SPN/DA crossover fic: Of Desire and the Status Quo (22/38)
Story Title: Of Desire and the Status Quo
Chapter Title: Sleeping Wake, and Waking Sleep
Fandom(s): Supernatural, Dark Angel
Summary: In the end, it’s a complete accident that gets Dean Winchester out of Hell.
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 3,883
Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I neither own Supernatural nor Dark Angel. Just this.
Of Desire and the Status Quo
Chapter XXII: Sleeping Wake, and Waking Sleep
“So…since you don’t know where Sam is…” Alec starts as gently as possible, slowly taking his eyes from the road to look at Dean’s profile. “Where exactly are we going?”
To Alec’s relief, Dean doesn’t bark at him like Alec had just tried to kick a puppy or something. Instead, he gives a sort of oddly coordinated sad smirk. “I have a friend over in South Dakota,” he answers, warmth spreading across each word.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Alec says haltingly, twisting in his seat to face Dean fully. “You know someone here? I thought you were full-on Last Man Standing!”
Dean doesn’t seem to find Alec’s outcry humorous or particularly impressive. “He’s more like a father to me, to tell you the truth,” he informs Alec. “To both Sammy and me. His name’s Bobby Singer. Runs a salvage yard out in Sioux Falls.”
Alec thinks, but he can’t remember anything about a Bobby-or Robert, or any other derivatives thereof-Singer in the files he’d read about the Winchesters. Which means one of two things: Alec missed something, or Dean really is crazy and is making up some false persona within his mind and is taking Alec to a location that has a fictional significance.
A few days ago, Alec probably would’ve gone with Door Two. But after hours in the same car with Dean, with good view of all Dean’s affectations, Alec’s much more disinclined to go with that one. That, and now he’s really quite inquisitive as to who this Bobby guy is, given how important Dean’s voice implicates him as.
“Okay,” Alec agrees, finally realizing that all along Dean had had that destination in mind, and hadn’t just zoomed the car onto a random freeway. “So what do you think going to see this dude will accomplish?”
Dean shifts his weight in the seat, the position uncomfortable after a few hours of being in the same one. “Maybe he’ll know where Sam is,” Dean confesses. “If anyone would know, it’d be Bobby.”
“And if he doesn’t?” Alec asks. Dean glances over at him. “Hey, just playing devil’s advocate here.”
Dean grants him that, knowing that it never hurt to consider another opinion. Not that he enjoys Alec second-guessing him, but having Sam to do so had saved Dean’s skin more than once in the past. Even prevented him from killing innocent people. Had Dean been on his own with some of those…
“Then I’ll find Sam another way,” Dean says solidly, although there’s a hint of a catch in his voice, like he doesn’t want to consider the possibility that Sam would have completely fallen into the woodwork and couldn’t be found.
Alec has half a mind to also broach the fact that maybe the reason that Sam couldn’t be found is because he’s dead, but looking at Dean’s face, he can’t bring himself to do it. It’s not that he’s afraid Dean would beat him to a pulp or anything, it’s that he can’t manage to squash the small amount of confidence that Dean has going for him. Or purpose, for that matter.
Because, as far as he can tell, finding Sam is the only thing that actually makes sense to Dean in the unfamiliar surroundings. Alec can’t even relate, either, which bugs him on some level. Alec’s been in crazy situations and environments before (take, for example, the first time Manticore had sent him on a field mission), but he’d never, you know, been catapulted out of his own time and space. That’s a whole new ball of wax.
He is a little worried, though, at how tense Dean is, how spun he is. He’s afraid that even the smallest prod could either unwind him to a depressed, unreachable pile of mush, or else cause him to simply explode, probably violently. He knows most of it is, again, because of the Sam thing, but then he thinks back at just how long they’d been traveling. Realizing it’d been at least ten hours (the way Dean drives), they’re probably already in eastern Montana, and Alec knows with all Dean’s body’s been through-even the rotator cuff notwithstanding-in the past week, it might as well be twenty hours that Dean’s driven. Alec makes up his mind.
Seeing a sign for an upcoming town, Alec sits up straighter. “All right,” he says firmly, now set in a path and glad for it. “Take this exit. To…” Alec focuses his vision on the name that, for Dean, would be out of sight. “Pryor.”
“We’re not-”
“Can it,” Alec interrupts sharply. “The only stops we’ve made are to siphon gas out of random cars and then we’re back on the road again. Not only do we need food-I’m fucking hungry, dude-but it’s my turn to drive, and I’ll knock you unconscious if I have to. But I think both of us would rather not have to resort to that.” Dean stares at him. “Just do it, Winchester. I know a little something about pushing your body to the limits, and the fallout is hell. So stop, damn it.”
Dean would rather sock Alec in the face and keep driving than obey the transgenic’s wishes, but internally, he knows Alec is absolutely right. Truth be, for the past hundred miles or so, Dean’s been aching like all of his muscles have been stretched out more than they’re made to do, like his bones are individually in an iron vise that slowly keeps tightening. His shoulder’s still waging war on him as well, despite Alec’s neat stitches, and he’d started getting a migraine sometime after they’d passed the junction for Highway 15. On top of that, he’d swallowed the last of the aspirin when Alec had taken a-forgive the pun-cat nap a while back.
