FIC - SPN/Angel xover fic - WIP
Clouds Before the All-Seeing Eye 1/? - WIP
by dawn ixchel55
Fandom: Supernatural/Angel crossover
Pairing: Dean/Lindsey
Rating: will vary from chapter to chapter, by overall - Adult, for graphic m/m sexuality.
Length: 2876 words
Summary: After Lindsey leaves Wolfram & Hart, he runs into a little more trouble
than he can handle and turns to an old friend for help.
Disclaimer: Since my name is neither Kripke nor Whedon I'm obviously borrowing. But I'll return them in good condition and I won't make a single dollar off of their lovely asses.
Feedback (esp. criticism) is very much appreciated. Even typos pointed out. Thanks to dine and brynwulf for some hints and tips, but technically unbetaed so all mistakes are mine.
A/N: The timelines might be a little skewed, but only a little. The story begins approximately three months after Lindsey leaves Wolfram & Hart and, going on the theory that Sam spent 4 years at Stanford, this is 2 years after he left for college. Work with me people!
This is a WIP. There are 4 parts done but there are likely to be 10-12.
Part One
Dean kicked in the door of room twelve of the Best Rest Motel on the outskirts of Kingman, AZ. It was the dark, pre-dawn hours and he was ready for…whatever. The EMF meter showed a shit load of activity - although, of course, not what kind - so he had the Glock loaded with silver in hand and the sawed off shotgun carrying rock salt and iron shavings hanging by his side.
What he found stopped him cold.
Lindsey McDonald, attorney-at-law, formerly Wolfram & Hart’s golden boy on the rise, standing center stage in a scene of bloody carnage.
Armani and Gucci, the outfit of choice the last time they met, were noticeably absent. Instead the dress code of the day seemed to include a faded t-shirt announcing someone named Kane, worn Levis and well broken shitkickers. All were in less than pristine condition. The shirt hung by one shoulder, the jeans sported a bloody slice across the left thigh and the boots were just disgusting.
“Woah!” Dean said.
Lindsey’s expression at Dean’s abrupt entrance had kaleidoscoped rapidly from alarm, to surprise, to studied nonchalance in mere seconds. He redirected the impressively large knife in his hand from hovering in Dean’s general direction to flick a goblet of flesh off the front of his ichor soaked shirt. He paused, his pose and face the very definition of blasé, to peer at Dean. “What?”
“Guess you never got that last reprieve growth spurt, huh, Linds?” Dean said.
Lindsey starred at Dean blankly for a split second before his lips curved into the ghost of a smile. “Fuck you,” he said pleasantly.
“Dude, seriously,” Dean continued earnestly, “Doesn’t it piss you off that you can’t go on the big people rides with all your friends because you aren’t ‘this high’?” Dean held his hand a little above waist level.
“You know,” Lindsey said, rifling through the bed covers trying to find a clean patch to wipe his hands on, “I spent the last two years being razzed about my height…”
“Or lack of,” Dean interjected, which Lindsey ignored.
“…by someone a hell of a lot taller than you. Besides,” Lindsey grinned, “You’re just compensating because your baby brother outstripped you when he was fourteen years old. Sammy ever quit growing?”
At the mention of his brother, Dean’s grin faltered for a split second before it returned full force. With a small shrug he replied, “Yeah, finally. He’s more than a half a head taller than me with these freakishly long legs and huge ass hands and feet.”
Neither man seemed to consider the fact that tripping down memory lane over the corpses of three partially dismembered Gresith demons oozing their bodily fluids into the cheap olive drab carpet was just a tad strange. All in a day’s work.
After shaking a leftover out of the covers, Lindsey found the dry center of the sheet and was busy wiping fluids off his blade.
“Dude,” Dean pointed to the toe of Lindsey’s boot. That’s where the finger - at least Dean thought it was a finger - had landed.
