126Chapter 23
Ellen ran everyone out at two in the morning. She had guests upstairs, and even though they weren't here to see her, she felt odd not being up there. Besides, there were only four guys left by then because the Winchesters had stayed upstairs long enough that their devoted fans didn't feel like sticking around. Weird ass situation, she thought, but looking in the till, she reflected that she might be able to take a European vacation if the Winchesters stayed awhile longer.
Right after Grace and John went upstairs, Lucy had come downstairs. Initially, Ellen thought she was just jealous of her master's visitor, but her behavior didn't seem to suggest that. She'd wandered through the bar, sniffing all and sundry, not missing a single soul. One guy made to kick her away, but before Ellen could even speak, Dwight informed the transgressor that the dog belonged to Dean Winchester and that he might want to think twice before acting like a bastard. Most of the guys seemed entirely tolerant, and a few even offered her caresses. Then Dean had come down and Lucy had gone with him and that Oklahoma police officer out to see a car, presumably hers.
"Good night, Dwight," Ellen said, pushing her last customer out the door so she could close it. "See you next time."
"One more for the –"
She shut and locked the door on his thoroughly illegal request, then turned back to Jo. "We can clean up in the morning," she suggested, and Jo seemed willing. They went upstairs together to find John standing in the hallway, looking lost.
"What is it, John?" Ellen asked.
He gave her a helpless look. "Sam appears to be pouring his heart out to Rhetta, and Dean is having a heart to heart with Grace. I don't seem to fit into either situation, and I have no idea where Bobby's gotten to."
Ellen glanced into the dining room and saw Sam and Rhetta gathering up the dishes from dinner while he talked earnestly and she listened with a sympathetic expression. "Where are Dean and Grace?"
"They shut themselves up in the room he was napping in earlier," John replied.
Jo gave both of them an irritated look and slipped past them into the dining room where she started helping Sam and Rhetta with the dishes.
Dean didn't mind snuggling in next to Grace. She was sensual and sexy, but she could be entirely cuddly, too, and cuddly was more his speed at the moment. It also didn't seem to perturb Lucy nearly as much as the bouncing had. He sat on the bed, against the headboard, between two lovely ladies who weren't even jealous of each other.
"So, how are you feeling, really?" Grace asked. "And I don't mean physically."
Dean sighed and leaned his head on her shoulder. "I don't know," he said after a long moment. "Wrecked, I guess."
"Yeah?" Grace said, not offering pity, not telling him it was normal, not uttering platitudes. It made a nice change. "How so?"
Dean snorted. "For one, I can't stand for my little brother to be out of sight for more than an hour or so."
She didn't say anything for a second, then she cleared her throat. "Your brother and not your dad?"
"Dad can take care of himself," Dean said without thinking, then bit his lip.
"Sam can't?" Grace asked. Her tone was neutral, totally lacking in judgment.
"I don't honestly know. It's been years since we spent any time together." Years since Dean had seen his brother in a critical situation. She'd actually brought up an important point that Dean would have to think about later. "But it doesn't really matter. I . . ." He shrugged. "I raised that kid. Mom died when I was four and Dad took us on the road. Sam and me were it."
"That must have been rough."
"Sometimes. Mostly it just was." Dean shook his head. "I barely knew anything else, and I knew . . ." He trailed off, realizing suddenly that he couldn't tell Grace that he knew his father was a hero. He couldn't explain why, and without the facts, it would just sound lame.
"You knew what?"
"I knew my Dad was just doing what he had to do," Dean said. He contemplated the ups and downs of his childhood and sighed.
"So are you afraid this guy will come after Sam, is that it?" Grace asked. Dean's heart skipped a beat and then sped up. Images began to swim in his mind, memories of Azazel telling him that he'd grab Sammy if he didn't obey instantly. With an effort he kept the hysterical fit from developing past a mild bout of hyperventilation, but when he came to himself, he was curled into Grace's arms, his head tucked under her chin. She stroked his back gently, murmuring apologies over and over again.
"It's okay, Grace," he said, and his voice sounded oddly hoarse. He cleared his throat. "Sorry you had to see that."
"No worries," Grace replied. "Sorry I set it off."