He knows Alec’s correct, and he knows it won’t do either of them any good if he falls prey to an immune system failure. What help would he be in finding Sam if that happened?
Closing his eyes in both fatigue and concession, Dean checks the mirror and takes the exit corresponding to Pryor. The town’s tiny, Dean and Alec both notice, but Dean’s been in smaller towns before, towns that didn’t even have a mini-mart. This one, however, is sizable enough to have a diner, and Dean pulls up into a parking space before his stubbornness can decide to ignore Alec and get right back on the freeway.
The shutting down of the engine as Dean pulls the keys out is like a temporary balm to his tiredness, the knowledge that this break won’t just be a stealing gas or bathroom pit stop making him relax just the smallest bit. Alec isn’t visibly relieved at all, but inside, he’s feeling a lot of the same things Dean is, in terms of being glad that they can get out of the car for awhile.
The air is warm as Dean steps out of the stolen Mustang, the sky truly living up to its state’s motto, oppressing everything below it and yet somehow opening up the atmosphere at the same time. It doesn’t mean much to Dean, though, since he’s been through Montana more times than he cares to count, and although he’s grateful to see a sky that’s not the color of shale, he’s having a hard time appreciating it in deference to his bodily soreness.
Alec’s not having much of the same dismal thoughts, even as he looks over at Dean’s posture that epitomizes stiffened joints and muscles. Shutting the door and walking around the side of the car, Alec pushes Dean forward gently towards the front of the restaurant. As they enter, pulling open the door with a ring of the bell atop it, Alec takes a look around, the action purely instinctive by now. He notices Dean doing the same, to an extent, but it’s half-hearted, like he doesn’t want to exert himself any more than he has to.
The hostess, a curvaceous, coppery redhead in a white blouse and skirt, looks at Alec a little too long before asking with a coquettish smile, “Just you?”
A little unsettled, Alec shakes his head and gestures at Dean. “Nah,” he replies, ignoring the woman’s double-take at Dean as well. Alec imagines she’s thinking it’s the best day of her life, having the two of them in there at once. It’s written all over her face, anyhow. “My…er…my brother and me.”
“Follow me,” the woman replies, grabbing two peeling, plastic-coated menus from a mounted tray and walking to a booth not but twenty feet from the front of the diner. Which, given its size, is pretty much the farthest away. “My name’s Harmony,” she offers. “I’ll be your waitress as well.”
He doesn’t know why the woman-Harmony, evidently-feels the need to make everything sound like a double entendre, but Alec gives her a shaky smile. “Of course you will,” he replies. “Thanks.”
She walks away with a last skim over Alec and Dean, purposefully sashaying. Alec shakes his head in bemusement. Disregarding the fact that he’s really not interested, and that he and Dean have way more pressing issues at the moment, he can’t see for the life of him how anyone would find that sort of starkness attractive. Alec already feels defiled just by her once-overs. He can’t imagine what actually hanging out with her would be like.
Getting all related thoughts out of his head, Alec instead turns to his menu, ignoring the grease splotches and unidentifiable stains. He’s eaten in worse-looking places. Deciding on a fourteen ounce rib eye medium-well and a root beer, he hands his menu to Harmony once she comes back. Thankfully, she seems to have gotten the hint that Alec has no desire to pursue her; considering Dean thus far hasn’t spoken at all, Alec assumes Harmony realizes she’s struck out with the both of them.
“What about you?” she asks Dean, holding her pad of paper and pen.
“I’m fine,” Dean says, “Just a Coke for me.”
“Dean,” Alec censures, glaring at him. “Come on, man.”
Dean looks up at his opposite with, Alec interprets, the intent to glare back, but it’s ineffective. Alec’s adamant, and, actually, it’s Dean’s own fault. Although Alec hasn’t known Dean since before he popped up in Seattle, Dean’s figure is blatantly more emaciated than it should be, his features hollowed instead of chiseled, his eyes a dank, unlit green. Eating isn’t going to fix anything, Alec’s very cognizant of that, but it’d be a step in the right direction.
Surrendering, Dean sighs and amends, “All right, fine. I guess I’ll go with the bacon cheeseburger, then.”
Alec suppresses a grin-not just because the burger was a close second in Alec’s own order, but because he imagines the food was a staple in Dean’s diet before…whatever happened to him. It’s not that hard to picture, really.
“Make it a double,” Alec tells Harmony before she departs, and she nods while Alec smirks at Dean. “Dude, we’re so not leaving this place till you eat all of it.”
“You’re worse than Sam,” gripes Dean, for possibly the first time since Alec’s seen him, not immediately following his brother’s name with a downtrodden, world-ending expression.
