Chapter 12:The Name Game
Dean made his way reluctantly toward the garage behind Bobby's house. Muttering to himself with every step about 'Frigging angels!' and 'That pain in the ass little brother!' and 'Since when the hell is Bobby 'neutral' on any - damn - thing!'.
But his musings came to a dead stop as fast as his walking when he rounded a stack of junk cars. The Hunter was prepared to find a Chevy Camaro but not the one in front of him. Dean knew a thing or two about cars, especially those from the era he grew up in. So picking out the year 1989 and model package of a Rally Sport was child's play. What he wasn't expecting was the condition of the vehicle.
Obviously rebuilt and sup'ed up to the hilt. As midnight black as his own baby but enhanced with Spectra-paint flames of blue, red and orange draped over the hood, wrapping around the fenders to the doors. Even a small burst of fire surrounded the chrome gas tank door. High wide tires seemed to jack up the back end slightly over the more standard ones in front. A low whistle escaped his lips as he quietly worked a path to the nose of the sports car, admiring every detail.
Peeking under the raised hood, Dean grudgingly couldn't decide which he was more impressed with than the car's body work. The immaculate 'not stock' motor… or the body bent into the engine compartment.
The familiar baggy beater jeans hung low from curved hips, leading up a long tight grey tank top to well-toned and freckled tan arms. Sans the dark green flannel of earlier. Said appendages were currently yanking fiercely at a ratchet among a flurry of choose curse words.
Never turning down the chance at being a smart-ass, Dean mockingly quirked, "Hey, angel!"
A rewarding sound of steel colliding with engine block and the satisfying bounce of the hood was followed with a very definite 'F-bomb'.
"Damn it, Hothead! Warn a person first, huh?" Bithiel straightened, half-heartedly swinging the greasy tool at him.
"Hothead, huh? How cute! I already got a 'pet name'!"
"Go screw yourself, ho-… Winchester!" She shook her head while stepping back to scrutinize the motor before her.
A devious grin cracked the older Winchester's face countering, "Maybe later… and only if you help."
The look of genuine shock on the angel's face broke him out into an easy laugh.
Taking a beer from the carton and holding it out to her, Dean smirked, "What? More pillow talk than you're used to?"
Snatching the bottle and twisting off the cap, Bithiel fired a glare at the Hunter that could have dropped an elephant.
"Un-freaking-believable! You really are as full of yourself as I've heard!" Setting the ratchet carefully of the radiator, she took a sip with one hand while the other rooted in a front pocket.
Throwing his own cap at a nearby by junker, he looked up from leaning on the fender, feigning horror.
"And what exactly have you heard?"
The angel took this opportunity to put on a sinister face as she smirked, "Let's just say… it's not stuff you'd want your mama to hear!"
The amusement fell from Dean's face smoothly. Taking a long draw from his bottle, the Hunter cleared his throat before saying, "Look. I didn't come out here to get in a fight." Which was followed by a snort that he ignored. "Came out to make peace… hell, maybe even friends with ya."
Bithiel plastered on a stunned look.
"The mighty Dean Winchester? Make…" She pretended to gag. "Friends? With … an, oh my god, an angel?" Setting the beer in front of a headlight and forgetting what she'd been looking for in her pocket, the angel stepped up to Dean and gave him a not-so-gentle nudge on the shoulder. "Get the hell outta here!"
Putting up his hands placidly, he told her, "I said … I didn't come to fight…" At the angel's folded arms and smirk, he gave up, placing the bottle next to the tire and shucked the red plaid button-down in favor of the navy tee beneath.
"Okay, have it your way, Beth!" The Hunter held up a single finger. "But one rule! No Mojo! You put a cap on that Grace."
"As if I need it to kick your ass, Hothead!" Catching him off guard, Bithiel thrust a hand out, shoving him in the chest. Only this time when he stepped back, she grabbed his wrist and sling-shot herself behind him. Wrapping her arms around Dean's waist, she lifted and, twisting in air, thrust him down nonchalantly on his back.
Laughing while coughing and gasping for breath as the angel plopped down on his chest, effectively pinning him, the Hunter smirked up at the angel, "Suplex! Nice! Ha! Should've been a pro wrestler!"
"Wanted to but my folks wouldn't help with the registration fees. So I became a mechanic instead!" She giggled, patting his cheek.
"And I'm sure the wrestlers of the world would be thrilled your folks saved them the pain! Now help me up! I need a new beer!"