Chapter Six
As soon as Dean and Cas cleaned themselves up and got back to work (and Benny had washed the chocolate from his face), Benny pulled Cas aside as he cleaned up tables and dishes.
“Can’t go on, Cas,” he was saying, following Cas around as the younger man tried diligently to ignore him. “I’m talkin’ to you as a friend.” At that, Cas stopped briefly to scoff at the sheriff before continuing to the next table. Benny hurried to follow.
“There’s people in this town--payin’ customers too--but some people don’ like you sellin’ to coloreds!”
Cas stopped abruptly to stare Benny down. “Tell you what. Next time those ‘some people’ come here, I’m gonna ask if they don’ want nobody to know who they are under those sheets when they go marchin’ in those stupid parades, how come they don’ have the sense to change their shoes?” he asked angrily, poking Benny’s arm hard. Benny frowned at him.
“Now, hold on there--”
“Ya’ll ain’ foolin’ nobody,” Cas continued, turning his attention back to cleaning the table. “I recognize those size fourteen clodhoppers you got there anywhere.”
“Just a minute, Cas--”
“You’re in my way, Sheriff,” Cas interrupted, looking pointedly over Benny’s shoulder to the kitchen door. Benny sighed heavily, stepping to the side.
“Look, I’ll talk to the boys, you just keep them all out back there, ya hear?” he said, jerking his head out the window where Big Victor was barbecuing for the group of coloreds lounging in the grass. Cas didn’t reply, ignoring the raised eyebrows from Dean as he dumped the dirty dishes in the sink.
“You’re gonna get yourself in a heap a trouble.”
Cas turned quickly, staring at Dean. “Don’ tell me you agree with him.”
“Course not,” Dean assured him. “But he is sheriff...”
“Says the one who spread chocolate all over the sheriff’s face,” Cas pointed out. Dean didn’t seem to have a response to that.
“‘Sides, Benny’s harmless,” Cas continued, turning back to the dishes. “Shoulda seen that big ox down by the river three solid days, cryin’ like a baby ‘cause Rufus, that old colored man who raised him, died. ‘Member that, Missouri?” Cas asked just as Missouri entered from outside.
“Yessuh,” Missouri agreed, shooing him away from the dishes and taking over. “Don’ make no sense, big bear like Benny won’ sit next ta a colored child, but he eat eggs shoot right outta chicken’s ass.”
A loud guffaw burst from Dean in surprise. Missouri looked back at him with a shrug.
“That’s the truth of it, ‘n’ ya know it!”
-----
Whistle Stop bustled with excitement that year when July rolled around. Sure most of everyone had Big Victor’s barbecue and Dean’s pie every day, but Indepence Day was an excuse to have larger servings and maybe even seconds. Cas set up a few raffle drawings for free food and late that night everyone gathered outside to watch Reverend Singer’s fireworks show. Everyone, that is, except Dean. Dean stayed behind at the cafe to clean up, letting Cas go on with everyone else. Cas tried to convince him to come along, but Dean was insistent, and then the first few cracks hit the air. Cas looked torn for a few seconds before giving in and running outside to watch the show.
Years ago when Dean had been about eight or nine years old and John Winchester was fighting over in Europe and Mary was paying the bills by doing the housekeeping for a few neighbors, Dean and Sam decided to celebrate Independence Day. Dean had managed to steal a load of fireworks from the market downtown and found a good enough hiding place that neither Sammy nor Mary found them. Late that night, after Mary had crashed in her bed and Dean was sure she wouldn’t be waking up anytime soon, he woke up Sammy and showed him the pile of fireworks. The look of surprise and excitement on Sam’s face had Dean thinking he’d be stealing fireworks for the both of them for years to come.
The two boys carried the fireworks carefully outside and about a mile away from the house where there was a nice little clearing nestled between some trees. Using the matches they’d lifted from the kitchen, they lit the fireworks and watched them shoot off. It was at least an hour before all of them were gone, and I’ll be honest, it was a goddamn miracle neither one of those boys lost a finger. And that their momma never found out neither.
After all the fireworks were gone and they had found their way back home, Sam suddenly surprised Dean by wrapping him up in as much of a bear hug as a skinny five year old can give.
“Thanks, Dean. Momma or Daddy woulda never let us do somethin’ like that. It was great.”