Alec decides to take it as a compliment. “Suck it up,” he says without venom. “I could make you go to a hospital right now, you know. All I’m doing is forcing you to eat a burger. Fair trade, I think.”
Dean only replies with a sort of noncommittal grunt, and, as Harmony comes back bearing his and Alec’s drinks, quickly takes a deep drag of the cola, the fizzing carbonation soothing his throat. He watches as Alec smugly sips his own drink, and Dean suddenly feels what Sam must have whenever Dean made that face. He’s totally fine doing it personally, but seeing it on someone else, on him, it’s really fucking annoying.
“Yeah, and I can let you hike back to Washington,” Dean retorts, fully aware that it’s a very weak comeback.
Luckily, Alec is prevented from responding as Harmony returns again, her hands filled with two steaming plates. Alec is pretty sure both orders are significantly larger than they’d ordered-seriously, they consider that a fourteen ounce steak? More like eighteen-but hey, he won’t complain. He eyes Dean’s bacon cheeseburger with a not negligible amount of envy; although he’s rather looking forward to his own lunch, the burger does look pretty damn good. Which in itself is a little surprising, given that the restaurant appeared pretty sketchy.
“Anything else I can get you?” Harmony inquires, the words slightly saddled with innuendo, like a last ditch effort, but it isn’t like Alec’s changed his mind.
“No,” he answers. “Thanks.” She leaves again, flipping her hair over her shoulder, and Alec happily cuts into the slab of beef on his plate, shoving a large piece into his mouth.
As for Dean, he stares at the burger for a few moments, despite his lack of having eaten in a long while feeling an odd sense of normality with it. Stowing his stalling and admitting silently that it was a good thing Alec had supersized Dean’s lunch, he bites into it, some of the hamburger juice and ketchup dripping onto his plate.
He has to hand it to the backwoods diner: they make damn good burgers. Not as good as that seaside shack in Delaware that Dean’ll never forget, but still. As he takes a second bite, it’s as if his brain realizes it’s not been functioning well, and suddenly sends out a flood of hormones, causing Dean’s stomach to explode with a hunger that he’s not felt since he was in Hell.
Within two and a half minutes, the double bacon cheeseburger is gone, and even Alec’s taken a break from eating his own food to stare at Dean’s rapid consumption.
“Guess it’s a good thing I ordered that large a burger for you, eh?” Alec says amusedly, cutting another piece of beef off his plate.
“Shut up,” Dean says through a mouth full of partially masticated food. “I haven’t eaten in…forever.”
Alec snorts. “You win the prize for exaggeration,” he comments.
Dean looks up from taking a drink from his Coke, not seeing the humor. Sure, it hadn’t been literally forever since he’d had food, but…well, he considers two millennia as close as you can get. “Whatever,” he chooses to reply, the answer neither an agreement nor a contradiction. “We’re going now.”
Alec lets Dean’s reaction go-for the moment-quickly finishes off the last few bites of steak, and then stands up, throwing some bills down on the table that was roughly the amount owed. Alec had calculated it as soon as they’d ordered. He would’ve made Dean pay, except he has a feeling Dean doesn’t have any sort of cash whatsoever, even though he also has a feeling Dean would have accrued some had he the chance in a similar manner that Alec does. That is, hustling pool. (And the occasional pickpocketing, but that’s on the down-low, so.)
He can tell Harmony’s eyes are on the two of them as they walk out, but considering it’s extremely doubtful either, let alone both, of them will ever pass through Pryor, Montana again, Alec doesn’t pay it much mind. Let her have her fantasies, he figures. It won’t do them any harm.
Dean starts to walk around to the driver’s side, but Alec blurs over in front of him, stopping Dean’s progress. “Nice try,” he says firmly. “You’re relegated to shotgun, dude.”
Dean’s expression morphs to one of anger, but Alec has enough strength over Dean (especially at this point, since Dean’s reflexes and body isn’t at its peak right now) to manhandle him around to the other side. Realizing Alec’s beat him this time, Dean surrenders and gets in the passenger side, though with a fairly large degree of discomfort, resulting from the fact that it’s not Sam driving while Dean sits there. It’s one thing for Dean to drive while Alec’s in the other seat: at least then Dean can pretend easier. But, as Alec peels out of the parking lot and zooms onto I-90 once more, Dean detects just enough of a difference in handling style to make the absence that much more painful.
Not that Alec’s a bad driver, per se. In fact, and Dean really shouldn’t have been taken off-guard by it, he’s quite comparable to Dean’s methods, taking turns after a small delay, staying in the furthermost lane and never having more than one hand on the wheel. Usually the left resting lightly on the top, even though in Dean’s case, he put his left on there in order to keep his right free to either eat or fiddle with the radio and cassette deck.
Sadly, that last still isn’t in effect. Despite Dean’s half-hearted try at getting a decent channel, all of the ones he comes across are either crap music, or static. And not the static that would indicate a supernatural presence, either-just plain, no-signal static.
