Under other circumstances Eliot would have found the Impala a joy to drive. Yet having the car's owner unconscious and tied in the passenger seat somewhat dampens the experience. Not to mention the mess it will cause if the police shows up and pulls him over. It's not that he couldn't get away, but he never enjoyed beating up honest workers.
It's a good thing Dean hasn't woken up yet. Getting him in the car and tying his arms to the seatbelt hadn't been easy while he was unconscious, but at least he hadn't fought back. Locking his hostage arms behind his back would have been preferable for security, but there are broken ribs involved. A punctured lung isn't something Eliot can fix, and hospital staff is always so meddlesome.
They are ten minutes away from Eliot's house and the field dressing of his arm has bled through when Dean groans. He tries to shift only to find out he's restrained and wary eyes snap open. Eliot is just about to warn him of misbehaving when he's interrupted.
"Seriously… First you put a hole in my jacket, then you bloody go and drive my car. Not okay, no one drives my car. If you put a single scratch on her you will pay, I swear." The man seems unusually calm given his situation, cocky even.
"Yeah, go ahead and try." Eliot waves the taser threateningly. "I obviously can beat you without it, but any attempts while I'm driving and I'll electrocute you." Dean actually huffs at that.
"As if I would do anything that might make you damage my baby." He does however eye the taser with slight apprehension so Eliot figures it will be a good enough defuser. "So, who are you? I'm guessing you're with Talley and the girl – Parker. Is that her first or last name by the way?"
For a second Eliot wonders if it's wise to respond, but what does it matter? If they don't succeed with this scheme they'll have to disappear anyway. "Eliot." He grinds out, not even acknowledging the second question. It's not as if he knows the answer anyway.
"Nice to meet you Eliot. I'm Dean, but I'm sure you've heard of me." A smile is fired off that's big enough that Eliot's peripheral vision is able to catch it. "Where are the rest by the way? And where are we going?"
The mock normalcy is beginning to piss Eliot off. This is a bad idea, he should never have gone along with it. "Shut. Up." He growls, and Dean eyes him – or maybe the taser – apprehensively.
"Whatever dude." Dean concedes. "Don't get your knickers in a twist."
Eliot sighs, on the inside only of course, and grits his teeth. This is going to be a long day.
Logically Elliot knows it might not be wise to be his normal, abrasive, self at this time. They are supposed to get Dean to trust them, to change his mind. Yet Eliot can't manage to play any games right now. He tells himself that risking being caught as insincere would be worse than being a little irritated.
As he turns the car onto his street Hardison informs him that they are leaving the BrewPub. "I'll start researching." He says. "But if I get car sick and throw up in here I'm holding you accountable."
A growl escapes the hitter's throat, and he can feel Dean looking at him. To hell with it, he will find out about the earpieces sooner or later.
"You do that and I break your arm." Hardison actually laughs at him. Maybe Eliot needs to start making real of his threats to make them effective again.
"Yeah, yeah, whatever man. I'll let you know if I find anything, but the facial recognition will take a while on this connection."
As Eliot waits for the garage door to open he can hear Parker asking why Hardison would get carsick. If he had been alone he might have allowed himself a smile listening to the hacker trying to get out of his newly dug grave without criticizing his girlfriend's driving skills.
Using his phone app to close the door behind them Eliot turns off the ignition. He can feel Dean staring openly at him.
"What?" Eliot finally asks.
"Honestly dude." Dean says, and Eliot's rapidly becoming tired of being called that. "You have ear buds for communication and open doors with your phone? Who the fuck are you guys?"
"Usually; the good ones." Dean raises an eyebrow at the answer and Eliot can see why. It would be hard to see ones captors as the good guys. Especially if you're convinced one of them murdered your brother.
"I'm going to cut you loose from the seatbelt. You should keep in mind that you are unarmed with a pair of broken ribs and I've got these." Eliot holds up Dean's knife and the taser to make his point.
"As you wish captain. What'd you do with my gun? I like that gun, it has sentimental value."
A swift but careful cut sever the rope that holds Deans tied hands to the seatbelt. Eliot unbuckles the belt for his passenger and steps out of the vehicle before answering.
"It's around. Behave and I might let you have it back when we let you go." In fact the gun is dismantled on the backseat floor, but Dean doesn't need to know that.
"Already speaking of my release? Someone should teach you how to abduct someone properly. You generally let them stew for a bit, then get whatever it is you want from them. If the victim's alive after that you might consider releasing them. Harder to break a man that has hope and all that."
Their eyes meet over the roof of the car. The God Eliot can't manage to believe in sure knows he already have experience of both sides of the scenario Dean's painted, and something tells him Dean has as well.
"If I was interested in breaking you I would have totaled your car." Eliot's admittance brings a small grin to Dean's face.
"Damn man, you do know your stuff after all."
'If only you knew.' The words pass uninvited through Eliot's brain, but at least he doesn't say them out loud. Instead he shrugs uncommitingly and moves over to disable the alarm and unlock the house.
The air that meets Eliot as the door swings open smells of home. It's a calming blanket that wraps around him and he once again wishes he won't have to leave Portland. He motions Dean inside and they step through to the kitchen.
