Gotta Move On
Title: Gotta Move On
Summary: Dean's plans to set things right for his dad go to hell when Sam is put in danger, but he soon finds that things aren't as bad as he thinks and that codewords aren't just for the movies.
Rating: PG
Word Count: 4,550
Warnings: None
Spoilers: None
Author’s Note: The original version of this was the first SPN story I wrote (ergo the real_funky_town username), but never did post. I've been wanting it out of my WIP folder forever and finally got a chance to rewrite it and post it for the wonderful Winchester Summer LoveFest at theheartofspn. Thanks so much to mayhsgirl93 for the beta!
~~~
Outskirts of Scottsbluff, Nebraska 1993
Dean tore down the empty sidewalk as fast as his gangly legs could carry him. The worn down treads of his boots skidded over the slick pavement as he took the next corner at a full sprint.
He shot his hand out to catch himself, scraping it over the rough brick wall. He cursed at the sting, but only slowed enough to glance over his shoulder before pushing off the wall and shooting down the alley.
The streets were deserted and the pounding of his footsteps was far too loud without the rush of traffic to muffle them. Even the wind had gone still and the midday sun didn’t leave any shadows deep enough to hide in.
His lungs ached as they struggled to pull enough air down his raw throat. The pounding of blood in his ears was enough to make his head ache, but he barely noticed it or the burning in his calves. He’d trained through far worse.
The arcade was just up the street and he’d already figured out they didn’t lock the back door. It would be his best chance for cover. He barreled back out onto the road.
Dean skidded to a stop and turned to dodge back into the alley when he saw someone on the street up ahead. It didn’t occur to him to look to see who it was until they called his name.
His eyes narrowed, but uncertainty quickly gave way to panic. He waved his arms, desperate to silence his brother’s shouting. It didn’t work. Sam was as oblivious as ever.
Dean ran to close the distance between them, snatching Sam’s arm and tugging him after him. His pace slowed slightly to make up for Sam’s shorter legs, but Sam still struggled to keep up as Dean dragged him down the next alley.
Once they were out of sight, Dean jerked his little brother down beside him. They crouched next to a dumpster that reeked of rotting food and smelled like an outhouse.
Sam jerked his arm out of Dean’s grip. “Ow! Dean, what’re you-”
His hand clamped over Sam’s mouth as he held his breath and strained to hear. When he didn’t hear anyone following, he released his squirming brother. He plopped the rest of the way down, his exhausted legs sprawling over the ground as he adjusted the weight of the gun shoved into the back of his pants.
Dean looked down at Sam as soon as he’d gathered enough air to form words. “Why aren’t you in school?”
“Why weren’t you?” Sam asked the question in the same hushed tone Dean had used. “And why are we hiding?”
“We’re not doing anything. You know the rules. If school’s out, get back to the motel.”
“I was looking for you,” Sam said.
“Well, you found me. Now get out of here.”
“No.” Sam crossed his arms over his chest and hunkered back against the wall, making it clear that he had no intention of going anywhere. “Why are you the only one who gets to play at the arcade?”
Dean rolled his eyes. He’d been trying to get Sam to come down to the arcade all week, but his brother kept whining about some stupid test at school and said the arcade was too noisy to study in.
Dean got to his feet and yanked on Sam’s arm. “Get up.” Instead of standing, Sam laid back, dangling limply while Dean wrestled to haul him to his feet. “Come on, Sammy, don’t be a little bitch.”
Sam pushed back against the wall so Dean couldn’t get his arms around him without scraping his knuckles. “No. I wanna play, too.”
“You don’t even like arcades, shorty.”
Dean’s words had the desired effect. Sam popped up to his feet so fast that Dean nearly tumbled backwards. Sam stood as tall as he could in his worn down sneakers, pouting when he still didn’t come close to matching Dean’s height.
“I do, too,” Sam said. “I just don’t like Plucky’s.”
Dean snickered. “That’s because that clown jumped out of the alley and made you pee your pants.”
“Did not!” Dean easily deflected Sam’s swat, but braced himself to let Sam get a shove in. “You’re such a jerk, Dean.”
“Yeah, whatever. I’ll walk you to the motel, okay?”
Sam seemed satisfied with the compromise that would let Dean keep an eye out incase he was still being followed. Dean put out a hand to stop Sam at the edge of the alley. He listened carefully and peeked out, watching for movement before leading Sam ahead.
“What’re you looking for?” Sam asked.
“Clowns with giant fangs and...” Dean laughed when Sam rammed into him, pushing him to the side. He shoved his little brother back just to remind him who was in charge.
“It’s not funny, Dean. At least I’m not hiding from some girl.”
“I don’t hide from girls,” Dean said.
“You did at our last school.”
“Dude, that chick was...never mind.” Dean fluffed his hand through the mop of hair on Sam’s head. “At least I don’t look like a girl.”
Sam slapped his hand away, but Dean was too busy scanning the streets to really notice. He kept Sam on the inside of the sidewalk and tight to the buildings in case he had to cover him.
“You’re still hiding,” Sam said.
“And you’re still an annoying pain in the ass.” Dean sighed. “I just don’t want you wandering around here alone. This place is full of jerks with-”
“Get your ass back here, boy!” a gruff voice thundered.
Dean clutched his little brother’s arm, yanking Sam behind him. “Move it, Sammy!”
This time, he didn’t slow to match Sam’s pace, but forced Sam into a full sprint as he again took off running. He didn’t have to look back to hear the heavy footsteps closing in behind them. The guy might be as old as Dad, but like Dad, he was also in really good shape.
“This is your last warning, kid,” the man huffed.
Dean had heard similar words often enough not to think much of them. He just kept running an uneven line down the road until the seemingly empty threat was followed by a gunshot.