Lindsey kicked it off with a grimace of distaste then wiped down his hands and arms. He was silent for a moment as he worked to rid himself of the worst of the gore. When he spoke again his voice was low and serious.
“It’s good to see you, Dean. I really appreciate you coming.” Lindsey’s voice was a lot more polished than Dean remembered. Very little of the other man’s drawl and twang remained. Dean found that he kind of missed it, even if he had given Lindsey enough shit about it when they were younger.
“Well, it looks like you took care of the problem just fine without me,” Dean said, eyes moving over the motel room.
“This?" Lindsey gestured around the room with the blade of his knife. "This was just tonight’s entertainment. There’s usually a show every night and sometimes matinees,” he joked, but then his voice grew more quiet. “It’s beginning to wear me down just a bit. So I’m really grateful for the help. I...wasn't sure you'd come.”
“Yeah, well…” Dean scratched his fingers self-consciously over his scalp. “I told you if you ever got tired of playing Devil’s Advocate I’d be there to help. Just glad you came to your senses, man.”
“Still…”
“Yeah, listen,” Dean cut him short. “You think we could do the catch-up thing while putting some miles behind us? ’Cause dude?” Dean gestured vaguely to the carnage that surrounded them. “The maid is gonna be pissed.”
With a frown, Lindsey cast a quick glance around before replying. “Yeah. Can you give me three minutes to wash this gunk off? It’s starting to burn a little.”
Dean went to the open door. He stuck his head out and took a look around while listening for any signs of the locals stirring. Pulling back in, he closed the door. “Yeah, sure. Everything seems to be quiet. Either this ‘berg is totally dead or they are all exceptionally heavy sleepers. You got what you need to take care of that?” Dean gestured with the hand holding the .45 towards the bloody slice on Lindsey’s thigh.
Lindsey stared down at himself blankly for a moment. “Shit!” he said disgustedly. “This was my favorite pair!”
“Shouldn’t have worn them to fight Gresith demons, I guess.” Dean was totally unsympathetic. Over the years he’d lost more ‘favorites’ that he could dream of remembering.
Lindsey’s only reply was a faint sneer as grabbed his duffel from the alcove next to the bathroom. He popped back out and lobbed a hand towel toward Dean. “Wipe down the bed-stand, remote and door, will you? They’re the only things I touched out here.” Without waiting for a reply he ducked back in and it was only seconds before Dean heard the shower.
The wiping off of possible prints was a familiar task for Dean so it only took a bare minute to be thorough.
True to his word, Lindsey was quick. Dean barely had time to make a couple of disgusted faces at the rising smell of rot - some demons really had a lousy shelf life - and the repulsive squishy noises his steps were making when he heard the shower cut off. Another few seconds, a strong in-drawn hiss of pain and a loud "Fuck!” filtered through the door as Lindsey doused the cut on his thigh.
“You need help?” Dean called out.
“Nah, I got it. Listen…grab my guitar case out of the alcove, will you? I’ll be there in a minute.”
“’Kay,” Dean called as he stepped over the rapidly decaying bodies. "You got a ride out here?"
"No, she's tucked away in a garage getting some work done. Bastards ran me off the road last week."
"You still got that POS truck?" Dean teased.
"Boy, do not be talkin' shit about a man's truck!"
“Don’t be too long,” Dean laughed
“Yeah, almost done! Just gotta wipe things down a bit.”
By the time Dean had the guitar stowed in the back floorboard and the Impala idling in front of the room, Lindsey came limping out. He pulled the door shut behind him using a handkerchief to wipe down the knob. He hung out the ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign as a final touch. Tossing his duffel in the back seat, Lindsey started to slide into the car.
"Dude!" Dean complained, "Your boots!" Lindsey rolled his eyes before scruffing his boot soles clean on the rough concrete. Then he settled into the car.
