Part 2
Dean woke with an eight-year-old boy staring at him. "Morning, Uncle Dean."
"Heya, Sammy Too."
"How come you always call me that?"
"I call your daddy Sammy. And you're little Sammy Too." Sammy wrinkled his nose at that but shrugged. Dean ruffled his hair and sat up in the bed. One thing about staying at Sam's house, the sheets were always awesome to sleep in.
"Marta made waffles."
"Waffles… with chocolate sauce?"
"And strawberries. She says you gotta come to the kitchen to eat with us like a real person."
"Well, then, I guess I better get to the kitchen." Dean got up and followed Sammy Too to the kitchen where Sarah was reading the newspaper and Sammy One was listening to a long winded story from his daughter. It was so freakin' normal that Dean almost gagged. He really missed the backseat of the Impala as a bed or a dingy set of sheets with questionable stains. Then the smell of waffles hit his nose. Oh but the road did not have Marta the Hungarian waffle-making mistress.
"Heard you were gonna hit on ladies your own age, now." Sarah cleared her throat but didn't look up from her paper.
"Who told you that lie?" Dean snorted.
"What was that whole thing about couple of months back?" Sam covered his daughter's ears.
"That was me feeling old. If I can get a 20-year-old, I will."
"Liar." Sam shook his head. "Al—" He stopped at Dean's glare. Dean didn't glare that way often. "So, now I can't even say her name?"
"Eat your freakin' waffles, Sammy."
--
Sam found Dean in the backyard that afternoon with his headphones on but no music coming out of them. "Dean, what's going on?"
"Nothing."
"Nothing. So you're being an asshole for no reason at all." Sam stared at his brother but at 44, he was just as immature as he was at 22. "So, what's going on with Alice? You never talk about her and when you do, it's a federal case. I didn't know she was a no-fly zone."
Dean sat up and brushed the grass from his hair. He took a long breath. "She found out… about my record with the feds."
"Didn't take it well, huh."
"Well, you know. She just found out my name a few years ago and then she finds out I'm a serial killer, a thief and a fraud."
"Sorry, dude."
"It's not like I can tell her the truth cause that's not much better."
"I'm gonna leave to your shame… but remember that I'm the brooder in the family so… leave me my title."
--
Dean cleared his throat and dialed the number. She never answered the phone in the middle of the day during the week. He waited for the beep. "I kind of don't know what to say to you that won't make you hate me more than you already do. I just want you to know that… all the things they said I did, they didn't happen the way they said they did. There were circumstances that I can't really explain. I'm not a bad person, really. You wondered why I stayed away after we first met. My life and the things I've done and the things I'm accused of doing are why. I can't really defend myself. I'm sorry."
--
Maddy swung her feet and tilted her head at her uncle. "How come you never answer your phone when it rings that song that Daddy hates?"
Dean shrugged and turned off the ringer.
"You're a real asshole, you know that? You can't have a conversation with me? You have to leave a message on the machine?" Her sobs were loud on the line. "How do I reconcile that in my head? You didn't do it. Neither did any of the inmates at Huntsville. God, Dean… what am I supposed to believe?"
Dean soaked up the Winchester Family Values tour for a whole week before he was so nauseated and bored that he couldn't stand it anymore. He loved the kids. Taught them all sorts of bad habits to remember him by. Put up with Sarah's loving nature and her ardent will to see him settled with a wife or at least a sugar-cougar. Watched Sammy and Sammy Too having a great time reacquainting. Little Maddy bouncing off the walls.
Maybe it was the guilt but Dean couldn't sit still anymore. He said goodbye to the munchkins, took a pie from Marta and set to the road. He only felt marginally better when he was killing something evil or making the feds look a little stupid.
Bitterly, he paid for his candy, jerky and coffee at the first pit stop. He'd heard the lecture before about real food but what was a road trip without the essentials? So he drove with his ghosts. Dad's advice whispering in the leather seats. Sammy's bitch-face from the side view. Bobby's bouts of almost-fatherliness from the driver's side. God, how Dean missed that old codger. His phone rang eight times between New York and New Mexico. He watched the sun rise on the third day over the Grand Canyon. He waited until it was noon in Austin before he dialed her number.
"Someday… you should drive to the Grand Canyon with that boyfriend of yours. Make sure you arrive in time for sundown cause it's beautiful. Make sure you make love all night and watch the sun rise cause it's breathtaking." He'd beat himself up plenty over the last three days. "I'm not a good guy. Never tried to pretend I was… except for one day, sitting in a park, with a busted leg and a beautiful little girl for company."
He sat on top of his car all day. He thought about doing the Skywalk but the thought of nothing but glass beneath his feet was frightening. He walked a line for the local sheriff who thought he was drunk. He flashed a fake ID and moved on after sunset. Then he found a bar and got drunk… and he answered his phone but he couldn't say a word.
"Grand Canyon, huh? Pretty nice? … I see how it is… can't speak to me unless I don't know who you are… Okay but I've got you on the line and I don't even know how I managed that. So, what's the big bad reason that my dad is such a badass?" She sniffed. Her words were slurred. She'd been drinking, too. "Why did my mom think you were a hustler? Why do the cops think that you're a murderer? Why won't you talk to me?"
"Alice, I'm only gonna say this once. Call New York and get a listing for your uncle." Dean hung up and grabbed his things. He was in Colorado by dawn.
--
Dean was drunk, again, but with pen and paper and the words were just flowing in the script that his father had taught him. Tight, legible, efficient.
Dear Alice,
I listen to your voicemails. Over and over. There was a time when my dad didn't take my phone calls. There wasn't a fight. Just went silent on me. I'd call and leave a voice message. Ask how he was, give him an update on me and Sammy. Wait for a response that he wouldn't give. I feel bad when the phone rings and I know it's you. I want to answer it. I'm afraid to. I'm an old guy and not much scares me anymore. Talking to you scares me. Aside from my mother, you're the only woman that I can be certain that I love.
If I talk to you, I might cave to one of your demands to see me. I might give up this life to share yours. You're an adult now and you don't really want me around if you think about it. I'll cramp your style. I'll scare off potential boyfriends or lovers. I can pray you won't go the same route I did but with the life I lived, it's a possibility that you could too.
It's not that I don't want to see you but my life is dangerous. It was too dangerous when I was growing up and it's still dangerous. Any letter I write to you could be my last and you would never know. I want you to do one thing for me. I'll make sure there's a document somewhere on me that says when I die that my only child will have the right to my belongings and will be in charge of my cremation. I'll leave instructions to that.
You don't know it but you've been my best friend for years. I tell you my thoughts and observations pretty much unfiltered. Any advice I give to you is useful and because I could have used it myself.
Dean Winchester
He signed the letter and put a stamp on it and put it with all the others that he would mail when he remembered. Then he jumped back into the routine.
--
Friday night, the Impala rolled into a motel parking lot. He booked a single. He dropped his bags in the room and went for a drink down the block. There were a few old codgers fiddling with the cigarettes that they couldn't light and drinking whiskey. He set himself at the bar and got the bartender talking. Found a lead on a job. He caught the eye of a thirtyish waitress and screwed her in the alley. He fell into bed and woke at the crack of brunch. He hit the library, did the research and went back to the room to prepare. He set out at 11, dug, salt and burned. Went back to the motel. Slept. Woke up, packed his things and drove until his foot fell asleep.
TBC