A project completed :D
I haven't done anything this long since DLaEI o.o it nearly killed me.
Title: Vindicated [1/5]
Fandom: Speed Racer and Supernatural
Pairing: Speed/Dean, Sam/Dean, Speed/X (linked with Speed/Rex)
Rating: NC-17 for sex and minor violence, and Dean has a truly filthy mouth. In this part, there's a homophobic priest, but he sort of can't help it.
Length: About 17.5k in total.
Notes: Um, yeah, another one that just got completely out of hand. XD Beta'd by the lovely princessezzy, it's set firstly pre-season 1 and secondly mid season 2 and 5 years post movie so therefore holds movie spoilers but only minor for Supernatural. After this fic I've written over 50,000 words for Speed Racer. You guys had better love me as much as I love you. Also, I sort of steal off the Speed comicverse a bit, in that Speed's living in San Francisco. This meant I got to use my Milk knowledge a bit about Castro Street :D which was also fun.
Part One / Part Two / Part Three / Part Four / Part Five
I am flawed, but I am cleaning up so well
I am seeing in me now the things you swore you saw yourself.
- Vindicated, Dashboard Confessional
“Dean, where are you?”
Dean’s fingers on his left hand beat out an irregular rhythm on the steering wheel as he drove, scanning the landscape. “Out in California, chasing something Pastor Jim told me about. Why, Dad, what’s up?”
It was horrifically hot and sticky. Dean was cruising through some desert in the middle of nowhere, his shirt drenched with sweat, all the windows rolled down low to try to whip up some of the stagnant air. Sam had said they should get Dean a convertible, so he could cruise along like something out of an ad, speakers blaring out on high. Dean glanced at the passenger seat, thinking of the way Sam leant out of the window on drives like this, head tilted back to catch the breeze like a dog. “I could use your help on this one.”
“Where are you?”
“Fort Collins, Colorado.”
Dean swore under his breath as he figured out the calculation. That would mean crossing two state lines, plus driving non-stop for three, maybe four days. He’d miss out on the opportunity he had for this thing… “But, Dad, this thing, it only turns up once every ten years, and it could kill a lot of people - ”
“I need you, Dean.” Dean swore again and slapped the steering wheel, staring frustratedly out of the window. If Sam was here, he would have backed him up. But Sam wasn’t there - the chances were Sam would never be there again. Dean scowled. Beneath him, his baby gave a hot, angry whine at Dean’s maltreatment, spluttered and gave up in a cranky rush. She rolled to a halt as crickets exploded angrily around him, and he sat and stared at the horizon. “Dean? When should I expect you?”
Dean gritted his teeth. “I don’t know, there’s something wrong with the car,” he muttered as he climbed out of her, resting against the bonnet and tilting his face up to the sun, resisting the urge to chuck his phone into the dust.
“This isn’t good enough, Dean. You shouldn’t let me down like this.”
“Yes, sir,” Dean gritted. “Sorry, sir.”
He hung up and stuffed his phone in his jeans, staring in irritation at the horizon. Time to patch up his baby, though fuck knows what he could do out here in the middle of fucking nowhere. The radio kicked on with Dean’s insistent probing and a few slaps, squeaking out something by Bon Jovi. On this occasion, they most certainly did not rock, but Dean didn’t dare fiddle with the dial in case he was stuck out here with no radio at all. In a hot, horrible rush, he missed his little brother.
Dean skulked round to the back of the car and propped open the boot, tugging out a bag of tools. Time to get to work.
Speed cruised along the desert roads, letting his mind drift off for a bit. Having to drive over to Laughlin just to pick up a part had been a pain in the ass - and Speed had seen enough desert to last him a fucking lifetime - but a week away might just have been what the doctor ordered. Hypothetically, of course. Speed wasn’t fucked up enough yet to actually see a shrink, though God knows, with Sparky and Spritle teaming up against him he might be driven to. It had been nice to slink off for a bit, sort out his head.
The weekend that had just passed had been the ninth anniversary of Rex’s death, and the first time Speed hadn’t spent the night at Thunderhead.
Maybe, maybe it was for the best. Speed had this horrible feeling that as soon as it hit ten years he’d stop caring, like the anniversary would bleach it from his brain. He wanted to prolong the landmark, make it less serious, less foreboding.
Still, nine years without Rex. It was funny how he’d missed him every second but, looking back, it felt like no time had passed at all.
Something black squatted against the horizon. As Speed pulled closer he made it out to be a car, stoic against the periwinkle sky; Speed slowed down as he came closer, chugging to a halt when he reached the car. It was old, and pretty beat up; grimy, yes, but kept in perfect running condition, hardly a scratch on it. Speed glanced it over for a second; a Chevy? Impala? ’66, by the looks of it, maybe ’67. Nice. For a second he thought someone had just abandoned it out here - a tragedy! - before he noticed a foot stuck out of the bottom end, and the vague sounds of creaking metal and grunting emanating from underneath, hidden by the tinny blaring of BOC from the radio. Speed walked a little closer just as the foot slid out and revealed its owner, of whom Speed’s first reaction was holy fuck he’s pretty.
Dean slid out and nearly clunked himself over the head with the spanner when he caught sight of the guy standing at the foot of the car, hip cocked and staring at his baby. Dean straightened up, wiping his hands on a rag. “Can I help you?”
The kid extended a hand. “Hi, I’m Speed Racer. Can I give you a tow?”
