Supernatural Fan Fiction ❯ Wayward Son ❯ Chapter Eight ( Chapter 8 )

Thanks to Starliteyes17 for taking the time to beta this monster for me! You should check out her stories. Faults is especially good.

Wayward Son

Chapter Eight

 

They were roaring down I-70 towards Topeka with the windows rolled down and the stereo blaring full blast. Sam was in the backseat propped up against the door, his long legs stretched out, a happy grin on his face. Delilah was in the passenger seat, her shoes kicked off and her feet hanging out the window, her long hair streaming behind her.

Somehow she had managed to convince Dean to eject his heavy metal tapes and they were listening to the radio where Lovefool by the Cardigans was playing. Both she and Sam were belting out the lyrics at the top of their lungs while Dean hunched down in his seat, trying to escape the god-awful caterwauling.

Finally after the second chorus of love me, love me, say that you love me, Dean smacked his hand over the on/off button.

“Hey! We were singing to that.”

“Yeah, Dean. We were singing.”

Dean glared at his brother in the rearview who was smirking knowingly at him from the backseat. The little fuckshit was pissing him off on purpose, knowing full-well that with Delilah around he could get away with it that much easier. Little brothers were the same everywhere, and no matter how old they got, they never grew up. Dean half expected Sam to start singing the K-I-S-S-I-N-G song any second now.

“Dammit, Delilah, I can't take it anymore. Hand me my Metallica tape.”

Delilah's face pulled into a fantastic pout that would do any two year-old proud. If it wasn't for the laughter in her warm eyes he would have thought she was serious. She was teasing him. What she didn't know was that he hated to be teased.

“I don't think so.” She replied in a sing-song voice.

Dean's green eyes narrowed and his hands tightened on the wheel. He was more than happy to go along with their singing, but not to some chick band wailing about being loved by some dipshit man.

She reached out to turn the radio back on, and he slapped her hand away.

“Driver picks the music, shotgun shuts their cakehole,” he snapped, leaning to the side to reach for the tapes at her feet. She smacked him upside the head, and he whipped up to glare at her.

“Watch the road!”

“Dude, hand me my tape.”

“We listened to Metallica all the way to Kansas!” she wailed.

Behind him, he could hear Sam laughing so hard that he was wheezing. Delilah turned around to examine him cautiously, knowing that his cracked ribs must be sore. Dean took the opportunity to reach for the tapes again, but she was quicker and kicked them out of the way.

“Dammit!”

He wrenched the wheel to the side, and the car skid along the gravel on the side of the road. Delilah's face went white and she slapped her hand onto the dashboard, bracing herself as the car came to a halt.

Dean slammed the car into park and reached between Delilah's legs for his tapes. She jerked her knee up, blocking him.

“Give them to me,” Dean was getting pissed now, and Delilah was matching him every step of the way. Their friendly little tease fest was about to turn into a full-blown brawl.

“No,” she snapped, jerking her knee up again, nearly smacking him in the mouth. Sam stopped laughing in the backseat, and he sat up straighter, wondering if he should interfere.

“That's it!” Dean sat up, glaring furiously at the woman in the front seat. “We don't need you anymore. Sam's better. You're getting out in Topeka.”

As soon as the words left his mouth, Dean wished he could shove them back in with both fists. Delilah's lips that had been parted as she struggled with him compressed into a thin line. All the laughter mixed with the beginnings of anger in her eyes melted away until there was nothing but hurt left. Without a word, she opened the door, exited the Impala and walked away.

“Jesus Christ, Dean. You're just a walking, talking dumbass, aren't you?” Sam spat in annoyance, and Dean couldn't even find the will to glare at him. Fuck, if his genius brother wasn't right anyways.

Dean shut the car off and climbed out. It was a bright, spring day, and Dean couldn't help but to think that this would be one of the last he would ever see. He took a moment to look around, thankful that the road was quiet where they had stopped. Delilah had walked out into a field of knee-high grass to a wooden post fence that was weathered and gray with age. She was seated on the highest rung, looking out across the green field that was dotted with yellow and purple flowers.

Dean walked up behind her, turning so he was facing the Impala, and propped his hips up against the fence. He crossed his ankles and arms, knowing that was the best way to keep himself still long enough to say his peace. He tipped his chin to his chest, watching as the grass waved around his jean-clad legs.

“I've never seen beauty like this before. I mean, I've summered in the Hamptons, but it all seems man-made up there. This is simple. Natural.”

Delilah's tone was soft and inflective. It made Dean feel a little nervous. Whenever she spoke like that, it meant she was thinking about her past. And that was something he liked her to do as little of as possible. Her past made her sad, and that made him uncomfortable. Dean cleared his throat, glaring so hard at the grass that he thought for sure that it was going to burst into flames.

“I didn't mean what I said.”

Delilah sighed softly, the sound of it almost lost in the subtle breeze.

