Bet you thought I forgot about you all, huh? Not so much - just been on vacation off and of for the last few weeks, and (unfortunately for all of you) spending my remaining time working outside on my yard. Lots of construction to be done... It really would be so bad if I weren't passed out on my bed by 10:00 everynight - haha. Pathetic, I know. But anyway, here I am back with another chapter.
A while ago I had someone ask me if I would have Dean get a seeing eye dog. I thought about it for a while, loving the concept of putting a dog in my story, but struggling with how Dean would come to have a seeing eye dog. They don't just give them out to anyone - it's a long process of interviews and dedication and a whole slew of other things that just didn't seem to fit with Dean's persona. And let's not forget the whole money issue... So anyway, I gave it some thought and came up with the following. It's a bit farfetched, but not entirely out of the realm of possibility. Dogs do have an uncanny ability to realize when someone needs help, and they're incredibly adaptable. Hope you like it! And thanks, again, for sticking by me and my sporadic updates.
In a way, it's comforting to know that Bobby is not dwelling on Dean's loss of sight, that the fact of its presence can be so easily forgotten that the older hunter could walk out and assume that Dean will just follow along behind. But to the same degree, Bobby walking out means Dean is stranded, helpless once again. He has no idea how to get to the car, doesn't even know where it is for that matter. Bobby could be out in the garage with the car, or it could just be sitting on the lot somewhere.
Suddenly, Dean is missing Sam's over attention to detail, because even though it can be extremely frustrating and he just wants to go off and smack his brother a lot of the time, it also means that he's never left behind. And Sam is subtle enough that it has quickly become habit just to have his hand wrapped around his little brother's bicep.
Dean stands up anyway, figuring that Bobby will realize his mistake soon enough and come back to collect him. He's feeling his way over to the door when he once again feels that now familiar nudge against his hand from Dante. The pups head is just level with Dean's hand and he reaches down to pet the Rottweiler again, glad for the company.
Dante steps forward, slowly, and Dean pets him along the back as he moves along. "You're a good boy, you know that?"
The pup wiggles a bit and then he's no longer under Dean's hand. But it's not long before he's back again, nudging his head under Dean's hand, and this time he's more forceful, jerking his head up so that Dean's hand is firmly planted on his large skull before starting to walk forward.
"Make up your mind, boy," Dean grouses, once again letting his hand slide down the dog's large body. "Either you want to be petted or you don't, but you gotta stay still. Can't have it both ways."
It takes another two cycles before Dean finally realizes that the dog is trying to lead him, that he wants Dean to keep a hand on his head as he steps forward, that Dean is to move with him.
"Where're you taking me?" Dean asks, nervous and slightly stymied that a dog is taking him anywhere, yet he's oddly curious, too. His other hand, the hand that isn't gripping onto Dante's head, is wildly searching out purchase on his surroundings, desperate for a handhold. He grips onto the doorframe for a second, but then they're moving past that. And then he feels the table near the entry hall, the stack of mail that never seems to get opened, and a coat hanger that seems to hold half of Bobby's wardrobe.
"We goin outside, boy? Are you taking me to Bobby?"
The dog continues forward another few steps before coming to a halt and letting out a soft whine. It takes Dean a minute to figure out why they're stopped, but suddenly it dawns on him and he reaches out his hand, somehow unsurprised to find the front door just a few inches away.
Dean laughs loudly, finding for the first time in forever that he's capable of such a feat. "You crazy dog. You don't actually think I can just go out there, do you? In case you haven't noticed, I can't see shit."
Resigning himself to just wait until Bobby returns for him, Dean starts to turn back on his heel, hand stretched out in front of him to guide himself back to the living room. He shakes his head incredulously as he repeats, "Crazy mutt," under his breath. Yet somehow, he's not surprised to find Dante back at his side, leaning into his leg as though to coax him to turn around and go back to the door.