Dean grimaced. "You . . . you couldn't know," he said, resisting what was almost a physical need to go check on Sam. He had to get past this. Grace was gazing at him with her eyebrows raised. Dean swallowed. "The bastard regularly said he'd go get Sammy, that he'd do to him what he'd done to me."
"Oh, damn, sorry," Grace muttered. "You okay now?"
Dean gave her a smile, and her eyes lit a little. "Yeah, mostly," he said, amazed that he'd managed to keep from leaping off the bed to search Sam out. He chuckled. "Hell, this is probably the closest I'll get to a woman from now on."
Grace gave him a disbelieving look. "What's that supposed to mean?"
He stroked down the front of his t-shirt self-consciously, aware of the bandages. "You haven't seen what I look like under all this," he said. "No woman is ever going to want to have sex with me once she's seen the pictograms carved all over me." He shuddered. "Except the really sicko, weird ones, and I don't want anything to do with them."
She gazed at him for a long moment, then leaned in and gave him a lingering kiss. When the kiss had ended, she didn't move back. Eyes locked to his in an intense moment of communication, and she said, "I promise you, I'll be coming back to take up where that left off." She licked her lips. "Just as soon as you're up to it."
He shook his head weakly. "Grace, you can't know . . ."
"It doesn't matter," she said. "Whatever's been done to you has nothing to do with why I want you." Her lips touched his briefly but sensuously. Then she licked his nose and fell back, laughing at his outraged expression.
Dean stared at her, split between amusement and anxiety. Anxiety won, but he wasn't letting it take over. "You want to see a sample of what he did?"
"I thought your brother would freak out if we undid any of his handiwork," Grace asked.
He flushed a little, remembering the whispered suggestions that had led to his confiding that factoid to her. "Those aren't the only spots. The cuts on my leg healed better than the others. Sammy thinks it's because Azazel didn't have the opportunity to give it any of his . . ." The word treatments still gave him the cold shivers. He slid sideways off the bed, ignoring the twinges the movement gave him, and undid his fly. He pulled his pants down to reveal the pinkish scars on his thigh. "The stuff on my torso is more complicated, and some of it seems to be healing with funny colors under the skin."
Grace crawled across the bed and examined his leg closely. Dean had a sinking feeling. If she found it more fascinating than horrifying, he thought he'd go utterly insane. "My God, these cuts are incredibly precise. I've never seen anything like it."
Dean gulped. "He was nuts, thought he was a demon, thought these were spells, so he was extra careful." Though he recognized her interest as professional, not prurient, it still made him uncomfortable. He pulled his pants back up. "What woman is going to want to have sex with a guy who has to wear a shirt to keep from inducing nausea?"
"Dean, you're cute and you're funny . . . when you're not whining."
Dean's eyes widened. "I am not whining."
She gave him a dubious look with a little grin playing about her lips, then she reached out and stroked down his sides, her hands coming to rest on his hips. "And you have an awesome body . . . though you need to get off your lazy ass and get back in shape." As a crowning insult, she goosed him on the butt. He jerked involuntarily, and she winked at him. "Well, fun as this is, Rhetta and I should probably hit the road."
Dean nodded, stepping back so she could get up. "Yeah, and you really shouldn't come back, no matter how tempting that promise was. It's not safe to be around me, and you have no protections."
She laughed, shaking her head. "I can take care of myself." She leaned in and kissed him again, this time a sisterly peck on the cheek. "I'll be back when you're up to a romp." Before he could respond, she opened the door and strode out, calling Rhetta's name.
Dean followed, biting back curses. He wanted to find some way to convince her, but he didn't think a conversation that included Rhetta or his father would achieve anything. He had no idea which side Rhetta would come down on, they didn't know the whole truth, even if they did believe in angels, and his father would go all didactic and authoritarian, and there would be an argument that would solidify her determination. He could just tell that her stubbornness would rival his father's.
"Yeah?" Rhetta said, emerging from the dining room. Dean saw his father standing in the hall, talking to Ellen. Jo and Sam came out of the dining room behind Rhetta.
