Riding the Fence (A Supernatural FanFic)

Part Nine

(Monday)

Dean took a glass down from the cupboard and turned the faucet to cold, letting it run until it was like ice and then filling his glass to the brim. He lifted it to his mouth, relishing the cool cascade that flowed across his tongue and down his throat, instantaneously cooling his core.

Dean had been out in the shop all morning working on a particularly difficult Dodge. Bobby had asked that he run a diagnostic to determine what was and wasn’t mechanically salvageable on the car as he had a possible buyer lined up. Problem was that Bobby didn’t own a diagnostic machine, so Dean had resorted to going through the vehicle piece by piece, verifying that most everything was in working order. No small task made all the more difficult by the sudden rise in summer temperature, but at least Dean could say that he was keeping himself occupied.

If he kept moving, then he wouldn’t have time to think about his family and the fact that 24 hours later, he still hadn’t received a call back from either of them.

Bobby had caught him the night before sitting in the Chevelle attempting to hotwire the car with plans of heading west to Colorado in search of the missing members of his family. Bobby had approached the car and leaned his arms against the open window, dangling the distributor cap from his fingers in front of Dean’s face.

“I thought we talked about this,” Bobby had stated plainly, not able to come down hard on the kid.

“We did,” Dean’d answered solemnly. “Didn’t figure on getting caught.”

“I mighta been born at night, son, but I wasn’t born last night.” Bobby had pulled the door open with one hand and pointed toward the house with the other. “March,” he’d ordered.

Dean had done so with little argument and they’d had another heart-to-heart, sit down conversation.

“For someone who claims that he doesn’t wanna grow lady parts, you sure seem to like to talk,” Dean complained.

“Yeah, well…”Bobby searched for a witty comeback and failed miserably, “just-just go to bed and quit acting like a baby.”

“Tuck me in?” Dean asked with a smirk, leaving the room quickly before Bobby could swat at him.

“And stay in bed, dammit!” Bobby barked after him.

“Yes, Mom!” Dean hollered back, over the stair rail.

Although the conversation had ended humorously, the bulk of it had been a serious discussion about what happens to idjits who take off in the middle of the night. After which they’d agreed that keeping Dean very busy was probably the best, most viable option for keeping his mind on anything other than his father and brother. So busy he had been.

From the moment he’d woken up, he’d been on the move. A sit down plate of eggs and bacon became and an egg sandwich wrapped in a paper towel and a thermos of coffee; black, just how he liked it. He hadn’t even been allowed in the kitchen. Bobby had met him at the bottom of the stairs with a list and shoved breakfast-to-go into his hands. He’d then taken him by the shoulders, directed him towards the door and given him a hearty shove and a warning: “Under no circumstances are you to beat on any of my vehicles today.”

The list was long and the jobs arduous. Where Bobby had managed to scrounge up such a list was anyone’s guess, but the amount of work on the one sheet alone was enough to keep Dean elbow-deep in grease for a week. Not that he minded. It felt good to get dirty, to once again feel useful. He’d been skating by these last few days, doing as little as possible and not really putting his all into what little he had done because he was anticipating his father’s return. That had been a mistake on Dean’s part; to expect his father back when he’d promised. John Winchester never came back when he promised. Dean would remember that next time, not that there was gonna be a next time.