Bring It On Home- A Destiel AU [COMPLETED]

Chapter 17

Tuesday evening Dean dropped Bobby off at the airport and thanked him for coming out. The old man hesitated before closing the car door, and said, "Be good, Dean."

Dean nodded, and his stomach twisted. "I'll try."

....

He wasn't more than twenty minutes on the highway when he noticed the fuel gauge. Nearly running on empty. He took the nearest exit and pulled into a Texaco.

He hooked up the pump to his car, then cupped his hands and blew into them as he waited for the tank to fill and watched the price scramble higher. Jesus, it was cold out, and dark now too. And Jesus, the price. Jesus, Jesus, Jesus. After filling up, Dean walked over to the minimart and pushed open the door, a small tinkling bell announcing his arrival.

The woman at the register looked up. She was older, maybe in her fifties, kind lines in her face, with pale blonde hair that hung in soft waves. She smiled.

Dean smiled back politely and set to work scouring the shelves for what he wanted. A pine-scented air freshener shaped like a tree and a couple packs of gum, the kind that tasted like abrasive toothpaste but were guaranteed to make your smile whiter. He brought his items to the counter, and as the woman rang him up, Dean caught sight of the nametag on her vest. Linda. It seemed an appropriate name, a motherly sort of name.

"Have a good night," she said, handing him a receipt.

"You too." Dean grabbed his gum and his pine tree and headed to his car, the little bell over the door tinkling on his way out.

Just as he stepped outside, he noticed a skinny man lurking there, pacing nervously under the awning. His baggy black shirt went almost to the knees of his sagging jeans, and he wasn't wearing any coat. With bloodshot eyes and a slightly awkward gait, he loped past Dean and into the minimart.

Dean speed-walked to his car, and was very relieved to find it was still locked and the stereo was still installed. Obviously this wasn't the best neighborhood, although it could hardly be considered "inner city" considering it was in the middle of nowhere a half hour from the -

BANG!

Dean jumped.

Dean froze.

Dean turned.

He could see through the large windows the man hopping over the counter, taking the money out of the register and shoving it in his pockets, and the very crown of a blonde head slumped behind the counter.

And that's when time slowed down, and every muscle in his body came alive.

Dean knew the smart thing to do. He should get into his car, crouch out of sight, call 911, try and give a good description of the assailant, stay on the line until the police arrived. That was the smart thing.

Instead, he dropped his bag.

He walked to the door, every step pounding in his ears.

The man had his back to the door, too busy rummaging through the register.

Dean knew this was his only chance.

He whipped the door open and charged for the counter, that damn fucking bell ringing all the way.

The man looked up but thank fucking God he was slow on the uptake and the entire world was moving in slow motion now so when he pointed his pistol at Dean and screamed, "Freeze, fucker!" Dean didn't stop, couldn't stop, just plowed on ahead and watched as the man's finger squeezed on the trigger and -

Dean's hand caught his wrist and shoved his arm upwards and the shot fired into the ceiling, blasting in Dean's ears and ringing, ringing, plaster dust sprinkling down and Dean wrestled with him and punched him in the face and slammed him into the cigarette case and wrenched the gun out of his hand, and the man's eyes were wide and terrified and he was yelping like a scared dog and Dean grabbed his collar and heaved him over the counter, headfirst onto the linoleum floor, and leapt over it and stomped him right in the gut and the man buckled comically, his face bugging out, and he tried to punch Dean in the leg, so Dean kicked him and dropped his knee into the man's chest and

I'm fucking alive

raised the butt of the gun in his fist

I'm fucking alive

and brought it down with a sickening crack on the man's skull

how the fuck am I alive

and the man stopped moving and his head lolled to the side.

Dean panted, the blood coursing through his veins like swift water rapids and he stood up and walked behind the counter and said, "Linda?"

She was slumped on the floor, a pool of blood dribbling out of the gaping wound on her leg. "Help," she croaked. "Help me."

Dean crouched down to her and shrugged off his jacket, laid it on her, pulled off his overshirt and bunched it up and pressed over the wound. She made a whimpering noise. "It's okay," he said, "hang on." And he pulled his phone out of his pocket and dialed.

"911, what's your emergency?"

"She's been shot," Dean said, his voice higher and shakier than he had expected. He realized his hands were shaking too. "We need help. A woman is shot in the leg. What do I do?"

The operator spoke rapidly and smoothly. "Okay, sir, first I need to know where you are."

"I'm at a Texaco," Dean answered, "Exit 16 off the Interstate, we need an ambulance quick, she's bleeding a lot, my - my - my shirt is already soaked through -"

"They're on their way," the operator said. "Now, you're going to need to make a tourniquet. I can talk you through it. Please stay on the line."

The man on the floor groaned.

"Hang on," Dean said, "I'm here, but just one second."

He put Linda's hand where his had been and set the phone down and quickly went to a nearby shelf, grabbed two zip ties, and walked over to the man. The man still had his eyes closed, but his face was scrunched up in pain. Dean rolled him over onto his stomach and zipped his wrists together, then scrambled back to Linda.

He picked up the phone. "Okay. Tell me what to do."

....

They wanted to take him to the hospital. Dean didn't want to go.

"Is Linda going to be alright?" he asked.

The two officers looked at each other. "She'll probably pull through."

"Then I want to go home." Dean put his head in his hands. "I told you what happened, I gave you my statement. Please, let me go home."

One of the officers took pity on him. "Alright, but we're taking you. You're in no condition to drive."

So they drove him home in a patrol car, and walked him to the door, and gave him a pat on the shoulder with the promise that they'd "be in touch tomorrow."

Dean staggered inside, every bone in his body filled with concrete. Immediately he stripped off his bloody clothes and trudged upstairs and turned on the shower as hot as he could stand.

He stood there for a few seconds, just rinsing, and then felt his knees tremble and got out. He wearily pulled on his robe and laid flat on his bed and closed his eyes.

"Dean?"

Dean opened his eyes.

"Dean!" Cas called again, this accompanied by quick footsteps on the stairs.

Dean sat up.

Cas burst into the room, his face white as a sheet. "Dean! Are you alright? I saw the police - the blood -"

And for some reason everything strong inside of Dean crumbled all at once and welled up in his eyes and he said in a pleading, creaky voice, "Cas..."

Without another word, Cas walked to the edge of the bed and put his arms around him tightly. Dean pulled him onto the bed and hugged him close and buried his face in Cas's shoulder and twined their legs together because for some reason, he was still fucking alive and all he wanted was Cas all around him.

And after awhile, Dean fell asleep.