A moment of heavy hesitation lingers in the air as Dean contemplates his options. Dante seems oddly insistent, and Dean thinks maybe it's not that Dante wants to take Dean outside, but rather that he needs Dean to let him outside. Yeah, that makes more sense. Dog just has to pee. Because it really doesn't sit well with him mentally to think that this barely trained rottweiler has deemed himself Dean's own self-appointed seeing-eye dog.
"You gotta go outside, boy? You gotta pee?" Dean asks as he stretches his hand back out in search of the door. Fingers finally ghost the doorknob and Dean grips tightly, turning it and pulling the door open. Dante just stands there, whining more at Dean and nudging his fingertips, and it finally occurs to the young hunter that there's a screen door in the way, too.
"Sorry, boy, you gotta give me a bit of a break here. Blind and all, ya know?" Dean chuckles nervously to himself, trying to get acquainted with the idea of saying the word. It's not as though he has any other choice - some day he's got to own up to the fact and he might as well practice on the dog.
He reaches for the screen door and pushes it open, holding it steady as he waits for the pup to burst through and out into the yard. But Dante still doesn't move, and he continues whimpering and nudging at him in a way that's quickly becoming annoying, and finally Dean sighs and relents.
"You're not going to leave me alone until I go with you, huh boy?" He asks, planting his hand firmly on top of Dante's head and finally inching his way out onto the porch.
He's nervous as all get out, yet Dante is trotting along like a proud papa with his charge firmly planted to his side. It's unreal how easily the dog seems to mold to his needs and his pace, moving only a step ahead of Dean as he guides him across the porch. At the stairs, Dante stops, kind of plants his body just in front of Dean to make sure he stops too, and waits until Dean's got his hand firmly planted on the railing before starting slowly downward, one agonizingly slow step at a time.
"Hey Bobby?" Dean calls once they hit the bottom step. Suddenly he's feeling nervous again as he realizes that he's about to be pulled away from the only lifeline he knows. Once he leaves the security of the house there's no telling where he could end up. The thought terrifies him.
"Bobby!" Dean calls again, louder this time. Dante's nudging at him, urging him forward, but he doesn't want to let go of the railing.
The older hunter doesn't answer and, surprisingly, Sam doesn't either. Dean had figured he would have been out of the shower by now. But no doubt the sound of Dean's panicked shout would have brought his little brother running had he heard him, so clearly not as much time has passed as Dean thinks.
Once more, Dean calls out to Bobby, and Dante's reply is an impatient push to the back of Dean's knees with his massive head. The hunter finally gives in, hoping he isn't making a bad choice when he chooses to rely on the young dog for his only assistance. He doesn't even have his cane, having figured he wouldn't need it while he had Bobby to guide him. Too bad that plan's been all shot to hell, he thinks as he gives his trust over entirely to the dog and allows himself to be led into the black void.
Dean is more than shocked when Dante turns out to be not only a good guide dog, but possibly even better than Sam at leading him safely around obstacles. The dog walks a relatively straight line, making sure to always stay in contact with his charge and only stopping or halting when there is something Dean needs to be cautious of. Twice he stops and plants his large body directly in front of Dean, and both times, when Dean has finally been brave enough to shuffle forward, he's found an object large enough for him to need to step over. When Dante nudges into him to the right or the left it's only to discover a car or a piece of junk that he needed to skirt around to avoid running into.
At this point Dean is not at all surprised when, about ten minutes later, Dante safely delivers Dean to Bobby's workshop where the old man is stirring up a racket with come kind of power tool.
Bobby shouts over the din of the machine, not even bothering to shut it off. "Bout time you decided to get your scrawny ass in h...oh, fuck." The machine stops as Bobby finally realizes what he's done, and it's almost comical the way the man suddenly sprints to Dean's side, scouring him over for cuts or bruises or any indication that he might not have had an uneventful trip to the shop.
"Shit, Dean, I'm sorry. I clean forgot. It's just I–"
Dean holds up a hand to stop him from rambling on, suddenly over it as he realizes the victory he's currently celebrating with the dog. He didn't need Bobby's help to find the place, and oddly enough he's grateful for that fact. "Dante got me here safely," Dean says instead, giving the rottie an extra pat of approval.
