Hell's Greatest Weapon

Chapter 23: Baby

“You look terrible.” You told him, earning a sarcastic, dry laugh from Dean.  He sat on a stool at the island, not even noticing that the place had actually been cleaned.

Dean folded his arms on the island in front of him and plopped his head down, his forehead being supported by each of his forearms while his face nearly pressed against the granite.  You looked at him, trying not to laugh at his state, and shook your head, only pouring him a glass of coffee and pushing it across the island. Apparently having smelled the drink, Dean lifted his head and his eyes lit up upon seeing it.  Sitting up straight and taking the cup, he began sipping the coffee, only beginning to wake up a few moments later when he nodded toward the stove and asked: “Bacon?”

“And pancakes, if you can handle it.”

“I can always handle pancakes.”

You smiled and nodded, turning back to the stove. Your eyes caught on Dean’s phone and you remembered the text that Sam had sent him; figuring it best to show him now rather than risk forgetting, you set down the spatula that you’d been using for flipping pancakes and grabbed the phone, turning to Dean and handing it to him.

“Sam texted you, I guess he and Cas have something planned.”  When Dean looked at you with raised eyebrows you realized that he wanted you to go on, to elaborate, so you shrugged.  “I don’t know what it is, only that we’re supposed to get back as soon as possible.”

Dean looked at you a moment before taking a drink of his coffee, smacking his lips and exhaling heavily before speaking. “So he didn’t tell you anything?”

“Well I didn’t really ask,” you said, turning back to the pancakes and flipping them.  After seeing that they were done, you grabbed a plate from the cupboards and put the pancakes and bacon on it before turning and pushing the plate over to Dean.  You turned to the fridge and had pulled out orange juice, ready to pour him a glass, when you said, “I only read the text.”

Dean nodded and thanked you for the orange juice before taking a drink, then cussed when he discovered that drinking orange juice immediately after coffee made for an awful aftertaste.  You laughed at him while turning off the stove and smirked when you saw that he was still frowning when you looked back at him.

“So I figure I can fly us back and—“

“No,” Dean shook his head before shoving a piece of pancake into his mouth, still chewing while he said, “I’ve got Baby in the parking lot and she doesn’t like flying.”

You took a deep breath while you hopped onto the counter beside the stove.  “I think you can trust me to get her there, safely.”

Dean’s eyes narrowed and his chewing slowed, but the silence only lasted a moment before he pointed his fork at you and shook his head once again.  “We’re driving.” In an act of defiance, Dean shoved an entire piece of bacon into his mouth and nodded one time, an action that would surely close the deal.

Even after one cup of coffee, a pancake, and a few slices of bacon, Dean was looking better; the shadow wasn’t so strong this morning, making it easier for you to see the natural bags below his eyes, the exhaustion from his lack of sleep and excessive alcohol consumption.  You were happy for him, even though you knew he might not be entirely comfortable because he was at least a little bit hung-over, but at least the Mark wasn’t holding him so tightly.

Dean finished eating and the two of you were on the road by 10:30, Dean still refusing to allow you to fly the two of you back to the bunker.  Because you didn’t want to leave him alone and a part of you knew that he didn’t want to be alone, you found yourself in the passenger seat, your legs propped up on the dashboard like you knew Dean only allowed you to do.  He always narrowed his eyes when you kicked your legs up, looked at your feet then back at your eyes, but never said anything, never spoke up and told you to get your filthy feet from the dashboard before he removed them, himself.