Dean Winchester is Saved. (perditionfree) wrote in valarlogs, @ 2014-01-27 19:00:00 |
|
|||
Entry tags: | !complete, dean winchester, michael |
Who: Dean Winchester & Michael
What: They were never really friends, but that doesn’t stop them from being almost brothers
When: 1/27
Where: The Shop
Rating: Medium for language and Dean wanting to punch people.
Status: Complete
Going over the books was the part of work that Dean hated the most. It wasn’t that he didn’t have a mind for it. He did. He could make the smallest budget stretch way longer than most people could. Even now it didn’t matter that between him and Cas they could live really comfortably without all the budgeting Dean did. He still did it. He’d grown up poor and he’d gone into the Service which was just a differently dangerous means of being poor. He was resourceful. And maybe the barter economy he’d developed broke at least a dozen different regs, but it got them what they needed so that he could keep at least his shop right on budget (never under, if you were under, they just assumed you didn’t need what you were allotted,) and the higherups from poking too closely.
Scud was probably perfectly capable of managing, but Scud was also the laziest son of a bitch in the shop...which really wasn’t saying much given it was just him and Dean and occasionally their way too productive significant others. Either way, it suited Dean and Dean hated it. Hated it. That was the only reason he was doing it in the main reception area of the shop. He was hoping, really hoping that someone, anyone would come in and give him a reason to put things off more.
Michael was likely a very good reason for Dean to throw himself back into his work. Dean may have spoken to him on the net but that didn’t mean that he wanted any more to do with him. In fact Michael was pretty sure that usual veil of general irritability there was actually a desire to avoid him. He had seen it before in friends from his unit that had sporadically come to visit him during his recovery. Some seemed genuinely happy to see him and that he was still alive and wanted to talk about their shared days in the military. Others just wanted to see if he was still alive and when they found he was wanted to get away as quickly as possible. Michael had still been in the hospital at that time but he knew it really didn’t have much to do with how he looked.
Some men came back from the marines just fine, others came physically home but their minds were still back home. Those were the ones who wanted to run when they saw Michael alive and those were the ones he was sure Dean was a part of. He had to wonder if Dean truly realized that himself or if he was the same stubborn asshole he always was and had found ways to bury it. If so he was going to have to try a little harder that day because Michael wasn’t ready to stay away just yet. He was closer to the first group, though he wasn’t exactly interested in rehashing the ‘good old days’.
“Certainly better equipped than your old shop.” He said, announcing himself to Dean. “I bet everything in here is mostly legal too, that must feel odd.” he clasped his arms behind his back, the same way he had when he did inspections. At least he didn’t say ten-hut or attention when he walked in, he wouldn’t have been surprised if Dean would have even saluted if he had.
There were years of instinct bred into a response to the sound of that very particular voice. Dean couldn’t stop himself from automatically snapping to. How he’d managed to click the heels of his soft soled hiking boots even he didn’t know. His shoulders were square, back completely straight for a moment that lasted far too long. Dean shook himself out of it, trying really hard not to glare at Michael for the lack of warning. “There wasn’t anything illegal about what I had before except the means of obtaining things and if it didn’t get reported,” Dean shrugged, “who’s to say it ever happened?” He looked back down at his paperwork, pointedly grabbing the wheelie chair again so he could sit heavily in it once more. “What can I do you for?”
Michael looked like he was doing pretty alright for himself. It was good to see him walking and talking at least. Not that Dean was ever going to tell him that without a whole lot of prodding and venom. Hell, he still didn’t admit to having gone to see the guy while he was dead to the world. He might not have liked him, but that didn’t mean he wanted anyone to go out like that.
There were always black market problems around the base, there probably still were unless the guy who took over after him was stupid enough to try to crack down, then it would have been so much worse to deal with. Michael had turned a blind eye because it was necessary for morale and basic operations, not to mention the motor pool which was really what kept them all going. Michael needed Dean to get his parts and work his magic so he and his superiors only made an issue of it for show, and only when they absolutely had to.
“I drive a British car, I bet you can already tell what’s wrong.” Why the British couldn’t figure out a decent and reliable electrical system for their cars, Michael could never understand. It was something one just learned to live with if one didn’t feel like paying to have the whole thing rewired. It was such an issue than Michael hadn’t really noticed any problem with it but was dead certain that if Dean looked he would probably find more than a few faults. It made it an excellent cover for coming to see him.
“It’s British,” was Dean’s immediate answer. Still, he pushed himself out of his chair and walked to the large glass windows just to go outside and have a glance at whatever was out there. He’d taken his Mustang in to work that day. He’d kinda been feeling bad for just letting it sit in the garage most of the time after Baby showed up. Like hell he was letting Cas behind the wheel of either of his cars, though. Nope. Didn’t matter how clean his husband’s driving record was, he’d still rebuilt both those beauties from the ground up and he had full say in who touched them.
