Superstitions {Dean Winchester 2}

Chapter 4

Everybody Loves a Clown

We stood a few feet away from the burning pyre where John's body was. The night air was cold as I reached out to take Dean's hand in mine. 

"Before he--Before he...Did he say anything to you?" Sam asked, sniffling. "About anything?"

It took a few moments for Dean to reply. "No. Nothing."

___ One Week Later

After finally getting that stupid cast off of my arm, I felt much better. Well, somewhat. I walked out into the junk yard at Bobby's house and toward Dean. Who, much like he has been for the last week, was underneath the Impala. 

Despite the warm air outside, I tugged the cuff of the long sleeve shirt I wore down to my wrist. I then ran my hand down the length of my forearm, over the healing scar that I left there. 

We'd been stayed at Bobby's house since everything had happened. 

I heard music playing through the radio. 

"How's it going?" I asked, leaning down to peek under the car at Dean. He was in a gray t-shirt and jeans, covered in sweat and grease and motor oil. I had to admit, the mechanic look fit him well.

"Okay." He answered. 

"Well, I, um, I made lunch if you're hungry." I say. "And I brought you a glass of water." I place the glass down on the pavement. 

Dean slid out from under the car, giving me a look. The cut on his forehead was still healing. "I already told Sam to stop, don't make me shoo you away too."

"I was just wondering if you were hungry." I shrugged as he walked over to a table full of tools and car parts. "Don't snap at me." 

"I'm not snapping." Dean says.

"Well, you know," I begin, moving closer to him, "after Sam came back in earlier, he told me that you wanted to slow dance with him, and I wanted to say that I am really offended."

"I already argued with him today, I'm not arguing with you." Dean stated as I set my hand on his bicep.

"I'm not here to argue or patronize you, Dean. I'm here to ask if you want lunch and why you won't slow dance with me." 

"Sam tell you about the voicemail?" Dean asked as I readjusted my hair to cover the side of my face.

 I had my own scar healing there from the car accident. I had hit my face on the broken window and sliced it open. But if I didn't tuck my hair behind my ear it would cover the long mark that went from my hairline down to my chin.

"He did. An Ellen or something." I nodded as he turned back to the car, stepping out of my reach. "Do you want lunch or not, Dean?"

"I'm busy."

"I'm asking for ten minutes to come sit down and have something to eat while Sam asks Bobby for a car. You can spare me that." I grabbed onto his arm and pulled him back toward the house. 

___

"This is humiliating." Dean muttered as he parked the old van Bobby loaned us outside of the tavern. "I feel like a frigging soccer mom."

I get out, shutting the door behind me. "You'll be fine." 

The sign on the building read 'Harvell's Roadhouse.'

"It's the only car Bobby had running." Sam stated. 

"Are we sure this place is even running?" I asked. "It looks a little...dead."