Before too long-Alec would guesstimate about thirty miles-the warmth of the car, full belly, and total body fatigue finally takes its toll, and Dean’s head falls against the window, his brain resting in purely natural sleep. Alec wouldn’t go so far as to say completely peaceful, but in any event, it isn’t induced by chemicals or a blow to the head.
Alec remains driving for a few more minutes, before glancing at Dean again, and then the clock. It isn’t like Alec’s tired (he’s been awake for much longer without needing sleep), but he does know that it sucks balls to fall asleep in an uncomfortable position and then wake up and feel like crap as a result.
Sam can last being incognito to Dean and Alec for a little longer. And Alec’s pretty sure that whomever this Bobby person is probably won’t be going anywhere for a while, either.
Alec hasn’t missed where they are in Wyoming. Though they’ve just crossed the state line, he knows they’ve got to be only around a hundred miles from the place Alec never, ever wanted to visit again. Even the name-Gillette-incites threat of being barraged by horrific memories, and a hundred miles in and of itself is kind of too close for comfort.
But he knows he has to suck it up. It’s been almost a year since he’d gotten away from the place, and it’s past time for him to man up. It was the worst place Alec could ever imagine, but it’s gone now, and he’s gone from it now, and it shouldn’t be affecting him this much anymore.
More than that, he’s got pressing matters. They’ve only been on the road for under two hours, but Alec’s set his mind. Pulling off the road after the sign for some place named Ranchester, he’s glad to note that they not only have a café of their own, but a motel, too. Which is exactly what Alec had been hoping for.
Dean doesn’t awaken as Alec shuts off the car, one of maybe a half dozen vehicles parked in front of the building, and he decides it’d be easier if he gets the room first. Shutting the door quietly, Alec walks purposefully into the motel, and rings the bell on the facsimile of a reception desk. A mousy- and greasy-looking man in his forties comes up behind the desk, studying Alec up and down.
“Whaddya’ want?” the man demands in a gravelly, Midwest accent.
Clearing his throat to get over the revulsion, Alec replies, “Uh, one room, two beds.”
The man peers over Alec’s shoulder, as if he anticipated someone else hiding behind him-by the expression on the guy’s face, he suspects a prostitute-but Alec throws down eighty dollars, and the man gives up on the suspicion.
After all, in the present day and age, eighty bucks for one room is a hell of an overpay. The man hands Alec a discolored key labeled with the room number 153, and Alec thanks him, trying to keep the sarcasm out of his voice. The man retreats back into the office-esque room from which he’d appeared with the four twenties Alec had handed him, leaving his customer alone in the lobby.
Exhaling in a fair bit of perplexity, Alec walks back out to the car with the room key in his pocket and opens Dean’s door, vacillating for a couple moments as to how to do this. Sighing as he realizes he’s going to have to do a similar performance of his rescuing Dean from White, Alec hauls Dean out of the car. He doesn’t plan on carrying him over his shoulder again, and thankfully he doesn’t have to, as Dean groggily gains alertness again. Pulling Dean along before he can quite get his bearings, Alec ushers him into the motel.
“What’re you doin’?” Dean asks in a voice covered in the haze of sleep. “Where’re we?”
“Playboy Mansion,” Alec retorts facetiously. “Just come on, dude.”
It doesn’t take long for Dean to recognize the layout of the environment he’d been familiar with since he can remember. They get into the room by the time Dean actually pushes Alec off him, glaring through bleary eyes.
“What’re you doin’? Where’d you take me?” Dean demands again, looking around the room, which already ranks among the worst Dean’s seen. “You’re supposed to be drivin’.”
Alec slams the door shut and tosses the key on the chipped wood nightstand. “Wyoming,” Alec responds. “You need sleep, Dean. So do I.”
“Liar,” Dean accuses, calling Alec’s bluff. He doesn’t know exactly the scope of the transgenics’ abilities, but he’s going to call bullshit on Alec needing as much rest as Dean.
“Fine,” Alec admits. “But you do. And I’m not going to deal with you being all bitchy and authoritative just because you slept badly. So you know what, we’re staying here overnight. Come on, man. Sam and that Bobby guy are going to be there in the morning.”
“You don’t-”
“I swear I’ll knock you out,” Alec interjects sharply. “I’m not above it.”
Dean doesn’t look like he’s anywhere close to letting the issue drop, but Alec stands his ground. This, coupled with his literally swaying on his feet exhaustion, causes Dean to give in for the second time that day, and he wearily throws off his shoes, navigates to the bed closest to the door, and collapses on the covers. Alec can’t imagine that sleeping in jeans and a bloodied shirt can really be all that comfortable, but the efficient way Dean had laid down suggests he’d gone through the same routine many, many times before.
Chuckling to himself at the absurdity of the day, accompanied by a little worry if Dean’s already pushed his body and mind past their capacity, Alec shucks off his own shoes and jacket, flips off the light, and climbs onto the other bed. The sheets smell kind of musty, and Alec really doesn’t plan on comprehending the stains on the bedspread, but he does his best to ignore it, and before long, his quiet breathing is in perfect cadence with Dean’s.