Dean let the Impala ease out onto the road with a muffled growl then accelerated smoothly, keeping the speed sedate. The car made enough of an impression without calling attention by speeding. It grieved
Dean that he was rarely able to let his baby stretch herself and use the power kept tanked up beneath the hood. When he reached the highway, Dean opened it up until the speedometer barely skimmed seventy and then settled in. Fast enough to eat up some miles, not so fast that they’d draw heat.
"You got a specific direction in mind?' Dean asked.
"No, anywhere's good."
So Dean headed east in silence. After fifteen minutes or so of checking the rear view in the increasingly light grey of pre-dawn, Dean figured they weren’t being followed and said as much.
“They don’t have to follow,” Lindsey said wearily. “They have some way of tracking me. They don’t have to keep me in sight; they can find me whenever they want.”
“What...like a tracking device? They planted a bug on you?”
“No, nothing that simple. I had everything I own, including my own body, scanned by an expert.”
“Something magical, then,” Dean said, glancing down the length of Lindsey’s body as if he could see some mystical sign beaming from his skin in day-glo colors.
“No, I had an expert check that, too. They’re tracking me somehow, but it’s not something they’ve planted on or in me. They’ve locked onto something that’s specific to me. My blood maybe or genetic markers. Shit, maybe the unique pattern of the muddy, dark streaks in my soul! How the fuck should I know!”
“Dude, just chill, OK? We’ll figure it out.”
Dean watched Lindsey grinding the heels of his palms into his eyes as though he were trying to erase something from behind his eyes. Dean knew that feeling all too well. He’d seen and done things in his twenty-four years that he’d give his left nut to never have them do re-runs in his head.
Well…maybe not his nut. Still.
Lindsey was looking pretty rough. He had all the signs of exhaustion. His eyes were red-rimmed holes in dark pits. His face was sallow and drawn, even through the remnants of his southern California tan. Dean could see the fine tremor in the Lindsey’s hands now that adrenaline from the fight was leaching out of his body. His clothes looked about two sizes too large, too. Baggy clothes had always been Sammy’s gig. Lindsey had always worn his clothes like Dean; not tight exactly, it’s just…why disguise an expensive looking present in butt-ugly wrapping, was Dean’s philosophy.
“Why don’t you catch some Zs? We can talk and make some plans later when you've had some rest.”
Dean said. “There’s a pillow in the back. You can crawl back and sack out for awhile.”
“Nah, I’m good up here,” Lindsey replied as he twisted around and grabbed the pillow. “But I think I will shut my eyes for awhile. Wolfram & Hart seems to have stepped up their activity a bit lately. Sleep’s been kinda scarce.” He jammed the pillow between his shoulder and the window and slumped down.
Lindsey didn’t have to scrunch down nearly as far as Sam did to make himself even half-way comfortable, but it didn’t take very much imagination on Dean’s part to see his brother’s long, lanky frame slouched in the corner.
Dean jerked his mind back from those memories. That was a deep tunnel and Dean didn’t have the luxury of the time to dig himself out when the walls collapsed. And collapse they would, because why would this time be any different.
Eyes focusing on the sign coming up, Dean said, “Hey, I’m going to stop up ahead and get some coffee. Maybe some Ding Dongs or something. You want anything?”
“I’m good,” Lindsey mumbled into the pillow.
Another five minutes and Dean was pulling into a generic, small town ‘quickie mart’. He pulled to the pump to top up the tank, that way they wouldn’t have to stop again for awhile.
The chances of anything happening in a crowded gas station during the early morning rush were pretty slim, but just to be on the safe side, after grabbing the empty thermos from the seat, Dean tapped down the Impala’s lock and pocketed the keys. Unfortunately, or it was rather fortunate sometimes, there were a lot of stupid demons out there that didn’t do well without direct supervision. And equally stupid humans that insisted on employing them as muscle. Locked car doors wouldn’t stop anyone - or anything - determined enough, but it would slow them down some.