“Son of a bitch!”
Dean pulled Sam to the sidewalk and threw himself on top of his brother. His arms came up to shield Sam’s head as the shot ricocheted off the fire hydrant six feet from them. He felt behind his back to make sure that the gun he’d swiped was still there.
“How many guns does this freak have?” Dean muttered beneath his breath, when his fingers brushed over steel.
He clambered back to his feet, splashing through a puddle and wincing at the sting in his freshly skinned knee. At least Sam had the common sense to stop asking questions and just followed his lead as Dean tore down the sidewalk.
He was going to have to bribe the hell out of Sam once they got out of this. If Sam breathed a word of this to Dad, it would be Dean’s funeral. He was supposed to watch out for Sam, not throw him into the line of fire.
Once he stowed Sam, Dean was going to rip this bastard a new one. It was one thing for the guy to screw with him. Dean had kind of stolen the jerk’s gun and might have pocketed the cash from his repair shop’s till. But no one shot at his brother.
Dean cut through a side alley and circled back around to the arcade’s dumpster. He hung off the side and threw open the lid before jumping back down.
“Get in there.” Dean shoved Sam forward when he didn’t budge. “Dude, hurry up!”
Sam wrinkled his nose. “No way. You get in there.”
“He’s looking for me, not you, ass wipe. Just get in there until I come back.”
“No.” Sam’s words were firm and he backed away. “I’m not leaving you, Dean.”
The corner of Dean’s lips curled up. He drew his brother to his side and squeezed his shoulder. “It’ll be okay, Sammy. I promise. Now shut up and get in the dumpster.”
Sam looked like he wanted to argue, but finally huffed in defeat. “Fine. Help me up.”
Dean boosted Sam so he could reach the edge and helped to give him a shove over the top. Sam plopped down out of sight onto the garbage bags below. His head popped back up a moment later as he reached for the lid.
Sam’s eyes were wide with worry. “You’ll come back for me?”
“Always.” Dean gave a dismiss wave. “Don’t you worry. I got everything under control.”
He waited for the lid to fall closed over the filthy dumpster before he jogged back to peer out of the alley. The guy was doubled over a block away, huffing and puffing. This was going to be easier than Dean had thought. He should have known the guy wasn’t as fit as Dad.
Dean sauntered out onto the street. His expression was casual, though his hand reached behind his back in case he had to pull the gun. Dad would have his ass for going into a fight with a gun he wasn’t familiar with, but Dean wasn’t actually going to fire it. The jerk was only human.
“Hey!” Dean shouted, getting ready to bolt the moment the man saw him. “Over here, sweetheart.”
~~~
Leading the guy in circles had seemed like a really good idea until Dean had remembered that they were playing on the man’s home turf. Dean wasn’t sure whether or not the guy was still following him, but he did know he was lost.
They hadn’t been in town long, and like everywhere else, they wouldn’t be staying. There wasn’t a point in getting to know the area.
In the months after the fire, Dean had always felt lost. Panic would creep up in his belly when he woke up in a strange bed, too asleep to remember why he wasn’t home. The feeling didn’t last long.
Soon, he’d gotten used to Dad leaving him weird places and of not knowing anything or anyone. He no longer felt that sense of being lost because there was nowhere he was supposed to be.
His location only mattered in relation to where his family was and that’s why he felt that old, familiar panic tickling his gut now. He’d gotten all spun around and he didn’t know how to get back to his brother.
Dean squinted up at the sun and checked his watch, trying to guess what direction he was facing. It would help if he even knew what direction the dumpster was in.
Everything here looked the same. It was just drab colored buildings and flat open fields, but at some point he’d ran past the businesses and empty lots. He was a couple blocks away from residential houses and there was a huge field of corn not too much further.
People wouldn’t plant so much corn and they sure wouldn’t live near it, if they knew what kind of stuff lived in it. He’d seen pictures of some of the nasty ass monsters Dad had hunted in corn fields.
He hadn’t seen the corn before, and knew it was the wrong direction, so he turned the other way. A few minutes later, he was back in familiar territory, breaking out into a run when he ducked into the arcade’s alley. He skidded to a stop beside the dumpster.
“Wakey, wakey, Sammy.”
Sam didn’t answer. Dean knocked on the side of the dumpster. It sounded way too hollow, considering how full it had been. He climbed up and threw open the lid. His fear was confirmed when he looked inside to find nothing but foul smelling sludge puddled at the bottom.
“What kind of piece of crap town does garbage pickup in the afternoon?”
Dean jumped down, searching the alley while trying to remain calm. It wasn’t like Sam was stupid enough to have gotten himself thrown into a dump truck. Knowing that didn’t stop the visual of Sam being crushed inside of one.
“Sammy? You better be here or I’m gonna…. Sam, come on!” Dean called as loud as he dared, struggling to keep the panic from his voice. “Dude, I’m sorry I left you, but this isn’t funny.”
As much as he wanted to pretend it was a possibility, he knew Sam wasn’t just screwing with him. That only left Sam unable to answer because he was hurt or dead or just not here. Since Dean couldn’t deal with the first two options, he went with the third and headed back down the street.
Sam was probably sitting back at the motel doing his homework. He’d probably also called Dad, which meant Dean was going to die, but he didn’t care as long as Sam was actually okay.
Ten minutes later, Dean jogged up the motel’s outdoor stairs to their second floor room. He was almost too exhausted to stand as he banged on the door. “Sammy, open up!”
Again, he was met with only silence. His hands shook as he dug the motel key from his pocket and fumbled to jam it into the lock. He shoved open the door and rushed into the room. It was empty.
“No...” Dean rubbed his hand over his head as he tried to think. “Damn it.”
