laps, off into the distance, or at least as far as their gaze would take them in the confines of that small motel room, until finally their eyes connected in silent acknowledgment. Dean watched and waited, and then John softly chuckled. "Of course, what you have to realize, Dean, is… " John hesitated, unsure if he was willing to reveal such intimate details about his life with Mary, most especially to their son. He looked up and met Dean's expectant eyes looking to his dad for meaning, searching out some measure of understanding.
John held his son's rapt attention as if he were about to reveal the secret order of the universe, the great cosmic plan; Dean hanging on every word, anticipating a sign, a reason for this shocking twist of fate, watching and waiting for his dad to offer enlightenment. His son's pain was still etched on his face, and John decided that as a man Dean had to know the truth, regardless of the fact that this was his mother and father and ground he might not want to examine too closely.
"Dean, the thing is..., when you love someone, you make sacrifices… and in return… they reward you with something you want." John stumbled over his words, jumbling up his meaning and making it sound less like he envisioned as he quickly added, "Not to mean your mom didn't want it too. It's just that… well… "
Dean face erupted in a huge, freaking grin. "You mean you got lucky?" He was literally rocking up and down on the bed, his feet on the floor rolling from heel to toe in delight as he considered his dad in this new light.
Damn, when did my little boy grow into this man? John's dimples deepened at the memory and his smile relieved his solemn face of all pain and he couldn't help sharing his joy as he remembered one of the best nights of his life. "We both got lucky, son." John's eyes actually twinkled at the thought while his dimples grew into crevices and his entire face looked ten years younger. For a brief shining moment Mary was back, so strong in his memory, and the passion and love shown bright illuminating the darkness he'd been lost in. He turned to his son and couldn't not share that bliss. "In fact, we got so damn lucky we got an extra little bonus nine months later."
Dean stopped rocking and froze. His eyes grew wide and shifted nervously about the room before settling again on the beaming face of his dad. He swallowed, a small voice finally questioning, "Me?"
John laughed as his eyes danced with glee. "You."
Dean sat there, digesting the shocking information, rolling the thought around in his head before he let out an audible shudder. His entire body shook as if touched by a polar chill. "Okay…, Dad…, that went over the line. I really didn't need to know I was conceived with any type of connection to a Woody Allen movie." Another pained expression looked back at John. "Couldn't you have cleaned it up a little? At least made it a sex comedy or didn't you two ever check out any action flicks?"
John cocked his head in pensive thought, a mischievous grin playing across his face. "Your mom always did have a fascination with Clint Eastwood."
Dean shivered as he shook out his shoulders, his mouth contorted and his eyes squinted before he finally squeaked out, "Mom? ... and Clint? Now that's gross." Dean scrunched up his face in revulsion and released a guttural gasp.
"Sorry, just trying to help."
"Alright, I'll admit you suffered, but look at the payback you got. In case you haven't noticed, I ain't got a chick ready to fall all over me 'cause I sat through this crap."
"Dude, it's good training. Look at it this way, if you can survive this, you can survive anything."
Dean silently quirked his head to the side and his eyebrows arched in resignation. "Badge of Honor? Huh, Dad?"
John smiled at his son, again witnessing the strength of character his son possessed, and he wondered how he could have ever doubted him. "Something like that." John softly chuckled, "The things we do for the women in our lives."
"Yeah, Dad," Dean smirked and his dimples deepened at the possible payoff, "but more important is what they do for us!"
Steam rolled out of the bathroom as the door swung open and Sam emerged through the fog, walking over to the foot of the bed to sit down next to his brother.
"Shower's free."
"Yeah? Looks like you used up all the hot water. It runs cold on me and you're dead meat," Dean threatened.
Sam rolled his eyes at the threat, responding with his own taunt, "Serves you right for sleeping in, Sleeping Beauty."
"At least I don't snore, Dopey," Dean snapped back.
Sam responded with a smug tone, trying to one-up his brother with his superior, in his mind, intellect. "Mixing up your Disney characters there, Dean."
"Well, figures you'd know, Princess. I think there might be a revival of Beauty and the Beast at the multiplex, you know… if you're interested in checking out a little romance. Maybe getting some pointers."
"Hey, at least the Beast managed to get himself a girl. You're kinda on a dry spell now, aren't ya, big brother?" Sam was hitting below the belt, yeah down there, where it really hurt.
Dean's eyes only momentarily flashed the slightest hint of pain before he again buried the drama of the truth in that statement. The lack of feminine companionship over the last month while they were immersed in back to back hunts on top of enduring this stupid, emotional sinkhole of a movie had left his defenses battered and bruised. He needed to recapture his familiar role of the cocky, belligerent, older brother. He desperately needed to feel in control again.
He offered his brother his most confident smirk, his mouth poised, ready to lay a devastatingly witty retort on his too-big-for–his-britches brother, but before he could manage the smackdown Dad leaped into the fray. It was an interesting save considering John normally let his sons spar without interference. Perhaps for once he felt Dean needed the back-up.
"Sammy, get dressed and get us some breakfast at the corner. Dean and I need to eat before we head out."
Sam offered up his standard huff along with the obvious body language that conveyed his displeasure, but he grabbed his clothes and started to silently dress. Dean rose from the bed and started towards the shower. There was an awkward moment as the brothers passed in the close quarters, but neither spoke, fully understanding John Winchester's way of ending their conversation.
TBC