Dean hid a smile at the kid’s name, reaching out and shaking the hand, eyes sliding up and down his body. Okay, the kid had a lot more going for him than maybe he knew; or maybe playing innocent was his way of snaring guys. Either way, damn. “Dean Winchester. And five minutes ago I would’a turned you down, but now I’m not so sure.” Speed smiled and walked around the back of his own car - Dean had never seen anything like it, probably custom-made, but damn good looking; all sleek, fine lines, shiny and sparkling, small but powerful. If owners could look like their dogs, then cars could look like their owners. Dean glanced back at his baby and wondered what she said about him. Speed climbed in his car and pulled her forwards till she thrummed ahead of his baby, and Dean took the chucked tow cable and hooked it round the front spoiler. Speed leant back in his seat, calling back to Dean.
“The roads here are pretty straight ‘till we hit the city. Wanna sit with me in the 5? It could get awful lonesome on your own, back there.”
Dean realised he meant car by 5 and glancing at his baby nodded and slid in beside him, running his fingers appreciatively across the dashboard. “Thanks,” he muttered, tilting his head back into the sunlight.
“So, where you headed?”
Dean let his eyes slide shut. So the kid was gonna be a talker; well, Dean could deal with those. “San Fran.”
“No way! Me too.” He gazed out at the horizon for a bit. “How bad do you think she is?”
Dean looked at his baby in the wing mirror. “Worse than I’d guessed, but not too awful.” He smiled. “I don’t know, man…” He paused, but saw Speed watching him out of the corner of his eye. “It’s like, my Dad gave me two jobs. Watch out for Sammy, and keep the car runnin’. I hate fucking one of them up.”
“I’m sure she’ll be fine,” Speed countered, glancing in his mirror. “Who’s Sammy?”
“S’my baby brother,” Dean said with a tinge of pride in his voice.
“He not with you?”
Dean shook his head, gazing off again. “Naw, he’s gone off to college. He’s dead smart, y’know.”
Speed smiled. “Can’t say I’m anything like the same.” He thrummed his fingers on the steering wheel, rubbing his fingers on the plastic.
“How ‘bout you? You got any siblings?”
Speed nodded distractedly. “Yeah, one younger, Spritle. A lot younger than yours, though, he’s turning fourteen this year.” There was a long pause; Dean thought Speed was done and went back to rubbing at his jeans and enjoying the wind in his hair, before Speed started to speak hurriedly again. “And then there’s Rex,” he said quickly, his fingers tightening on the wheel, and Dean knew from the tension in his voice, tripping over the name, that it was a no-go area. “I mean, there was Rex. He died. A long time ago.”
“I’m sorry,” Dean said automatically, because even as a hunter there was still protocol.
“Like I said. It was a long time ago.” Dean almost snorted as he scanned the horizon; him with a little-brother complex, what were the chances he’d collide randomly with someone with a big-brother complex, out in the middle of the desert, ever so pretty and just begging to be fucked?
Dean’s life was messed up, and he was sure that fate had to exist, because there was no way he could just suck this much.
“Anyway,” Speed continued, “what’re you doing in San Fran?”
“Working a job,” Dean said automatically.
“Oh, what is it you do?” Dean cursed himself and would have kicked something if he had the room, and when his brain failed to think of an answer the conversation drifted off into silence. “Have you got someplace to stay?” Speed said finally, after the world had scrolled by in long, tedious breaths.
“No… but I’ll just check into a motel somewhere, don’t worry.”
“Actually…” Speed glanced in the mirror at his baby again, trundling along behind them. “My family, we run… like, a garage, and if you wanted to stay at our place we could probably take a look at your car… if you wanted.”
Dean ran it over in his mind, a hesitant, negative sound brooding in the back of his throat, waiting to be spat out, but eventually he swallowed it. To be perfectly honest, he had no idea what was up with his baby, so a mechanic would be really useful, and he kinda wanted to see whoever built this quite frankly awesome car he was currently riding in. Plus, it was always good to dodge motel fees, and also, this kid…
“Sure,” Dean smiled. Their eyes caught in the mirror for a second before they looked away again. “I should be outta your way pretty fast.” Dean was eyeing up the contraptions on the dashboard, trying to figure out which button would activate some form of concealed radio.
Speed smiled. “I take it you want to listen to some music?”
Dean shrugged. “I doubt you’ll like any of the stuff I’m into.”
Speed smirked, tilting his head to one side. “You’d be surprised. Hang on.” He thumbed a button by the wheel and a screen slid open on the dashboard, making Dean jump back in surprise, and Speed smiled. “Who d’you fancy listening to?”
Dean was still staring in surprise at the screen. “Where are your tapes?” Speed looked blank. “CDs?” Dean said hopefully.
“No, look,” Speed sighed, thumbing through the touch-screen menu till he had a list of artists up on the screen. “You don’t have to put anything in - just press the name of the artist you want to listen to.”
Dean glanced at him suspiciously before thumbing through the menu, his fingers hovering over some of the unfamiliar bands, but picking out favourites he hadn’t expected to see amongst the mix. “You’ve got a weird taste in music for a kid your age.”
Speed smiled. “I got most of it from my brother,” he admitted, shrugging. “Still, you can’t beat a bit of Sweet, as he used to say.” Speed smiled to himself, as if reliving old memories, but looked shocked at Dean’s blank face. “Please tell me you’ve heard of the Sweet.” Dean continued to look blank. “T Rex? Roxy Music?” Speed shook his head in disbelief, sighing. “You need educating,” Speed laughed, shaking his head and selecting an artist with his thumb. Dean settled back in his chair and let the music wash past him with a smile. Speed was a silent presence beside him, and as much as he hated it he couldn’t help but be reminded of his little Sammy.
