23

Dean helped Sam with cleaning and readying the rec room for the bash. He seemed to need those crutches more now than before, and Sam thought that was awfully convenient at the moment. They found all the equipment for the pool table intact, despite David's worries. Once that task was complete-the brothers once again had time on their hands. This down time was driving Dean round the bend. His psyche needed delta D—change in distance—change in scenery. He was never able to just relax and live in the moment. Always had to find that patch of greener grass…and then drive past it…
And an agitated Dean meant Sam was prevented from experiencing any peace. He wracked his brain for ideas –trying to suggest busy-work to his brother to keep him out of his hair. Finally he'd had enough.

"Look—would you just get out of my space for five minutes?? You're like my freaking ADHD shadow. Why don't you go check out the van engine so you can compliment Bobby on whatever the hell he did to it.."

Dean thought that was a decent idea, and he located the keys. Sam was clueless when it came to mechanics,--but Dean grew up with grease under his nails. He ditched his crutches at the door, hung his IV bag around his neck with a bungee—an 11th hour invention if his own-- and headed outside.
It was a perfect autumn afternoon. No wind—warm enough to shed a jacket. Dean looked around furtively—worried over prying neighbour eyes. None were apparent, and he lifted the hood of the windstar. True to his word-Bobby had added some beef to the works. Dean surveyed the tangled mass of engine—understanding all of it. Bobby was a freaking mechanical genius. This bus would outrun any state trooper.
He checked the fluid levels—and, satisfied—he returned to the interior. Sam had things well in hand. The van was equipped with everything—loaded cooler, dry snacks, maps, sleeping bags and camp pillows, --everything necessary for a long drive. And of course—the necessary stash of weaponry and hunter paraphernalia.
Dean realized for the first time that it was an automatic. He was still less than 100 percent, --working on returning to his normal strength—but he should be able to take over some of the driving duties. At least Sam didn't have to do it all. He'd be hallucinating by the end of the trip if that was the case.
He felt better about it all—knowing he could contribute to the driving duties. It made him more of an equal in this. He hated feeling like he was a Children's Wish candidate being driven to a last hurrah at Disney.
He was struck by the thought that he was out of practice when it came to the gypsy lifestyle. Everyone had been so great—accommodating he and Sam when they needed it most.. He too would need to re-adjust to life as he knew it. He felt that familiar twinge of guilt. Sam thrived on apple pie stability. He himself, felt strangled by it.
He shut the van door, --dropped the hood, and limped inside.
Sam had put together some lunch fare. Dean was thankful—he was keenly aware of hunger—coffee and toast just didn't fill the void. He plunked down at the table as his brother carried in some KD and salad.

"Greens first, or I'll sic Ellen on you—" Sam threatened. Dean dutifully consumed his rabbit-food.

"I didn't realize it was automatic.." Dean said. " I can spell you when you're tired of driving…"

Sam hadn't realized the significance either. He had thought of this trip as solely his responsibility--thought of his brother as wings-clipped for the time being.-- but this added a new dimension. He realized the relationship between them was close to righting itself, with Dean again resuming the leader's role.
"That'll be good…..we could maybe skip a stop or two, then—"

Dean smiled—he felt a step closer to normal.
"What are we gonna do when we're deep south? I wouldn't mind doing some fishing…." Dean mused.

" What would you do if you actually caught something?—You don't even like fish—"

Dean hadn't thought that far. "I don't know--hand it over to you to work your magic…?"

"Fish is fish….you still won't want to eat it."

Dean brightened--" I'll lure a huge mother of a gator with it.--you can take some pix while I wrestle it--"

" Oh that'll be a good plan. I'll introduce you as my brother stumpy from then on.."

And so the afternoon progressed. Finally David came home. He was in a Friday mood, and brought a bucket of chicken and fixin's with him.
"You guys want to eat now or a while later--?"
Everyone knew that bucket-chicken had a limited lifespan—so the vote was for now. They mowed through it, finishing off with some freezer-burned ice-cream. At the least, David was getting rid of his backlog of nearly inedible food stores.

"Dean…..Getting a little tired of your leash yet?" David teased.

"Rip the sucker out, doc. I swear I'll kiss you."

David laughed.
"Not necessary—seriously.—" And he unceremoniously freed Dean from the hated IV. Dean rubbed the raw spot where the line had entered most recently. He almost felt like eulogizing it--but settled for a grin and thumbs-up.

"So when can I really celebrate--?"

