Spreading Roots

Underneath Uncle Frank’s mustang I was happier than I had been in a while, albeit a little suspicious. He may have only been showing me how to change the oil filter but rarely—if ever—did he let me work on his most prized possession. Only in certain situations did he think it was called for, and even those had to be pretty dire.

Once it was after one of my more extreme asthma attacks where I almost hadn’t recovered, but the one that really stuck out in my mind was the very first time he let me clumsily creep underneath one of his cars. It had been a few days after my sister died, and my being only ten, I’d been pretty useless.

But it had the affect Uncle Frank had intended—it got my mind off it, and I focused only on the task at hand.

To this day I enjoyed it for exactly that reason. Under a car… as long as you know what you’re doing, things were simple. And when it came to my life, it could have been described as anything but simple. I didn’t think about my crazy mom or my dead sister while under it. I didn’t think about Dean, why he was ‘visiting’ Marilyn, or why Frank seemed to hold such a grudge against him. Hell, I wasn’t even thinking about how I was going to get information out of Frank about yesterday’s events.

Even though I could change an oil filter with my eyes closed, I watched and listened to Frank beside me as intently as if it was my very first time ever working on a car.

I couldn’t help but think Uncle Frank was doing all of this to distract me. What was worse, though, was that I didn’t really care. For right now he was with me and that was all I could count on for the next couple of days. After that I wouldn’t see him for an entire year, eight months if I was lucky. Those months would be spent avoiding my mom at all costs and counting the days for him to come back. Because of that, I welcomed this distraction that much more.

I saw the Impala before I heard it. It rumbled up through Frank's driveway, the engine almost shaking the ground beneath us. Frank seemed as if he wanted to ignore it. On the other hand, I was just too damn curious. I broke my concentration and glanced to the side. With the garage door open I had a clear view of Dean's boots—the very same ones I tripped on at Mom's house—step out of the car. Frank bristled at the screech of the Impala's door as it slammed shut, and if it were under any other circumstances I would have grinned.

Not today, though. I had a feeling that if I didn't try and keep Uncle Frank at least semi-calm, a fight was going to break out. Normally I’d have thought a fight could solve a thing or two. But I couldn’t have Uncle Frank getting hurt—not when he was so close to being deployed. I wouldn’t stand for it, and I’d resolve to kicking Dean’s ass (or trying my hardest to) if he laid a hand on my uncle.

I chose to ignore the fact that he apprehended me in just a couple of seconds yesterday and that he had almost a foot in height to his advantage. I could totally take him.

I released a theatrical groan and rolled out from underneath the car, unbothered by the fact that Frank chose to stay under there like a hermit. I wanted to be the one to greet Dean; perhaps I could scare him away before Uncle Frank had the chance to flip his crap.

These last few days spent with Frank, I did not want them to be bad ones—and I most certainly didn't want to see him leave bruised up. Recalling the tension between Frank, Dean and Mom, I knew there had to be a lot of history between them. It might not have been my place, but I was going to find out what exactly that was. By doing that I could hopefully squash this problem before it escalated any further.

As Dean approached me I studied him. His gait was relaxed, if not careless, but I could sense the edginess beneath the depths of his dark green eyes and through his phony smirk. To his credit he covered it well, but it takes one to know one.

I merely frowned at him in a greeting, setting a hard look in my eyes just for the hell of it. If Frank seemed to think Dean was bad news, he probably had a good reason to think so and he was probably right. Before anyone could speak, Frank (finally) rolled out from underneath the car and stood to his full height with his arms crossed. In the middle of the two, my gaze flickered back and forth. “You got a’lotta nerve, showing up here.”

Dean held his hands up in defense. The action was somewhat effortless, like he was just going through the motions. He looked tired, and I wondered if he was running on even less sleep than I was. “I don’t mean any trouble here.”

“Is that so?” It wasn’t really a question, because Frank would rather have Dean leave than be given an answer.

“I feel like I’m in the middle of a crappy western movie.” I said lightly, trying to ease the tension.

“Hey, there are some real classics out there,” Dean defended, in the almost the very same off-handed tone I used.

Frank didn’t seem very amused by our small talk, however, and I kept my eyes steady on him; silently pleading with him to cool it. Dean seemed to take that as a hint, and addressed my uncle with his hands still partially in the air. “I just want to talk to Devon.”