The dread twisted tighter when he saw the blinking red message light on the phone. His breath was shaky as he plopped down on the bed and grabbed the phone’s receiver. Dean’s shoulders tensed and he pressed the play button, waiting to hear Dad’s voice, part terrified and part relieved that Dad might be coming home early.
He picked at the bloody threads of unraveling denim on his scraped up knee. His brow knitted when the message began. It wasn’t Dad or anyone else talking, it was just a totally lame disco song playing in the background of dead air.
“Gotta move on. Won’t you take me to Funkytown? Won’t you take me to…”
The lyrics kept repeating while Dean searched his brain for why the techno beat sounded so familiar. There was no way Dad would listen to that garbage, but he’d heard it somewhere before.
“Uh...Dean? It’s Sam.”
Dean sagged forward in relief when his little brother’s voice came on. Sam sounded scared, but if he’d been able to call, he probably wasn’t dead. There was a second voice, too low to hear over the music.
“No,” Sam said, probably to the other voice.
It was the same determined, but scared tone Sam had used in the alley when he hadn’t wanted to leave Dean. At the sound of his brother’s protest, Dean’s grip on the phone tightened to a stranglehold.
There was quiet, muffled arguing before Sam’s voice returned to a normal volume. “Can you come and get me? I’m at Brad’s…”
The message space ran out, but Dean didn’t need to hear the rest to know exactly where Sam was. Dean threw down the phone, leaving it dangling from its cord. He checked the gun and shot out the door, heading straight for Brad’s Motor Repairs.
That’s where he’d heard that crap music playing this morning when he’d snuck into the guy’s shop. The guy had already screwed Dad over, now he had his brother. Dean was going to kill the bastard.
His weary legs flew down the steps. Five minutes later, he was catching his breath hunkered down beside a gas pump. Even from the gas station lot, he could hear the music blaring over the cheap speakers in the garage.
He scanned the perimeter before making the dash to the building. As soon as he was there, he crouched down just outside the door. He tested the doorknob. It turned easily and he hesitated with one hand on it. His other hand clutched the gun as he listened to the spaces between the music to try to hear what was going on inside.
"I wouldn't want to be you," Sam said. It was hard to make out the man’s rough reply, but Sam continued a moment later. "Because my brother's gonna kick your ass."
The confidence in Sam’s voice brought a smile to Dean's lips as he whispered, "Atta boy, Sammy.”
Dean shoved the door open, striding in just liked he’d seen Dad do. He leveled his weapon on the target the instant the man came into view.
Dean froze when he saw the 20-gauge already in the man’s hands and loosely directed towards Sam. His little brother was backed into the corner, sitting on the dingy floor hugging his knees.
"You okay, Sammy?"
Sam gave a small nod, but his worried eyes didn’t leave the shotgun. Dean stepped closer, looking for a way to draw the man away from Sam.
"Get the hell away from my brother," Dean warned.
"Or what, kid? You gonna shoot me?"
Dean widened his stance and put on a mask of confidence. "I've killed prettier things than you."
He didn’t actually know what to do. They didn’t kill humans and Dean had to keep Sam safe. Those were Dad’s two biggest rules and he was going to have to break one of them if the man didn’t back down. It wasn’t really a question. Sam had to come first, before anything else.
Dean cocked the trigger. "I'm only telling you once, you son of a bitch."
"Big mouth for such a little boy.” The man stepped closer. “How old are you, anyway?"
"Old enough to shoot your ass. Now get away from my brother.”
"Dean, I think he's human," Sam said.
"I don't care what the hell he is. No one touches..." Dean’s words trailed off as the man lowered his gun. “What’re you doing?”
"Dean Winchester.”
The man said his name like it meant something. Dean shifted uneasily and kept his gun steady. "So?"
"I should’ve known. You’re even more of a stubborn, spitfire cuss than you’re old man.” The guy chuckled and tossed the shotgun aside onto a cluttered workbench. “It's not loaded. I ain’t gonna shoot a couple kids.” He raised his brow at Dean. “Even if one of them is an obnoxious little bastard.”
When the man stepped away from Sam, Dean darted in to put himself between them. The guy was acting all casual now. He turned off the radio and leaned back against the bench before lighting up a cigarette. Dean didn’t buy the act for one second.
"You shot at my brother."
"If I'd been aiming for either of you, you'd both be dead. I do my own work, just like your dad and I got enough trouble between vengeful spirits and the IRS. The last thing I need is some punk shooting up the town with my licensed weapon. Speaking of which, you planning on putting that down anytime soon?”
Dean's aim on the man didn't falter. “How do you know who I am?”
The man flicked the ashes from the tip of his cigarette into a cracked coffee cup at the edge of the table. “Your father said you'd be poking around town. Of course, he didn’t mention you’d be breaking into my shop, stealing my crap and trying to give me a goddamn heartache. Brad Spratt. I'm an old friend of your father's."
"Like hell you are. I was outside the garage when Dad was paying for the repairs. There’s no alternator that costs that much. You screwed my dad." Brad laughed, which only made Dean tense all the more. "You think that's funny?"
In the corner Sam stirred, pushing himself to his feet to stand beside Dean. "Maybe we should listen to him."
"No. He's lying and he kidnapped you.”
“He didn’t hurt me,” Sam said. “He just said I had to come with him and I didn’t want him to shoot me.”
Dean rolled his eyes. “That is kidnapping, dumbass.”
"Look, kid..." Brad cut in.
"I’m no kid. I’ve been protecting my family from creeps like you for a long damn time."
"That’s fine, but just listen up. Your father didn’t need me to fix his car. He borrowed a good chunk of cash last time he came through these parts to get himself on his feet. He was just paying it back. He's a good, honest man and he raised smart boys."