Dean was back in under five minutes with a thermos of what smelled like fairly decent coffee, a bag of freshly made donuts, various chips, some jerky and a couple of Dr. Peppers - which Dean could drink warm.
In the car, Dean poured himself some coffee and put the open bag of donuts on the seat beside him. Before starting the car he pulled a large bottle of water from the other bag. When it hit the seat and rolled snug up against Lindsey’s thigh, the other man’s eyes cracked open. Feeling down beside him he picked it up and peered blearily at it before opening and chugging a third of its contents. Grunting his thanks, Lindsey dropped the bottle back down beside him.
“You’re welcome,” Dean smirked.
Grasping the steering wheel with the three fingers of his left hand not holding his coffee, Dean dug around in the donuts with his right hand until he pulled one out. It was one of the fat, squishy ones, oozing with raspberry jam and coated with powdered sugar. The first bite was heaven. Caffeine, sugar and fat. Was there a better way to start the day?
With no other plan in mind, Dean kept driving east on I-40 across northern Arizona, away from California.
Away from L.A. and Wolfram & Hart...and away from Stanford.
~*~
Dean kept the volume down on the music to give Lindsey a chance to sleep but no way in hell was he was doing without.
With the low background music, the Impala's grumble and the low-pitched whine of the tires of the pavement, Dean was able to begin thinking about the situation at hand. Which was a damn fine way of not thinking about other things.
Dean had ignored the two incoming calls from Lindsey a couple of days ago. After his aborted visit with Sam at Stanford, the first time he'd seen his little brother in almost two years, Dean had been in a shit-ugly state of mind and not in the mood to revisit another relationship gone bad.
Dean had been hurting enough after his relationship with Cassie took an abrupt downward spiral to slink to California. He'd wanted to lick his wounded ego - he refused to believe it was more than that - and find comfort in spending a some time with family. Dean could never have believed how badly that turned out.
He hadn't seen Sam in quite awhile, but they talked on the phone several times a month. Since his dad had begun to cut him loose more and more to do a solo act, Dean had an aching, hollow spot inside him left by the absence of family. That's why he'd been so vulnerable with Cassie. He was certain.
Sure, Cassie was gorgeous and hot and smart, but Dean could only imagine that the reason he'd let down his guard so much with her was because of that sucking void left by his scattered family. Dean still called himself seven kinds of a dumb-shit for telling Cassie about the family business. What a stupid fucking move. He should have known she wouldn't understand or even believe; how could anyone from the outside.
One person had believed Dean, though, for all the good it had done him in the end. Dean glanced sideways at Lindsey, slumped boneless and unmoving in the corner. The younger you are, the higher your tolerance for believing in what can't always been seen or explained. And they'd been pretty young back then.
He hadn't talked to Lindsey in a couple of years, not since his graduation from law school and his subsequent induction into the ranks of Wolfram & Hart. Dean had been fucking pissed and yeah - hurt, when Lindsey had allowed himself to be seduced into one of the biggest and nastiest conglomerations of humans and demons that this fucked up world had ever spawned. Lindsey not only joined them, he embraced the life with zeal. That was going to take a little while to get used to; that is supposing that Lindsey was on the up and up about leaving Wolfram & Hart.
Lindsey had never lied to him in the past, even about his reasons for accepting the job offer, but two years under that kind of influence could change a man. A lot.
After realizing that nothing he could say or do was going to dissuade Lindsey, Dean had cut off all connection with him. Losing Sammy to college and losing the only other real friend he'd ever had to the same shit he'd fought every day since he was four, that had been a bad few months.
Ignoring the last two phone calls hadn't been any easier than the half a dozen or so over the last two years. Dean didn't know how Lindsey kept getting his new phone numbers, but he supposed with Wolfram & Hart's resources it hadn't been hard. It was the text message early yesterday morning that had finally drawn Dean in.
left w&h need exit visa
That was all Dean needed to know. He was in the mood to kick some serious ass and this seemed like an excellent situation to find plenty of opportunities.
by dawn ixchel55
Fandom: Supernatural/Angel crossover
Pairing: Dean/Lindsey
Rating: will vary from chapter to chapter, by overall - Adult, for graphic m/m sexuality.