Next
Chapter Title: Sleeping Wake, and Waking Sleep
Fandom(s): Supernatural, Dark Angel
Summary: In the end, it’s a complete accident that gets Dean Winchester out of Hell.
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 3,883
Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I neither own Supernatural nor Dark Angel. Just this.
Of Desire and the Status Quo
Chapter XXII: Sleeping Wake, and Waking Sleep
“So…since you don’t know where Sam is…” Alec starts as gently as possible, slowly taking his eyes from the road to look at Dean’s profile. “Where exactly are we going?”
To Alec’s relief, Dean doesn’t bark at him like Alec had just tried to kick a puppy or something. Instead, he gives a sort of oddly coordinated sad smirk. “I have a friend over in South Dakota,” he answers, warmth spreading across each word.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Alec says haltingly, twisting in his seat to face Dean fully. “You know someone here? I thought you were full-on Last Man Standing!”
Dean doesn’t seem to find Alec’s outcry humorous or particularly impressive. “He’s more like a father to me, to tell you the truth,” he informs Alec. “To both Sammy and me. His name’s Bobby Singer. Runs a salvage yard out in Sioux Falls.”
Alec thinks, but he can’t remember anything about a Bobby-or Robert, or any other derivatives thereof-Singer in the files he’d read about the Winchesters. Which means one of two things: Alec missed something, or Dean really is crazy and is making up some false persona within his mind and is taking Alec to a location that has a fictional significance.
A few days ago, Alec probably would’ve gone with Door Two. But after hours in the same car with Dean, with good view of all Dean’s affectations, Alec’s much more disinclined to go with that one. That, and now he’s really quite inquisitive as to who this Bobby guy is, given how important Dean’s voice implicates him as.
“Okay,” Alec agrees, finally realizing that all along Dean had had that destination in mind, and hadn’t just zoomed the car onto a random freeway. “So what do you think going to see this dude will accomplish?”
Dean shifts his weight in the seat, the position uncomfortable after a few hours of being in the same one. “Maybe he’ll know where Sam is,” Dean confesses. “If anyone would know, it’d be Bobby.”
“And if he doesn’t?” Alec asks. Dean glances over at him. “Hey, just playing devil’s advocate here.”
Dean grants him that, knowing that it never hurt to consider another opinion. Not that he enjoys Alec second-guessing him, but having Sam to do so had saved Dean’s skin more than once in the past. Even prevented him from killing innocent people. Had Dean been on his own with some of those…
“Then I’ll find Sam another way,” Dean says solidly, although there’s a hint of a catch in his voice, like he doesn’t want to consider the possibility that Sam would have completely fallen into the woodwork and couldn’t be found.
Alec has half a mind to also broach the fact that maybe the reason that Sam couldn’t be found is because he’s dead, but looking at Dean’s face, he can’t bring himself to do it. It’s not that he’s afraid Dean would beat him to a pulp or anything, it’s that he can’t manage to squash the small amount of confidence that Dean has going for him. Or purpose, for that matter.
Because, as far as he can tell, finding Sam is the only thing that actually makes sense to Dean in the unfamiliar surroundings. Alec can’t even relate, either, which bugs him on some level. Alec’s been in crazy situations and environments before (take, for example, the first time Manticore had sent him on a field mission), but he’d never, you know, been catapulted out of his own time and space. That’s a whole new ball of wax.
He is a little worried, though, at how tense Dean is, how spun he is. He’s afraid that even the smallest prod could either unwind him to a depressed, unreachable pile of mush, or else cause him to simply explode, probably violently. He knows most of it is, again, because of the Sam thing, but then he thinks back at just how long they’d been traveling. Realizing it’d been at least ten hours (the way Dean drives), they’re probably already in eastern Montana, and Alec knows with all Dean’s body’s been through-even the rotator cuff notwithstanding-in the past week, it might as well be twenty hours that Dean’s driven. Alec makes up his mind.
Seeing a sign for an upcoming town, Alec sits up straighter. “All right,” he says firmly, now set in a path and glad for it. “Take this exit. To…” Alec focuses his vision on the name that, for Dean, would be out of sight. “Pryor.”
“We’re not-”
“Can it,” Alec interrupts sharply. “The only stops we’ve made are to siphon gas out of random cars and then we’re back on the road again. Not only do we need food-I’m fucking hungry, dude-but it’s my turn to drive, and I’ll knock you unconscious if I have to. But I think both of us would rather not have to resort to that.” Dean stares at him. “Just do it, Winchester. I know a little something about pushing your body to the limits, and the fallout is hell. So stop, damn it.”
Dean would rather sock Alec in the face and keep driving than obey the transgenic’s wishes, but internally, he knows Alec is absolutely right. Truth be, for the past hundred miles or so, Dean’s been aching like all of his muscles have been stretched out more than they’re made to do, like his bones are individually in an iron vise that slowly keeps tightening. His shoulder’s still waging war on him as well, despite Alec’s neat stitches, and he’d started getting a migraine sometime after they’d passed the junction for Highway 15. On top of that, he’d swallowed the last of the aspirin when Alec had taken a-forgive the pun-cat nap a while back.