When they neared the city Speed pulled over to let Dean back in his baby, and he spent the rest of the time having to concentrate on driving without an engine - not an easy feat. It was dark when they reached Speed’s house, so Dean didn’t get a proper look at it, or get to judge how far he was from where he needed to be for the hunt. Still, he was so tired he doubted he could have done anything; they cruised into the garage of the house - closer to a hangar, it was fucking huge - and Dean climbed out of his baby as Speed’s family trickled in to meet him, kissing and coddling him in a manner that was, okay, making Dean a little bit envious. The worst thing was maybe that when Speed turned to introduce Dean, they all looked at him with genuine compassion, as if there were still nice people in the world.
“Mom, Pops, Sparky, this is Dean. He was caught out on the interstate, and something’s wrong with his car, so I figured you might wanna take a look?”
The skinny one was already prowling round his baby with an appreciative look and his tongue caught between his teeth. Sparky, he figured, seeing as he was much too young to be a parent, and way too old to be the Spritle Speed mentioned in the car. “Nice,” Sparky breathed eventually, hands on hips. “She just choke up on you?”
Dean nodded, strolling forwards. “Yeah, I tried all the usual tricks, but nothing worked.”
Sparky ‘hmm’d’ under his breath, stroking the arch of the roof. “It can happen with the old Chevys, I’ll take a look at her.”
“Don’t worry,” Speed smiled, looking at Sparky. “She’s in good hands.” Dean’s stomach growled unpleasantly and the woman Dean guessed to be Mom laughed and smiled broadly, and it sent all sorts of funny, squiggling worms off in Dean’s stomach.
“I think we could get you something to eat, couldn’t we?”
Dean sat in the middle of the cosy, warm kitchen and decided this had to be the weirdest experience yet. “You okay crashing on my floor?” Speed asked through a mouth of meat, ladling vegetables onto his own plate. “We can move in a mattress so you’re not totally uncomfortable, but the spare room’s kinda unused, and kinda…”
“Has turned into a dumping ground for extra stuff from the garage,” Sparky laughed. “So unless you wanna sleep on cardboard boxes.”
“Your room sounds fine,” Dean smiled. “Believe me, I’ve camped out in worse.”
Dean chugged the mattress under one arm and dumped it to one side of Speed’s bed, rolling out a sleeping bag dug out from the boot of the Impala. He doubted he’d need it, though, what with the middle-of-August California heat already sending sweat in rivulets down his back, damping the hair at the nape of his neck. At least he wasn’t sleeping in Speed’s bed. It was already feeling too much like a sleepover. He sat down on the remarkably-comfy mattress, tugging up the loose tracksuits to cross his legs as he waited for Speed to enter from the bathroom. He studied the 70s décor, reminding him of a million motel rooms; the room felt heavy, flooded with the past, like nothing had been changed. A lot of shit had gone down in this room.
His réverie was snapped by Speed shutting the door, walking over to his bed in a t-shirt which really was criminally tight, pausing to open the window on his way over before lying on his back and staring up at the ceiling. He was ignoring the duvet for the same reason Dean was ignoring the sleeping-bag. He didn’t look over as he softly wished Dean goodnight, and Dean knew he didn’t need to reply.
It was cheesy, and cliché, but it was genuinely true that it was the best night of sleep Dean had had since Sammy had been sleeping next to him. It was awkward to feel like he was the only person awake in a stranger’s house, dithering by the door of Speed’s room, wondering whether he could investigate the shower, but when he pushed down the handle and came out into the kitchen he found Speed quietly munching on something at the table, reading the paper with one hand and fiddling with car keys with the other. He looked up at the sound and smiled at Dean, who suddenly felt horribly naked in his thin summer sleeping-clothes. “Good morning,” he murmured as Dean walked across.
“’Morning,” Dean yawned, walking and leaning on a chair, running fingers across the tip of the plastic back. “Can I steal a shower?”
“Go ahead,” Speed smiled, nodding at a door in the far wall. “There should be some towels in there.” Dean made sure to have fresh clothes with him before he entered and spent a long time chilling out in the shower, tipping his head back, relaxing in the spray. Speed was still sat in the exact same place when he emerged, frantically towelling his hair, thinking of the way Sammy shook his head like a dog when his hair was wet. Dean sat beside him, fingering some of the food before deciding to give it a miss, checking through his phone for the information from Pastor Jim. “Hey, you know how I can get over to Castro Street?”
Speed looked up, and something flickered across his eyes for a second. “Um, I don’t go over to that part of town… hang on, I’m sure we’ll have a map someplace.” He walked over to a bookcase, fingers thrumming across spines, and Dean cursed under his breath, wondering what he’d let himself in for. “Here,” Speed finally said, pushing a map of San Francisco across the table, open on the right page. “It’s kinda in the centre… We’re here,” he patted the map with a slender finger, “and it’s over here.” He dragged it over and Dean sighed; yeah, that really was quite a way. “There should be a tram that can take you pretty close.” Dean nodded, straightening up and hooking his jacket up from the back of the chair.
“Is there a library nearby? With death certificates, that kinda thing?”
Speed frowned, looking at the map again. “The Public Library’s up on Larkin Street, but that’s halfway across the city. Can’t you use a computer for that kinda stuff?” Dean’s stomach squirmed and he looked out of the window, missing his Sammy.