"Give it a day to clear your system. Just save yourself for tomorrow night—" David advised. "--Knee and shoulder still ok?"

Dean nodded, and stole the remaining solitary chicken wing from the barrel.

"Well your appetite's improving anyway…" David chuckled.

Sam told him that all was ready for the do tomorrow. He planned to pick up all the snack food and some beer etc this evening.

"When are people showing up tomorrow?" Dean asked.

" I guess six-ish--suppertime, since Ellen's coming armed with roadhouse food. Did Sam tell you it's a tropical theme--? Nobody gets in without a tacky Hawaiian type shirt.--"

"—Dude--c'mon—are you serious? I don't own anything that dorky…"

David assured him that he'd told Sam where in town he could find the appropriate attire.

"Oh good…" Dean grimaced.

They retired to the livingroom and numbed their minds watching the tube for the remainder of the evening. Sam decided to put off the last bit of running around 'til tomorrow--he was pretty beat –considering his wakeful stint the previous night.
None of them made it past eleven this time...

Saturday.

David stretched and yawned. He was awake, thanks to his damned internal clock. --Thank goodness he wasn't a shift worker. Lord knows what he'd be accidentally excising or leaving behind in his operations then. "Oops" wasn't a forgivable word for a surgeon….
He stared at the ceiling—watching the laboured progress of an anemic looking spider as it made its way across his ceiling—in search of some unwilling breakfast. When it lost its grip on the plaster and rappelled down a silken safety line toward him—David smacked it with a slipper, got up and hastened downstairs.

Sam beat him to it—already brewing the morning joe.
"Shit, David! " he scolded "I was going to bring a coffee up to you—"

David shrugged and sat down.
"Sorry, Sam. --too used to getting up early." He gratefully accepted a cup and carried it as he went out to retrieve the weekend local paper. He liked the local paper. It was filled with un-assuming bits of news, team standings, quaint articles about farming, wildlife, recipes. It refreshed the spirit after a week of absorbing the traumas of the world. And he was one of the rare few who appreciated and looked forward to getting his bundle of store flyers.
He shared it with Sam.

"What was that store with the funky shirts…?" Sam asked. There was no way Dean was getting out of the dress code tonight.

"Wild Life—on Elgin St.. You can even get a tattoo there if you want.."

"I'll pass, thanks.—" Sam laughed. " Don't tell Dean, though. He'll probably want one."

"--Chicken." David muttered with a grin.

Sam rose to the challenge
"Ok, fine-- doc—where's your ink??"

David had to admit defeat. He just shrugged and grinned. "Don't make me show you…"

"Yeah, --right." But just in case—please don't--

Dean joined them, scratching his head and shooting a baleful glance at the two of them.
"Don't you people know its Saturday morning--?" he growled.
He poured himself some instant consciousness and sat with them.

"Sam wants us all to get tattoos—" David lied.

Dean looked at his bewildered brother and raised a brow.
"—Zat right-?"

"God, NO!—" Sam replied.

Dean's mind was already whirling. Tattoos to commemorate their connection. That would be cool--
"—Now hang on—I think we're on to something here. --Me—Almost died, but didn't.-- David—now one of us—that's huge--…. Sam--Saved my ass along with the Doc.
We're connected big time.--I'd say that's worth commemorating…."

Doctor David interjected.
"—Yeah, but--don't tattoos kinda hurt??"

This time both brothers ganged up.
" Aw c'mon, David—grow a couple! " -Dean bullied.

Sam added-- "That's why you'd pass on this--?"

David's manhood was challenged now..
. " Ok, fine, big-mouth. You two come up with a design that's not huge and embarrassing and I'm in--!" he retorted—instantly regretting his bravado…

"—Cool!—" Dean was, as Sam predicted—thrilled.

They argued for a good hour over appropriate imagery. The final consensus was a heptagram, with the significant Colt in the center. Sam downloaded some good examples of both so that their small town tattoo DaVinci wouldn't have to rely on imagination.—a potential for disaster.

David was a little perturbed.
"Ok—But this can't be really visible—ok? We all may understand the meaning—but anyone else could be a little freaked by it. I can just see the look on a patient's face as they go under—and here's their Doc wearing some sort of witch or devil mark—"

"Up to you where, Doc. --ankle, arm or arse—" Dean grinned.

"I'll decide after I see you two survive it—"

They ate some breakfast, took turns washing up, and piled into the van. Sam drove. David navigated.. Dean hummed some Zeppelin. When they arrived at the shop, they had to pry David from the van.