He knows Alec’s correct, and he knows it won’t do either of them any good if he falls prey to an immune system failure. What help would he be in finding Sam if that happened?
Closing his eyes in both fatigue and concession, Dean checks the mirror and takes the exit corresponding to Pryor. The town’s tiny, Dean and Alec both notice, but Dean’s been in smaller towns before, towns that didn’t even have a mini-mart. This one, however, is sizable enough to have a diner, and Dean pulls up into a parking space before his stubbornness can decide to ignore Alec and get right back on the freeway.
The shutting down of the engine as Dean pulls the keys out is like a temporary balm to his tiredness, the knowledge that this break won’t just be a stealing gas or bathroom pit stop making him relax just the smallest bit. Alec isn’t visibly relieved at all, but inside, he’s feeling a lot of the same things Dean is, in terms of being glad that they can get out of the car for awhile.
The air is warm as Dean steps out of the stolen Mustang, the sky truly living up to its state’s motto, oppressing everything below it and yet somehow opening up the atmosphere at the same time. It doesn’t mean much to Dean, though, since he’s been through Montana more times than he cares to count, and although he’s grateful to see a sky that’s not the color of shale, he’s having a hard time appreciating it in deference to his bodily soreness.
Alec’s not having much of the same dismal thoughts, even as he looks over at Dean’s posture that epitomizes stiffened joints and muscles. Shutting the door and walking around the side of the car, Alec pushes Dean forward gently towards the front of the restaurant. As they enter, pulling open the door with a ring of the bell atop it, Alec takes a look around, the action purely instinctive by now. He notices Dean doing the same, to an extent, but it’s half-hearted, like he doesn’t want to exert himself any more than he has to.
The hostess, a curvaceous, coppery redhead in a white blouse and skirt, looks at Alec a little too long before asking with a coquettish smile, “Just you?”
A little unsettled, Alec shakes his head and gestures at Dean. “Nah,” he replies, ignoring the woman’s double-take at Dean as well. Alec imagines she’s thinking it’s the best day of her life, having the two of them in there at once. It’s written all over her face, anyhow. “My…er…my brother and me.”
“Follow me,” the woman replies, grabbing two peeling, plastic-coated menus from a mounted tray and walking to a booth not but twenty feet from the front of the diner. Which, given its size, is pretty much the farthest away. “My name’s Harmony,” she offers. “I’ll be your waitress as well.”
He doesn’t know why the woman-Harmony, evidently-feels the need to make everything sound like a double entendre, but Alec gives her a shaky smile. “Of course you will,” he replies. “Thanks.”
She walks away with a last skim over Alec and Dean, purposefully sashaying. Alec shakes his head in bemusement. Disregarding the fact that he’s really not interested, and that he and Dean have way more pressing issues at the moment, he can’t see for the life of him how anyone would find that sort of starkness attractive. Alec already feels defiled just by her once-overs. He can’t imagine what actually hanging out with her would be like.
Getting all related thoughts out of his head, Alec instead turns to his menu, ignoring the grease splotches and unidentifiable stains. He’s eaten in worse-looking places. Deciding on a fourteen ounce rib eye medium-well and a root beer, he hands his menu to Harmony once she comes back. Thankfully, she seems to have gotten the hint that Alec has no desire to pursue her; considering Dean thus far hasn’t spoken at all, Alec assumes Harmony realizes she’s struck out with the both of them.
“What about you?” she asks Dean, holding her pad of paper and pen.
“I’m fine,” Dean says, “Just a Coke for me.”
“Dean,” Alec censures, glaring at him. “Come on, man.”
Dean looks up at his opposite with, Alec interprets, the intent to glare back, but it’s ineffective. Alec’s adamant, and, actually, it’s Dean’s own fault. Although Alec hasn’t known Dean since before he popped up in Seattle, Dean’s figure is blatantly more emaciated than it should be, his features hollowed instead of chiseled, his eyes a dank, unlit green. Eating isn’t going to fix anything, Alec’s very cognizant of that, but it’d be a step in the right direction.
Surrendering, Dean sighs and amends, “All right, fine. I guess I’ll go with the bacon cheeseburger, then.”
Alec suppresses a grin-not just because the burger was a close second in Alec’s own order, but because he imagines the food was a staple in Dean’s diet before…whatever happened to him. It’s not that hard to picture, really.
“Make it a double,” Alec tells Harmony before she departs, and she nods while Alec smirks at Dean. “Dude, we’re so not leaving this place till you eat all of it.”
“You’re worse than Sam,” gripes Dean, for possibly the first time since Alec’s seen him, not immediately following his brother’s name with a downtrodden, world-ending expression.
Alec decides to take it as a compliment. “Suck it up,” he says without venom. “I could make you go to a hospital right now, you know. All I’m doing is forcing you to eat a burger. Fair trade, I think.”