“I guess,” he said finally. “I don’t have one.”
“We do.” Speed gestured behind him, but Dean was already shaking his head.
“I’ll cope.” He headed towards the garage, needing to pick some stuff up from the trunk, and caught Speed hesitating in the doorway.
“Hey,” he said finally, “that part of town… it’s not brilliant. Can… can I give you the house number? In case, I don’t know, you need it or something.” Dean smiled to himself as he slotted guns inconspicuously into a duffel, straightening up with a serious face. The kid asked before handing out his number? Too sweet.
“Sure,” Dean nodded, walking back towards him, catching the scrap of paper Speed handed and punching the number into his phone. “I’ll catch you later, Speed,” he winked, and waltzed out the garage into the fresh California sunshine.
Dean really, really missed his car, and forgot quite how much he hated public transport, but he finally did make it over to the library. When he did, he realised why Castro Street had sounded so familiar, and why Speed had given him such a dodgy look. Still, it looked like the right deal; church burnt down a couple of blocks away, angry Priest goes over and beats the shit out of a couple of gays, dies a really rather horrific death and gets stuck in a loop to come back as a spirit every ten years or so. Body buried, so it’s just a salt-and-burn jobbie. No problems.
Dean walked down Castro with his hands stuffed in his pockets and wished he didn’t look so blatantly inconspicuous. The research had taken the majority of the day, so the sun was dwindling by the time he snapped the police-wire around the crisped remnants of St James’, nestled unexpected a few blocks away, and he managed to dodge most of the weird looks from guys prowling over to the Castro as the night set in. Dean wondered about spending the night there, wondered how many easy fucks he could get, how many times he’d say Sammy’s name. Then the sun dipped below the horizon and he cursed and set about locating Father Ted’s (no shit, that was actually his name) grave. Which appeared to be unmarked. And nowhere to be found.
Shit.
This kinda thing only happens to me, Dean thought as Father Ted’s infuriated spirit tried to club him to death with a large crucifix. He crept into the church’s shell, heart hammering, resting on the balls of his feet. Missing his Sammy, missing his backup, damn he hated to be out here on his own. If I was a creepy homophobic priest’s body, where would I be? He cast an eye about, making out a stairway and cursing under his breath. He didn’t want to go very far into the church; it looked like the whole place would be down by his ears at a whisper-breath. He imagined Sam hitting his head on the lowhanging beam - the distraction meant dear old Ted got too close for comfort, getting a long, harsh scratch in along his arm, cutting and shredding his skin before Dean could swear and fill him full of salt, leaving him stranded and panting, slammed up against the wall. Ted vanished into black smoke, but the air was choked by his curses, flashes of Leviticus permeating the air, filling Dean’s head; Dean knew he was a sick fucked-up sucker, but he didn’t need some bible-pusher telling him about it.
… it is an abomination…
“Show yourself, you fucker!”
… a detestable act…
Dean cursed and ran into the adjoining room, torch flashing across the walls, hateful messages daubed in something brown, crusting, something that looked horrifically like blood.
… they shall surely be put to death…
The ceiling gave a horrific groan; Ted got another swipe into Dean, this time across his lower back, Dean crying out and slamming into the wall.
… and I shall do the work of the Lord, Ted whispered in his ear, dead hands squeezing harder on his ribs, Dean feeling them buckle under the pressure. He’d snap, it’d punch into his ribs, and he’d haemmorage to death in this sick fucker’s church, so close to his Sammy.
This sick fucker’s church decided it’d had quite enough of this, thank you, and came crashing down around their heads.
It was still dark when Dean woke up, so he knew he couldn’t have been out for too long. Ted seemed to have fucked off, at least for the moment, and Dean winced as the pain flooded back into his kneecaps. The aforementioned lowhanging beam had created almost an arch across him, holding up most of the rubble, so he’d only been peppered by little pieces. Still, he felt nastily winded, his head was throbbing and the scratches from Ted’s earlier fun stung with dirt and grit and Dean knew he needed to get them clean. He managed to scrabble free from the worst of the site, watching it creak and groan and crash as soon as he got out, slumping on his back and staring out at the stars. His vision began to blur into black spots and yeah, he hated working jobs on his own. His phone appeared remarkably undamaged by the whole experience, stubbornly so, and he scrolled through the phonebook.
His finger hovered over Sam, before he keyed down one more time and pressed call on Speed.
Speed was slumped over the couch, legs dangling off, eyes watching the flickering shapes on the screen. To be honest, he wasn’t really taking it in, and hadn’t all evening. He was thinking about Dean, and innocent he may be, he knew what people got up to on Castro Street.
It shouldn’t make him jealous, though, surely?
He restlessly tossed on the sofa before jumping awake when the phone rang, tilting his head back to listen to the noise. He knew by now his parents and Spritle would be asleep, but sometimes Sparky stayed up late in the garage - especially when he had a project, and he would with Dean’s Impala. When nobody answered it after a couple of rings he walked over and picked it up himself, wondering who the fuck was calling at this hour anyway, and kinda praying it wasn’t a drunk call from Dean.
“Racer residence, Speed speaking.”
“Speed?”
Speed’s stomach froze. He sounded like shit. “Dean?”
“I don’t think I can move…” Static. “Can… can you come get me?”
Speed was revving up the 5 in heartbeats, just as Dean blacked out.
