Firefly – Chapter 14

By: Suz Mc

This was turning out to be a great day. No meltdown at the doctor's office. Happy, albeit silent, little girl in the back seat. Breeze blowing. Sun shining. Foghat on the radio.

Dean drove across the brittle grass in front of the Roadhouse and decided that either the gates of Hell were about to open up and swallow them both, or this was going to be a legitimately great day. He eased the Impala over to the side of the building, stashing it well away from where the Roadhouse customers would be parking soon.

Ellen was standing over beside the one tree growing close to the building and she waved them over as Dean got Emily out of the car. Jake, the odd bartender, was working with a rope he had looped over one of the higher limbs.

"Come see what Jake has fixed up for you, Sweetie!" Ellen called out to Emily, who was bouncing along beside Dean.

There was no more hesitant holding of fingers. Her hand was grasped tightly in his and there was a big grin on her face. As Ellen stepped aside, Emily's eyes went wide and she ran toward an old tire Jake had just finished hanging from the most solid limb on the tree.

"Hang on tight," Dean said as he caught up to the little girl and raised her up to sit on homemade swing. After she'd wound her hands around the rope and tightly crossed her legs in front of her, Dean pulled her back a couple of feet and let go. She was so light, that the tire went a little higher than he'd expected and he started to move forward and slow her down just a bit but there wasn't any need. Emily wasn't scared and leaned her body back hard to force the tire higher and faster on its next pass.

Except for her silence and the white bandage that camouflaged her scar, Emily could have been any little kid, in any backyard, flying on a busted piece of rubber tire.

Jake looked rough, though. Dean hadn't seen him out in the daylight since they'd met a few days ago. The bartender wasn't that old, maybe in his fifties, but he had heavily wrinkled skin and wild, wiry gray hair that buzzed around his face. This was a man who'd seen more than a few nights outdoors with no place to sleep, smoked too many cigarettes, and held a few too many shot glasses. As the man stooped over to dust his hands off on his jeans, Dean said, "Thanks, man. This was a great idea. Really nice of you."

Jake's expression remained stoic and still. With one hand, he reached out to give the tire a little spin as Emily swung back by him, sending her into a fast circle and making her smile even wider. The child leaned her head back and long curly hair that had long ago fallen out of Dean's attempted ponytail flew behind her as the tire twirled around in the breeze. Jake gave Dean a quick nod. When he spoke, his voice was hoarse and sounded of smoke and age. "Weren't nothing. Just an old broke down tire in the back of my truck." With that, Jake walked back toward the bar.

Ellen looked as surprised as Dean at hearing what amounted to a monologue from her bartender.

"Damn. Did he just say an entire sentence?" Dean said, giving Emily another push to keep her momentum going.

"That's the most I've heard him say in three months," Ellen said, laughing. "Will wonders never cease?"

After he turned his back to Emily, Dean said, "Sam called."

"Anything new?" Ellen said, keeping her voice low. "He run into any trouble?"

"Maybe and no, unless you count the fact that he's prissin' around Austin in cowboy boots driving a Honda," Dean said, laughing. "It gets funnier every time I think about Sam's big ole lanky self getting out of that sardine can wearing those shit kickers."

"It gets good gas mileage, smart boy," Ellen remarked, making a face.

"Yeah, there's that," Dean said, turning back toward his daughter. "I think she's a lot better, don't you?" He really wanted that confirmation from Ellen.

"I think she is, Dean," Ellen answered. "But pain like that comes in waves. Don't be disappointed if there are setbacks, okay?"

Realism had never been in short supply for Winchesters and he wasn't going to abandon it all together. Dean remembered enough from his own childhood to know Emily's pain wasn't going to be healed over and forgotten. Numbed up, maybe, but not forgotten. Hopefully, he could help her put enough good memories on top of that nightmare to deaden it. Right now, swinging outside with a smile on her face was a good start.

"I know, but today is good," he said, reaching out for another push. "You still okay to keep up with this princess tonight while I go to the First National Bank of Sucker?"

"Yes, and all I ask is that you not make anyone mad enough to bust up my brand new furniture."

Dean made an "x" on his chest. "Cross my heart, ma'am."

Ellen waved goodbye to Emily and left them alone.

Emily liked swinging. The higher she climbed, the harder she leaned backward to urge the old tire further upward. If her momentum began to lag, she'd wave at Dean to push once again. It was the most free he'd seen her since she had become his child. It hadn't taken a counselor or money to do it, either. Just an old swing and a dad with time.

He and Sam had loved swinging when they were little. Any opportunity to stop at a park was a chance to simulate flight. It only took one, "Hey, watch this, Sammy," for Dean to jump out at a particularly high apex of a swing and land in the emergency room with a broken arm. Dad was pissed. He'd asked how a ten-year-old could be so stupid. Dad didn't understand how it felt. That moment when you were as high as you could go and your stomach was in your face and it felt like you could actually fly and be free for a few seconds without the freaking weight of the world being on your back.