"He did what?" Bobby asks in disbelief.
"He led me here," Dean says proudly. "It was his idea, actually. I was just going to wait until you realized you'd left me behind."
Bobby's clearly unsure whether to focus more on his apology for abandoning Dean or to focus more on his Dog suddenly becoming a modern day lassie. But as has always been the way with the Winchester clan and their few friends Bobby chooses the path less angsty and says skeptically, "You're telling me this big lump of a dog actually coerced you into letting him lead you here? You know how long it took me just to teach him to sit?"
"I don't have an explanation for it," Dean shrugs, "just know what I saw- er, felt, or whatever. I'm here aren't I?"
There's a pause as Bobby contemplates that one. Can't really argue it, now can he. And then a rush of wind just by Dean's face.
"You nodding again old man?" Dean asks, slightly irritated regardless of this other breakthrough. He doesn't want to admit he's blind, but he also doesn't want people to forget. It's a fine line.
"Huh, damn...guess so, yeah. Still can't get used to this whole thing. Sorry," Bobby admits. He quickly glosses over that fact and nudges his arm up next to Dean for him to take, just like he's seen Sam doing. "Come on, lets go take a looksie at that ol' GTO, shall we?"
Dean nods, once again grateful that Bobby's making an effort to treat him normally, even if most of it stems more from nervousness and pure lack of knowing what else to do. He slides his hand up to Bobby's arm and the two of them make their way across the garage - Dante close on their heels and whining all the way. And when Bobby accidently forgets to tell Dean to step over the muffler he's got lying on the ground Dante is the one who slams his massive body into Dean's knees just before the hunter would have tripped over the thing.
That's when Bobby finally decides to believe, and he squeezes Dean's arm tightly with the hand that Dean's not clinging too - both a reassurance of 'I gotcha,' and an indication of incredulity - as he lets out a soft "Huh. Damn dog must be some kind of idiot savant."
"He's not the idiot," Dean replies, trying to force in a hint of jocularity into his voice. "Dante wasn't the one who just about made me trip over that damn whatever in the middle of the floor, now was he?"
Once again Bobby tenses up, Dean can feel it in the bicep he's got his hand curled around, and the man stammers out an apology. "Shit, Dean, you really coulda been hurt. I'm so sorry - I wasn't thinking. Maybe, ah, maybe we shouldn't do this right now. I mean, I'm looking around my shop and there's so many things you could trip over or get hurt on. Sam'd kill me if anything happened to you on my watch."
"Bobby, please," And it's maybe more pleading than even Dean himself would have liked, but he's got to have some normality in his life. He just can't sit through another day of just sitting there, struggling to find his way to the bathroom or poking around a plate of finger food. He's come this far, made it on his own with the help of only a dog, and he wants to help. He wants to feel whole again.
"Please, just get me near the car. I'm not fragile, I won't break because of a skinned knee - promise. I just...I just want to help."
That's enough for Bobby, it's really all he needs is the vocal permission that it's okay to treat Dean like Dean, that he is just as tough and capable as he's always been.
"Well in that case," Bobby says, "we're here." He grabs onto Dean's wrist and pulls the arm forward another foot or so until Dean's hand is held flat against the side of the 69 GTO.
It's an instant love affair, and for a second Dean manages to forget about his beloved Impala as his hands gloss over the curves and lines of the car. He circles the car slowly, feeling out the handles and the moulding, spending a good several minutes on the hood and the headlights and the grill. Bobby allows him the time to get acquainted intimately with the details, both inside and out, and then pops the hood.
"She clean inside?" Dean asks, already rolling up his sleeves as he dips his hand in to feel out the mechanics. From the outside the car seems relatively dent free, but he'd noticed the roughened paint job from the lack of wax, knew it hadn't seen TLC in a good several years. It wouldn't have surprised Dean to find a rats nest built up somewhere under the hood and the last thing he wants to do is stick his finger in and get bit.