So what do you guys want to do about posting? I'm thinking about staggering it so there's a couple of days between parts. Let me know what you reckon :)
Part Two
Title: Vindicated [1/5]
Fandom: Speed Racer and Supernatural
Pairing: Speed/Dean, Sam/Dean, Speed/X (linked with Speed/Rex)
Rating: NC-17 for sex and minor violence, and Dean has a truly filthy mouth. In this part, there's a homophobic priest, but he sort of can't help it.
Length: About 17.5k in total.
Notes: Um, yeah, another one that just got completely out of hand. XD Beta'd by the lovely princessezzy, it's set firstly pre-season 1 and secondly mid season 2 and 5 years post movie so therefore holds movie spoilers but only minor for Supernatural. After this fic I've written over 50,000 words for Speed Racer. You guys had better love me as much as I love you. Also, I sort of steal off the Speed comicverse a bit, in that Speed's living in San Francisco. This meant I got to use my Milk knowledge a bit about Castro Street :D which was also fun.
Part One / Part Two / Part Three / Part Four / Part Five
I am flawed, but I am cleaning up so well
I am seeing in me now the things you swore you saw yourself.
- Vindicated, Dashboard Confessional
“Dean, where are you?”
Dean’s fingers on his left hand beat out an irregular rhythm on the steering wheel as he drove, scanning the landscape. “Out in California, chasing something Pastor Jim told me about. Why, Dad, what’s up?”
It was horrifically hot and sticky. Dean was cruising through some desert in the middle of nowhere, his shirt drenched with sweat, all the windows rolled down low to try to whip up some of the stagnant air. Sam had said they should get Dean a convertible, so he could cruise along like something out of an ad, speakers blaring out on high. Dean glanced at the passenger seat, thinking of the way Sam leant out of the window on drives like this, head tilted back to catch the breeze like a dog. “I could use your help on this one.”
“Where are you?”
“Fort Collins, Colorado.”
Dean swore under his breath as he figured out the calculation. That would mean crossing two state lines, plus driving non-stop for three, maybe four days. He’d miss out on the opportunity he had for this thing… “But, Dad, this thing, it only turns up once every ten years, and it could kill a lot of people - ”
“I need you, Dean.” Dean swore again and slapped the steering wheel, staring frustratedly out of the window. If Sam was here, he would have backed him up. But Sam wasn’t there - the chances were Sam would never be there again. Dean scowled. Beneath him, his baby gave a hot, angry whine at Dean’s maltreatment, spluttered and gave up in a cranky rush. She rolled to a halt as crickets exploded angrily around him, and he sat and stared at the horizon. “Dean? When should I expect you?”
Dean gritted his teeth. “I don’t know, there’s something wrong with the car,” he muttered as he climbed out of her, resting against the bonnet and tilting his face up to the sun, resisting the urge to chuck his phone into the dust.
“This isn’t good enough, Dean. You shouldn’t let me down like this.”
“Yes, sir,” Dean gritted. “Sorry, sir.”
He hung up and stuffed his phone in his jeans, staring in irritation at the horizon. Time to patch up his baby, though fuck knows what he could do out here in the middle of fucking nowhere. The radio kicked on with Dean’s insistent probing and a few slaps, squeaking out something by Bon Jovi. On this occasion, they most certainly did not rock, but Dean didn’t dare fiddle with the dial in case he was stuck out here with no radio at all. In a hot, horrible rush, he missed his little brother.
Dean skulked round to the back of the car and propped open the boot, tugging out a bag of tools. Time to get to work.
Speed cruised along the desert roads, letting his mind drift off for a bit. Having to drive over to Laughlin just to pick up a part had been a pain in the ass - and Speed had seen enough desert to last him a fucking lifetime - but a week away might just have been what the doctor ordered. Hypothetically, of course. Speed wasn’t fucked up enough yet to actually see a shrink, though God knows, with Sparky and Spritle teaming up against him he might be driven to. It had been nice to slink off for a bit, sort out his head.
The weekend that had just passed had been the ninth anniversary of Rex’s death, and the first time Speed hadn’t spent the night at Thunderhead.
Maybe, maybe it was for the best. Speed had this horrible feeling that as soon as it hit ten years he’d stop caring, like the anniversary would bleach it from his brain. He wanted to prolong the landmark, make it less serious, less foreboding.
Still, nine years without Rex. It was funny how he’d missed him every second but, looking back, it felt like no time had passed at all.
Something black squatted against the horizon. As Speed pulled closer he made it out to be a car, stoic against the periwinkle sky; Speed slowed down as he came closer, chugging to a halt when he reached the car. It was old, and pretty beat up; grimy, yes, but kept in perfect running condition, hardly a scratch on it. Speed glanced it over for a second; a Chevy? Impala? ’66, by the looks of it, maybe ’67. Nice. For a second he thought someone had just abandoned it out here - a tragedy! - before he noticed a foot stuck out of the bottom end, and the vague sounds of creaking metal and grunting emanating from underneath, hidden by the tinny blaring of BOC from the radio. Speed walked a little closer just as the foot slid out and revealed its owner, of whom Speed’s first reaction was holy fuck he’s pretty.
Dean slid out and nearly clunked himself over the head with the spanner when he caught sight of the guy standing at the foot of the car, hip cocked and staring at his baby. Dean straightened up, wiping his hands on a rag. “Can I help you?”
The kid extended a hand. “Hi, I’m Speed Racer. Can I give you a tow?”