"Dean, I really think we should listen to him," Sam said. "Look, there’s Dad."
Dean’s ducked his head and followed Sam’s gaze, but he straightened when he saw his brother wasn’t actually looking at Dad. Sam was looking at a corkboard above Brad’s work area. It was covered with old photos and pinned up notes on faded paper.
It kind of reminded him of how Dad tapped stuff on the walls, but he didn’t see anything that would make him trust the man. At least not until he saw the photo Sam was pointing to. It was Brad and Dad at a barbeque. Mom stood between them smiling with her arms wrapped around their shoulders.
Dean instantly lowered the gun. He clicked on the safety and tossed it onto the work bench with the shotgun. His eyes lingered on the photo. Dad didn’t smile like that anymore.
“Are you okay, Dean?” Sam asked.
Dean bit his lip and turned away from the picture. "Yeah, Sammy. Let's just get out of here." He dug into his pocket and tossed the wad of bills he’d stolen from Brad onto the counter without meeting the man’s eyes. “Sorry, sir.”
"Hey, Dean," Brad said, as Dean turned away. “Thanks for looking out for your dad. He needs all the help he can get, you know.”
“Yes, sir,” Dean agreed.
“And I got something for ya.” Brad set aside the cigarette and rubbed his hands clean on his coveralls before walking over to the corkboard. He took the tack out of the photo and held it out to Dean. “She had your eyes, but I’m sure your dad told you that.”
Dean shook his head. Dad never talked about Mom. He knew Dad thought about her all the time, just like he did, but sometimes she seemed more like a dream that Dean was afraid he might forget. He took the photo, his finger lingering over Mom’s smile.
"Well, she’d be damn proud of you,” Brad said. “She’d also wanna see you safe, so how about keeping yourself out of trouble?"
“I’ll try.”
Brad picked back up the cigarette, chuckling to himself as he counted the money. It wasn’t like Dean could’ve actually given it back to Dad, anyway, not without getting his ass busted. He’d just planned on slipping the cash in for lunch money and stuff to make it easier for Dad. Now he was going to get busted as soon as Brad talked to Dad again and he didn’t even have anything to show for it.
He looked back down to the photo in his hand and realized that wasn’t true. It’d be more than worth it just for the reminder that Mom had been there and that maybe she really was proud of him. He wished Dad was, too, but Dad sure wouldn’t be once he heard what kind of trouble Dean had gotten Sam into.
Dean slipped the photo into his back pocket and returned his focus to Sam. He checked over his little brother to make sure he was actually okay.
Sam pushed his hands off. “Seriously, Dean, I’m fine.”
“You’re fine when I say you are.”
“One more thing, Dean,” Brad said.
Dean sighed and turned away from Sam. His eyes went to the floor, his boot fidgeting with a stray screw. He already knew what was coming.
“Yes, sir?”
“Your Dad’s not gonna hear about this from me.”
“Huh?” Dean looked up. “You’re not gonna tell him?”
Brad slid some of the bills from his hand and passed them to Dean. “You two just go have a good time at the arcade. It’s okay to be a kid sometimes.”
Dean stood close by Sam, keeping himself between Brad and his brother as he watched the man. He wasn’t going to take the money until he heard what the catch was.
“Come on, it’s not gonna bite you, boy,” Brad said.
Dean wasn’t so sure, but Brad held out the money too long for Dean to be able to resist taking it. He flipped through it before looking back up to Brad. It was way more than just enough for some games. Dean was used to people taking things, not giving them.
“Why?” Dean asked.
“I told you, you’re good kids and I know your dad. I’m sure he paid me back more than he could afford. This should keep things from getting too tight. Now get out of here.”
Dean grabbed Sam’s arm, pulling his brother out of the shop before Brad could change his mind. His hand felt into his back pocket to check that the photo was really there.
"Can I see your picture?" Sam asked.
He didn’t mind Sam seeing the photo, but he knew he wouldn’t just look. He’d start asking a bunch of questions. Sam would want to hear about Mom and the way Dad had been. He should know how amazing Mom was, but Dean’s chest was already tight. He knew why Dad didn’t talk about it.
“Maybe later.” Dean spun around to look at Sam. "But, dude, we need a codeword."
“To let me see a picture?”
Dean slapped Sam on the back of the head. “No, stupid, for the next time you get yourself kidnapped."
"Hey!” Sam slapped Dean back, whacking him on the shoulder. “You left me in the dumpster."
"Yeah, that’s right. I left you in the dumpster. You're the one that got out.” Despite his words, Dean knew Sam was right. It had been his fault and he couldn’t let it happen again. “Seriously, Sammy. If a guy's got a gun on you-"
"Or you..."
Dean scoffed. "Wouldn't happen."
"Yeah, like you're so perfect.” Sam settled back in beside Dean as they walked. “So what's our codeword?"
Dean wanted something cool like Dad would use, but that annoying song was still stuck in head. It was hard to actually hate it given that it had helped him find his brother.
"Funkytown," Dean said.
Sam wrinkled is nose. "What’s that even mean? It sounds stupid.”
“Who cares?” Dean asked. “You better not ever have to say it anyway, and it’s not as stupid as getting kidnapped by Dad’s friend.”
“Or stealing from him.”
"How was I supposed...? Whatever. Come on, I’m gonna kick your ass at that Daytona racing game." Sam opened his mouth to argue, but Dean spoke first. “Homework later. Come on, whoever gets there first gets to pick their car.”
“I want the blue one!”
Dean smiled as Sam took off running towards the arcade. He gave his brother a few seconds head start before jogging after him. Next week, they’d be running through a different town and it didn’t matter because wherever they were, was as good a place as any.