The Aston Martin parked just across the street from his pony was clearly the car in question. Michael might’ve been a bag of dicks, but at least he was a bag of dicks with some taste. For an import car at least. Dean nodded to himself. He started back over to the desk to hit the code to open the garage door. One of the garage doors. It was really obscene the sheer amount of space he and Scud had. Demon money was good for at least this. “Keys?” he asked, holding out his hand. He wasn’t about to run mental diagnostics on a car he hadn’t been behind the wheel of for at least a few seconds.
He probably shouldn’t have tossed the keys to him, but he figured he had the same shot at missing Dean’s hand no matter if he placed them there, but today was a good day and his aim was right on target. Things had been better since he had that, what he considered, one night stand with Samandriel, but the pain had started coming back the next day and by now the headaches were back in full force. His coordination seemed fine though, after all he had gotten to the shop in one piece and hadn’t broken a single traffic law.
“Easy with her, Winchester. British ladies require a delicate hand.” There was probably not anyone in the whole of California better with cars than Dean Winchester, but that didn’t mean Michael had to stroke his ego. As he saw it giving him trouble was just the most entertaining way of keeping him grounded.
Dean caught the keys without looking, rolling his eyes. “You’ve clearly never fucked one then,” he said, smirking. “The sexually repressed like it rough.” The mechanic winked, shouldering his way out of the shop to go get the car. Even Michael’s car wasn’t in any actual danger from Dean. There wasn’t any reason to be a dick to the car. The car didn’t do anything. He fired her up, sitting for a moment just to listen, nodding to himself while he made mental notes. Pulling forward and backing up into the garage was easy. He shut the car off and got out to go talk to Michael again.
“How long have you had her and you still haven’t gotten anyone to give her a half decent wire job? Fuck, man. She’s an electrical nightmare waiting to happen.” He set the keys on the counter and went to go plug in some numbers in a different window on the computer (making sure to save the books this time so Scud wouldn’t yell at him.) “No wonder she’s pissed.”
Michael really couldn’t argue when it came to sexual repression, neither could his high school girlfriends or wrestling ‘fuck buddies’. They had suffered the worst of Michael’s father loosening the iron grip on him, he had almost immediately indulged in everything he could and he hadn’t been the kindest about it. That would have probably been a surprise to just about everyone who knew him after he started at the Academy, but Michael had gotten his more wild years out of the way quickly and had settled into a generally quieter and more subdued life now, or at least that was how it looked.
“About three years, but I’ve only really been driving her for the last nine or ten months.” he didn’t have to explain why, Dean already knew. Dean had seen him even if Michael hadn’t known he was there at the time. “I’d call it more passive aggressive, but I know she isn’t happy either way.”
Dean snorted. "Not passive aggressive. You just suck at listening." Which wasn't any kind of surprise. He kept poking things in the system, making notes on the parts they were going to have to import and the ones he and Scud could build custom from scratch better than the actual manufacturers had managed.
He cleared his throat and turned his attention back to Michael. "You got an alternate ride to work with while we take care of her? It's gonna be about a week between fabrication and overseas shipping." Which was what you got when you drove an Import like that and took it to Dean. If he didn't have to cut corners on vintage rides, he wasn't going to.
“Yeah, that’s not going to be a problem.” He actually didn’t drive as often as it seemed. One of the first things he had done when he moved to California was get in touch with a certain special taxi service recommended to him at the VA that mostly dealt with wounded veterans and the like. It wasn’t free, which Michael was generally glad for but it was reliable and the drivers so far hadn’t pestered him much. He could manage a conversation on a good day but for the most part he was happy enough to stay quiet, though generally if he wasn’t driving himself he wasn’t having a good day.
“Are we talking about an actual week or a Dean Winchester ‘It’ll be done when I say it’s done and not one goddamn minute before’ sort of week?” Dean got the job done and he did amazing work, most of all he got it done exactly when you needed it most. Again, Dean didn’t need to hear that. Over-inflated ego would have slowed him down, made it difficult for him to get through doorways, and he did really want his car back at some point.
"It'll be done exactly when I say it's done and not one goddamn minute before," Dean replied gruffly. Much as he wasn't pleased to see Michael, it was kinda nice to have someone around who didn't need to get used to the way he operated. A messed up kind of freedom for all that his time in the Service wasn't. "I'll handle it as quick as I can," and the 'sir' was right there on the tip of his tongue begging to be said but going up against that Winchester stubborn streak.
"If shit gets weird again around here, it might take longer, but I'll keep you informed as long as you remember how not to be on my ass about it." There were people who would absolutely interrupt the workflow by checking up on their cars daily. Dean wasn't going to let anyone down, but bugging him like that just added to billable hours and the exercise the muscle in his jaw got from twitching so much. He handed a clipboard over to Michael. "Get your details?"