Length: 2876 words
Summary: After Lindsey leaves Wolfram & Hart, he runs into a little more trouble
than he can handle and turns to an old friend for help.
Disclaimer: Since my name is neither Kripke nor Whedon I'm obviously borrowing. But I'll return them in good condition and I won't make a single dollar off of their lovely asses.
Feedback (esp. criticism) is very much appreciated. Even typos pointed out. Thanks to dine and brynwulf for some hints and tips, but technically unbetaed so all mistakes are mine.
A/N: The timelines might be a little skewed, but only a little. The story begins approximately three months after Lindsey leaves Wolfram & Hart and, going on the theory that Sam spent 4 years at Stanford, this is 2 years after he left for college. Work with me people!
This is a WIP. There are 4 parts done but there are likely to be 10-12.
Part One
Dean kicked in the door of room twelve of the Best Rest Motel on the outskirts of Kingman, AZ. It was the dark, pre-dawn hours and he was ready for…whatever. The EMF meter showed a shit load of activity - although, of course, not what kind - so he had the Glock loaded with silver in hand and the sawed off shotgun carrying rock salt and iron shavings hanging by his side.
What he found stopped him cold.
Lindsey McDonald, attorney-at-law, formerly Wolfram & Hart’s golden boy on the rise, standing center stage in a scene of bloody carnage.
Armani and Gucci, the outfit of choice the last time they met, were noticeably absent. Instead the dress code of the day seemed to include a faded t-shirt announcing someone named Kane, worn Levis and well broken shitkickers. All were in less than pristine condition. The shirt hung by one shoulder, the jeans sported a bloody slice across the left thigh and the boots were just disgusting.
“Woah!” Dean said.
Lindsey’s expression at Dean’s abrupt entrance had kaleidoscoped rapidly from alarm, to surprise, to studied nonchalance in mere seconds. He redirected the impressively large knife in his hand from hovering in Dean’s general direction to flick a goblet of flesh off the front of his ichor soaked shirt. He paused, his pose and face the very definition of blasé, to peer at Dean. “What?”
“Guess you never got that last reprieve growth spurt, huh, Linds?” Dean said.
Lindsey starred at Dean blankly for a split second before his lips curved into the ghost of a smile. “Fuck you,” he said pleasantly.
“Dude, seriously,” Dean continued earnestly, “Doesn’t it piss you off that you can’t go on the big people rides with all your friends because you aren’t ‘this high’?” Dean held his hand a little above waist level.
“You know,” Lindsey said, rifling through the bed covers trying to find a clean patch to wipe his hands on, “I spent the last two years being razzed about my height…”
“Or lack of,” Dean interjected, which Lindsey ignored.
“…by someone a hell of a lot taller than you. Besides,” Lindsey grinned, “You’re just compensating because your baby brother outstripped you when he was fourteen years old. Sammy ever quit growing?”
At the mention of his brother, Dean’s grin faltered for a split second before it returned full force. With a small shrug he replied, “Yeah, finally. He’s more than a half a head taller than me with these freakishly long legs and huge ass hands and feet.”
Neither man seemed to consider the fact that tripping down memory lane over the corpses of three partially dismembered Gresith demons oozing their bodily fluids into the cheap olive drab carpet was just a tad strange. All in a day’s work.
After shaking a leftover out of the covers, Lindsey found the dry center of the sheet and was busy wiping fluids off his blade.
“Dude,” Dean pointed to the toe of Lindsey’s boot. That’s where the finger - at least Dean thought it was a finger - had landed.
Lindsey kicked it off with a grimace of distaste then wiped down his hands and arms. He was silent for a moment as he worked to rid himself of the worst of the gore. When he spoke again his voice was low and serious.