Summary: Dean's plans to set things right for his dad go to hell when Sam is put in danger, but he soon finds that things aren't as bad as he thinks and that codewords aren't just for the movies.
Rating: PG
Word Count: 4,550
Warnings: None
Spoilers: None
Author’s Note: The original version of this was the first SPN story I wrote (ergo the real_funky_town username), but never did post. I've been wanting it out of my WIP folder forever and finally got a chance to rewrite it and post it for the wonderful Winchester Summer LoveFest at theheartofspn. Thanks so much to mayhsgirl93 for the beta!
~~~
Outskirts of Scottsbluff, Nebraska 1993
Dean tore down the empty sidewalk as fast as his gangly legs could carry him. The worn down treads of his boots skidded over the slick pavement as he took the next corner at a full sprint.
He shot his hand out to catch himself, scraping it over the rough brick wall. He cursed at the sting, but only slowed enough to glance over his shoulder before pushing off the wall and shooting down the alley.
The streets were deserted and the pounding of his footsteps was far too loud without the rush of traffic to muffle them. Even the wind had gone still and the midday sun didn’t leave any shadows deep enough to hide in.
His lungs ached as they struggled to pull enough air down his raw throat. The pounding of blood in his ears was enough to make his head ache, but he barely noticed it or the burning in his calves. He’d trained through far worse.
The arcade was just up the street and he’d already figured out they didn’t lock the back door. It would be his best chance for cover. He barreled back out onto the road.
Dean skidded to a stop and turned to dodge back into the alley when he saw someone on the street up ahead. It didn’t occur to him to look to see who it was until they called his name.
His eyes narrowed, but uncertainty quickly gave way to panic. He waved his arms, desperate to silence his brother’s shouting. It didn’t work. Sam was as oblivious as ever.
Dean ran to close the distance between them, snatching Sam’s arm and tugging him after him. His pace slowed slightly to make up for Sam’s shorter legs, but Sam still struggled to keep up as Dean dragged him down the next alley.
Once they were out of sight, Dean jerked his little brother down beside him. They crouched next to a dumpster that reeked of rotting food and smelled like an outhouse.
Sam jerked his arm out of Dean’s grip. “Ow! Dean, what’re you-”
His hand clamped over Sam’s mouth as he held his breath and strained to hear. When he didn’t hear anyone following, he released his squirming brother. He plopped the rest of the way down, his exhausted legs sprawling over the ground as he adjusted the weight of the gun shoved into the back of his pants.
Dean looked down at Sam as soon as he’d gathered enough air to form words. “Why aren’t you in school?”
“Why weren’t you?” Sam asked the question in the same hushed tone Dean had used. “And why are we hiding?”
“We’re not doing anything. You know the rules. If school’s out, get back to the motel.”
“I was looking for you,” Sam said.
“Well, you found me. Now get out of here.”
“No.” Sam crossed his arms over his chest and hunkered back against the wall, making it clear that he had no intention of going anywhere. “Why are you the only one who gets to play at the arcade?”
Dean rolled his eyes. He’d been trying to get Sam to come down to the arcade all week, but his brother kept whining about some stupid test at school and said the arcade was too noisy to study in.
Dean got to his feet and yanked on Sam’s arm. “Get up.” Instead of standing, Sam laid back, dangling limply while Dean wrestled to haul him to his feet. “Come on, Sammy, don’t be a little bitch.”
Sam pushed back against the wall so Dean couldn’t get his arms around him without scraping his knuckles. “No. I wanna play, too.”
“You don’t even like arcades, shorty.”
Dean’s words had the desired effect. Sam popped up to his feet so fast that Dean nearly tumbled backwards. Sam stood as tall as he could in his worn down sneakers, pouting when he still didn’t come close to matching Dean’s height.
“I do, too,” Sam said. “I just don’t like Plucky’s.”
Dean snickered. “That’s because that clown jumped out of the alley and made you pee your pants.”
“Did not!” Dean easily deflected Sam’s swat, but braced himself to let Sam get a shove in. “You’re such a jerk, Dean.”
“Yeah, whatever. I’ll walk you to the motel, okay?”
Sam seemed satisfied with the compromise that would let Dean keep an eye out incase he was still being followed. Dean put out a hand to stop Sam at the edge of the alley. He listened carefully and peeked out, watching for movement before leading Sam ahead.
“What’re you looking for?” Sam asked.
“Clowns with giant fangs and...” Dean laughed when Sam rammed into him, pushing him to the side. He shoved his little brother back just to remind him who was in charge.
“It’s not funny, Dean. At least I’m not hiding from some girl.”
“I don’t hide from girls,” Dean said.
“You did at our last school.”
“Dude, that chick was...never mind.” Dean fluffed his hand through the mop of hair on Sam’s head. “At least I don’t look like a girl.”
Sam slapped his hand away, but Dean was too busy scanning the streets to really notice. He kept Sam on the inside of the sidewalk and tight to the buildings in case he had to cover him.
“You’re still hiding,” Sam said.
“And you’re still an annoying pain in the ass.” Dean sighed. “I just don’t want you wandering around here alone. This place is full of jerks with-”
“Get your ass back here, boy!” a gruff voice thundered.
Dean clutched his little brother’s arm, yanking Sam behind him. “Move it, Sammy!”
This time, he didn’t slow to match Sam’s pace, but forced Sam into a full sprint as he again took off running. He didn’t have to look back to hear the heavy footsteps closing in behind them. The guy might be as old as Dad, but like Dad, he was also in really good shape.
“This is your last warning, kid,” the man huffed.
Dean had heard similar words often enough not to think much of them. He just kept running an uneven line down the road until the seemingly empty threat was followed by a gunshot.