-----
That winter was one of the more warm winters the people of Whistle Stop could remember. Really, the only reason people even remembered it was technically winter was the holidays. Everything else was just business as usual. The cafe still had a steady flow of customers, Big Victor still barbecued in the back every day, and the skeeters still buzzed. Little Sammy was two and a half now, and it was officially getting to the point where Dean couldn’t remember for the life of him how he’d managed to have the energy to take care of Sammy Senior back in the day. The time of night when the little one finally fell asleep (usually from pure exhaustion) was the best part of the day, when Dean would just collapse in the rocking chair next to the crib. Cas was usually closing up the cafe for the night at that point, but Missouri was always nearby if Dean needed an extra pair of hands.
One night after Little Sammy had fallen asleep, Dean heard a commotion outside. Before he could force himself to his feet and to the window, the front door burst open. Dean jumped, heart leaping to his throat when he recognized the figure walking into his house.
“Aby.”
Those hazel-grey eyes met his, and she smirked. All of a sudden Missouri was in the room, broom in her hands, and was batting at the taller woman like she was a cat.
“Git outta here! Git on outta here!” she hissed viciously, as Aby watched her bemusedly. “Go on ‘n’ git outta here ‘n’ leave us ‘lone!”
Aby ignored her easily, stepping towards Dean, who suddenly realized he hadn’t moved and that Little Sammy was still sleeping peacefully in the crib. In a few short steps Dean was standing between Aby and the crib, shoulders back and a determined set to his jaw.
“Come on now, Dean,” Aby said, sweet as venom. “You wouldn’ deny a mother the right to see her son, would ya?”
“You git, I say!” Missouri spat, scurrying back to Dean’s side, still beating at Aby with the broom. “Scat you!”
But Aby kept advancing until she could see over Dean’s shoulder into the crib. “Well. That’s my boy, isn’ it?”
Dean was tight as a coil, ready to spring and do what he could to protect his son, but then Chuck, unassuming, scraggly Chuck, appeared in the doorway.
“Everythin’ okay here, sir?” he asked, sounding just a touch drunk.
“Our guest was just leavin’,” Dean said, as calm and steady as he could. Aby’s eyebrows went high, but then Chuck was pushed aside by a tall man in white and a pointed hood, flaming torch in hand.
“Come on, Aby, let’s go.”
Aby glanced over her shoulder to the new intruder, looking thoroughly annoyed. But she turned back to Dean with another poisonous smile.
“I’ll be back.”
Aby started to turn away but snatched the broom from Missouri’s grasp, fast as a snake, throwing it aside.
“I ain’ scared a you!” Missouri snapped. “No ma’am!”
“You should be,” Aby growled. And then she was gone.
Dean sank back against the crib as the tension seeped away. Chuck entered the house cautiously as Missouri scampered out the door to watch Aby leave.
“You all right, sir?” he asked. Dean nodded firmly, regaining his footing.
“We’re all right, Chuck. Thank you. Missouri?” Dean called, going after her. Missouri’s face suddenly reappeared in the doorway, eyes wide and face drawn.
“They got my boy, suh!” she whispered hoarsely. “They got Big Victor!”
Dean was out of the door, running towards the circle of men in white before he even realized it. Pushing through the wall of white cloth Dean finally made it to the center where Big Victor was on his knees, shirt torn as one hooded figure slashed open the skin on his back with a whip. Dean was immediately beside him, working blindly on the ropes holding Big Victor’s wrists together.
“Let go a him!” he screamed at the one with the whip, hysterical with rage. First his little boy was threatened, and now this? God, Dean hated these horrible people, trying to be anonymous with stupid coned hoods.
Suddenly there were strong arms pulling him back, a familiar gruff voice barking at him. “Lemme handle this!”
Dean resisted until the arms whirled him around, shaking him hard. “Lemme handle this, Dean, ya hear me?” Benny hissed. Dean blinked, confused for a moment, before stepping back as Benny stalked towards the one with the whip.
“We seen how you treat your niggers ‘round here,” the stranger called, “‘n’ we don’ like it.”
“Well, I’m the law in these parts,” Benny replied calmly. “I don’ care what you like or don’ like. Turn ‘im loose.”
“Don’ get riled up, nigga lover.”
“You deaf or somethin’?” Benny asked, and Dean was glad to finally hear a tone of anger in his voice. “I said let ‘im go ‘fore you get yourselves in a whole lotta trouble!”