“It’s good to see you, Dean. I really appreciate you coming.” Lindsey’s voice was a lot more polished than Dean remembered. Very little of the other man’s drawl and twang remained. Dean found that he kind of missed it, even if he had given Lindsey enough shit about it when they were younger.
“Well, it looks like you took care of the problem just fine without me,” Dean said, eyes moving over the motel room.
“This?" Lindsey gestured around the room with the blade of his knife. "This was just tonight’s entertainment. There’s usually a show every night and sometimes matinees,” he joked, but then his voice grew more quiet. “It’s beginning to wear me down just a bit. So I’m really grateful for the help. I...wasn't sure you'd come.”
“Yeah, well…” Dean scratched his fingers self-consciously over his scalp. “I told you if you ever got tired of playing Devil’s Advocate I’d be there to help. Just glad you came to your senses, man.”
“Still…”
“Yeah, listen,” Dean cut him short. “You think we could do the catch-up thing while putting some miles behind us? ’Cause dude?” Dean gestured vaguely to the carnage that surrounded them. “The maid is gonna be pissed.”
With a frown, Lindsey cast a quick glance around before replying. “Yeah. Can you give me three minutes to wash this gunk off? It’s starting to burn a little.”
Dean went to the open door. He stuck his head out and took a look around while listening for any signs of the locals stirring. Pulling back in, he closed the door. “Yeah, sure. Everything seems to be quiet. Either this ‘berg is totally dead or they are all exceptionally heavy sleepers. You got what you need to take care of that?” Dean gestured with the hand holding the .45 towards the bloody slice on Lindsey’s thigh.
Lindsey stared down at himself blankly for a moment. “Shit!” he said disgustedly. “This was my favorite pair!”
“Shouldn’t have worn them to fight Gresith demons, I guess.” Dean was totally unsympathetic. Over the years he’d lost more ‘favorites’ that he could dream of remembering.
Lindsey’s only reply was a faint sneer as grabbed his duffel from the alcove next to the bathroom. He popped back out and lobbed a hand towel toward Dean. “Wipe down the bed-stand, remote and door, will you? They’re the only things I touched out here.” Without waiting for a reply he ducked back in and it was only seconds before Dean heard the shower.
The wiping off of possible prints was a familiar task for Dean so it only took a bare minute to be thorough.
True to his word, Lindsey was quick. Dean barely had time to make a couple of disgusted faces at the rising smell of rot - some demons really had a lousy shelf life - and the repulsive squishy noises his steps were making when he heard the shower cut off. Another few seconds, a strong in-drawn hiss of pain and a loud "Fuck!” filtered through the door as Lindsey doused the cut on his thigh.
“You need help?” Dean called out.
“Nah, I got it. Listen…grab my guitar case out of the alcove, will you? I’ll be there in a minute.”
“’Kay,” Dean called as he stepped over the rapidly decaying bodies. "You got a ride out here?"
"No, she's tucked away in a garage getting some work done. Bastards ran me off the road last week."
"You still got that POS truck?" Dean teased.
"Boy, do not be talkin' shit about a man's truck!"
“Don’t be too long,” Dean laughed
“Yeah, almost done! Just gotta wipe things down a bit.”
By the time Dean had the guitar stowed in the back floorboard and the Impala idling in front of the room, Lindsey came limping out. He pulled the door shut behind him using a handkerchief to wipe down the knob. He hung out the ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign as a final touch. Tossing his duffel in the back seat, Lindsey started to slide into the car.
"Dude!" Dean complained, "Your boots!" Lindsey rolled his eyes before scruffing his boot soles clean on the rough concrete. Then he settled into the car.