“Son of a bitch!”
Dean pulled Sam to the sidewalk and threw himself on top of his brother. His arms came up to shield Sam’s head as the shot ricocheted off the fire hydrant six feet from them. He felt behind his back to make sure that the gun he’d swiped was still there.
“How many guns does this freak have?” Dean muttered beneath his breath, when his fingers brushed over steel.
He clambered back to his feet, splashing through a puddle and wincing at the sting in his freshly skinned knee. At least Sam had the common sense to stop asking questions and just followed his lead as Dean tore down the sidewalk.
He was going to have to bribe the hell out of Sam once they got out of this. If Sam breathed a word of this to Dad, it would be Dean’s funeral. He was supposed to watch out for Sam, not throw him into the line of fire.
Once he stowed Sam, Dean was going to rip this bastard a new one. It was one thing for the guy to screw with him. Dean had kind of stolen the jerk’s gun and might have pocketed the cash from his repair shop’s till. But no one shot at his brother.
Dean cut through a side alley and circled back around to the arcade’s dumpster. He hung off the side and threw open the lid before jumping back down.
“Get in there.” Dean shoved Sam forward when he didn’t budge. “Dude, hurry up!”
Sam wrinkled his nose. “No way. You get in there.”
“He’s looking for me, not you, ass wipe. Just get in there until I come back.”
“No.” Sam’s words were firm and he backed away. “I’m not leaving you, Dean.”
The corner of Dean’s lips curled up. He drew his brother to his side and squeezed his shoulder. “It’ll be okay, Sammy. I promise. Now shut up and get in the dumpster.”
Sam looked like he wanted to argue, but finally huffed in defeat. “Fine. Help me up.”
Dean boosted Sam so he could reach the edge and helped to give him a shove over the top. Sam plopped down out of sight onto the garbage bags below. His head popped back up a moment later as he reached for the lid.
Sam’s eyes were wide with worry. “You’ll come back for me?”
“Always.” Dean gave a dismiss wave. “Don’t you worry. I got everything under control.”
He waited for the lid to fall closed over the filthy dumpster before he jogged back to peer out of the alley. The guy was doubled over a block away, huffing and puffing. This was going to be easier than Dean had thought. He should have known the guy wasn’t as fit as Dad.
Dean sauntered out onto the street. His expression was casual, though his hand reached behind his back in case he had to pull the gun. Dad would have his ass for going into a fight with a gun he wasn’t familiar with, but Dean wasn’t actually going to fire it. The jerk was only human.
“Hey!” Dean shouted, getting ready to bolt the moment the man saw him. “Over here, sweetheart.”
~~~
Leading the guy in circles had seemed like a really good idea until Dean had remembered that they were playing on the man’s home turf. Dean wasn’t sure whether or not the guy was still following him, but he did know he was lost.
They hadn’t been in town long, and like everywhere else, they wouldn’t be staying. There wasn’t a point in getting to know the area.
In the months after the fire, Dean had always felt lost. Panic would creep up in his belly when he woke up in a strange bed, too asleep to remember why he wasn’t home. The feeling didn’t last long.
Soon, he’d gotten used to Dad leaving him weird places and of not knowing anything or anyone. He no longer felt that sense of being lost because there was nowhere he was supposed to be.
His location only mattered in relation to where his family was and that’s why he felt that old, familiar panic tickling his gut now. He’d gotten all spun around and he didn’t know how to get back to his brother.
Dean squinted up at the sun and checked his watch, trying to guess what direction he was facing. It would help if he even knew what direction the dumpster was in.
Everything here looked the same. It was just drab colored buildings and flat open fields, but at some point he’d ran past the businesses and empty lots. He was a couple blocks away from residential houses and there was a huge field of corn not too much further.
People wouldn’t plant so much corn and they sure wouldn’t live near it, if they knew what kind of stuff lived in it. He’d seen pictures of some of the nasty ass monsters Dad had hunted in corn fields.
He hadn’t seen the corn before, and knew it was the wrong direction, so he turned the other way. A few minutes later, he was back in familiar territory, breaking out into a run when he ducked into the arcade’s alley. He skidded to a stop beside the dumpster.
“Wakey, wakey, Sammy.”
Sam didn’t answer. Dean knocked on the side of the dumpster. It sounded way too hollow, considering how full it had been. He climbed up and threw open the lid. His fear was confirmed when he looked inside to find nothing but foul smelling sludge puddled at the bottom.
“What kind of piece of crap town does garbage pickup in the afternoon?”
Dean jumped down, searching the alley while trying to remain calm. It wasn’t like Sam was stupid enough to have gotten himself thrown into a dump truck. Knowing that didn’t stop the visual of Sam being crushed inside of one.
“Sammy? You better be here or I’m gonna…. Sam, come on!” Dean called as loud as he dared, struggling to keep the panic from his voice. “Dude, I’m sorry I left you, but this isn’t funny.”
As much as he wanted to pretend it was a possibility, he knew Sam wasn’t just screwing with him. That only left Sam unable to answer because he was hurt or dead or just not here. Since Dean couldn’t deal with the first two options, he went with the third and headed back down the street.
Sam was probably sitting back at the motel doing his homework. He’d probably also called Dad, which meant Dean was going to die, but he didn’t care as long as Sam was actually okay.
Ten minutes later, Dean jogged up the motel’s outdoor stairs to their second floor room. He was almost too exhausted to stand as he banged on the door. “Sammy, open up!”
Again, he was met with only silence. His hands shook as he dug the motel key from his pocket and fumbled to jam it into the lock. He shoved open the door and rushed into the room. It was empty.
“No...” Dean rubbed his hand over his head as he tried to think. “Damn it.”