"Where's Bobby?" he asked. Seeing Sam relieved him, but it seemed odd to him that everyone else was in such close proximity to each other, but Bobby wasn't there.
"He headed out with Zach Garza," Jo said. "Guess Zach has something he needs some information on. He told me he'd be back in the morning."
Dean shook his head. "Zach who? Who's that? Do we know him?"
John nodded. "I know him. It will be fine, Dean."
Aware of startled eyes on him from all sides, Dean relaxed himself consciously. "Right, of course," he said, and looked down at his feet.
"We need to be heading out," Grace said, putting an arm around his shoulders and squeezing gently. "You ready to go, Rhetta?" She nodded and turned to get her purse.
"Thanks for coming out," Dad said, walking forward and shaking Grace's hand. "It brightened the evening for all of us." Grace shrugged and something seemed to pass between them that Dean couldn't read. Sam had followed Rhetta when she'd disappeared, and they came back talking quietly. Dean wondered what they were talking about, but he'd been right thinking that the two of them would hit it off.
Grace took a step towards him and Dean looked down at her. "Please don't come out to see us off, okay, Dean?" she said, patting his cheek. "We wouldn't want your dad and your brother to explode."
Sighing, Dean agreed. As she started to turn away, he caught her arm. "Grace," he started, and clearly recognizing that he was about to tell her again not to come back, she touched his lips gently with her forefinger.
"Hush, Dean," she said. "Take care of yourself, and that big little brother of yours." Dean nodded. Watching her and Rhetta go, he reflected that he'd always tried to take care of Sammy. He'd always tried, and he always would try. Whether or not he'd succeed was anyone's guess.
John watched the cute little Porsche drive away. He found, oddly, that he trusted those women even though they gave him very uneasy feelings. Women hunting, or fighting, or in danger of any kind always made him a bit uneasy, though he tried not to show it. When they chose to participate in that sort of occupation, they generally didn't appreciate it when members of the opposite sex tried to get overly protective.
He walked back inside to find Ellen wiping down the bar. "I thought you were headed to bed," he said.
"Soon," she replied. "John, why don't you and the boys stay inside? It's warmer, we've got plenty of protections, and it would be more comfortable for Sam to have a bed that's longer than he is."
John could see the validity of that argument, but he wasn't yet ready to give up the comparative defensibility of the RV. The house had a lot of rooms, a lot of doors and windows, and there was no way to see all of them at the same time. He also didn't really know the ground. He didn't know where to find a weapon in every room, he didn't know where the protections were or what they were, and the house wasn't mobile. He couldn't jump into the front seat and drive away if all else failed. "Thanks, but no. I'd better go check on Sam and Dean."
Ellen nodded and dropped the rag on the counter. Evidently she'd just been waiting for him and unwilling – or unable – to stand idle.
John started up the stairs and found Sam and Dean coming down them. The both looked exhausted. "Bedtime, boys," he said.
"No argument here, Dad," Dean said. "Come on, Sasquatch." John backed down the stairs and stepped aside to let them through. As they walked away, Dean kept talking. "How is it you got to be so tall? Dad's not as tall as you. Mom wasn't a giant. I think there's mutant genes in there somewhere."
"It was your grandfather," John said absently, and both of them stopped.
"What did you say?" Dean asked, his eyes wide.
"Sam looks a lot like Mary's father," John replied, not sure why his sons were looking at him as though he'd grown an extra head. "And Samuel was very tall."
"Wait, I was named after my grandfather?" Sam asked.
"Actually, both of you were named after one of your grandparents," John said.
"I thought your dad's name was Henry," Dean said.
"You're named after your maternal grandmother," John said. "Now go to bed."
Sam crowed with laughter. "Look who's girly now?"
Dean gave him a hearty smack in the gut. "Shut up," he growled. "Wait, Mom's mom's name was Dean?"
"Deanna," John said.
"And Sammy here was named after the grandfather he looks like?"
John snorted. "That's a coincidence. It's not like we could tell. I mean, yeah, they were both bald, but beyond that . . ." He shrugged. "Not that old Samuel would have cared."
Sam blinked at him. "Why not?"
"I wasn't your grandpa's idea of a suitable husband for his girl."