“Calm down,” the stranger said, raising a hand in surrender. “We wanted to have a little get-together ‘n’ make sure we see eye-to-eye on some things. You hear me now?” He turned to his comrades. “Let’s let ‘im go, boys. We had enough fun for one night. Let ‘im loose.”
Dean hurried to Big Victor’s side as soon as he was loose, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and helping him to his feet. Slowly they made their way to the cafe as Benny continued with the Klan.
“Now that’s more like it. Seems I don’ recognize any of you boys. Ya’ll ain’ from Whistle Stop, are ya?”
Dean stopped listening as they entered the cafe. Cas came out of the kitchen at the sound of the door opening, drying his hands with a towel. He dropped the towel when he saw Dean and Big Victor, rushing to help them to the kitchen.
“What the hell happened?” he asked as he wet a fresh rag to clean Big Victor’s back.
“Kluxers,” Dean murmured, adrenaline starting to fade. “Aby was with ‘em.”
Cas looked up sharply. “You sure it was her?”
Dean only nodded wearily, slumping against a counter. Benny entered the kitchen, frowning at the gruesome picture of slashed open skin.
“Ya all right, Big Victor?” he asked gently. Big Victor nodded numbly.
“I be fine, thanks ta you ‘n’ Mista Dean.”
Benny nodded, reassured before meeting Cas’s gaze steadily. “Just so you know, Cas. I don’ wear no size fourteen.”
-----
Later that night, after Missouri tutted over her son and thanked Dean and Cas profusely, after Dean retrieved a still sleeping Sammy from his crib and took him to bed with himself and Cas, Cas wrapped his arms tightly around both Dean and the baby.
“You think Big Victor was just a distraction?”
“From Aby?” Dean clarified. “Dunno. She mighta just hitched a ride. Or maybe she told everyone I got run over by a Brinks Armoured truck ‘n’ tragically died ‘n’ got remarried.”
Cas smiled slightly. “Well, don’ worry. If she ever comes back, I’ll take care of her. I’m sure I can think a somethin’.”
“Don’ take any chances,” Dean whispered, burying his face in Little Sammy’s soft hair. “Promise me you won’ do anythin’ crazy, no matter what.”
Cas gaped at him. “Me? Not me!” he said, as innocent as possible. Dean only shook his head, kissing his son’s hair softly.
“Can’t go on, Cas,” he was saying, following Cas around as the younger man tried diligently to ignore him. “I’m talkin’ to you as a friend.” At that, Cas stopped briefly to scoff at the sheriff before continuing to the next table. Benny hurried to follow.
“There’s people in this town--payin’ customers too--but some people don’ like you sellin’ to coloreds!”
Cas stopped abruptly to stare Benny down. “Tell you what. Next time those ‘some people’ come here, I’m gonna ask if they don’ want nobody to know who they are under those sheets when they go marchin’ in those stupid parades, how come they don’ have the sense to change their shoes?” he asked angrily, poking Benny’s arm hard. Benny frowned at him.
“Now, hold on there--”
“Ya’ll ain’ foolin’ nobody,” Cas continued, turning his attention back to cleaning the table. “I recognize those size fourteen clodhoppers you got there anywhere.”
“Just a minute, Cas--”
“You’re in my way, Sheriff,” Cas interrupted, looking pointedly over Benny’s shoulder to the kitchen door. Benny sighed heavily, stepping to the side.
“Look, I’ll talk to the boys, you just keep them all out back there, ya hear?” he said, jerking his head out the window where Big Victor was barbecuing for the group of coloreds lounging in the grass. Cas didn’t reply, ignoring the raised eyebrows from Dean as he dumped the dirty dishes in the sink.
“You’re gonna get yourself in a heap a trouble.”
Cas turned quickly, staring at Dean. “Don’ tell me you agree with him.”
“Course not,” Dean assured him. “But he is sheriff...”
“Says the one who spread chocolate all over the sheriff’s face,” Cas pointed out. Dean didn’t seem to have a response to that.
“‘Sides, Benny’s harmless,” Cas continued, turning back to the dishes. “Shoulda seen that big ox down by the river three solid days, cryin’ like a baby ‘cause Rufus, that old colored man who raised him, died. ‘Member that, Missouri?” Cas asked just as Missouri entered from outside.
“Yessuh,” Missouri agreed, shooing him away from the dishes and taking over. “Don’ make no sense, big bear like Benny won’ sit next ta a colored child, but he eat eggs shoot right outta chicken’s ass.”
