Disclaimer: see chapter 1...
Thanks for reading if you've continued past the first two chapters. This will be completed soon (I hope...work and life have been hectic). I hope it does the Supernatural world justice and, even though it will wind up being obsolete once Season 6 comes back, I hope it works for all you fans out there!
Please review, whether you hate it or love it! Thanks again!
The Impala sat like a black sentinel at the curb of Lisa Braeden's house for two days before it made its way into her garage and under a dark green tarp. Dean couldn't bear to drive the beautiful car anymore. It was too much a part of his past life as the items that remained in the trunk. He knew that the weapons inside that trunk made Lisa uneasy and so he left them hidden beneath the secret compartment, left them to the dust and moisture that would slowly claim them.
For four long weeks, Dean had stayed at Lisa's house, lying beside her in bed but never sleeping. The nightmares of the pit that had long plagued Dean's mind while he slept were replaced with the replay of Sam's plunge into the vortex to Hell, his younger brother's soft hazel eyes relaying all the apologies and goodbyes he'd never gotten to say. The first few nights were just as much an ordeal for Lisa and Ben as they were for Dean; his screaming and flailing rousing both of them from their own slumber.
Eventually, Dean was able to control the cries of pain and loss that would burst from him as he awoke from the dreams, biting down on the agony that ripped apart his chest every time his mind would betray him that way. He would lie awake in the early morning hours, watching Lisa's chest rise and fall as she slept beside him, her face peaceful and serene. Sometimes, he would sneak down the hall and watch Ben sleep too, taking comfort in the knowledge that he was going to watch the small boy grow up to be a man and that Sam was just as much responsible for that as Dean was. It was a small peace, but it gradually helped Dean put that day in Stull to the back of his mind.
Once the nightmares had dissipated some Dean began to go stir crazy, holed up in the small house while Lisa was at work and Ben was at school. It was during one insufferably long day that Dean decided he needed to start contributing to the household he'd thrust himself upon. He'd trolled through the list of possibilities his unique skill set afforded him. Mechanic was the obvious choice, but it felt wrong. His dad had been a mechanic and had taught Dean everything he knew about cars. To be one himself, after everything Dean had been through, felt like a violation of something sacred somehow. Like the Impala in the garage, Dean needed to put that part of his history away too.
Lisa was supportive, more supportive than Dean could have ever asked for, and she was the one who'd suggested construction. The idea had peaked Dean's interest, for probably the same reasons Lisa had suggested it. On a construction site, Dean would be able to hit things, tear things down, rip things apart. It was as close to therapy Dean would ever be willing to get and it would pay pretty decently.
Two months later, Dean was working for a local construction company and had saved up enough money to buy an ancient beat up pickup truck. The thing was rusted and loud, its engine sounding more like a dying man's hacking cough than the healthy growl of an animal, the purr of a cat usually, Dean was used to engines having. It was also missing its radio. That had been the selling point for Dean. He didn't listen to much music anymore, too many memories in the lyrics of the classic rock and heavy metal he was accustomed to.
Every once in a while, when he would go out to dinner with Lisa and Ben and they took Lisa's small, blue sedan, the radio would be playing softly in the background as they drove home. It was always country music or easy listening stations, almost as though Lisa knew what hearing Black Sabbath or Guns-N-Roses would do to Dean. Ben would complain, whine about the "wussy" music, and beg for them to change the station, but Lisa never gave in. Dean was grateful for that, even if he could never voice his thanks.
Not asking about Dean's past quickly became an unspoken rule that even Ben followed. He was there and he was sad, had gone through some terrible things, but Dean wasn't going to talk about them. It was the past and that was where he wished to leave it. But Dean never forgot either. He would sometimes drift off somewhere, somewhere in a time long before Lisa even knew the name Dean Winchester.
They would be watching TV, laughing at some stupid moment on some generic show, and Lisa would notice Dean's sudden stillness. Looking over at him she'd see that shielded look in his green eyes and just know that he was someplace else. If Dean sat like that for too long, or if Ben began to notice his silence, Lisa would reach out and take his hand. Her gentle touch always seemed to rouse him out of his thoughts and he would force on a smile and return to normal. Or as normal as the man who showed up on her doorstep six months prior could ever be.
Lisa had an idea of what Dean had been through. He had talked to her a bit, trying to remove some of the burden from his shoulders, if just for a little while. But all he'd managed to tell her was that his brother Sam was gone and that the world she and Ben had only glimpsed the year before was settling into something manageable, something he didn't need to be a part of anymore. The look on Dean's face had been enough for Lisa to know that whatever had happened to him in the days between when he'd shown up at her door with the promise that she'd be "taken care of" and his strained goodbye to when he'd arrived late in the night a few weeks later was something the man would never speak about.
Dean may have tried to forget his past, but he couldn't forget the decades of training that were ingrained in him. He still looked over his shoulder when taking out the trash, still slept with a rock-salt loaded sawed-off shotgun under the bed, still skimmed the papers for the odd disappearances and deaths. His old cell phone, hidden in the glove compartment of the Impala, was always charged and still held the numbers of several hunters, including Bobby Singer. Being a hunter would always be a part of him, but it would be a distant part. Dean had made Sam a promise, sort of, and he was determined to keep it. It was the least that Dean could do for his little brother.