The dread twisted tighter when he saw the blinking red message light on the phone. His breath was shaky as he plopped down on the bed and grabbed the phone’s receiver. Dean’s shoulders tensed and he pressed the play button, waiting to hear Dad’s voice, part terrified and part relieved that Dad might be coming home early.
He picked at the bloody threads of unraveling denim on his scraped up knee. His brow knitted when the message began. It wasn’t Dad or anyone else talking, it was just a totally lame disco song playing in the background of dead air.
“Gotta move on. Won’t you take me to Funkytown? Won’t you take me to…”
The lyrics kept repeating while Dean searched his brain for why the techno beat sounded so familiar. There was no way Dad would listen to that garbage, but he’d heard it somewhere before.
“Uh...Dean? It’s Sam.”
Dean sagged forward in relief when his little brother’s voice came on. Sam sounded scared, but if he’d been able to call, he probably wasn’t dead. There was a second voice, too low to hear over the music.
“No,” Sam said, probably to the other voice.
It was the same determined, but scared tone Sam had used in the alley when he hadn’t wanted to leave Dean. At the sound of his brother’s protest, Dean’s grip on the phone tightened to a stranglehold.
There was quiet, muffled arguing before Sam’s voice returned to a normal volume. “Can you come and get me? I’m at Brad’s…”
The message space ran out, but Dean didn’t need to hear the rest to know exactly where Sam was. Dean threw down the phone, leaving it dangling from its cord. He checked the gun and shot out the door, heading straight for Brad’s Motor Repairs.
That’s where he’d heard that crap music playing this morning when he’d snuck into the guy’s shop. The guy had already screwed Dad over, now he had his brother. Dean was going to kill the bastard.
His weary legs flew down the steps. Five minutes later, he was catching his breath hunkered down beside a gas pump. Even from the gas station lot, he could hear the music blaring over the cheap speakers in the garage.
He scanned the perimeter before making the dash to the building. As soon as he was there, he crouched down just outside the door. He tested the doorknob. It turned easily and he hesitated with one hand on it. His other hand clutched the gun as he listened to the spaces between the music to try to hear what was going on inside.
"I wouldn't want to be you," Sam said. It was hard to make out the man’s rough reply, but Sam continued a moment later. "Because my brother's gonna kick your ass."
The confidence in Sam’s voice brought a smile to Dean's lips as he whispered, "Atta boy, Sammy.”
Dean shoved the door open, striding in just liked he’d seen Dad do. He leveled his weapon on the target the instant the man came into view.
Dean froze when he saw the 20-gauge already in the man’s hands and loosely directed towards Sam. His little brother was backed into the corner, sitting on the dingy floor hugging his knees.
"You okay, Sammy?"
Sam gave a small nod, but his worried eyes didn’t leave the shotgun. Dean stepped closer, looking for a way to draw the man away from Sam.
"Get the hell away from my brother," Dean warned.
"Or what, kid? You gonna shoot me?"
Dean widened his stance and put on a mask of confidence. "I've killed prettier things than you."
He didn’t actually know what to do. They didn’t kill humans and Dean had to keep Sam safe. Those were Dad’s two biggest rules and he was going to have to break one of them if the man didn’t back down. It wasn’t really a question. Sam had to come first, before anything else.
Dean cocked the trigger. "I'm only telling you once, you son of a bitch."
"Big mouth for such a little boy.” The man stepped closer. “How old are you, anyway?"
"Old enough to shoot your ass. Now get away from my brother.”
"Dean, I think he's human," Sam said.
"I don't care what the hell he is. No one touches..." Dean’s words trailed off as the man lowered his gun. “What’re you doing?”
"Dean Winchester.”
The man said his name like it meant something. Dean shifted uneasily and kept his gun steady. "So?"
"I should’ve known. You’re even more of a stubborn, spitfire cuss than you’re old man.” The guy chuckled and tossed the shotgun aside onto a cluttered workbench. “It's not loaded. I ain’t gonna shoot a couple kids.” He raised his brow at Dean. “Even if one of them is an obnoxious little bastard.”
When the man stepped away from Sam, Dean darted in to put himself between them. The guy was acting all casual now. He turned off the radio and leaned back against the bench before lighting up a cigarette. Dean didn’t buy the act for one second.
"You shot at my brother."
"If I'd been aiming for either of you, you'd both be dead. I do my own work, just like your dad and I got enough trouble between vengeful spirits and the IRS. The last thing I need is some punk shooting up the town with my licensed weapon. Speaking of which, you planning on putting that down anytime soon?”
Dean's aim on the man didn't falter. “How do you know who I am?”
The man flicked the ashes from the tip of his cigarette into a cracked coffee cup at the edge of the table. “Your father said you'd be poking around town. Of course, he didn’t mention you’d be breaking into my shop, stealing my crap and trying to give me a goddamn heartache. Brad Spratt. I'm an old friend of your father's."
"Like hell you are. I was outside the garage when Dad was paying for the repairs. There’s no alternator that costs that much. You screwed my dad." Brad laughed, which only made Dean tense all the more. "You think that's funny?"
In the corner Sam stirred, pushing himself to his feet to stand beside Dean. "Maybe we should listen to him."
"No. He's lying and he kidnapped you.”
“He didn’t hurt me,” Sam said. “He just said I had to come with him and I didn’t want him to shoot me.”
Dean rolled his eyes. “That is kidnapping, dumbass.”
"Look, kid..." Brad cut in.
"I’m no kid. I’ve been protecting my family from creeps like you for a long damn time."
"That’s fine, but just listen up. Your father didn’t need me to fix his car. He borrowed a good chunk of cash last time he came through these parts to get himself on his feet. He was just paying it back. He's a good, honest man and he raised smart boys."