Dean hid a smile at the kid’s name, reaching out and shaking the hand, eyes sliding up and down his body. Okay, the kid had a lot more going for him than maybe he knew; or maybe playing innocent was his way of snaring guys. Either way, damn. “Dean Winchester. And five minutes ago I would’a turned you down, but now I’m not so sure.” Speed smiled and walked around the back of his own car - Dean had never seen anything like it, probably custom-made, but damn good looking; all sleek, fine lines, shiny and sparkling, small but powerful. If owners could look like their dogs, then cars could look like their owners. Dean glanced back at his baby and wondered what she said about him. Speed climbed in his car and pulled her forwards till she thrummed ahead of his baby, and Dean took the chucked tow cable and hooked it round the front spoiler. Speed leant back in his seat, calling back to Dean.
“The roads here are pretty straight ‘till we hit the city. Wanna sit with me in the 5? It could get awful lonesome on your own, back there.”
Dean realised he meant car by 5 and glancing at his baby nodded and slid in beside him, running his fingers appreciatively across the dashboard. “Thanks,” he muttered, tilting his head back into the sunlight.
“So, where you headed?”
Dean let his eyes slide shut. So the kid was gonna be a talker; well, Dean could deal with those. “San Fran.”
“No way! Me too.” He gazed out at the horizon for a bit. “How bad do you think she is?”
Dean looked at his baby in the wing mirror. “Worse than I’d guessed, but not too awful.” He smiled. “I don’t know, man…” He paused, but saw Speed watching him out of the corner of his eye. “It’s like, my Dad gave me two jobs. Watch out for Sammy, and keep the car runnin’. I hate fucking one of them up.”
“I’m sure she’ll be fine,” Speed countered, glancing in his mirror. “Who’s Sammy?”
“S’my baby brother,” Dean said with a tinge of pride in his voice.
“He not with you?”
Dean shook his head, gazing off again. “Naw, he’s gone off to college. He’s dead smart, y’know.”
Speed smiled. “Can’t say I’m anything like the same.” He thrummed his fingers on the steering wheel, rubbing his fingers on the plastic.
“How ‘bout you? You got any siblings?”
Speed nodded distractedly. “Yeah, one younger, Spritle. A lot younger than yours, though, he’s turning fourteen this year.” There was a long pause; Dean thought Speed was done and went back to rubbing at his jeans and enjoying the wind in his hair, before Speed started to speak hurriedly again. “And then there’s Rex,” he said quickly, his fingers tightening on the wheel, and Dean knew from the tension in his voice, tripping over the name, that it was a no-go area. “I mean, there was Rex. He died. A long time ago.”
“I’m sorry,” Dean said automatically, because even as a hunter there was still protocol.
“Like I said. It was a long time ago.” Dean almost snorted as he scanned the horizon; him with a little-brother complex, what were the chances he’d collide randomly with someone with a big-brother complex, out in the middle of the desert, ever so pretty and just begging to be fucked?
Dean’s life was messed up, and he was sure that fate had to exist, because there was no way he could just suck this much.
“Anyway,” Speed continued, “what’re you doing in San Fran?”
“Working a job,” Dean said automatically.
“Oh, what is it you do?” Dean cursed himself and would have kicked something if he had the room, and when his brain failed to think of an answer the conversation drifted off into silence. “Have you got someplace to stay?” Speed said finally, after the world had scrolled by in long, tedious breaths.
“No… but I’ll just check into a motel somewhere, don’t worry.”
“Actually…” Speed glanced in the mirror at his baby again, trundling along behind them. “My family, we run… like, a garage, and if you wanted to stay at our place we could probably take a look at your car… if you wanted.”
Dean ran it over in his mind, a hesitant, negative sound brooding in the back of his throat, waiting to be spat out, but eventually he swallowed it. To be perfectly honest, he had no idea what was up with his baby, so a mechanic would be really useful, and he kinda wanted to see whoever built this quite frankly awesome car he was currently riding in. Plus, it was always good to dodge motel fees, and also, this kid…
“Sure,” Dean smiled. Their eyes caught in the mirror for a second before they looked away again. “I should be outta your way pretty fast.” Dean was eyeing up the contraptions on the dashboard, trying to figure out which button would activate some form of concealed radio.
Speed smiled. “I take it you want to listen to some music?”
Dean shrugged. “I doubt you’ll like any of the stuff I’m into.”
Speed smirked, tilting his head to one side. “You’d be surprised. Hang on.” He thumbed a button by the wheel and a screen slid open on the dashboard, making Dean jump back in surprise, and Speed smiled. “Who d’you fancy listening to?”
Dean was still staring in surprise at the screen. “Where are your tapes?” Speed looked blank. “CDs?” Dean said hopefully.
“No, look,” Speed sighed, thumbing through the touch-screen menu till he had a list of artists up on the screen. “You don’t have to put anything in - just press the name of the artist you want to listen to.”
Dean glanced at him suspiciously before thumbing through the menu, his fingers hovering over some of the unfamiliar bands, but picking out favourites he hadn’t expected to see amongst the mix. “You’ve got a weird taste in music for a kid your age.”
Speed smiled. “I got most of it from my brother,” he admitted, shrugging. “Still, you can’t beat a bit of Sweet, as he used to say.” Speed smiled to himself, as if reliving old memories, but looked shocked at Dean’s blank face. “Please tell me you’ve heard of the Sweet.” Dean continued to look blank. “T Rex? Roxy Music?” Speed shook his head in disbelief, sighing. “You need educating,” Speed laughed, shaking his head and selecting an artist with his thumb. Dean settled back in his chair and let the music wash past him with a smile. Speed was a silent presence beside him, and as much as he hated it he couldn’t help but be reminded of his little Sammy.