“But it's true. Sam is better. You don't need me anymore. There is no reason for me to stay.”

Dean hunched his shoulders and he felt like he could crumple in on himself. He wished Sam would drag his lazy ass out of the car. He was so much better at this chick flick stuff than he was. Besides, he wasn't brave enough to say what he really felt. Feelings were to be kept inside under lock and key. They sure as hell weren't meant to be talked about.

“You know, Sam and I wouldn't mind if you wanted to stick around.”

Delilah didn't answer, and the silence between them stretched on for an eternity. Finally, Dean couldn't handle it anymore and he spoke again.

“Delilah. You want to stay, don't you?”

Dean wanted to kick himself. He sounded like a motherless little boy looking for attention from any woman that came along. He wasn't that way. He didn't look at Delilah like that. He just wanted her to stay. He wanted to be around her.

“You know, I was born into a very upstanding family. I was named after my grandmother, the matriarch of the family. My mother said that she had royal blood, born on the wrong side of the sheets to some Duke or some ridiculous thing. I don't know.”

Dean fought the urge to scratch his head. Women, he decided, were just demented. He had no idea what the hell she was talking about or why it was important at all.

“Do you want me to stay?”

The question came out of nowhere and sucker punched him right in the gut. Maybe that was the point of her earlier musings, to confuse him so she could catch him off guard. He took a deep breath, steadying his pounding heart. Why did he suddenly feel like he was deciding the fate of the rest of his life? His very short, life. He was instantly struck with the urge to reach out and grab life by both hands. To grab on and never let go. To run hard and fast as far as he could until the crossroads bitch was eating his dust.

“Yes.”

The breeze picked up and a lose tendril of her hair brushed against his cheek. The muscles in his face twitched, but the rest of him was rock still. He even stopped breathing as he waited for what she was going to stay.

“Then I want to stay.”

Dean's breath shuddered out of him, but it was just as quickly cut off as she continued.

“Except. I don't want to stay as Delilah. Delilah has to be perfect. She has to wear perfect clothes, and have perfect hair. She has to have a successful practice and never make any mistakes. She has to marry a prominent man and never do anything to embarrass the family. Delilah has to go home to Manhattan and not run around the country side with two handsome brothers.”

Slowly, Dean turned to face her. She was still sitting on the fence, her back towards him, but he could see her beautiful profile as she lifted her face to the warm sun.

“Who would you like to be, then?”

“Lilah. Lilah gets to wear cut-off shorts and flip flops. Lilah gets to sing at the top of her lungs and hang her feet out the car window. She gets to sleep in the same bed with a very dangerous man who takes away all of her bad dreams. She gets to see the all the beauty and wonder of the countryside.”

Dean felt something foreign and wonderful clench inside his chest at her words. It shimmered all the way up his spine and nestled itself deep in his heart. His full lips stretched themselves in a self-satisfied grin that was nowhere near cocky as he looked up at her while she sat on her perch.

“Sounds like my kind of girl.”

Lilah threw back her head and laughed, raising her arms up into the air in celebration. Without fear she slid backwards off the fence, and Dean caught her easily in the cradle of his arms. She wrapped her arms around his neck, her laughter and bright whiskey eyes intoxicating his soul. He smiled down at her, twirling in the field of grass as she kicked out her bare feet.

She tipped her face up towards his, and unable to help himself he lowered his lips to hers. It was a soft, simple kiss that wasn't hungry or demanding. It wasn't a kiss that he had ever shared with a waitress or a barmaid. It was a kiss just for Lilah and only her.

When they parted she was breathless and her eyes were twinkling. His smile then turned cocky, and she slugged him in the shoulder for his insolence. He laughed, something he so rarely did anymore and carried her back to the car. He opened the passenger door, waiting for her to slide inside. He circled around the back, his eyes meeting Sam's, who stared at him from the window.

Sam leered in his little brother way, and Dean snarled at him in warning. He knew that it would do no good anyways. Sam, undoubtedly would milk it for all its worth. The bitch.

Dean climbed into the car, still glaring at his brother in the rearview when Lilah spoke.

“I can help you guys get to Mexico.”

Dean paused in the act of starting the car, and Sam's gaze sharpened on the back of her head.

“What do you mean?” Sam asked before Dean could gather himself.

“I can charter a jet. I can reserve it under Delilah Green and guests. Security will secure it before we board, but since it's a private plane we can bypass the check in. You'll need passports of course, but I'm sure you can swing it.”

Sam sat up straighter at her words, but something flashed across Dean's hazel eyes. He reached out, placing a hand on her shoulder.

“I thought Delilah was getting left behind.”

Sam frowned at that, and shot a look at his brother. That seemed like an awfully weird thing to say, especially since it seemed like they had kissed and made-up. Literally.

“She is. But she can help us with this one thing.”

