Spreading Roots

With all of his supplies laid out in front of him on the motel bed, Dean felt like he had his game back. Finally. But did he even want it at all?

Regardless, Dean was ready for action. He hadn't touched any booze all day. That was a miracle in itself. He was just too hopped up about the prospect of putting this crap to rest to even think about jeopardizing tonight's actions. He couldn't wait to finally put a cap in this case. Or desecrate a grave and salt and burn somebody's bones. Whatever.

He dug into the archives at the library again last night, except this time he actually knew—well, he had a vague idea—what he was looking for. Unfortunately for him (or perhaps for Audrey's resting place) he hadn't been able to come across any specifics. But boy, did he find something else. Audrey died in 1997, and it's been twelve years nearly to the day. And guess what? Kara died in in 2003. It's been almost six years exactly since then.

Phyllis' popping off was connected. Once was a coincidence. Twice was a pattern, which would normally raise a red flag for Dean. But three times? That crap dictated the use of his double-barreled shot gun.

Marilyn would probably be next, and soon. So Dean would have to get a move on. He stared at all of his weapons he probably wouldn't have to put to use tonight but just for old time's sake, he packed them anyway. These spirits could get real ugly, anyway, and being safe was better than being dead.

Yes. Dean was back on the job and he finally felt as if he was doing something right. For once.

Just as he stuffed a can of kerosene (as back up to the gallon of gasoline in the Impala’s trunk) into the duffel bag he planned on heaving around all night, a heavy knock sounded on the door. Dean paused mid-action. Nobody knew where he was staying but Rainbow Motel was one of Lake Crystal's only places to stay. If somebody wanted to find him, they could.

So Dean plucked up Ruby's knife and eyed the door. He was ready for a fight. Hell, he craved one right about then. Maybe he was just reckless and wanted to get himself killed. Because without Sammy, what point really was there?

First he looked through the peep hole, expecting to see the likes of Crowley or some other scum, but he was actually surprised for once to see Frank Thompson out there. Still Dean didn't relinquish his knife, instead opting to stash it inside his coat pocket. He could grab it in a split second. Call him paranoid, but that could have been Demon-Frank out there looking to take a chunk out of him.

Dean opened the door, but not enough for Frank to see into the room. Or what lay on his bed. He recalled the last time he saw the dude, just a couple of days prior when he demanded he stay away from Devon at his house. As if he was out to get the kid hurt. Dean wanted the exact opposite; he wanted Devon safe and sound. And happy.

Today Frank didn't look angry... well okay, he did, but not ape-shit pissed. It was just about to get dark and Dean wanted to head over to the cemetery already so he could scope it out for tonight's little ritual. He certainly didn't need a brawl with Frank... however tempting that might have sounded to him.

"Frank," Dean began with caution. "I haven't been giving the kid any trouble,"

Frank held his hand up and Dean paused, eyeing the guy. He seemed not to even care about that. What the hell? "Can I come in?"

Pursing his lips, Dean weighed his options. How long would it take for Frank to leave if Dean just shut the door in his face? Probably too long, and he wasn't patient enough for that shit. But dammit, if there was one person he didn't want to talk to right then, it was this guy.

Against his better judgement Dean swung the door open and allowed Frank inside his room. The two had never gotten along, not when he dated Kara all those years ago. He guessed Frank especially hated him since he left her high and dry after he and his dad finished their job and moved on.

But then Kara died. And that probably changed things. Made them worse. Jesus, he couldn't even think about it.

Only coming in enough so he could shut the door, Frank sent a wary glance at what lay on the bed. He sighed and looked toward Dean. "So I guess you heard about the murder."

"I think this is it," Dean replied. Or at least he hoped like hell. Never one for good manners, Dean crossed his arms and scrutinized the other man. Time to cut the shit. "Why are you here, Frank?"

Frank averted his gaze and walked to the window, as if he couldn’t even look at Dean.

The feeling’s mutual, pal.

