An air of nervous anticipation had settled over B&E Salvage in the last day or so. Had it taken up residence before the group outing to Sioux Falls, in which suits, licenses, tattoos and various other necessaries had been acquired, it might have been passed off as childlike excitement at the prospect of getting out of the house for a while. But no, this sense of waiting for something unknown and unnamed had settled after that little trip, and the three offenders - Bobby, Ellen, and Nim - weren't admitting to any reason why they should be so twitchy. They'd been making an effort to seem normal, though every now and then one of them would glance out through a window at the sound of a car passing by on the road beyond the gates to the yard. They were obviously expecting something, but it would take a stronger man than Dean, Bill, and Brian combined to get it out of them.
Dean assumed the reason for the nervous anticipation in the house was the upcoming wedding, the thought of which made his stomach twist in excited and fearful knots. He'd gone face to face with the Devil himself; why such an ordinary thing as getting married was giving him a case of nervous jitters, he wasn't sure. But then, it wasn't every day you got married. Marriage, to Dean, was a sacred ritual, maybe the most sacred ritual of all. He'd seen the future; he knew what it might hold, but he wasn't getting married to fulfill some part of his own destiny. He was getting married because he loved the woman he'd once known as Jo and could deny it no longer, wanting his life inextricably linked to hers for the rest of his days, however long or short.
He had no idea what little secret Bobby and Ellen and Nim had arranged, and if he had, he might have been angry, but as things stood, ignorance was bliss. He went about his daily routine, as routine as it was, trying not to think too hard about the wedding that was looming in the near future. It was only a few days away now, and though he knew he was doing the right thing, he hoped they were on the right track to changing the future and setting things right. Nothing more had been said about Ayden, and Dean had set the thoughts and worries that centered around his sister aside for now. As much as he wanted to meet her and make her part of his life, he still felt it was too dangerous. No one had mentioned it again, no one had tried to reason with him or insist that it really wasn't his decision to make. It simply hadn't been mentioned again, and Dean assumed the subject was closed for discussion.
Another rumble from the road this time had Ellen glancing out through the window, and her lips curved in a suddenly very self-satisfied smile. She glanced to Nim, and quite suddenly Brian and Bill found themselves roped into some inane, unimportant task that would take all three of them out the back and out of the line of fire.
Ellen looked over at Dean. "Sweetie, can you skip out and grab the little blue box from the truck?" she asked him, mildly producing a pretext for him to be out front within a few minutes. She tossed the key to her truck over to him. "Won't take you but a minute."
Dean looked up from the book he had his nose buried in, reading and re-reading the same passages in his future self's journal over and over until he could recite it verbatim. Reading the journal didn't usually put him in a very good state of mind, and reading the warnings Nim's future self had outlined for him didn't help. "What blue box?" he asked, distractedly. Reading the journal always drew him back to the memory of what he'd seen in the future and left behind, wondering how it all turned out, but he couldn't know that as it really hadn't happened yet. It was enough to drive you mad if you thought about it too hard or too long.
"The little one in the right bottom corner of the dash," Ellen told him - at least the box was real, he wouldn't be able to accuse her of sending him looking for something that didn't exist. "It won't take you away from that damned journal long. Put the thing down and get off your a$$."
Outside, the rumble of a beautifully maintained engine was getting louder, apparently driving through the yard toward the house. Cars drove into the yard almost daily, though, so it was hardly something out of place.
"What am I, the only one who has legs around here?" he grumbled, knowing better than to flatly refuse to do what Ellen asked of him. She asked so little of him, after all. He glanced pointedly at Bobby, who didn't even bother to look up from the tinkering he was doing to The Colt, needing it to be in top working order.
"Don't go there, boy," Bobby warned, knowing this Dean hadn't been there when Ellen had been confined to a wheelchair and knew very little of what they'd all gone through back then.