Before he thought about it, Dean called out, "Don't jump off, Emily."

She was facing him as the swing roared toward him in the breeze and for a split second he read the seed he'd just planted by the excited grin on her face.

"Don't even think about it, kid," he said, instantly regretting giving her the idea. Emily had leaned backward to speed up the motion and already had one hand loose from the rope before Dean could get in between her and his own screw up. He was able to grab the tire with one hand and Emily in his other arm and miraculously not land them both on the ground.

She was still smiling, hair a crazy tangle from the wind when he plucked her off the tire. "You're gonna make me crazy, aren't you, Cutie Pie?" he said, out of breath at the near Evil Knievel stunt she'd almost pulled off because he couldn't keep his mouth shut. "No jumping. Promise?" Dean said, getting ready to plop her back on the tire swing. He heard a door slam in the lot behind him and ignored it to focus on Emily when her expression changed.

Immediately, the smile drained from her face and she grabbed onto him with both hands. Gone was the freedom of seconds earlier and that old fearful tightness came back full force.

"What's wrong, Emily?" Dean asked, turning toward her line of vision.

Drake was crossing the lot toward them, flanked by one of his partners from the other night. They weren't advancing quickly so he had time to get Emily away. Pulling her off of his chest, Dean put the child's feet on the ground and said, "Go inside, Emily, now."

Her response was to grab hold of his leg and stay exactly where she was.

"I mean it, Emily. Run. Now!" he said, sharpening his tone from a request to an order. His rough voice scared her and Dean felt her jump where her hand gripped the seam of his jeans.

Big brown eyes looked up at him differently, as if realizing she had to obey, but before she could move, Drake was already too close. That moment of hesitation, of disobedience, had put her in jeopardy. Payback is a bitch, Dad, Dean thought, as he moved Emily behind him and reached one hand to grip the pistol under the back of his shirt.

"No need to scare the little girl to death, Winchester," Drake said, holding up one hand in surrender. "I'm not here to make any trouble." The man appeared to be nervous, flipping the top to an old style Zippo lighter open and shut in his other hand.

"Good, then you won't mind turning your ass around and getting back in that car."

Drake looked in marginally better shape than he had the other night after Dean had busted open his wound and beat the crap out of him in the bar. The wound on his neck was covered with a professionally applied bandage and his cheekbone was raw and bruised. His lower lip was still split and it was obvious he'd had a trip to the hospital, which made Dean proud of his performance in the ass kicking competition they'd had. Drake handled the lighter more hectically under Dean's glare, snapping it open and shut over and over again.

"Look," the man said, stopping his progress a good distance out of fist range, "I just wanted to apologize for being such an ass."

"Right."

Drake put his hands down and gave the appearance of someone about to eat a huge dish of humility. "We had a hunt go bad that morning and got our asses handed to us," he said, glancing at his buddy. "Bob here had to sew me up and I guess all the whiskey and fucking up put me in a bad mood. I saw you and just got mean."

"And got your ass kicked."

"Yeah, got just what I deserved," he answered, taking a few steps forward. "I didn't mean all that crap about you and your brother," he shot a look toward Emily who was clinging to Dean's leg and peering around to watch, "or your little one, there. Hey there, Precious. You don't have to be scared of Ole Drake."

As Drake flicked the silver lighter open, a snap of fire jumped out and stung his fingers. "Shit!" he yelled, dropping it to the ground. After retrieving his toy, Drake looked back at Emily's terrified face and said, "Sorry 'bout that. Guess I'm just nervous. I don't apologize very often."

Dean wasn't about to turn this into some brothers in arms bullshit moment but he wanted this confrontation over, now. If the dude was sincere, fine. If not, he wanted the asshole away from his kid.

"Fine. You guys go your way with no hard feelings, okay?" Dean said, putting his free hand on Emily's head.

"Great!" Drake said, clapping his hands together. "Why don't we go in and I buy you a beer?"

"I think it's a better idea if you guys just move on," Dean answered, pulling Emily up onto his hip and moving toward the building. "Ellen's not as forgiving as I am." He kept facing toward them, not willing to turn his back.

"Sure, we'll do that." Drake looked back to his vehicle and tapped his friend on the shoulder. "Probably best to let her cool off, too. Just so as we're good, Winchester. Never know when we might need to help each other out."

"Sure." Dean took a few careful steps backward and watched as the men turned to leave. He stood still and watched them get back into their truck and drive away. He gave Emily a squeeze as he whispered into her ear, "Don't worry, I don't trust them, either." Pulling Emily back so he could look in her eyes, Dean said, "Cutie Pie, I'm not mad, but I need you to promise me that the next time I tell you to do something, to run or anything like that, that you'll do it. Okay?"