She reached for his cell phone that he had tossed onto the dashboard earlier. Dean wrapped his strong, calloused fingers around her delicate wrist, stopping her.

“That's not necessary, Lilah. We'll find another way.”

“Dean,” Sam said sharply, and Dean shot him a glare.

“Sam,” he replied just as sharply. Lilah frowned at them both, knowing that she was missing something.

“Dean is afraid to fly.” Sam filled her in.

“Dude!” Dean barked at his brother. Freaking traitor.

Lilah rested her other hand on Dean's wrist, her fingers patting him comfortingly.

“Do you guys really need to get to Mexico?”

“Yes,” Sam cut in sharply meeting Dean's glare with his own desperate look.

Lilah watched as the two brothers communicated wordlessly. Whatever Dean saw in Sam's eyes seemed to convince him, and he sighed deeply. Seeing that he had given in, she gently removed Dean's grip from her wrist.

“Then let me help you. Where is the nearest international airport?”

“Kansas City.” Sam offered, his eyes still locked onto the back of his brother's head.

“Then we should head there.” She flipped open the phone and began to dial.

Seeing that he had been overruled, Dean started the car and flipped it around to head in the opposite direction. They rolled up the windows so Delilah could hear without the whipping wind in her ear and from the passenger seat she asked to speak to someone named Roland Goldman.

“Hello, Roland. It's Delilah.”

There was a pause before she cut off whoever was speaking.

“No, no. I'm fine. There is nothing to worry about. I just decided to go on a little trip.”

Her lips curled into a small smile as she listened to the speaker on the other end of the line.

“Not telling my mother was the whole point, Roland. She needs to learn that I'm not going to jump when she snaps an order.”

Dean met Sam's eyes in the rearview, briefly sharing a memory of their dad, before looking away.

“Listen, I need a favor, and I would really appreciate it if you didn't tell my mother.”

The man was speaking again, and Lilah's lips turned downward in a frown. A frosty expression crossed over her face that Dean had never seen before.

“Remember Roland, you are employed by me, not my mother. Everything is mine. She lives so well off by my grace, not the other way around.”

Dean shot her a startled look, but she ignored him. She stared down into her lap instead, her fingers toying with the white fringe of her shorts.

“I need to charter a jet out of---.” Her words trailed off, and she looked up at Dean for confirmation. He was too stunned at her change in demeanor to answer immediately so Sam chimed in.

“The Kansas City International Airport.”

“Kansas City International Airport,” she finished.

She listened to the man, nodding to herself as he spoke.

“Mexico. Tomorrow morning will be fine. I need some pocket change too.”

Dean had gone back to looking at the road in front of him, but at her words he glanced at her again. She hunched down into her seat, and began looking very uncomfortable. She refused to meet Dean's questioning gaze again.

“I don't know. Twenty thousand, I guess.”

Dean's foot slipped off the gas, and the Impala began to slow noticeably on the interstate. Behind them a semi roared closer, and Sam got an up close and personal look at its chrome grill.

“Dude!” he shouted and Dean jerked out of his shock. He hit the gas and the Impala burst forward.

Lilah finished up some details on the phone, but Dean had stopped listening. Somewhere along the way he had gotten the pretty solid idea that Delilah was from way on the other side of the tracks, but he hadn't realized just how far. He had never come across anyone who thought twenty thousand dollars was just pocket change. His entire life had been spent hustling pool and working crap-ass jobs just to put food in his little brother's gargantuan stomach. He couldn't imagine being so well off. Then again, he couldn't imagine Delilah not being well taken care of either. In fact, he was having a hard time imagining her in his life at all, even though she was right beside him.

She hung up the phone, and there was silence except for the road traffic around them.

“Delilah---“ Dean started, but she quickly cut him off, her wide whiskey eyes looking at him full of trepidation and need. She was afraid that he was going to reject her. Well of all the fucked up things in life, wasn't that the kicker.

“Lilah, remember. I'm Lilah, now.”

He met her gaze for endless seconds before he dipped his head in acceptance. Her lips curled up into a small smile and her eyes regained a bit of their life.

“I'm going to need a picture ID since I seemed to have lost my purse somewhere.”

In the backseat Sam snorted and Dean chuckled.

“Leave it to me, honey. I've got the magic touch. With me around you can be anyone at anytime.”

The cocky grin he threw her way spoke volumes and her small smile grew into an outright satisfied grin. The shimmer that he had felt in his chest earlier grew until it seemed to encompass his entire body with a shivery light. He glanced back at the road ahead of him, and didn't argue when Lilah flipped on the radio. Behind him, Sam rolled down the windows, singing along to Radiohead, and for the first time in his life Dean felt like he was complete. His car, his brother, and a beautiful woman. What more did he need?

He shook off the dark feeling of hopelessness that was spreading through his gut, knowing that he had only one life to live and it was quickly drawing to a close.