Dean grumbled a reply and closed the journal, not needing to mark his page. It wouldn't be long before he had the thing memorized and wouldn't need to reference it any longer. "I'll be right back," he promised, as he started toward the door, paying the sound of the engine outside little heed. It wasn't unusual to hear someone pass through, and as far as he knew, they weren't expecting any visitors.
Bobby's warning came just in time to curtail the thunderclouds that had gathered in Ellen's expression at Dean's thoughtless protest, saving the younger hunter from an earful that would have left him wincing in her presence for days. As it was, he got nothing but silence in answer to his ungracious agreement to do as he was asked, Ellen turning away with stiff shoulders.
He frowned a little as he pushed his way outside, not meaning anything by the remark, except that he'd been in the zone, absorbed in what he was reading - maybe a little too absorbed, but it was important. He wondered for a moment if there was a method to Ellen's madness; if she'd purposely pulled him away from his reading so that he didn't get too absorbed by it. He made a mental note to apologize to her later for his thoughtless remark, if he had a chance and if he remembered. In truth, he'd do anything for Ellen, and he hoped she knew it.
He grumbled to himself again about putting his own foot in his mouth as he stepped outside to squint in the afternoon sunshine, taking a moment to glance up at the sky and the clouds that were slowly skimming past. His mother had once told him that the clouds were really angels watching from above, but he knew that wasn't true.
The sound of that engine was much closer now, and indeed, the car it belonged to was pulling into view. A red '72 Impala, the convertible roof pulled up, drew confidently out from among the stacked salvage and turned onto the little driveway that passed in front of the house, the driveway no one but the family used. The driver was a young woman, dark haired and green eyed and staring in disbelieving amazement at Dean where he stood on the porch. She pulled her car to a halt, cutting the engine, and just sat there for a long moment, absorbing what she was seeing with a mixture of shock and joy. He'd seen that face on photographs in the past weeks, but would he recognise it now, a little older and a lot wiser"
Dean lifted a hand to shield his eyes from the afternoon sunlight as he turned to regard the car that was approaching and pulling into the driveway. "Holy sh*t..." he muttered at sight of it, not noticing the driver behind the wheel at first, too enamored with the drop dead gorgeous piece of machinery that had parked in the driveway. He stepped off the stairs, drawn to the car like a moth to a flame, unworried he might get burned. He whistled in obvious admiration as he approached the vehicle, reaching out to touch the red metal hood as gently as a lover's caress.
Dean assumed the reason for the nervous anticipation in the house was the upcoming wedding, the thought of which made his stomach twist in excited and fearful knots. He'd gone face to face with the Devil himself; why such an ordinary thing as getting married was giving him a case of nervous jitters, he wasn't sure. But then, it wasn't every day you got married. Marriage, to Dean, was a sacred ritual, maybe the most sacred ritual of all. He'd seen the future; he knew what it might hold, but he wasn't getting married to fulfill some part of his own destiny. He was getting married because he loved the woman he'd once known as Jo and could deny it no longer, wanting his life inextricably linked to hers for the rest of his days, however long or short.
He had no idea what little secret Bobby and Ellen and Nim had arranged, and if he had, he might have been angry, but as things stood, ignorance was bliss. He went about his daily routine, as routine as it was, trying not to think too hard about the wedding that was looming in the near future. It was only a few days away now, and though he knew he was doing the right thing, he hoped they were on the right track to changing the future and setting things right. Nothing more had been said about Ayden, and Dean had set the thoughts and worries that centered around his sister aside for now. As much as he wanted to meet her and make her part of his life, he still felt it was too dangerous. No one had mentioned it again, no one had tried to reason with him or insist that it really wasn't his decision to make. It simply hadn't been mentioned again, and Dean assumed the subject was closed for discussion.
Another rumble from the road this time had Ellen glancing out through the window, and her lips curved in a suddenly very self-satisfied smile. She glanced to Nim, and quite suddenly Brian and Bill found themselves roped into some inane, unimportant task that would take all three of them out the back and out of the line of fire.