When they neared the city Speed pulled over to let Dean back in his baby, and he spent the rest of the time having to concentrate on driving without an engine - not an easy feat. It was dark when they reached Speed’s house, so Dean didn’t get a proper look at it, or get to judge how far he was from where he needed to be for the hunt. Still, he was so tired he doubted he could have done anything; they cruised into the garage of the house - closer to a hangar, it was fucking huge - and Dean climbed out of his baby as Speed’s family trickled in to meet him, kissing and coddling him in a manner that was, okay, making Dean a little bit envious. The worst thing was maybe that when Speed turned to introduce Dean, they all looked at him with genuine compassion, as if there were still nice people in the world.
“Mom, Pops, Sparky, this is Dean. He was caught out on the interstate, and something’s wrong with his car, so I figured you might wanna take a look?”
The skinny one was already prowling round his baby with an appreciative look and his tongue caught between his teeth. Sparky, he figured, seeing as he was much too young to be a parent, and way too old to be the Spritle Speed mentioned in the car. “Nice,” Sparky breathed eventually, hands on hips. “She just choke up on you?”
Dean nodded, strolling forwards. “Yeah, I tried all the usual tricks, but nothing worked.”
Sparky ‘hmm’d’ under his breath, stroking the arch of the roof. “It can happen with the old Chevys, I’ll take a look at her.”
“Don’t worry,” Speed smiled, looking at Sparky. “She’s in good hands.” Dean’s stomach growled unpleasantly and the woman Dean guessed to be Mom laughed and smiled broadly, and it sent all sorts of funny, squiggling worms off in Dean’s stomach.
“I think we could get you something to eat, couldn’t we?”
Dean sat in the middle of the cosy, warm kitchen and decided this had to be the weirdest experience yet. “You okay crashing on my floor?” Speed asked through a mouth of meat, ladling vegetables onto his own plate. “We can move in a mattress so you’re not totally uncomfortable, but the spare room’s kinda unused, and kinda…”
“Has turned into a dumping ground for extra stuff from the garage,” Sparky laughed. “So unless you wanna sleep on cardboard boxes.”
“Your room sounds fine,” Dean smiled. “Believe me, I’ve camped out in worse.”
Dean chugged the mattress under one arm and dumped it to one side of Speed’s bed, rolling out a sleeping bag dug out from the boot of the Impala. He doubted he’d need it, though, what with the middle-of-August California heat already sending sweat in rivulets down his back, damping the hair at the nape of his neck. At least he wasn’t sleeping in Speed’s bed. It was already feeling too much like a sleepover. He sat down on the remarkably-comfy mattress, tugging up the loose tracksuits to cross his legs as he waited for Speed to enter from the bathroom. He studied the 70s décor, reminding him of a million motel rooms; the room felt heavy, flooded with the past, like nothing had been changed. A lot of shit had gone down in this room.
His réverie was snapped by Speed shutting the door, walking over to his bed in a t-shirt which really was criminally tight, pausing to open the window on his way over before lying on his back and staring up at the ceiling. He was ignoring the duvet for the same reason Dean was ignoring the sleeping-bag. He didn’t look over as he softly wished Dean goodnight, and Dean knew he didn’t need to reply.
It was cheesy, and cliché, but it was genuinely true that it was the best night of sleep Dean had had since Sammy had been sleeping next to him. It was awkward to feel like he was the only person awake in a stranger’s house, dithering by the door of Speed’s room, wondering whether he could investigate the shower, but when he pushed down the handle and came out into the kitchen he found Speed quietly munching on something at the table, reading the paper with one hand and fiddling with car keys with the other. He looked up at the sound and smiled at Dean, who suddenly felt horribly naked in his thin summer sleeping-clothes. “Good morning,” he murmured as Dean walked across.
“’Morning,” Dean yawned, walking and leaning on a chair, running fingers across the tip of the plastic back. “Can I steal a shower?”
“Go ahead,” Speed smiled, nodding at a door in the far wall. “There should be some towels in there.” Dean made sure to have fresh clothes with him before he entered and spent a long time chilling out in the shower, tipping his head back, relaxing in the spray. Speed was still sat in the exact same place when he emerged, frantically towelling his hair, thinking of the way Sammy shook his head like a dog when his hair was wet. Dean sat beside him, fingering some of the food before deciding to give it a miss, checking through his phone for the information from Pastor Jim. “Hey, you know how I can get over to Castro Street?”
Speed looked up, and something flickered across his eyes for a second. “Um, I don’t go over to that part of town… hang on, I’m sure we’ll have a map someplace.” He walked over to a bookcase, fingers thrumming across spines, and Dean cursed under his breath, wondering what he’d let himself in for. “Here,” Speed finally said, pushing a map of San Francisco across the table, open on the right page. “It’s kinda in the centre… We’re here,” he patted the map with a slender finger, “and it’s over here.” He dragged it over and Dean sighed; yeah, that really was quite a way. “There should be a tram that can take you pretty close.” Dean nodded, straightening up and hooking his jacket up from the back of the chair.
“Is there a library nearby? With death certificates, that kinda thing?”
Speed frowned, looking at the map again. “The Public Library’s up on Larkin Street, but that’s halfway across the city. Can’t you use a computer for that kinda stuff?” Dean’s stomach squirmed and he looked out of the window, missing his Sammy.