Suzanne was the artist on that day . She clearly was a fan of the process,--she was covered in colourful images, and countless piercings. Dean showed her the idea and she designed a mock-up for their approval. It was bang on—and he was the first to go.

"Just black. Here—inside on the bicep—about an inch and three quarters.." he instructed.

She began her work.

"Ow. --Ow. Jeesus --Ow--! "

The other two laughed mercilessly at his expense. He glared back at them. When it was finished, he admired it and showed them.

"Ok—who's next?" Suzanne goaded. David shoved Sam forward.
Sam gave him the finger and submitted.

"Same deal—" he said.
He was damned if he was going to make a peep during his little ordeal—and he succeeded in showing his brother up. Dean was impressed.

" I guess it's you now—" Suzanne smiled to the doc.
He sighed, hung his head, and proffered his ankle. In no time his was complete as well—albeit not without some whimpering.

"Happy now--?!" he griped.

The brothers grinned in unison.
"Yep. And thanks for sparing us all the third alternative—" Dean quipped. Suzanne amen'd that., with a wink. They got the requisite tattoo care pamphlet and Sam selected some particularly hideously patterned shirts for the trio. Had Dean been paying attention—he would have balked at the choice made on his behalf.. Too bad.
Returning to the van--they next made a stop for party snacks etc, and then stocked up on liquid refreshments. That was all they needed to do, so they headed home.

"So—David--when are you gonna show Ellen your ink--? I'll bet she'll be really impressed—" Dean teased.

David hadn't even thought of that. Now he was in trouble..

Dean was struck by a thought.
"Well I guess we're safe now Sammy….That was kinda dangerous, and Suzanne sure as hell was colourful—".

Back at David's—Sam examined his little ink folly. He shook his head. --What am I, sixteen?? He was just glad they didn't insist on something else while they were there—like a pierced ear –or worse.. At least he'd have the last laugh when Dean saw his shirt.
It was pushing five, and David brought out a round. They toasted Dean's return to active status. Dean had his first taste of alcohol since—well way too long.—and he inhaled his beer before anyone was near needing a refill. He had his eyes closed as if he'd reached Nirvana.

"--Oh yeah..." he sighed.

"Hey—pace yourself--we won't even see people 'til six—" Sam chided.

"Bite me, Mom."

David got him a refill anyway. Everything was set up--sound system—bowls put out with chips etc—big tub of ice with beer cooling. David suggested they get a practice game in on the pool table.

"Practice?—for what?" Sam asked.

"Are you kidding?—Ellen basically lives in a pool hall, and Ash too. Those two will beat the pants off us-and trust me—we'll never hear the end of it. " David warned with a laugh.

Sam added "She can probably drink any one of us under the table too—"

"Wanna lay some money on that--?" Dean challenged—mischief in his eyes. He did have a pretty damn high tolerance..

"I dunno—you're out of practice.."

"We'll see. Set'er up, David."
David set the game up and broke first. They all mocked him when the triangle of balls barely separated and rolled lazily for a few seconds. He defended himself—sheepishly--

"Hey—I'm just making sure you guys aren't discouraged by my skill right off the bat—"

"—Oooo--a hustler—watch out Sammy…"

They got two games in before the others arrived. Dean was respectable—the other two were pretty hopeless.

"Hey—Hey, come on in!" David welcomed.
Ellen kissed his cheek awkwardly and carried her boxes of deep fried everything to the kitchen. Ash followed, and David fended off his exaggerated mocking attempt at another cheek peck. He headed downstairs with his box of cd's.
Dean joined him—making sure David's system had a tape player. He may not have the impala at the moment—but he at least could hear his favourite driving tunes.
Ash had played by the rules and was decked out in a leafy green shirt with bright red hibiscus flowers.

"Hey--perfect—very Don Ho—" Sam assured him. "Where'd you get that?"

"Don't ask—!"

Ellen had a bright pink and turquoise sarong over jeans, and wore a lei of silk flowers. They'd never seen her look so festive. Bobby arrived a moment after the others. He came in wearing a pristine new white tee-shirt. David announced to the others that they had a problem—a non-conformist—should he be allowed in? There were hoots and shouts of "No!" and "Rules are Rules!"
Bobby just grinned and produced a handful of magic markers—and they all pounced on him and decorated his shirt with hand-drawn tropical motifs.
They killed themselves laughing over the end result—if there were prizes—he'd have won hands down. He thanked them for their artistic effort and produced a plastic flower, which Ellen pinned to his baseball cap. He was allowed in and handed his beer.
Ash got the tunes blaring downstairs, and Dean took David aside for a moment--

"Listen, Doc.--Sam's gonna be trying to stay sober—so he can be my mother hen.—I'm counting on you to not let that happen--you know what I'm saying--?"

