Chapter Text
“Dean!”
The young man popped his head up, peering around the raised hood of the automobile. “Yeah, Mr. Singer?”
“Your mom just called. Said you’re supposed to pick Sam up at the library on your way home.”
“Dammit,” Dean muttered under his breath. It had been a long day– most days at the autoshop were long, honestly. He was sweaty, smeared with oil and dirt, and wanted nothing more than to go home and enjoy his mom’s cooking before passing out for a few hours, preparing to repeat everything tomorrow. And even though the library was only a few blocks from their humble abode, he knew his mother worried about his younger brother walking home in the almost-dusk by himself. So, Dean would do the diligent, older brother routine– anything to make his mother happy. (Of course, there was always the underlying threat that his father would be displeased if Dean didn’t do something that was asked of him– even though he was an adult, Dean knew well enough that he wasn’t too old to get smacked around a bit by John.)
The older man stepped towards Dean, a small smile on his normally gruff face. “You wanna take off a little early so you can go get your brother?”
Dean glanced at the clock on the wall– there were only fifteen more minutes left in the workday. “No,” he said, appreciating the offer from his boss. “I’ll go ahead and finish this up– almost done here anyway. That way, Mrs. Johnson can come pick her up first thing tomorrow.”
Bobby nodded. If there was one thing he liked his employees to have, it was a strong work ethic, and Dean had that in spades. He could always count on the younger man to do whatever was asked of him. And the work he did was always top-notch. Bobby would never say it, but Dean was his best mechanic (next to himself, of course).
The older man disappeared back into his office while Dean finished tightening a few screws before gently closing the hood. He took a clean rag and wiped down the exterior of the car, erasing any fingerprints he may have left so that the red and white paint could shine. Then he cleaned up his station, making sure every wrench and socket was back in its proper place, before washing up at the large sink in the corner. Dean waved to his boss before punching his time card, stepping into the warm evening sun. He made his way over to his old beat-up Chevy. Its original owner had sold it to Bobby for parts a few years ago; the older man sold it to Dean for a song, knowing the younger man needed a set of wheels of his own. It might not have looked the nicest, yet, but Dean was slowly working on restoring her– Bobby was allowing him use of the shop and its tools, as well as selling him parts from some of the junkers in the back lot for pennies on the dollar.
Dean lowered the convertible top– the Fall air was beginning to turn crisp, so he wanted to take advantage of one of the last days of the year he could ride with the top down, feeling the breeze in his short hair. He pulled out of the lot and headed towards the library, soft rock music coming from the stereo.
All things considered, it was a good day. A good life.
Dean pulled up in front of the library a few minutes later. He hoped he hadn’t missed his brother already. He glanced at the clock on the dash– he’d give it five minutes and then he would head home, hoping to be able to catch the younger Winchester before he reached the driveway.
His self-set time limit was almost up when he saw his brother finally step out of the library doors. Dean shook his head slightly– he knew that the library closed at five, but leave it to his brother to be able to charm the elderly librarian into letting him stay ‘just a few more minutes’.
“Egghead,” the elder Winchester said to himself, a small smile tugging at his lips. His eyes then flicked to the figure following his brother down the concrete steps.
You were a pretty little thing (although practically everyone was considered ‘little’ next to Sam’s gangly frame) dressed in the standard fashion– calf-length plaid skirt that swished with every step, black and white saddle shoes, a shortsleeved white top, buttoned all the way to the throat. Your hair was pulled back into a ponytail that bounced with every step you took.
Dean beeped the horn, catching his brother’s attention as well as yours. Sam gave a slight wave, leading you over to the car. When you got closer, Dean could see the delicate features of your face, the brilliance of your smile. He felt his heart twist slightly and he wondered just how much oil he still had streaked on his face. He hoped it wasn’t a lot.
“Who’s your friend, Sammy?”
“Y/N,” you answered, your smile growing ever so slightly.
“Y/N, this is my brother, Dean,” Sam said. He carefully dropped his armload of books into the empty backseat.
“Nice to meet you,” you said. Dean couldn’t help but feel like you meant that– he doubted it could even cross your mind to lie about anything, big or small.
“You need a ride, sweetheart?”
Even in the sinking sunlight, he could see a tinge of pink cross your cheeks. “No, thank you. My–”
At that moment, a large, brilliantly white Caddy swung in front of Dean’s car. Dean had worked on practically every car in the city, some multiple times. He could match up every owner to every car, including that one. “Is that the mayor?”
You nodded, ponytail bouncing. “That’s my dad.” You looked up at Sam. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Sam.” You glanced back down at Dean, repeating your earlier sentiment about meeting him.
The two brothers watched as you stepped towards the Caddy, opened the back door, and slipped into the backseat. The car pulled away with the slightest squeal of the tires. Sam sank into the passenger seat next to his brother and the two headed towards home.
“Since when are you friends with the mayor’s daughter?”
“We have history together. And English. And math.”
“Look at you, reaching above your rung on the social ladder, mingling with the preps.”
“She’s nice, Dean.”
Dean nodded a few times, letting a small silence fall between the two. “She your girlfriend?” he asked a few moments later.
“No!”
Dean looked over at his brother. He could tell that that was true– he knew his brother inside and out. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t rib him a bit. “You want her to be? Do you looooove her, Sammy?”
“No, Dean! Shut up.”
Dean’s laughter rang out as they pulled into the driveway. Sam was up and out of the car while Dean was still putting it in park, snatching his books out of the backseat. “Come on, Sammy, I didn’t mean anything by it. I’m sorry.”
Sam scowled at his brother but waited for him to get out of the car. Mary was stepping out of the dining room as the boys opened the front door. “There they are,” she said with a smile, wrapping her arms around each of her sons in turn. “How was your day?”
“Sammy’s got a girlfriend,” Dean said.
“I do not! Mom!”
Even Mary had to chuckle. She was extremely familiar with the squabbles between the siblings and could easily recognize when her oldest was merely poking at the youngest. “Okay, okay. Dean, leave your brother alone.” Dean raised his hands in surrender as his mother headed towards the kitchen. “You boys go wash up. Dinner’s almost ready.”
Sam was already bounding up the stairs when the front door opened behind Dean. The elder son turned, finding their father returning home from work. He glanced at Dean as he bent over, untying his bootlaces.
“Might rain tonight,” John said, his voice a deep rumble. “Better put your top up.”
“Yes, sir.”
Dean watched as his father straightened and headed down the hall towards the kitchen. His limp was more prominent than it had been this morning, but it always was in the evenings after a long work day. John never complained, never took the easy way out, but did use his old war injury to remind his sons just what he’d sacrificed to give them the lives they had.
Dean quietly slipped back outside, stepping towards his car. He put the top back on, making sure it was latched and sealed. Standing in the driveway, he looked around at his surroundings– a car that was his, but still showing wear from its previous owner. His father’s car was a little nicer, but still somewhat dated. A decent house, if somewhat on the small side, with a yard whose grass was slightly taller than the neighbors. Dean made a note to mow first thing Saturday morning– hopefully before his father said anything, reminded him once more of the fact that he got free room and board, and all they wanted in return was household chores done in a timely manner.
For some reason, your face popped into his mind. Things were probably really different on your side of town– bigger houses, nicer cars, greener yards. A life vastly different than the Winchesters’.
Dean shook his head slightly, heading back into the house. Why should it matter that his life was different from yours? Why would such an idea even pop into his head?