Dean let the Impala ease out onto the road with a muffled growl then accelerated smoothly, keeping the speed sedate. The car made enough of an impression without calling attention by speeding. It grieved
Dean that he was rarely able to let his baby stretch herself and use the power kept tanked up beneath the hood. When he reached the highway, Dean opened it up until the speedometer barely skimmed seventy and then settled in. Fast enough to eat up some miles, not so fast that they’d draw heat.
"You got a specific direction in mind?' Dean asked.
"No, anywhere's good."
So Dean headed east in silence. After fifteen minutes or so of checking the rear view in the increasingly light grey of pre-dawn, Dean figured they weren’t being followed and said as much.
“They don’t have to follow,” Lindsey said wearily. “They have some way of tracking me. They don’t have to keep me in sight; they can find me whenever they want.”
“What...like a tracking device? They planted a bug on you?”
“No, nothing that simple. I had everything I own, including my own body, scanned by an expert.”
“Something magical, then,” Dean said, glancing down the length of Lindsey’s body as if he could see some mystical sign beaming from his skin in day-glo colors.
“No, I had an expert check that, too. They’re tracking me somehow, but it’s not something they’ve planted on or in me. They’ve locked onto something that’s specific to me. My blood maybe or genetic markers. Shit, maybe the unique pattern of the muddy, dark streaks in my soul! How the fuck should I know!”
“Dude, just chill, OK? We’ll figure it out.”
Dean watched Lindsey grinding the heels of his palms into his eyes as though he were trying to erase something from behind his eyes. Dean knew that feeling all too well. He’d seen and done things in his twenty-four years that he’d give his left nut to never have them do re-runs in his head.
Well…maybe not his nut. Still.
Lindsey was looking pretty rough. He had all the signs of exhaustion. His eyes were red-rimmed holes in dark pits. His face was sallow and drawn, even through the remnants of his southern California tan. Dean could see the fine tremor in the Lindsey’s hands now that adrenaline from the fight was leaching out of his body. His clothes looked about two sizes too large, too. Baggy clothes had always been Sammy’s gig. Lindsey had always worn his clothes like Dean; not tight exactly, it’s just…why disguise an expensive looking present in butt-ugly wrapping, was Dean’s philosophy.
“Why don’t you catch some Zs? We can talk and make some plans later when you've had some rest.”
Dean said. “There’s a pillow in the back. You can crawl back and sack out for awhile.”
“Nah, I’m good up here,” Lindsey replied as he twisted around and grabbed the pillow. “But I think I will shut my eyes for awhile. Wolfram & Hart seems to have stepped up their activity a bit lately. Sleep’s been kinda scarce.” He jammed the pillow between his shoulder and the window and slumped down.
Lindsey didn’t have to scrunch down nearly as far as Sam did to make himself even half-way comfortable, but it didn’t take very much imagination on Dean’s part to see his brother’s long, lanky frame slouched in the corner.
Dean jerked his mind back from those memories. That was a deep tunnel and Dean didn’t have the luxury of the time to dig himself out when the walls collapsed. And collapse they would, because why would this time be any different.
Eyes focusing on the sign coming up, Dean said, “Hey, I’m going to stop up ahead and get some coffee. Maybe some Ding Dongs or something. You want anything?”
“I’m good,” Lindsey mumbled into the pillow.
Another five minutes and Dean was pulling into a generic, small town ‘quickie mart’. He pulled to the pump to top up the tank, that way they wouldn’t have to stop again for awhile.
The chances of anything happening in a crowded gas station during the early morning rush were pretty slim, but just to be on the safe side, after grabbing the empty thermos from the seat, Dean tapped down the Impala’s lock and pocketed the keys. Unfortunately, or it was rather fortunate sometimes, there were a lot of stupid demons out there that didn’t do well without direct supervision. And equally stupid humans that insisted on employing them as muscle. Locked car doors wouldn’t stop anyone - or anything - determined enough, but it would slow them down some.
Dean was back in under five minutes with a thermos of what smelled like fairly decent coffee, a bag of freshly made donuts, various chips, some jerky and a couple of Dr. Peppers - which Dean could drink warm.