"Dean, I really think we should listen to him," Sam said. "Look, there’s Dad."
Dean’s ducked his head and followed Sam’s gaze, but he straightened when he saw his brother wasn’t actually looking at Dad. Sam was looking at a corkboard above Brad’s work area. It was covered with old photos and pinned up notes on faded paper.
It kind of reminded him of how Dad tapped stuff on the walls, but he didn’t see anything that would make him trust the man. At least not until he saw the photo Sam was pointing to. It was Brad and Dad at a barbeque. Mom stood between them smiling with her arms wrapped around their shoulders.
Dean instantly lowered the gun. He clicked on the safety and tossed it onto the work bench with the shotgun. His eyes lingered on the photo. Dad didn’t smile like that anymore.
“Are you okay, Dean?” Sam asked.
Dean bit his lip and turned away from the picture. "Yeah, Sammy. Let's just get out of here." He dug into his pocket and tossed the wad of bills he’d stolen from Brad onto the counter without meeting the man’s eyes. “Sorry, sir.”
"Hey, Dean," Brad said, as Dean turned away. “Thanks for looking out for your dad. He needs all the help he can get, you know.”
“Yes, sir,” Dean agreed.
“And I got something for ya.” Brad set aside the cigarette and rubbed his hands clean on his coveralls before walking over to the corkboard. He took the tack out of the photo and held it out to Dean. “She had your eyes, but I’m sure your dad told you that.”
Dean shook his head. Dad never talked about Mom. He knew Dad thought about her all the time, just like he did, but sometimes she seemed more like a dream that Dean was afraid he might forget. He took the photo, his finger lingering over Mom’s smile.
"Well, she’d be damn proud of you,” Brad said. “She’d also wanna see you safe, so how about keeping yourself out of trouble?"
“I’ll try.”
Brad picked back up the cigarette, chuckling to himself as he counted the money. It wasn’t like Dean could’ve actually given it back to Dad, anyway, not without getting his ass busted. He’d just planned on slipping the cash in for lunch money and stuff to make it easier for Dad. Now he was going to get busted as soon as Brad talked to Dad again and he didn’t even have anything to show for it.
He looked back down to the photo in his hand and realized that wasn’t true. It’d be more than worth it just for the reminder that Mom had been there and that maybe she really was proud of him. He wished Dad was, too, but Dad sure wouldn’t be once he heard what kind of trouble Dean had gotten Sam into.
Dean slipped the photo into his back pocket and returned his focus to Sam. He checked over his little brother to make sure he was actually okay.
Sam pushed his hands off. “Seriously, Dean, I’m fine.”
“You’re fine when I say you are.”
“One more thing, Dean,” Brad said.
Dean sighed and turned away from Sam. His eyes went to the floor, his boot fidgeting with a stray screw. He already knew what was coming.
“Yes, sir?”
“Your Dad’s not gonna hear about this from me.”
“Huh?” Dean looked up. “You’re not gonna tell him?”
Brad slid some of the bills from his hand and passed them to Dean. “You two just go have a good time at the arcade. It’s okay to be a kid sometimes.”
Dean stood close by Sam, keeping himself between Brad and his brother as he watched the man. He wasn’t going to take the money until he heard what the catch was.
“Come on, it’s not gonna bite you, boy,” Brad said.
Dean wasn’t so sure, but Brad held out the money too long for Dean to be able to resist taking it. He flipped through it before looking back up to Brad. It was way more than just enough for some games. Dean was used to people taking things, not giving them.
“Why?” Dean asked.
“I told you, you’re good kids and I know your dad. I’m sure he paid me back more than he could afford. This should keep things from getting too tight. Now get out of here.”
Dean grabbed Sam’s arm, pulling his brother out of the shop before Brad could change his mind. His hand felt into his back pocket to check that the photo was really there.
"Can I see your picture?" Sam asked.
He didn’t mind Sam seeing the photo, but he knew he wouldn’t just look. He’d start asking a bunch of questions. Sam would want to hear about Mom and the way Dad had been. He should know how amazing Mom was, but Dean’s chest was already tight. He knew why Dad didn’t talk about it.
“Maybe later.” Dean spun around to look at Sam. "But, dude, we need a codeword."
“To let me see a picture?”
Dean slapped Sam on the back of the head. “No, stupid, for the next time you get yourself kidnapped."
"Hey!” Sam slapped Dean back, whacking him on the shoulder. “You left me in the dumpster."
"Yeah, that’s right. I left you in the dumpster. You're the one that got out.” Despite his words, Dean knew Sam was right. It had been his fault and he couldn’t let it happen again. “Seriously, Sammy. If a guy's got a gun on you-"
"Or you..."
Dean scoffed. "Wouldn't happen."
"Yeah, like you're so perfect.” Sam settled back in beside Dean as they walked. “So what's our codeword?"
Dean wanted something cool like Dad would use, but that annoying song was still stuck in head. It was hard to actually hate it given that it had helped him find his brother.
"Funkytown," Dean said.
Sam wrinkled is nose. "What’s that even mean? It sounds stupid.”
“Who cares?” Dean asked. “You better not ever have to say it anyway, and it’s not as stupid as getting kidnapped by Dad’s friend.”
“Or stealing from him.”
"How was I supposed...? Whatever. Come on, I’m gonna kick your ass at that Daytona racing game." Sam opened his mouth to argue, but Dean spoke first. “Homework later. Come on, whoever gets there first gets to pick their car.”
“I want the blue one!”
Dean smiled as Sam took off running towards the arcade. He gave his brother a few seconds head start before jogging after him. Next week, they’d be running through a different town and it didn’t matter because wherever they were, was as good a place as any.