Riding the Fence (A Supernatural FanFic)

Part Eight

(Sunday)

“Put that down and come outta here ‘fore you bust that motor mount altogether. I can’t afford to replace the damn thing when it wasn’t broke to begin with.”

“I’m not gonna break it,” Dean growled, hammering angrily and not bothering to peer up out from beneath the hood. He’d been pounding around the shop all morning, tearing cars apart like he wished they were monsters; letting the grease and grime grip his skin like blood had so often in his hunting career. And if he was being truly honest with himself, it did help - this cathartic destruction of vehicles, or ‘salvaging’ as Bobby called it. It was hands-on, strenuous work. If only it could occupy his mind as well as it did his hands.

With every crank came the thought of a knife stroke, every hammer strike, the sound of a gunshot. The silence between was filled with all the arguments had and the things left unsaid and it ate at Dean like acid in his gut, until he could stand it no more and filled the silence with as much noise as he could possibly make.

This was how Bobby had found him, hammering away on a bolt that wouldn’t give, cussing up a storm at the car and his father and the world in general. 

Just that morning, they’d had a serious discussion about dealing with the stresses of the job and Bobby had walked away feeling much better about Dean’s headspace. Dean had seemed more at ease as he collected the list of parts needing salvaged, disappearing off to the shop and Bobby had been glad to see him keeping busy.  What had changed between then and now was anyone’s guess, but Bobby just couldn’t allow it to go on.

“Son, it ain’t the car’s fault.”

Dean’s shoulders went rigid and he slammed down the wrench he’d been using to loosen the bolt, turning angrily on the older man.

“You know what? I don’t need you to tell me that it ain’t the car’s fault, Bobby. I know it ain’t the car’s fault.”

“Don’t get pissy with me, boy,” the Bobby warned, but it was no use; Dean kept on going, his voice rising higher in volume until he was shouting over Bobby’s lower tones.

“I can blame a lot of people, Bobby!” He raised his hand and began ticking off his fingers, one by one, “It’s Dad’s fault for thinking he’s invincible and trying to take on the whole world with his bare hands. It’s all these idiots’ faults for being so freakin’ blind to what’s going on all around them every goddamn day! It’s Sam’s fault for thinking he can take my spot next to Dad and doin’ a piss poor job at protectin’ Dad’s back.”

“You don’t know that,” Bobby interjected.

“You’re right. I don’t know that. And why?! Cuz Sam won’t freakin’ call me back!” He hurled the wrench across the room in anger, shattering several glass jars, spraying nuts and bolts all over the bench and floor. “They haven’t called and they won’t answer and I’m here! And I know. It’s my fault for getting hurt in the first place! If I’d just done my job, none of this would be happening. So yeah, I can blame a lot of people, but none of that is gonna make this any easier. Nothing’s gonna make the time go any faster or take back whatever might have happened to my family. I’m stranded here, useless as…fuck and I’m freaking out, so if I gotta beat this damned car to death to ease my mind, then you’re just gonna have to deal with it, cuz I got nothin’ else.”

Bobby didn’t let Dean’s outburst back him into a corner. He’d been a hunter far too long to let something as mild as Dean Winchester on a rampage scare him, so he squared his shoulders and puffed out his chest, meeting Dean’s rant like a challenge.

“You wanna beat the tar outta somethin’?” he barked, purposefully stepping into Dean’s space, giving him a fingertip shove. The move was met with equal confrontation.