In the car, Dean poured himself some coffee and put the open bag of donuts on the seat beside him. Before starting the car he pulled a large bottle of water from the other bag. When it hit the seat and rolled snug up against Lindsey’s thigh, the other man’s eyes cracked open. Feeling down beside him he picked it up and peered blearily at it before opening and chugging a third of its contents. Grunting his thanks, Lindsey dropped the bottle back down beside him.
“You’re welcome,” Dean smirked.
Grasping the steering wheel with the three fingers of his left hand not holding his coffee, Dean dug around in the donuts with his right hand until he pulled one out. It was one of the fat, squishy ones, oozing with raspberry jam and coated with powdered sugar. The first bite was heaven. Caffeine, sugar and fat. Was there a better way to start the day?
With no other plan in mind, Dean kept driving east on I-40 across northern Arizona, away from California.
Away from L.A. and Wolfram & Hart...and away from Stanford.
~*~
Dean kept the volume down on the music to give Lindsey a chance to sleep but no way in hell was he was doing without.
With the low background music, the Impala's grumble and the low-pitched whine of the tires of the pavement, Dean was able to begin thinking about the situation at hand. Which was a damn fine way of not thinking about other things.
Dean had ignored the two incoming calls from Lindsey a couple of days ago. After his aborted visit with Sam at Stanford, the first time he'd seen his little brother in almost two years, Dean had been in a shit-ugly state of mind and not in the mood to revisit another relationship gone bad.
Dean had been hurting enough after his relationship with Cassie took an abrupt downward spiral to slink to California. He'd wanted to lick his wounded ego - he refused to believe it was more than that - and find comfort in spending a some time with family. Dean could never have believed how badly that turned out.
He hadn't seen Sam in quite awhile, but they talked on the phone several times a month. Since his dad had begun to cut him loose more and more to do a solo act, Dean had an aching, hollow spot inside him left by the absence of family. That's why he'd been so vulnerable with Cassie. He was certain.
Sure, Cassie was gorgeous and hot and smart, but Dean could only imagine that the reason he'd let down his guard so much with her was because of that sucking void left by his scattered family. Dean still called himself seven kinds of a dumb-shit for telling Cassie about the family business. What a stupid fucking move. He should have known she wouldn't understand or even believe; how could anyone from the outside.
One person had believed Dean, though, for all the good it had done him in the end. Dean glanced sideways at Lindsey, slumped boneless and unmoving in the corner. The younger you are, the higher your tolerance for believing in what can't always been seen or explained. And they'd been pretty young back then.
He hadn't talked to Lindsey in a couple of years, not since his graduation from law school and his subsequent induction into the ranks of Wolfram & Hart. Dean had been fucking pissed and yeah - hurt, when Lindsey had allowed himself to be seduced into one of the biggest and nastiest conglomerations of humans and demons that this fucked up world had ever spawned. Lindsey not only joined them, he embraced the life with zeal. That was going to take a little while to get used to; that is supposing that Lindsey was on the up and up about leaving Wolfram & Hart.
Lindsey had never lied to him in the past, even about his reasons for accepting the job offer, but two years under that kind of influence could change a man. A lot.
After realizing that nothing he could say or do was going to dissuade Lindsey, Dean had cut off all connection with him. Losing Sammy to college and losing the only other real friend he'd ever had to the same shit he'd fought every day since he was four, that had been a bad few months.
Ignoring the last two phone calls hadn't been any easier than the half a dozen or so over the last two years. Dean didn't know how Lindsey kept getting his new phone numbers, but he supposed with Wolfram & Hart's resources it hadn't been hard. It was the text message early yesterday morning that had finally drawn Dean in.
left w&h need exit visa
That was all Dean needed to know. He was in the mood to kick some serious ass and this seemed like an excellent situation to find plenty of opportunities.