Chapter Four
4.)Chapter Four
Caroline is waiting for him at the bottom of the steps. She glares at him as he hurries down the last step, looking in all the world like an indignant five year old. Dean wrinkles his nose at her to peel his face into a scowl.
“You did it, you know.” She tells him before he can make up his mind.
Despite himself, Dean can’t help but respond. “Did what?”
She jerks a finger towards the couch, where Roger is passed out, wine glass on the table. “That!”
Dean snorts, rolling his eyes. “Yeah. Right. Listen kid,” He says, “Why don’t you hang with Sammy? I bet you can get him to play with your dolls.” He hates the idea himself, but he hates the thought of leaving a five year old on her own even more. If she got hurt, he’d be the one to blame.
She stomps her feet at him and he has to grin. “I don’t want to play!”
Dean rolls his eyes. How did he wind up dealing with the kids? “What do you want?” He forces his voice to remain calm. Children can sense your fear - and irritation and Dean had enough to worry about without dealing with an upset five year old.
“You gone!”
Dean gives an irritated grunt. “Too bad.” He says, and storms past her, towards the door.
“You can’t leave! It’s against the rules to leave without an adult!” Dean cringes. Sam hadn’t been this bad at five.
Dean slams the door hard in response to her screeching, deciding that the guilt churning at his stomach had everything to do with leaving Sam to deal with a brat and nothing to do with walking out on a kid he doesn’t even know.
As he leaves, Dean hears a crash inside, and the shouts of “Damn it, Caroline!”, and his pace is that much faster. He tells himself Sam will be fine, that whatever Caroline does, it has nothing to do with his brother. Besides, Sam is good at making himself invisible.
Mystic Falls is one of those towns where everything is ten minutes away. Dean takes his time, stretching the walk into a fifteen minute trip as he takes in the December air and the empty streets. It isn’t as cold as it had been earlier, but, with his hands in the jacket pockets, he still pulls the fabric closer.
“I hate December.” Dean decides in a mutter as he glowers at the ground. Idly, he kicks a can out of his way as he ventures into the gas station’s parking lot. This entire town sucks, Dean continues in his thoughts, and the people are crap.
He’s reluctant as he pulls open the door. The metal handle is cold - like everything else in this godforsaken town - and he adds that to the list of things he hates about this place. The store itself is small, with 3 rows of junk food and refrigerators along the sides. He finds batteries along the window isle, snags them and wonders into the snack area.
In the end, nothing looks good enough except a pack of miniature cookies - which he stuffs into his pocket - for Sam. There is a huge ass cookie glaring at him at the end of the isle as he heads to the counter and it takes five glances back before he decides to buy the damn thing.
It’s as he is buying the items, that Dean hears the rumble of a convertible accompanied by a shout of joy. He rolls his eyes, stuffing the cookies and batteries into his other pocket. no time line the present he muses, shoving out the door.
A pack of kids hang around the convertible, though there are three different cars. Dean can spot the leader a mile away, even if he hadn‘t been the one driving. The boy is taller than him, obviously older, with curly hair and sports the sort of jacket Dean’s used to seeing in the movies. Hanging on his arm is a pretty girl with a lopsided grin and a pair of the prettiest lips he’s ever seen.
Dean grins, his feet making his decision before he can talk himself out of it. “Nice car,” He comments, hands suspended in his jacket’s pocket. He doesn’t bother looking at the older boy, though. He smiles at the girl, using the same smile hotel maids had always been helpless against. Hers is one that could light up the world.
Finally, he forces his gaze at the other boy, his grin stretching as he spots the annoyed look before the boy can wipe it from his features.
“Good eye.” The boy says, pulling his arm out from the girls grasp only to place his hand around her shoulder and pull her close.
“I’ve got a thing for cars,” Dean comments, “family tradition.”
“Town’s been looking for a good mechanic.” The boy nods, “I’m Logan Fells.” He says.
Dean ignores the offered hand, leaning back a bit to observe the rest of the group.
“Jenna Sommers.” The girl at Logan’s side says as Logan takes his hand back, shoving it in his pockets. “That back there,” She nods to the tall redhead lurking in the back. “Is Kelly Donovan.”
The woman lifts a bottle at him, giving a cool smile. “Yo.” She says dryly, before taking a swig.
“Dean Winchester.” He says, choosing to ignore the woman. Hey, if he had someone who would buy him beer, he’d be drinking too. Not that he’d ever had the chance to try before.
“Winchester, like the gun?” Logan runs a hand through his hair.
Dean blinks at Logan. “Yeah,” He agrees, “Like the gun.”
“Hey,” someone says from the right of Logan before the silence can stretch too long. “Look who showed up.”
“Well if it isn’t the freak.”
“Hey, Salvatore, your girlfriend tired of you barrowing her make up?” The crowd snickers and Dean has to repress a sigh. Why people like Logan attracted pretty girls like Jenna is beyond him. Dean knows he could be a jerk sometimes, but he’d never be like this ass and his friends.
“Naw man,” says another boy, “More like his boyfriend dresses him up.”
Dean turns to spot the kid everybody is laughing at. He’s ignoring them all, clad in skinny jeans, a jacket and hands shoved into his pocket. Dean tells himself that he’d be wasting his time on somebody who takes this crap, as he turns to face the others again.
“Logan,” Says Jenna, “do something about them!”
“Like what? Come on, Jenna, the kids a freak.”
Besides, Dean thinks, if he can’t handle bullies, that’s his problem.
Jenna glares at Logan and, huffs when he rolls his eyes at him like he’s supposed to understand the words in her eyes. When she shoves away from him, she storms past Dean, to Salvatore and Dean can’t help the smirk that makes its way to his features. There is something about the women in this town. Something Dean can’t quite put his finger on, and somehow, Dean doesn’t mind it so much.
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