"I hear ya—" David assured him with a wink. From then on Sam's hand was never empty.

Ellen suddenly noticed—
"Excuse me boys—but I believe we said rules are rules --where's your uniform?!"

"Geez--I almost forgot-" Sam lied.
He was just waiting until they were all present so Dean couldn't weasel out of it. He sprinted upstairs and retrieved them..
The shop didn't have Hawaiian shirts per se, but they had plenty of colourful alternatives. David got his batman shirt that he'd chosen. Sam donned his acid green lizards, and Dean was ceremoniously presented with his.

"—Aw—no--you gotta be kidding me—"
They pinned him down and put it on him. Everyone was in stitches as he looked at himself in (not so) mock horror. Sam had found an impossibly bright Sponge Bob Square Pants shirt. The entire thing was taken up by a close up of Sponge-Bob's face. It was a thing of beauty..
Dean was a good sport—but he kept an eagle eye out for anyone with a camera—no damned way there was gonna be a record of it—

Ellen called that food was served, and the locusts swarmed.

"So what have we got here, Ellen—everything you've hit with the truck in the past month--?" Bobby teased.

"Pretty sure I have some coon here—" Dean said through a mouthful.. She raised her hand to deliver a smack but they both ducked her deadly aim.

"Coon--?! Forget it--I save the good stuff for paying customers—" she retorted.

"Don't care what or who is in it, Ellen—it's damn good!" David assured. He got up to refresh everyone-and proposed a toast.

"Uh—ok—here's to—good friends--great vacations--health, wealth—and all things good—" They all cheered.

"-Yeah--that was beautiful, buddy,- but you forgot the most important one—"

David rolled his eyes, blushed, and added – "--Sex…"

Sam laughed and elbowed his brother. " You're an idiot—"

When the main course was done—David announced that he had key-lime ice-cream cake laid out in the kitchen. They lined up for it.
Sam was really feeling relaxed. Bobby was ahead of him and he brought up the subject of Sally's email. He gave a verbatim description, and Bobby chuckled.
"Yeah—sounds like Emily. She's a bit-odd—that one. You know she's blind, right?"

Sam said no, with surprise.

"Oh yeah—from birth. Doesn't slow her down. She's always seeing auras—you know—energy fields or something—in her head. I dunno if it means anything. Spooks most folks when they meet her. But she's a doll--heart of gold--. Sally's the tough one. She's an artist—does real well for herself. --Not my kinda stuff—I like paintings of wolves, and wild things--realistic looking, you know--?"

"I figured it was nothing—" Sam said.

"oh yeah—Don't mind Emily. Her aura could have been a warning that someone was gonna stub their toe—she never knows what they are about, specifically-"

Reminded of their recent little rebel's act--Sam said—"Hey Bobby—check this out—" And he showed him his recent tattoo.

"No shit--! Ellen—look at this—"

She came over and examined it, giving him a faux scowl. "Sam Winchester—I'd expect this kind of foolishness from your brother—but you--?!"

He sought to divert her attention quickly—
"The doc got one too—"

"What--? Let me see--!" David showed her his ankle.
"Well no wonder you wouldn't wear shorts, you coward--" she giggled.

Dean noticed that. -Ellen—giggling. He'd win this bet hands down.

"C'mon Dean—show yours—" Sam goaded. "Tattoo, I mean--!"

He did—proudly—adding—" You know—everyone here's in the club. You all were there for me and Sam. You should get the same tattoo—"

"How about I just stick to my fond memories—" said Ellen

"Lemme see it—I can do my own—" Ash added.

Bobby rolled his eyes. "—Pass. --Anything Ash and Dean think is a great idea is something I'll run screaming from, thank you…"

They cleaned dessert up in no time.

"Ellen—I hear you suck at pool—" Dean challenged.

And the bets were on. They played until the game didn't make any sense anymore. Everyone proclaimed themselves the champion—no one was in any shape to do the math and argue. Dean had his arm over David's shoulder and was speaking to him from the heart. Not very clearly mind you—and David was nodding and winking at Sam.