The air bristled between us, and for a second I thought for sure Frank was going to beat the living daylights out of Dean. I hated these moments when he was overprotective of me… at least that was how it seemed. Usually I could read him like a book, but today was the exception. I didn’t know if he was doing this for me, or if he was just acting this way because of the grudge he’d probably been holding over Dean for years now.

Possibly both.

“Like hell she’s going anywhere near you!” Frank said with a snort, then reached forward with his greasy hands—more than likely ruining my shirt, but it’s not like I cared in particular anyway—and pulled me back as if Dean was contagious. “She’s not getting involved, Winchester. Ever.”

Involved with what? Frank really shouldn’t have let that one out of the bag. Now I had something to go on, and I would be that much more incessant from then on. I was smart enough to keep silent and listen because they didn’t seem too concerned about withholding too much information at that moment.

“I’m not trying to involve her,” Dean sounded like he was starting to get irritated with Frank now, too. “But she deserves to know the truth, Frank. You’re doin’ more harm than good by not telling her. This could be dangerous.”

“Get out. Get the hell off my property,” I never witnessed Frank lose his cool before, not like this. He was one the verge of being out-right enraged. On the surface he hid it well. But I knew better.

With a wry smile, Dean didn’t hesitate to turn and leave. He shot me a look while he opened his car door, still with that same patronizing smirk. “I’ll see you soon, Devon.”

It was silent—first we watched Dean leave, and not until I couldn’t hear the impala rumbling down the streets off in the distance did I decide to speak. “You gonna tell me what that was about?”

Usually I wouldn’t have had to ask that. Usually he would have told me if it was important. And this? This was pretty much as important as it got.

He didn’t say anything, not even so much as a ‘no.’ I counted to ten in my head. Gave him time to collect his thoughts, calm down. I gave him a chance, and he didn’t even bother to look at me. A jolt of fear rose up my spine. In my mind, it looked like my Uncle Frank—the one person I could always depend on—was turning into Marilyn.

Not telling me the whole truth. Not thinking I deserved to know.

Then rationality kicked in. And I realized that, however unreasonable, Frank thought it was better that I be left in the dark about this… about whatever was happening between him, Marilyn, and Dean. But according to Dean it seemed like I was in the middle of the entire mess whether I liked it or not.

“Of course not,” I muttered, turning away and heading out through the still open garage door, following Dean’s footsteps to a tee. He didn’t try to stop me, but there was no surprise there. He knew I needed some time to myself, so I took a sharp left and plodded through the freshly cut grass of his back yard to his shed, where I stored my dirt bike.

The shed was, essentially, my own. It was a place where I didn’t have to share my tools—whatever was there was mine. Sometimes I liked to hang out in Frank’s garage (i.e. when it was cold out. The shed wasn’t heated), other times I preferred the solitude of working alone, just me and my bike and no one to answer to.

Today wasn’t normal though, and I felt no desire to hang around especially with how our last conversation went (or didn’t.) After hauling my bike out the claustrophobically sized storage shed and starting it I tore through Frank’s yard and turned onto the road, making sure to be extra loud in an effort to get my point across.

With the sun setting, it was getting colder and colder by the minute. I didn’t mind it, only focused on getting off the road as soon as I could. Despite how much how much I used my bike as a mode of transportation, it wasn’t exactly legal. If the police saw me I was screwed. While I enjoyed a thrill now and again I didn’t much like the idea of getting my dirt bike confiscated, so I avoided it when I could.

My only other ‘usual’ spot in town was Robinson Park, just a few minutes away from Marilyn’s house. To a lot of people it was too creepy to visit, with its dead trees and eerie silence—but for me, it was perfect to explore with or without my bike. In the heart of the park was a small brook which cut through the town and led out into Crystal Lake, and I liked to frequent it whenever things got to be too much for me to handle.

A safe distance away from the water’s edge I cut my bike’s engine and got off, leaving my helmet to rest on one of the handles. I couldn’t swim, so I always felt better when I was a little further away, but just close enough to enjoy the view. From where I chose to stay I had a view both of the brook and the sunset over the lake. It was a beautiful sight.

It was nice to sit down after the day I’d had, but it was impossible for me to relax. I didn’t know enough to even feel comfortable trying. Not only did I not know anything, but everything was changing. Uncle Frank was turning into my mother, and my mother was acting even kookier than usual. Dean… I didn’t even know where to place Dean on that spectrum.

Not to mention what I heard in the living room yesterday. Something was going on, and while my better senses were telling me to stay away, I just didn’t know if I could resist.