Dean only replies with a sort of noncommittal grunt, and, as Harmony comes back bearing his and Alec’s drinks, quickly takes a deep drag of the cola, the fizzing carbonation soothing his throat. He watches as Alec smugly sips his own drink, and Dean suddenly feels what Sam must have whenever Dean made that face. He’s totally fine doing it personally, but seeing it on someone else, on him, it’s really fucking annoying.
“Yeah, and I can let you hike back to Washington,” Dean retorts, fully aware that it’s a very weak comeback.
Luckily, Alec is prevented from responding as Harmony returns again, her hands filled with two steaming plates. Alec is pretty sure both orders are significantly larger than they’d ordered-seriously, they consider that a fourteen ounce steak? More like eighteen-but hey, he won’t complain. He eyes Dean’s bacon cheeseburger with a not negligible amount of envy; although he’s rather looking forward to his own lunch, the burger does look pretty damn good. Which in itself is a little surprising, given that the restaurant appeared pretty sketchy.
“Anything else I can get you?” Harmony inquires, the words slightly saddled with innuendo, like a last ditch effort, but it isn’t like Alec’s changed his mind.
“No,” he answers. “Thanks.” She leaves again, flipping her hair over her shoulder, and Alec happily cuts into the slab of beef on his plate, shoving a large piece into his mouth.
As for Dean, he stares at the burger for a few moments, despite his lack of having eaten in a long while feeling an odd sense of normality with it. Stowing his stalling and admitting silently that it was a good thing Alec had supersized Dean’s lunch, he bites into it, some of the hamburger juice and ketchup dripping onto his plate.
He has to hand it to the backwoods diner: they make damn good burgers. Not as good as that seaside shack in Delaware that Dean’ll never forget, but still. As he takes a second bite, it’s as if his brain realizes it’s not been functioning well, and suddenly sends out a flood of hormones, causing Dean’s stomach to explode with a hunger that he’s not felt since he was in Hell.
Within two and a half minutes, the double bacon cheeseburger is gone, and even Alec’s taken a break from eating his own food to stare at Dean’s rapid consumption.
“Guess it’s a good thing I ordered that large a burger for you, eh?” Alec says amusedly, cutting another piece of beef off his plate.
“Shut up,” Dean says through a mouth full of partially masticated food. “I haven’t eaten in…forever.”
Alec snorts. “You win the prize for exaggeration,” he comments.
Dean looks up from taking a drink from his Coke, not seeing the humor. Sure, it hadn’t been literally forever since he’d had food, but…well, he considers two millennia as close as you can get. “Whatever,” he chooses to reply, the answer neither an agreement nor a contradiction. “We’re going now.”
Alec lets Dean’s reaction go-for the moment-quickly finishes off the last few bites of steak, and then stands up, throwing some bills down on the table that was roughly the amount owed. Alec had calculated it as soon as they’d ordered. He would’ve made Dean pay, except he has a feeling Dean doesn’t have any sort of cash whatsoever, even though he also has a feeling Dean would have accrued some had he the chance in a similar manner that Alec does. That is, hustling pool. (And the occasional pickpocketing, but that’s on the down-low, so.)
He can tell Harmony’s eyes are on the two of them as they walk out, but considering it’s extremely doubtful either, let alone both, of them will ever pass through Pryor, Montana again, Alec doesn’t pay it much mind. Let her have her fantasies, he figures. It won’t do them any harm.
Dean starts to walk around to the driver’s side, but Alec blurs over in front of him, stopping Dean’s progress. “Nice try,” he says firmly. “You’re relegated to shotgun, dude.”
Dean’s expression morphs to one of anger, but Alec has enough strength over Dean (especially at this point, since Dean’s reflexes and body isn’t at its peak right now) to manhandle him around to the other side. Realizing Alec’s beat him this time, Dean surrenders and gets in the passenger side, though with a fairly large degree of discomfort, resulting from the fact that it’s not Sam driving while Dean sits there. It’s one thing for Dean to drive while Alec’s in the other seat: at least then Dean can pretend easier. But, as Alec peels out of the parking lot and zooms onto I-90 once more, Dean detects just enough of a difference in handling style to make the absence that much more painful.
Not that Alec’s a bad driver, per se. In fact, and Dean really shouldn’t have been taken off-guard by it, he’s quite comparable to Dean’s methods, taking turns after a small delay, staying in the furthermost lane and never having more than one hand on the wheel. Usually the left resting lightly on the top, even though in Dean’s case, he put his left on there in order to keep his right free to either eat or fiddle with the radio and cassette deck.
Sadly, that last still isn’t in effect. Despite Dean’s half-hearted try at getting a decent channel, all of the ones he comes across are either crap music, or static. And not the static that would indicate a supernatural presence, either-just plain, no-signal static.