If Eliot has a choice he never has a fight in a kitchen. It's for two reasons. Firstly, kitchens are for cooking, and as far as possible Eliot wants to separate cooking from fighting. Secondly, kitchens are brimming with potential weapons; it's almost as bad as a workshop. Between sharp knives and heavy pans you could never know what your opponent might come up with next. As such he makes sure that Dean takes a seat at the side of the table that's basically in the living room. That way his position by the counter is in between his involuntary guest and the potential weapons.
"Uh, Eliot?" Hardison's voice floats through the earpiece. Eliot can't be bothered to answer properly so he simply grunts an affirmative. "The facial recognition came through, and, eh…"
"What? Spit it out already." The spoken words make Dean shift his attention to Eliot, clearly wondering what they're talking about.
"Okay… It seems like we've caught us Dean Winchester. I can't believe I didn't recognize him… I mean, I know you don't watch tv but you must have heard about him? He's accused of everything from card fraud and grave desecration to bank robbery and murder. He's most famous though for going on a murder spree with his brother two years ago. They even made sure they were caught on tape."
That is actually something Eliot remembers. Looking over at Dean sitting casually in his kitchen even Eliot has a hard time connecting the dots. He knows seemingly ordinary people can be capable of the most horrendous things, but still… Eliot likes to believe he can look a man in the eye and see what he's capable of, but he can't see a spree killer in Dean. A killer, yes, much in the same way that he sees in the mirror every morning, but not a psychotic mass murderer. Then something else strikes him.
"Weren't they killed? I thought the police shot them?" He can see Dean's face change as he understands the subject of the discussion. He almost looks troubled.
"Yeah, that's the thing, they did." Hardison supplies. "I also have a report about him being shot dead in St. Louis '05, dying in a helicopter crash in '08, I think you get the pattern."
"It's strange," Parker broke in. "If he did all that, why did he hesitate to kill me?"
"The million dollar question, isn't it?" Hardison muses. "I also looked up Jake Talley. Turns out he's real, and let me tell you: He must be my evil twin or something. I mean if I didn't know it wasn't me in those photos… It's bloody creepy, that's what it is."
"His eye color is a few nuances off though." Parker seems calmer about the unknown double than Hardison. There's never any telling what might or might not ruffle that girl. "Besides it said he's five months older than you and two inches taller, so you can't be twins."
"I'm sending Talley's picture to your phone right now." Hardison's words are followed by a ping from said device. "Anyway, we are by the car now and will be on our way back to town soon. I'll show you the rest of it when we're there."
"Whatever," Eliot agrees. Picking up his phone he's actually thrown by the picture in front of him. Sure they said Talley looked a lot like Hardison, but this is simply ridiculous. If not for the military clothing and stance Eliot would have taken him for his teammate straight away.
Dean's studying Eliot intently, apparently waiting for some kind of reaction. Eliot shows him the picture. "I see how you could mistake Hardison for this guy," he says.
"That's it?" Dean's voice is full of disbelief. "I doubt that was the main subject of your conversation."
"It wasn't." Eliot agrees, but he doesn't elaborate. It can wait until he's gotten more information.
If Eliot ignores the spree killings, which he can't make himself believe Dean committed, the other's rap sheet isn't much worse than his own. Maybe except the grave desecration, that's a bit alarming.
.oOo.
It's something about sitting across from a man, stitching up wounds that you have caused each other. Eliot has been sent to infirmary after fights within his platoon but something with the bustling efficiency and disapproving looks from the medical staff makes that a whole other thing. Here, now, sitting across from Dean it feels almost intimate.
When it comes to injuries Eliot is not far from a wounded dog, sneaking away and tending to his injuries in private. Not even Parker is allowed around him if he can help it, and he usually can. It's just something about it all that makes him want to be alone. The eyes he has met during those sessions are always filled with things he hates. Pity, fear, discomfort, nausea; normal humans just don't react well to these sorts of things. The few people he knows that are like him never stays long enough for the patch-up. Sitting with Dean now, pushing the bent needle through the even edges of his own anesthetized skin, there is nothing but quiet acceptance and the sense they've both done this enough times for it to be commonplace.
Dean had taken the suture kit offered to him grudgingly. He's obviously wise enough to realize his arm needs stitching, and while he too had probably rather done it in solitude he seems to accept the situation. The anesthesia had been vehemently turned down though, and Eliot can relate. He would never allow a stranger to inject him with an unknown substance either. Too many bad memories.
Their mamas should be proud of their sewing skills Eliot concludes, as two neat rows of stitches forms on their arms. Not that he'd ever let his mama see anything like this. Not that she's alive anyway.
They are done almost simultaneously, taping compresses over the stitches to keep infections away, when they hear a car pull up on the driveway. In perfect synch the two men rise and hastily clean away the mess of medical supplies and bloody bandages from the table. For Eliot it's always been a drive to keep the innocent that way (and no matter what they may think Hardison and Parker are just that), and apparently it's a thing that Dean shares.
When the thief and the hacker noisily enter the house Dean and Eliot are back to their respective sides of the table. Dean's arms remain untied. It might be a reckless and stupid move but Eliot can't bring himself to retie them. After all he's aware of how painful broken ribs are, even without restrains. If Hardison just keeps out of arm's reach it should be fine, at least that is what Eliot tells himself.