"Uh oh—Dean's in the I-Love-You-Guys stage—" Sam snorted.

Dean looked up at him and retorted—
"Yeah? Well Sam's in the I'm So Sober—Look how Clearly I'm Speaking stage--!"
Sam was busted—he was trying his best to sound normal—and it was an effort—

"And Iron Ellen's giggling!" he added.

"I am not—!" she giggled.

Ash added something no one understood and they all broke up. Bobby had drawn the designated driver straw earlier—he was laughing out of simple good humour.
It started to wind down at around 2 am. Bobby was the first to suggest it was time to go. He was feeling his age—recovery time was a lot longer than in his youth.
"Ash—how about it--? Ready to head home?"

Ash looked up from the couch—said something unintelligible and waved.

"I'll take that as a yes--. Ellen—What are your plans--?"

"Think I'll stick around here tonight—" she grinned.

"Okay then. --Doc—it was a blast—thanks. Sam—Dean—Best of luck on your trip—Ash—get your butt out to the truck –Time to go!"

Dean embraced him as he was leaving.
"Seriously –thanks for everything, Bobby—"

"No problem, son. Any time.." He shook Sam's hand and he and Ash left.

Anybody need a refill—?" David asked. Dean accepted another--Sam declined.
Dean was on the couch--singing a rendition of some Metallica song—Sam had no idea if he was accurate or not. He was pretty sure Dean had put words and phrases in there that weren't likely in the original—
"Sammy—I love you, man—" He mumbled with a smile.

"Ditto, dude—" Sam said—ruffling his brother's hair roughly and enunciating very clearly.

Ellen giggled. -- and David smiled.

Sam's departure schedule was shot to hell. Nobody got up 'til noon on Sunday.
Bucking the trend—it was Dean who was up first. He shuffled into the kitchen--filled the coffee maker with ? amount of coffee—added ? amount of water and fell asleep on the couch waiting for it to brew. The delicious aroma enticed the Sam down. He brought Dean to the conscious world when he tripped over his outstretched legs. Dean growled at him. Sam grumbled back.
With an irritated sigh—Sam complained—
"Nice work jerk. You made like a cup and a half of coffee and it's black ink.—"

"--Perfect. Pour it for me…"

Sam was going to say more, but the effort was too great-- he just sighed and gave Dean the unintentional espresso, setting up the machine to make a proper full pot. When you're hung over—an extra ten minute wait for your morning joe is a lifetime. There was no more conversation until the second attempt was brewed.
This time around it was David who was lured down. Ellen was not quite ready to join the living.
David plunked a bottle of aspirin on the coffee table and dropped heavily into his usual chair. Sam brought out the mugs, set them down, and popped the lid off the bottle, and they all had a Bayer breakfast.

Ellen had her pride to maintain—she was determined to be the picture of the sunny morning person if it was gonna kill her. She breezed downstairs—showered and bright-eyed.
"What a bunch of pathetic old men—" she said to the comatose trio. "Dean—what happened to your legendary capacity? "

Dean turned to David -- "It's Doris Day's evil twin—run!"

Ellen ignored that.
"Well—I'm going to make a big, greasy breakfast.--Fix you right up—"

They shuddered in unison at the description, but once they'd consumed it—they did, indeed—feel like their humanity gained a few notches.
"When were you boys planning to hit the road?" she asked.

"—about three hours ago—"

"—uh huh. Are you all packed, then?"

Sam nodded. "Just clothes and personal stuff left.. Just a quick shower and we're on the road."

She regarded him with a sad little smile. It had been difficult—stressful—certainly dangerous—their time with these Winchesters. But it had been full, and lively.
She'd miss them.

"Thanks for the grease, Doris—it did help." Dean said as he rose to get cleaned up.
She patted him on the head as he passed..

A short time later, the group was gathered around the van. Dean was already in the passenger seat—wearing his Ray-Bans. Sam stood at the door –finishing his round of hugs and handshakes. David made him promise to call frequently—and keep him at the top speed-dial spot. Sam understood, and exchanging a knowing look with him, --he nodded, and climbed into the vehicle.
"Well—guess that's it then.. Thanks again for--everything. We'll keep in touch—"

And they backed out with a wave and drove away.

David put his arm around Ellen and sighed.
They stood in silence in the driveway for a while—both filled with worry and relief,--a bittersweet mix.
It was going to be very quiet around here. Back to normal…

Finally David spoke.
"Ellen—come with me to the animal shelter. --think I want to adopt a dog….."

--End.