Ellen looked over at Dean. "Sweetie, can you skip out and grab the little blue box from the truck?" she asked him, mildly producing a pretext for him to be out front within a few minutes. She tossed the key to her truck over to him. "Won't take you but a minute."
Dean looked up from the book he had his nose buried in, reading and re-reading the same passages in his future self's journal over and over until he could recite it verbatim. Reading the journal didn't usually put him in a very good state of mind, and reading the warnings Nim's future self had outlined for him didn't help. "What blue box?" he asked, distractedly. Reading the journal always drew him back to the memory of what he'd seen in the future and left behind, wondering how it all turned out, but he couldn't know that as it really hadn't happened yet. It was enough to drive you mad if you thought about it too hard or too long.
"The little one in the right bottom corner of the dash," Ellen told him - at least the box was real, he wouldn't be able to accuse her of sending him looking for something that didn't exist. "It won't take you away from that damned journal long. Put the thing down and get off your a$$."
Outside, the rumble of a beautifully maintained engine was getting louder, apparently driving through the yard toward the house. Cars drove into the yard almost daily, though, so it was hardly something out of place.
"What am I, the only one who has legs around here?" he grumbled, knowing better than to flatly refuse to do what Ellen asked of him. She asked so little of him, after all. He glanced pointedly at Bobby, who didn't even bother to look up from the tinkering he was doing to The Colt, needing it to be in top working order.
"Don't go there, boy," Bobby warned, knowing this Dean hadn't been there when Ellen had been confined to a wheelchair and knew very little of what they'd all gone through back then.
Dean grumbled a reply and closed the journal, not needing to mark his page. It wouldn't be long before he had the thing memorized and wouldn't need to reference it any longer. "I'll be right back," he promised, as he started toward the door, paying the sound of the engine outside little heed. It wasn't unusual to hear someone pass through, and as far as he knew, they weren't expecting any visitors.
Bobby's warning came just in time to curtail the thunderclouds that had gathered in Ellen's expression at Dean's thoughtless protest, saving the younger hunter from an earful that would have left him wincing in her presence for days. As it was, he got nothing but silence in answer to his ungracious agreement to do as he was asked, Ellen turning away with stiff shoulders.
He frowned a little as he pushed his way outside, not meaning anything by the remark, except that he'd been in the zone, absorbed in what he was reading - maybe a little too absorbed, but it was important. He wondered for a moment if there was a method to Ellen's madness; if she'd purposely pulled him away from his reading so that he didn't get too absorbed by it. He made a mental note to apologize to her later for his thoughtless remark, if he had a chance and if he remembered. In truth, he'd do anything for Ellen, and he hoped she knew it.
He grumbled to himself again about putting his own foot in his mouth as he stepped outside to squint in the afternoon sunshine, taking a moment to glance up at the sky and the clouds that were slowly skimming past. His mother had once told him that the clouds were really angels watching from above, but he knew that wasn't true.
The sound of that engine was much closer now, and indeed, the car it belonged to was pulling into view. A red '72 Impala, the convertible roof pulled up, drew confidently out from among the stacked salvage and turned onto the little driveway that passed in front of the house, the driveway no one but the family used. The driver was a young woman, dark haired and green eyed and staring in disbelieving amazement at Dean where he stood on the porch. She pulled her car to a halt, cutting the engine, and just sat there for a long moment, absorbing what she was seeing with a mixture of shock and joy. He'd seen that face on photographs in the past weeks, but would he recognise it now, a little older and a lot wiser"
Dean lifted a hand to shield his eyes from the afternoon sunlight as he turned to regard the car that was approaching and pulling into the driveway. "Holy sh*t..." he muttered at sight of it, not noticing the driver behind the wheel at first, too enamored with the drop dead gorgeous piece of machinery that had parked in the driveway. He stepped off the stairs, drawn to the car like a moth to a flame, unworried he might get burned. He whistled in obvious admiration as he approached the vehicle, reaching out to touch the red metal hood as gently as a lover's caress.