He never, ever wanted to see that look in her eyes again. That look that said, "I failed." She was scared and she'd hung on to him instead of running away. A big tear pooled in her eye and he squeezed her back close to him so he didn't have to watch it roll down her face. "It's okay, Baby. Forget it," he said, taking her back inside. "This was my fault, not yours."

So much for great afternoons.

***

"Son of a bitch! I think I stepped on a fuckin' rattlesnake!" yelled a dirty man with his arm in a cast. The man jumped into Drake's truck, sweaty and puffing out heavy breaths.

"Quit your bitching, Lonnie," Drake spat back, screeching the truck down a dirt road on the other side of the trees between them and the Roadhouse. "Did you plant the tracker on his car?"

"Yeah, I did it," Lonnie answered, shoving the third man over further toward the middle of the bench seat. "But I don't understand why I had to crawl through the freakin' brush when we could just wait to catch the bastard alone and beat the crap out of him."

"You were always lacking in imagination, Lonnie," Drake said, checking his GPS to be sure it was receiving. "I'm not just looking to cold cock Deano. I want to watch him for a while. Who knows," Drake got an unpleasant smirk and flicked open his Zippo to light a cigar, "some more satisfying opportunity might come along if we track him. Sometimes there are worse things than a beatin', my boy."

"Not meaning to argue or anything, Drake," Lonnie said, rolling down the window to let in some cool air, "but shouldn't we get back to tracking that evil son of a bitch that tore up your neck before it feeds again instead of hunting humans?"

"Winchesters are just barely human, Lonnie, and I'm declaring it open season."

***

Chimes rang as Sam made his way through the gallery door. It was a funky kind of place, not like the stark, contemporary galleries Jess had dragged him to when they were in school. Being in love with her made him go places he never would have gone and certainly never would have felt comfortable being on his own. One art appreciation course, and he was in love with Jess and he'd go anywhere she wanted. It had been a very long time since Sam had felt her in his head. He felt guilty about that.

He made his way around brick columns with wildly colored canvases mounted on them. Welded metal sculptures and blown glass pieces stood on tables scattered over a wooden floor and he tried to be careful not to bump into something he couldn't possibly replace.

"Must be paying Rangers at a better grade these days if you're shopping for art."

The woman in black was leaning against the back wall of the open room, arms folded over her chest, appraising him.

"Not exactly, ma'am," Sam said, making his way toward her. "I'm Sam Langly, Texas—"

"Ranger. Yeah, I see," she said, running her eyes up and down his body before focusing on the badge at his waist. "Come to arrest me for something, Son, or are you some frustrated cop wanting to run away to an artist's colony and paint impressionist versions of crime scenes?"

"Have you done something to be arrested for?" Sam understood when he was being examined. This woman's dark eyes were scanning him and watching every move.

"Well, not today," she answered, taking a step forward and stretching out her hand, "but the day is still young. Plenty of time to corrupt a young man like yourself." As she shook his hand, she said, "I'm Ariel Anderson and this is my gallery. What can I do for you?"

"Nice to meet you," Sam said, glad to see a smile replace the woman's scowl. "I'm looking into Calley Rail's death."

"Really," Ariel said, a sarcastic bite creeping into her tone. "And what makes you think you badass Rangers can find something when the cops and fire department can't come up with anything better than 'fire of unknown origin'?"

The woman walked past Sam, heading for a pile of papers on a corner desk. Sam followed. "I just need to ask you a few questions," Sam said to her back.

"I'm sure you do, but I'm not sure I can give you any answers that you would want to hear."

"Calley seemed to make you an awful lot of money, Ms. Anderson. I'd think you'd be anxious to help find out what happened to her and her daughter," Sam said, surprised when the woman whirled on him, anger making her seem a little taller than before.

"You don't know shit about me or how I felt about that girl!" she yelled, slamming down papers onto the desk and rattling everything on it. "And if you want me to tell you anything, I think you'd better explain why you're playing Ranger dress up with your boots and sloppy fake badge!"

Being outted always threw him when he'd felt pretty secure in his cover and Sam tried to reclaim his identity. "Ms. Anderson, I can assure you, I am who I say I am."

"I may have been born at night but it wasn't last night!" She got right up in his face, not an ounce of fear holding her back. "Your hair's too long, your accent's too fake, and you're lying. Plain and simple."

Being caught sometimes had its advantages. He could be himself and focus all his energy on the job instead of the persona he was trying to maintain. "How did you know?"

Her anger defused, just a tad, and Ariel replied, "I spent ten years as a nun and a teacher and I can spot lyin' boys at fifty paces. Had you pegged on the sidewalk."

"Okay, let's start again," Sam said, popping the badge from his waist and sliding it into his pocket. "I'm Sam Winchester."

"And the truth shall set you free," Ariel said, sitting back on the corner of her desk. "Ask your questions, Boy. Let's see if you think I'm as crazy as the cops did."

TBC