A loud guffaw burst from Dean in surprise. Missouri looked back at him with a shrug.
“That’s the truth of it, ‘n’ ya know it!”
-----
Whistle Stop bustled with excitement that year when July rolled around. Sure most of everyone had Big Victor’s barbecue and Dean’s pie every day, but Indepence Day was an excuse to have larger servings and maybe even seconds. Cas set up a few raffle drawings for free food and late that night everyone gathered outside to watch Reverend Singer’s fireworks show. Everyone, that is, except Dean. Dean stayed behind at the cafe to clean up, letting Cas go on with everyone else. Cas tried to convince him to come along, but Dean was insistent, and then the first few cracks hit the air. Cas looked torn for a few seconds before giving in and running outside to watch the show.
Years ago when Dean had been about eight or nine years old and John Winchester was fighting over in Europe and Mary was paying the bills by doing the housekeeping for a few neighbors, Dean and Sam decided to celebrate Independence Day. Dean had managed to steal a load of fireworks from the market downtown and found a good enough hiding place that neither Sammy nor Mary found them. Late that night, after Mary had crashed in her bed and Dean was sure she wouldn’t be waking up anytime soon, he woke up Sammy and showed him the pile of fireworks. The look of surprise and excitement on Sam’s face had Dean thinking he’d be stealing fireworks for the both of them for years to come.
The two boys carried the fireworks carefully outside and about a mile away from the house where there was a nice little clearing nestled between some trees. Using the matches they’d lifted from the kitchen, they lit the fireworks and watched them shoot off. It was at least an hour before all of them were gone, and I’ll be honest, it was a goddamn miracle neither one of those boys lost a finger. And that their momma never found out neither.
After all the fireworks were gone and they had found their way back home, Sam suddenly surprised Dean by wrapping him up in as much of a bear hug as a skinny five year old can give.
“Thanks, Dean. Momma or Daddy woulda never let us do somethin’ like that. It was great.”
-----
That winter was one of the more warm winters the people of Whistle Stop could remember. Really, the only reason people even remembered it was technically winter was the holidays. Everything else was just business as usual. The cafe still had a steady flow of customers, Big Victor still barbecued in the back every day, and the skeeters still buzzed. Little Sammy was two and a half now, and it was officially getting to the point where Dean couldn’t remember for the life of him how he’d managed to have the energy to take care of Sammy Senior back in the day. The time of night when the little one finally fell asleep (usually from pure exhaustion) was the best part of the day, when Dean would just collapse in the rocking chair next to the crib. Cas was usually closing up the cafe for the night at that point, but Missouri was always nearby if Dean needed an extra pair of hands.
One night after Little Sammy had fallen asleep, Dean heard a commotion outside. Before he could force himself to his feet and to the window, the front door burst open. Dean jumped, heart leaping to his throat when he recognized the figure walking into his house.
“Aby.”
Those hazel-grey eyes met his, and she smirked. All of a sudden Missouri was in the room, broom in her hands, and was batting at the taller woman like she was a cat.
“Git outta here! Git on outta here!” she hissed viciously, as Aby watched her bemusedly. “Go on ‘n’ git outta here ‘n’ leave us ‘lone!”
Aby ignored her easily, stepping towards Dean, who suddenly realized he hadn’t moved and that Little Sammy was still sleeping peacefully in the crib. In a few short steps Dean was standing between Aby and the crib, shoulders back and a determined set to his jaw.
“Come on now, Dean,” Aby said, sweet as venom. “You wouldn’ deny a mother the right to see her son, would ya?”
“You git, I say!” Missouri spat, scurrying back to Dean’s side, still beating at Aby with the broom. “Scat you!”
But Aby kept advancing until she could see over Dean’s shoulder into the crib. “Well. That’s my boy, isn’ it?”
Dean was tight as a coil, ready to spring and do what he could to protect his son, but then Chuck, unassuming, scraggly Chuck, appeared in the doorway.
“Everythin’ okay here, sir?” he asked, sounding just a touch drunk.
“Our guest was just leavin’,” Dean said, as calm and steady as he could. Aby’s eyebrows went high, but then Chuck was pushed aside by a tall man in white and a pointed hood, flaming torch in hand.
“Come on, Aby, let’s go.”