Before too long-Alec would guesstimate about thirty miles-the warmth of the car, full belly, and total body fatigue finally takes its toll, and Dean’s head falls against the window, his brain resting in purely natural sleep. Alec wouldn’t go so far as to say completely peaceful, but in any event, it isn’t induced by chemicals or a blow to the head.
Alec remains driving for a few more minutes, before glancing at Dean again, and then the clock. It isn’t like Alec’s tired (he’s been awake for much longer without needing sleep), but he does know that it sucks balls to fall asleep in an uncomfortable position and then wake up and feel like crap as a result.
Sam can last being incognito to Dean and Alec for a little longer. And Alec’s pretty sure that whomever this Bobby person is probably won’t be going anywhere for a while, either.
Alec hasn’t missed where they are in Wyoming. Though they’ve just crossed the state line, he knows they’ve got to be only around a hundred miles from the place Alec never, ever wanted to visit again. Even the name-Gillette-incites threat of being barraged by horrific memories, and a hundred miles in and of itself is kind of too close for comfort.
But he knows he has to suck it up. It’s been almost a year since he’d gotten away from the place, and it’s past time for him to man up. It was the worst place Alec could ever imagine, but it’s gone now, and he’s gone from it now, and it shouldn’t be affecting him this much anymore.
More than that, he’s got pressing matters. They’ve only been on the road for under two hours, but Alec’s set his mind. Pulling off the road after the sign for some place named Ranchester, he’s glad to note that they not only have a café of their own, but a motel, too. Which is exactly what Alec had been hoping for.
Dean doesn’t awaken as Alec shuts off the car, one of maybe a half dozen vehicles parked in front of the building, and he decides it’d be easier if he gets the room first. Shutting the door quietly, Alec walks purposefully into the motel, and rings the bell on the facsimile of a reception desk. A mousy- and greasy-looking man in his forties comes up behind the desk, studying Alec up and down.
“Whaddya’ want?” the man demands in a gravelly, Midwest accent.
Clearing his throat to get over the revulsion, Alec replies, “Uh, one room, two beds.”
The man peers over Alec’s shoulder, as if he anticipated someone else hiding behind him-by the expression on the guy’s face, he suspects a prostitute-but Alec throws down eighty dollars, and the man gives up on the suspicion.
After all, in the present day and age, eighty bucks for one room is a hell of an overpay. The man hands Alec a discolored key labeled with the room number 153, and Alec thanks him, trying to keep the sarcasm out of his voice. The man retreats back into the office-esque room from which he’d appeared with the four twenties Alec had handed him, leaving his customer alone in the lobby.
Exhaling in a fair bit of perplexity, Alec walks back out to the car with the room key in his pocket and opens Dean’s door, vacillating for a couple moments as to how to do this. Sighing as he realizes he’s going to have to do a similar performance of his rescuing Dean from White, Alec hauls Dean out of the car. He doesn’t plan on carrying him over his shoulder again, and thankfully he doesn’t have to, as Dean groggily gains alertness again. Pulling Dean along before he can quite get his bearings, Alec ushers him into the motel.
“What’re you doin’?” Dean asks in a voice covered in the haze of sleep. “Where’re we?”
“Playboy Mansion,” Alec retorts facetiously. “Just come on, dude.”
It doesn’t take long for Dean to recognize the layout of the environment he’d been familiar with since he can remember. They get into the room by the time Dean actually pushes Alec off him, glaring through bleary eyes.
“What’re you doin’? Where’d you take me?” Dean demands again, looking around the room, which already ranks among the worst Dean’s seen. “You’re supposed to be drivin’.”
Alec slams the door shut and tosses the key on the chipped wood nightstand. “Wyoming,” Alec responds. “You need sleep, Dean. So do I.”
“Liar,” Dean accuses, calling Alec’s bluff. He doesn’t know exactly the scope of the transgenics’ abilities, but he’s going to call bullshit on Alec needing as much rest as Dean.
“Fine,” Alec admits. “But you do. And I’m not going to deal with you being all bitchy and authoritative just because you slept badly. So you know what, we’re staying here overnight. Come on, man. Sam and that Bobby guy are going to be there in the morning.”
“You don’t-”
“I swear I’ll knock you out,” Alec interjects sharply. “I’m not above it.”
Dean doesn’t look like he’s anywhere close to letting the issue drop, but Alec stands his ground. This, coupled with his literally swaying on his feet exhaustion, causes Dean to give in for the second time that day, and he wearily throws off his shoes, navigates to the bed closest to the door, and collapses on the covers. Alec can’t imagine that sleeping in jeans and a bloodied shirt can really be all that comfortable, but the efficient way Dean had laid down suggests he’d gone through the same routine many, many times before.
Chuckling to himself at the absurdity of the day, accompanied by a little worry if Dean’s already pushed his body and mind past their capacity, Alec shucks off his own shoes and jacket, flips off the light, and climbs onto the other bed. The sheets smell kind of musty, and Alec really doesn’t plan on comprehending the stains on the bedspread, but he does his best to ignore it, and before long, his quiet breathing is in perfect cadence with Dean’s.
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