But then Dean thought—if he were Frank, he probably wouldn't want look at himself either. Dean remembered the guy as a care-free teenager, not the jaded, cold man in front of him. And he couldn't help but to think, but to blame himself, and realize that he more likely than not did have some fault in all of this. Something bad must have happened since he left all those years ago. Dean sure as hell had a penchant for leaving a trail of crap in his wake.

It took Frank several more minutes to get his bearings, of which Dean impatiently waited. He turned back around. "I deploy to Afghanistan in the a.m., Winchester. That means Devon won't be able to stay at my place anymore."

Dammit. Dean forgot about that. He couldn't imagine the kid ever (willingly) going back to live with Marilyn. The bond Devon shared with Frank was clear to him, and she must have been taking his leave hard.

"And my guess is she still hasn't patched things up with Mommy Dearest," Dean muttered, a sarcastic cutting edge to his tone.

Frank rounded on him. In that moment, he looked as if he hated Dean Winchester's very existence. "How do you know about that?"

Yup. This seemed to be Frank's breaking point. So much for not giving Devon any more trouble, right? Dean raised his hands, palms flat, in a non-threatening gesture. "I was on my way in the other night when I heard them fighting."

Dean held his ground when Frank took a step toward him, hands clenched. Dude looked pissed, but it's not as if Dean could help walking in on an argument. He needed to lighten up. Not at all affected by Frank's 'threatening' posture, Dean smirked despite himself. The only reason this guy was still there was because Devon seemed to think so much of him. "Easy, Tiger."

Which kind of made him envious. To have the sort of easy relationship with someone. But he refused to dwell on that right then.

"I don't like you around her," he barked, glaring.

"Hey," Dean, by then, was getting angry himself. He might have been a bad influence on his best day, but he only wanted to help the kid out. And he thought he might have even succeeded. "I broke them up. Marilyn was about ready to go balls-to-the-wall crazy on Devon. She almost hit the kid, Thompson."

Right. He remembered even back in the day they were on a perpetual last name basis. Awesome.

Dean couldn't even muster up a half-assed flinch when Frank grabbed him by the collar of his coat and pulled him so they were eye to eye. In reality Dean could drop the dude before he even knew what was coming to him. Resisting that instinct was tough. Dean kept up that annoying little smirk, knowing it riled Frank up even more. "Explain. Now."

Staring him in the eye, Dean faltered. As much as he tried he couldn't dislike Frank. He had his heart in the right place, and seemed to be the only person in the kid's life who actually cared for her. He couldn't even find the urge to hit him.

Dean pushed himself away from Frank and readjusted his collar, never breaking eye contact. As if challenging each other.

"It's pretty simple," he began. "I went over there to talk to Marilyn and I heard them screaming at each other. Marilyn was bitching at Devon, and after the kid asked about me and what's been going on she lost it."

Of course Dean left out all the other little visits he made to Devon, including the fact that he followed her to the park afterwards. That would only serve to fire Frank up even more. "But she didn't tell you about that part, did she?" He posed the question with a wry smile. Devon reminded him too much of himself—always trying to shoulder too much without anyone's help.

Frank, then defeated, scraped a hand through his greying hair and sat at the edge of Dean's bed. Help yourself, I guess. "No, no she didn't."

Yeah. Dean figured as much.

After almost another minute of silence, Frank stood. He didn't look so angry any more. "Dean, I came here to ask you a favour," oh god. Just what Dean needed. He wasn't leaving for all the tea in China. If that's what Frank wanted he could take a hike.

Not sparing a second Frank launched into his proposal. "I told you I'm leaving tomorrow. And I want to ask that you take care of Devon while you're here. Watch out for her, but at the same time don't get her into any of your shit."

His shit. Dean always had his shit to deal with. Frank was spot on about that one. "Just don't drag her into this more than she already has been, Dean."

Frank looked at Dean again. Dean could have sworn the poor guy was about to cry. The smirk was wiped from Dean's mouth as soon as Frank brought this up, and he had his full attention. "Take care of her for me. Please."

Dean didn't even have to consider it. He was looking out for Devon long before he even knew he was doing it. A no-brainer, but Dean could feel the weight to his words before he even spoke them. He would commit to it. "I will."

And he fully intended to keep his promise.