Aby glanced over her shoulder to the new intruder, looking thoroughly annoyed. But she turned back to Dean with another poisonous smile.
“I’ll be back.”
Aby started to turn away but snatched the broom from Missouri’s grasp, fast as a snake, throwing it aside.
“I ain’ scared a you!” Missouri snapped. “No ma’am!”
“You should be,” Aby growled. And then she was gone.
Dean sank back against the crib as the tension seeped away. Chuck entered the house cautiously as Missouri scampered out the door to watch Aby leave.
“You all right, sir?” he asked. Dean nodded firmly, regaining his footing.
“We’re all right, Chuck. Thank you. Missouri?” Dean called, going after her. Missouri’s face suddenly reappeared in the doorway, eyes wide and face drawn.
“They got my boy, suh!” she whispered hoarsely. “They got Big Victor!”
Dean was out of the door, running towards the circle of men in white before he even realized it. Pushing through the wall of white cloth Dean finally made it to the center where Big Victor was on his knees, shirt torn as one hooded figure slashed open the skin on his back with a whip. Dean was immediately beside him, working blindly on the ropes holding Big Victor’s wrists together.
“Let go a him!” he screamed at the one with the whip, hysterical with rage. First his little boy was threatened, and now this? God, Dean hated these horrible people, trying to be anonymous with stupid coned hoods.
Suddenly there were strong arms pulling him back, a familiar gruff voice barking at him. “Lemme handle this!”
Dean resisted until the arms whirled him around, shaking him hard. “Lemme handle this, Dean, ya hear me?” Benny hissed. Dean blinked, confused for a moment, before stepping back as Benny stalked towards the one with the whip.
“We seen how you treat your niggers ‘round here,” the stranger called, “‘n’ we don’ like it.”
“Well, I’m the law in these parts,” Benny replied calmly. “I don’ care what you like or don’ like. Turn ‘im loose.”
“Don’ get riled up, nigga lover.”
“You deaf or somethin’?” Benny asked, and Dean was glad to finally hear a tone of anger in his voice. “I said let ‘im go ‘fore you get yourselves in a whole lotta trouble!”
“Calm down,” the stranger said, raising a hand in surrender. “We wanted to have a little get-together ‘n’ make sure we see eye-to-eye on some things. You hear me now?” He turned to his comrades. “Let’s let ‘im go, boys. We had enough fun for one night. Let ‘im loose.”
Dean hurried to Big Victor’s side as soon as he was loose, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and helping him to his feet. Slowly they made their way to the cafe as Benny continued with the Klan.
“Now that’s more like it. Seems I don’ recognize any of you boys. Ya’ll ain’ from Whistle Stop, are ya?”
Dean stopped listening as they entered the cafe. Cas came out of the kitchen at the sound of the door opening, drying his hands with a towel. He dropped the towel when he saw Dean and Big Victor, rushing to help them to the kitchen.
“What the hell happened?” he asked as he wet a fresh rag to clean Big Victor’s back.
“Kluxers,” Dean murmured, adrenaline starting to fade. “Aby was with ‘em.”
Cas looked up sharply. “You sure it was her?”
Dean only nodded wearily, slumping against a counter. Benny entered the kitchen, frowning at the gruesome picture of slashed open skin.
“Ya all right, Big Victor?” he asked gently. Big Victor nodded numbly.
“I be fine, thanks ta you ‘n’ Mista Dean.”
Benny nodded, reassured before meeting Cas’s gaze steadily. “Just so you know, Cas. I don’ wear no size fourteen.”
-----
Later that night, after Missouri tutted over her son and thanked Dean and Cas profusely, after Dean retrieved a still sleeping Sammy from his crib and took him to bed with himself and Cas, Cas wrapped his arms tightly around both Dean and the baby.
“You think Big Victor was just a distraction?”
“From Aby?” Dean clarified. “Dunno. She mighta just hitched a ride. Or maybe she told everyone I got run over by a Brinks Armoured truck ‘n’ tragically died ‘n’ got remarried.”
Cas smiled slightly. “Well, don’ worry. If she ever comes back, I’ll take care of her. I’m sure I can think a somethin’.”
“Don’ take any chances,” Dean whispered, burying his face in Little Sammy’s soft hair. “Promise me you won’ do anythin’ crazy, no matter what.”
Cas gaped at him. “Me? Not me!” he said, as innocent as possible. Dean only shook his head, kissing his son’s hair softly.