“I guess,” he said finally. “I don’t have one.”
“We do.” Speed gestured behind him, but Dean was already shaking his head.
“I’ll cope.” He headed towards the garage, needing to pick some stuff up from the trunk, and caught Speed hesitating in the doorway.
“Hey,” he said finally, “that part of town… it’s not brilliant. Can… can I give you the house number? In case, I don’t know, you need it or something.” Dean smiled to himself as he slotted guns inconspicuously into a duffel, straightening up with a serious face. The kid asked before handing out his number? Too sweet.
“Sure,” Dean nodded, walking back towards him, catching the scrap of paper Speed handed and punching the number into his phone. “I’ll catch you later, Speed,” he winked, and waltzed out the garage into the fresh California sunshine.
Dean really, really missed his car, and forgot quite how much he hated public transport, but he finally did make it over to the library. When he did, he realised why Castro Street had sounded so familiar, and why Speed had given him such a dodgy look. Still, it looked like the right deal; church burnt down a couple of blocks away, angry Priest goes over and beats the shit out of a couple of gays, dies a really rather horrific death and gets stuck in a loop to come back as a spirit every ten years or so. Body buried, so it’s just a salt-and-burn jobbie. No problems.
Dean walked down Castro with his hands stuffed in his pockets and wished he didn’t look so blatantly inconspicuous. The research had taken the majority of the day, so the sun was dwindling by the time he snapped the police-wire around the crisped remnants of St James’, nestled unexpected a few blocks away, and he managed to dodge most of the weird looks from guys prowling over to the Castro as the night set in. Dean wondered about spending the night there, wondered how many easy fucks he could get, how many times he’d say Sammy’s name. Then the sun dipped below the horizon and he cursed and set about locating Father Ted’s (no shit, that was actually his name) grave. Which appeared to be unmarked. And nowhere to be found.
Shit.
This kinda thing only happens to me, Dean thought as Father Ted’s infuriated spirit tried to club him to death with a large crucifix. He crept into the church’s shell, heart hammering, resting on the balls of his feet. Missing his Sammy, missing his backup, damn he hated to be out here on his own. If I was a creepy homophobic priest’s body, where would I be? He cast an eye about, making out a stairway and cursing under his breath. He didn’t want to go very far into the church; it looked like the whole place would be down by his ears at a whisper-breath. He imagined Sam hitting his head on the lowhanging beam - the distraction meant dear old Ted got too close for comfort, getting a long, harsh scratch in along his arm, cutting and shredding his skin before Dean could swear and fill him full of salt, leaving him stranded and panting, slammed up against the wall. Ted vanished into black smoke, but the air was choked by his curses, flashes of Leviticus permeating the air, filling Dean’s head; Dean knew he was a sick fucked-up sucker, but he didn’t need some bible-pusher telling him about it.
… it is an abomination…
“Show yourself, you fucker!”
… a detestable act…
Dean cursed and ran into the adjoining room, torch flashing across the walls, hateful messages daubed in something brown, crusting, something that looked horrifically like blood.
… they shall surely be put to death…
The ceiling gave a horrific groan; Ted got another swipe into Dean, this time across his lower back, Dean crying out and slamming into the wall.
… and I shall do the work of the Lord, Ted whispered in his ear, dead hands squeezing harder on his ribs, Dean feeling them buckle under the pressure. He’d snap, it’d punch into his ribs, and he’d haemmorage to death in this sick fucker’s church, so close to his Sammy.
This sick fucker’s church decided it’d had quite enough of this, thank you, and came crashing down around their heads.
It was still dark when Dean woke up, so he knew he couldn’t have been out for too long. Ted seemed to have fucked off, at least for the moment, and Dean winced as the pain flooded back into his kneecaps. The aforementioned lowhanging beam had created almost an arch across him, holding up most of the rubble, so he’d only been peppered by little pieces. Still, he felt nastily winded, his head was throbbing and the scratches from Ted’s earlier fun stung with dirt and grit and Dean knew he needed to get them clean. He managed to scrabble free from the worst of the site, watching it creak and groan and crash as soon as he got out, slumping on his back and staring out at the stars. His vision began to blur into black spots and yeah, he hated working jobs on his own. His phone appeared remarkably undamaged by the whole experience, stubbornly so, and he scrolled through the phonebook.
His finger hovered over Sam, before he keyed down one more time and pressed call on Speed.
Speed was slumped over the couch, legs dangling off, eyes watching the flickering shapes on the screen. To be honest, he wasn’t really taking it in, and hadn’t all evening. He was thinking about Dean, and innocent he may be, he knew what people got up to on Castro Street.
It shouldn’t make him jealous, though, surely?
He restlessly tossed on the sofa before jumping awake when the phone rang, tilting his head back to listen to the noise. He knew by now his parents and Spritle would be asleep, but sometimes Sparky stayed up late in the garage - especially when he had a project, and he would with Dean’s Impala. When nobody answered it after a couple of rings he walked over and picked it up himself, wondering who the fuck was calling at this hour anyway, and kinda praying it wasn’t a drunk call from Dean.
“Racer residence, Speed speaking.”
“Speed?”
Speed’s stomach froze. He sounded like shit. “Dean?”
“I don’t think I can move…” Static. “Can… can you come get me?”
Speed was revving up the 5 in heartbeats, just as Dean blacked out.
So what do you guys want to do about posting? I'm thinking about staggering it so there's a couple of days between parts. Let me know what you reckon :)
Part Two