Spreading Roots

I didn't tell Frank about what happened with my mother, nor did I mention Dean's miraculous appearances. Two days later I watched him work on his beloved Mustang I reasoned with myself; he was leaving all too soon, he would be gone and for his parting gift I'd crap on him with all this useless drama.

No, it didn't matter Marilyn was losing it. I could deal with her and all of her absurdity by myself, but I couldn't handle what would inevitably happen if Frank caught wind of yesterday's happenings. So I sat there and spun around in an old chair while I watched him work on some part of the engine that was just too complicated for me to focus on right then.

"When I get back, you're going to help me finish this."

I looked up in surprise, and Frank tossed me a knowing smile. It was all too easy for him to get my attention—especially when it came to offers of working on the car. Those were few and far between. "OK?"

"Yeah, sure," I replied. As much as I tried to act as excited as I should have been, I just wasn't that good of an actress.

Frank sounded like his usual self. Nothing about his tone told me he was waiting for me to spill my guts, so I guessed Marilyn mustn't have told him either. Of course not. She wanted to keep up the façade that everything was all right, even though Frank saw straight through it.

He studied me, no doubt having heard my faltered enthusiasm. "How's everything at home, kid?"

So many words jammed their up my throat and onto the tip of my tongue. How the hell did I ever manage to hold all of this back? It felt as if everything just weighed down on my shoulders in that moment. Here was my chance to tell him. That my mom was, for lack of a better word, a bitch, and that I dreaded the day he left. That I wouldn't be able to sleep without him there, that I would be lost.

But goddamnit, I had to keep it together.

With a scrunched nose I gave him a teasing, flippant smile. "The usual."

Better than saying everything was okay. That would have been an outright lie.

Another once-over was received until Frank deemed my answer fit, then he turned to wash his hands in the laundry tub by the door leading into the house. I idly wondered why, having thought we were supposed to spend the day on the car together. Then I remembered—he was heading over to Foley's garage. Again.

I hated that all-too familiar sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. Lately I felt it on a daily basis. He was so busy focused on securing himself a job for when he got back that he didn't take notice of the fact that I hadn't even seen my mother in two days. While he was caught up in what would happen when he got back, he didn't even realize that I needed him now. He failed to notice that I was in over my freaking head as I ever was. I wished like hell, then, that he wouldn't waste the little time we had left to spend together.

Before he was all about making sure he left us on good terms. As gruff and insensitive as he might have wanted to seem to others, if it came down to ensuring I was okay he was all for it. Until then, at least.

Usually... I wouldn't be. I'd be the one bolting from the room at the mere mentioning of a talk. Today I might have to break my own rules.

Something clattered to the floor and I jumped, swearing as I did so, hand flung to my heart in fright. "Jesus Christ," I all but squeaked and watched as Frank plucked up a wrench from the floor. He raised a questioning eyebrow, though he didn't bother to ask as he replaced the tool to hang on the wall.

Quickly, I breathed a calming sigh and smelled the ever-comforting, familiar scent of the workspace. There was nothing to fear—nothing here with Frank anyway. While Frank wouldn't ask questions about my odd behaviour just yet, I could tell he marked my last freaky action to his list to bring up later when I least expected it. What scared me more, perhaps, was that I actually wanted him to.

I conjured up every ounce of confidence I could muster, such a feat much harder than I could have imagined. Did I really want to bring this up? My heart stuttered as I thought about what could come of this. First, he would be angry I didn't tell him sooner. Then he'd be angrier. At Marilyn or Dean—I'm not sure which. Hell, maybe both.

When he was halfway through the door, reciting his usual spiel about not getting into any trouble while he was gone, I took a hasty step forward.

"Frank?" I said, quiet enough that he didn't even hear me.

"And don't forget to lock the door behind me."

"Frank," I repeated. He turned to me with a questioning gaze. "I... can't you go to Foley's tomorrow instead?"

I never asked him for such things. Because I wasn't some needy kid—I depended on the guy, sure, but I didn't always like to make that abundantly clear. To ask him to stay with me was different. Before today, I'd never even tried. Frank was Frank, and he could do as he pleased... but tonight I needed him around.

"I have to pack tomorrow, Devon," Frank reasoned. The pained look in his gaze told me he knew what effect such a sentence would have on me. Shit, even he hated to bring it up. I wished we could just pretend everything was fine for one night but I couldn't deal with all of this alone. Without him.

I crossed my arms over my chest in an almost protective manner. Pain lanced my heart. I felt so silly for feeling so sad, and my contradicting feelings just paved the way for even more confusion. "What, Dev?"

And then, inevitably, Frank noticed how I couldn't look him in the eye, the way I couldn't keep from biting my lip in nervousness. My crossed arms kept me from wringing my hands, though I couldn't help but to clench my fists. Shit.

Frank closed the door and turned back to me on a sigh. To him I was just a kid infringing on his adult duties—but fuck, I needed to talk to him. He retreated to his car and leaned against the trunk. Calm on the surface, Frank regarded me again. He didn't try to coax it out of me. He just sat there, as if he had all night.

I wriggled under his watch, but tried to appear confident through uncrossing my arms and standing straight. He didn't like to see me timid and if anything, that was exactly what I was then. I made a point to meet his eyes. It was easier, across the garage.

"We uh... Mom," my voice cracked just at the mention of her. I couldn't hold the eye contact any longer and focused back on my trainers. Frank didn't like it either, and I watched from the corner of my eye as he became tense. He shook his head side to side and rigidly readjusted his jacket, he too choosing to stand straight.

