More than a Memory

Chapter 8

Dean just continued caressing his car and spoke in a hushed tone, "Shh, Baby, it's okay. She didn't mean it. She just doesn't understand cars."

Claire folded her arms across her chest and huffed, "Like hell I don't."

Dean stopped what he was doing and looked over at her, the car coming to a complete stop. "What do ya mean?" he asked, glancing at her hands. They didn't look rough.

"I've been fixin' up a '74 Charger," Claire said, puffing out her chest. Dean looked impressed, so she continued, "I got it up and runnin'. I take it with me on my cases. Got everythin' I need in the trunk. Could use a fresh coat of paint, though."

"Where didja find it and the parts?" Dean asked, putting the car in park.

"That old scrap yard by the house that's run-down. Had one sittin' in the back lot and I found the parts in other's that weren't runnin'."

Dean's head shot up and he couldn't help but smile. "Bobby would be proud," he mumbled, still smiling.

"Is Bobby the one that owned the scrapyard?"

Dean nodded his head and then looked off into the distance, having flashbacks of Bobby. It had been awhile since he thought of that onery, old man, but that didn't change how much he missed him. "God, I'm sure glad he ain't here to see what Sammy is doin'," Dean mumbled allowed, shaking his head as Baby inched a few feet.

"Who was Bobby to ya?" Claire asked, picking up on Dean's sudden melancholy mood.

"He was our uncle, but he was more like a father to us after Dad died. If it weren't for that man, ya wouldn't be here, sittin' and talkin' to me," Dean replied, his voice heavy with emotion.

"He died before the Men of Letters became a problem?"

Dean nodded his head ans chuckled to himself, "And a good thing he did. If those bastards every showed up on his property, I'm sure he would've filled their asses with lead..." He drifted off into thought again, moving very slowly with the traffic. Dean was fairly certain if Ketch or Mick would have asked him to be part of them or explain how much of a mess he was continuing to make, Bobby would have personally sent them to Hell. Just the thought of the British Men of Letters wanting to tear down the smooth running operation was enough to make his blood begin to boil.

Claire noticed Dean white knuckling the wheel again and sighed, "I didn't mean to upset ya."

Dean coughed nervously and looked at her through the corner of his eye and then back at the slow moving cars, "It's fine. It's just-uh, this fuckin' traffic." He waited for a bigger gap between the car in front of him and then he slowly started to turn the wheel to the left, towards the rumble strips and the grass that separates the highway.

"What are ya doin' now?" Claire asked, watching Dean as he slowly edged towards the edge of the grass. She was beginning to get nervous and excited, all at the same time. The look on Dean's face made he feel like whatever they were about to do was illegal, but she didn't mind. She just quickly grabbed her drink to screw the cap on tightly, and just in time, too. As soon as the bottle was back on the floorboard, Dean was speeding through the grass, dust and wildflowers being flung up and into the open windows. Claire began to giggle. "Well, this is one way to bypass all the traffic," she yelled over the rev of the engine and the loud music Dean had cranked up.

"Fuck this traffic. I need to see Ben," Claire heard Dean solemnly say, relaxing some as he hung one arm out the window and put the other hand on the top of the wheel, to better control the bumps and uneven ground they were flying over. He glanced down at the speedometer to see he was pushing 90, but he didn't care. He has wasted too much time in this traffic, loosing almost a full hour.