Sam looked startled, but Dean grinned. "Go, Dad," he said. "Rocking the bad boy thing, huh?"
John shook his head. "No, Dean," he said with a small smile. "I was an Eagle Scout." Both his boys stared at him with slack jaws. "Why is that so surprising?"
"I guess . . . it's just not how we see you," Sam said, glancing at Dean for an assenting nod. "So, why didn't he like you, then?"
"A couple of reasons," John said with a shrug. "Number one, he didn't want his daughter to marry any man who was stupid enough, or naïve enough, or whatever, to enlist on purpose."
"Wait, you weren't drafted?" Sam asked.
"No." Both boys were still staring at him. "We were in the middle of a war," he said simply.
"Police action," Dean said with the same kneejerk reflex as someone would say 'bless you' after a sneeze.
John gave his eldest a narrow look. "I know a war when I see one, boy," he said, and Dean flushed a little.
"Yeah, but . . . Viet Nam . . ." Sam shook his head, seeming appalled. "That took guts."
"Sam, no one over here knew how bad it was," John said with a grimace. "I was naïve. And stupid. And it was all ultimately pointless. At least with what we do, we know we're making a difference."
Sam nodded slowly, his expression sober.
Dean broke the silence that followed John's remark. "So, what was the other reason?" he asked.
John's lips twisted. "Well, I don't know this for a fact, but since I've learned more about your mom's family, I really think it was because I was a civilian."
Sam nodded, but Dean looked puzzled. "A civilian?" he repeated. "You were a Marine."
"I wasn't a hunter. Samuel didn't want his daughter marrying out."
Dean's jaw dropped, and, too late, John realized that this subject hadn't come up in the weeks since they'd found him. Dean sat abruptly, coming to rest on the steps. Both John and Sam reached for him, but he sat there stunned. He looked up, his eyes seeking his father's. "Mom was a hunter?"
"Yeah, Dean," John said. "I've only known for the last six or seven months."
"But she was . . . she was Mrs. PTA," Dean said. "She made cookies."
"Oh yeah," John said, feeling a bit nostalgic. "Mary loved a good bake sale."
"You've never talked about her much," Sam said.
"Mom was a hunter?" Dean said again.
"Both her parents were hunters," John replied. "She was raised in the tradition."
"So, did Mom hunt after you guys got married?" Sam asked.
"No, I don't think that was what she wanted." He shook his head. "She wanted . . . she –" He sighed. "She wanted you," he said, looking at Dean. "She wanted 2.5 kids and a normal life. She never said anything to me about hunting."
"No one with half a kid has a normal life," Dean quipped, but he still looked a little stunned.
"You made her so happy, Dean," John said. "Way happier than I ever made her."
"Dad," Dean protested, shaking his head.
"No, really, Dean," John said, remembering certain nights that he'd spent in a cheap motel during arguments. "She loved me, but she was happiest with you." More memories started cascading back, memories of better, happier times. Dean's birth and the joy he and Mary had shared, Sam's birth, the wedding . . . "I miss her," he said, and he realized that he was about to cry. "I miss her every damned day."
The naked truth in that last remark left Dean stunned, and before either he or Sam could formulate a response, Dad turned around and walked away. Sam sank down next to Dean. "That's more than he's ever said about Mom before," he said, and Dean nodded soberly. "Hell, it's more than you've ever said about Mom."
"What do you mean?" Dean asked, giving Sam a puzzled look.
"You never told me she made cookies."
Dean blinked at his brother. "I was four. She was my mom. Of course she made cookies."
"Not all moms make cookies."
"Yeah, they do," Dean replied.
Sam shook his head, shrugging. "Some of them buy cookies."
"Dude, those aren't moms," Dean said. "Those are mothers."
Sam stared at him. "So . . . we had a mom?"
"Oh yeah," Dean said. He sighed. "She was awesome." He dragged himself back up. "Come on, it's time for bed."
Please note: I wrote this long before we saw Mary again and learned certain facts about her housekeeping/cooking. Also, I haven't seen seasons 13 or 14, so please limit any comments to things that won't spoil either season. Thank you, thank you, thank you for reading! Thank you especially for commenting!