"What happened?" I could tell how hard it was for him to not sound as irritated as he felt. I wasn't sure who this emotion was directed to—Marilyn, for just being plain crazy or me for not being able to reel her in?

Originally I hadn't planned on telling Frank exactly what went down, just that he needed to do something in hopes of setting her straight for the duration of his leave. I knew with first-hand experience that he would see through such a ruse, however, and that the issue was far deeper than I let on. He wouldn't understand if I didn't tell him the full story, and I always tried my hardest—no matter how difficult it was—to be truthful with him. Only with him, however. He deserved that much. After what happened.

I straightened my posture again and promised myself not to think about that. Not then. Instead, I looked up and told him. Blank faced, void of emotion.

"We got into an argument, a few days ago," how freaking lame did that sound? My explanation just barely scraped the surface. I wished belatedly to have worded that differently, though I considered myself lucky to get it out at all.

I tried to gauge his reaction but the man had a mean poker face and gave nothing away. On another short, frustrated sigh, Frank waved me closer. "Come here and talk to me, Devon," I swallowed back the lump in my throat and lurched forward.

Then I sat, tentatively, next to him against the trunk of the car. It felt wrong to just be sitting around and talking—when I was at Frank's, he managed to keep me pretty busy. Whether it was with the car, around the house, or out in the shed working on my bike. And it felt like abuse to rough up the trunk of his car, having never been allowed to touch it other than to clean it.

Relax, Devon. What the hell are you even thinking about anyway? Who the hell cares about the car at this moment? Jesus.

"What was the fight about?" Franked inquired. He too decided to take the cautious route, more than likely aware of how out of character this was for me. A small, playful bump to my shoulder caused me to crack a smile, effective in lightening the situation. Finally, maybe I could cut through the tension.

I sighed. "About everything. Tell me you've noticed how she's been acting lately."

Even Dean Winchester could see through Mom's put-on front, all the weird under the surface. I couldn't help but wonder what she did all alone in that house. I couldn't spend a single moment there alone without freaking the hell out myself.

It was hard, not to be mad at her. Here I was, talking with my uncle about my mother's erratic behaviour. We should have been close enough to discuss it with each other, mother to daughter. But right then, I couldn't even say I trusted my mother.

The thought hurt.

"I have, Devon. She's been this way forever, but lately..." Frank trailed off, as if not wanting to say it out loud. But I knew what he was going to say. Lately, she was worse.

Admitting it out loud that something was off about Marilyn (at least more than usual) scared the hell out of me all the same. It meant I couldn't keep up this phony act at Frank's house pretending she wasn't crazy. "It was about that guy just showing up—Dean Winchester. Out of nowhere. And Kara."

My voice broke again, but this time I didn't know if I could speak without my voice trembling. Frank became stiff as soon as I mentioned my sister. His best friend. My dead sister and his best friend.

"It just... it was a freaking mess, Frank. And I keep, I keep thinking that this is all the crazy I have to look forward to after you leave," somewhere through my stuttering, jumbled speech Frank wrapped his arm around me, and I felt his head lean against mine. I closed my eyes and tried to savour this moment. It would be one of the last I'd have with him before he left.

It was finally out in the open. I mightn't have been showing it right then, but the thought of having to deal with Marilyn, with the mystery of Dean... hell, even school had me reduced to the quaking mess of a kid who wanted to discuss her feelings.

For one long moment Frank was silent. I almost got worried, but then he gave my arm a comforting squeeze and I forced myself to relax into his hug. Instead of remaining stoic an unmoving like I used to, I actually appreciated this.

Shows of emotion were never well received with my mother. Maybe more than anything, I realized then, this was what I always needed.

Family.

I released a shaking breath and tried to piece myself back together as best I could before pulling from Frank's embrace. I could feel his dark eyes searching my face once again, this time in an effort to see exactly how upset I was.

Thankfully, I learned from the best. I was once again straight-faced, as if I hadn't just broke down and told him about something that had been troubling me for days. As if it had been perfectly normal behaviour for me.

"Devon, I'm sorry," he said finally, relenting. My ears pricked at the apology. I wasn't looking to hear that. "But I can't change the fact that I'm leaving. I wish I could, but please. You gotta tough it out for me, got it? You have to get along with your mother while I'm gone, Devon. I won't be around and I don't want to hear about you not having a place to stay."

Of course. What else could he have said? Nothing could magically make this situation better. Frank wasn't a miracle worker. He couldn't turn my mother sane.

He couldn't somehow be discharged from the military, and that wasn't the half of it. I knew it was what he loved. I didn't want him to abandon that just for my sake. If anything, I was not a selfish person.

Realizing just how absurd I'd been acting, I clammed up and all but launched myself off the car. "You're right, you're right. I'm sorry for forcing that on you," I stuttered out. Upon seeing my shaky hands held at my side, I stuffed them in the pockets of my jeans. I looked down.

"I'm gonna... go," I angled toward the door and didn't even chance a look at Frank. I couldn't—not after that display. With a start, though, I remembered I didn't have anywhere else to go.

Frank was all I had.

"Devon, slow down," Frank said. I stopped my jittering and turned to him. He quirked a small, sad smile. "Come on. Stay. I'll make popcorn and we can watch South Park all night."

That made me pause. When it came to unwinding and being lazy all night, watching crude-humoured TV was our thing. I could do that. Easy. But I forced myself not to get my hopes up. He'd probably just forgotten. "What about—? I thought you were going to the garage?"

On a nonchalant shrug, Frank started for the door that led into his kitchen. As if he knew he shouldn't make a big deal over it, as if he knew I was on the verge of freaking out. "It can wait."