"Bout as clean as a car can get," Bobby replies. Sprayed her out myself coupla days ago. Have at it."
Dean nods, and goes in full tilt, both hands fumbling over the components of the car like he's making love to it. It takes him near on fifteen minutes to get reacquainted with the inner workings of a GTO, trying to work off of memory as his hands gloss over individual parts, and checking with Bobby each time he thinks he's identified something. He's right every time.
"Okay, old man," Dean finally says, removing himself from under the hood and standing up straight. "Let's start 'er up and see what we've got going on."
"The only answer to that is for the driver's door to creak open and the left side of the car to dip as Bobby climbs into the driver's seat. Dean hears him fumbling with the ignition for a minute and finally the old car tries to start. Tries, being the operative word.
"You see what I mean?" Bobby calls out overtop of the dull whine that is the cars engine whirring pitifully. "She'll turn over, but I just can't get her to catch."
"You've checked the starters?" Dean calls back. It's more conversation than anything else, because anyone worth their salt would think to check the starter first, and right now he's just working his way through the options.
"Yes, Mr. Smartie pants," Bobby leers jokingly. "I checked the starter. It's not that. And it's not the battery or the spark plugs either, smartass."
"D'you check the compression? The Timing chain?"
"Newly replaced," comes Bobby's reply.
Dean sighs, runs a hand through his hair, and drops his ear closer to the engine. "Alright, turn her over again. Let me think."
Bobby does as he's asked and Dean listens hard this time, taking in the sounds and the nuances of the problem, head cocked for maximum listening capacity. A minute or two later Dean holds up his hand for Bobby to turn the car off and stands up.
He's looking somewhere off to Bobby's left as he begins to speak, and even though he's wearing his sunglasses the lack of eye contact and the fact that Dean probably doesn't realize he's not looking directly at his friend is disturbing.
But he's just so damn happy and proud of himself when he announces the problem that Bobby quickly overlooks his own discomfort in favor of reveling in Dean's victory. "It's gotta be the distributor cap ya dork," Dean announces. "Engine's not getting enough fuel to catch. Easy fix."
Bobby smacks his head and slams the car door once he's cleared it. "Damn it, you're right boy. I checked the lines, but didn't even think to look at the cap itself."
"You're slipping, old man," And Dean's not sure if he means the fact that Bobby didn't think of the distributor cap or the fact that Bobby's a really bad actor and had probably considered the distributor cap all along. "Spark, compression, fuel - it's gotta be one of those things, ya know?" he says in lieu of calling the man out entirely. "Looks like you're in need of an assistant mechanic to help you out."
"You askin for the job?" Bobby calls. His voice is muffled, and Dean figures he's already under the car pulling the cap and inspecting it.
"Not so much asking as telling," Dean jokes back. It feels good to joke again, good to be free and useful even if he does know Bobby coulda figured this one out on his own. "I mean really, Bobby, you think the customers are gonna come to you if you can't even figure out the simple stuff? You need me."
Chuckling sounds off to Dean's left, and gets louder as he figures Bobby's pulled himself out from under the car. He can hear the sound of hands smacking against cloth, Bobby brushing himself off, and then the mechanics voice is even closer. "It's the distributor cap alright. Guess you got yourself a job boy." And then Bobby's hand cups Dean's neck in a fatherly gesture, proud and happy. "But we're not replacing it just yet. Gotta order the part. Come on, it's almost lunchtime already and I bet that brother of yours is chomping at the bit for our return."
Dean can't believe how much time has passed in that morning; for the first time in forever time hasn't dragged on for him. His stomach growls in response to Bobby's comment about lunch and Dean smiles. "I could eat."
He's hesitant to grip onto Bobby's arm this time - it's yet to actually be offered - but as much as he appreciated Dante getting him out to the garage he knows he still trusts a guide of the human variety better. But that doesn't stop him from placing his free hand on the top of the massive rottie's head when it's offered, and together the three of them make their way safely back across the junkyard to the house.