“If shit gets weird? Don’t you mean if things get busy?” he asked as he took up the pen, trying to mentally calm himself and focus on what he had to do. Writing by hand was still difficult, his handwriting now was completely different from his original but he made it work, even if it took a little time. “And believe me, now that I’m not getting paid to do it, riding your ass is a hell of a lot less appealing.”
Maybe that wasn’t true, there was always something he enjoyed about shouting and watching everyone jump. Dean Winchester though, getting him to jump was really satisfying. Maybe not as satisfying as writing down his information and seeing that it did actually look like words and not scribbles and scratches on the sheet, but it was still pretty high up there on the list of satisfying things.
"No, I mean if shit gets weird," Dean said, watching the way Michael didn't hold a pen quite the same way he had before, how he took his time writing and the letters were completely different from what they looked like back when he was getting his ass handed to him every day that ended with y. He looked down, not pitying, but just...well aware that it coulda easily been him, that it was finding out that Michael was in the hospital that got him into...well not legit work, but not selling his goddamn body work either. He didn't like how the guy reminded him of the vague memories he had of his dad actually being something close to decent once or twice. He'd been real young when that happened.
He pressed the button to shut the garage door and get Michael's baby safe and sound where no one but him was gonna touch her. He stuck the keys in his lockbox, ignoring Scud's for the time being. The books could wait. "Shit gets weird around these parts. I don't mean like nudists doing a triathlon weird," though sometimes that happened too and was pretty weird, "I mean like x-files the fuck is going on weird." Busying himself with paperwork gave Michael more than enough time and space to take his time without Dean staring or making things more uncomfortable. There wasn't any damn need to make this weirder than it was. He probably would before shit was over soon anyway. "You need a ride somewhere?" That was less an offer and more as much of a command as Dean thought he could get away with.
“You trying to order me around, Master Gunny?” he briefly dipped into his ‘Major’ voice, the one he had reserved for barking out orders and bawling out his men. He may have been different from the last time Dean saw him but the ‘Major’ was always going to be in there somewhere, and he was not in the habit of letting some enlisted man try to order him around. “This isn’t boxing day,” and then back came regular Michael. “I’ve got it covered thanks.”
That talk of weird things got Michael to look up after it had festered in his mind a moment, eyebrow raised like he was trying to figure out if Dean was messing with him. Of course Dean wouldn’t know about his hallucinations but it didn’t stop him from feeling a little paranoid. “X-Files, right. There are supercomputers trying to kill people and the kid at Lux has wings that pop out when he plays his violin well.” he muttered more to himself as he glanced down to write his signature at the bottom. This was harder than printing and while he had been practicing to make it match his old one he was still pretty far off. “It’s California, land of plastic bodyparts and hippies and heathens and all that stuff they teach you to fear when you grow up in Kansas. It’s weird enough without aliens running around.”
Dean couldn’t help but look darkly at Michael when the Major voice came back out. It wasn’t something that grated on him so much in the sandbox, but this was his shop and his civilian life and Michael sure as fuck wasn’t one of the people who got to order him around in it. “Not ordering you around, sir,” he said, voice hitting that honorific just so in order to make sure Michael knew just how much he didn’t appreciate being bossed around right now. “Just offering you a ride in something that’s not a cab.” Shit, Dean would’ve made the guy burgers and actually attempted something at friendly catching up, but if Michael was going to be a dick about it then Dean wasn’t going to waste his time.
The muttering pricked his ears, and all he could think for a heavy moment was goddamnit, Samandriel. What was the kid getting himself into? And why the hell could Michael see his wings when Dean could only manage catching shadows when the angels attempted it or guessing at what was going on with them based on body language. He set his jaw, weighing his fondness for the kid with how much he wanted to fuck with Michael’s head. Probably, the kid wouldn’t care if he was outed. It wasn’t like he made any kind of effort to hide what he was online or whenever anyone asked. Dean rubbed his face and then took the clipboard back, moving automatically to enter information into the system without making a single comment about the guy’s even shittier than it used to be handwriting.
It was way easier to focus when he didn’t have to go looking at Michael’s stupid face that reminded him of something he’d seen in a dream. Oh fuck. Fuck. The pieces were coming together way too easily, and Dean absolutely didn’t want to think about how they were lining up. Goddamn angels. “That kid,” he said, eyes on the screen, making a gesture, “‘bout that high, scrawny little thing, big blue eyes?” He glanced over at Michael, not really needing confirmation. There was only one violinist at Lux. “You actually talk to him or did you just try not to stare at what you thought you were seeing?” The really sad thing was that he’d seen Samandriel recently, knew what the kid put himself through and that there wasn’t any reason for him to be getting lost enough in his music to forget to keep his wings hidden. Either Michael talked to him or the kid felt the guy in the room and was actually just showing off because he could.
“I believe his name is Samandriel and it was a joke.” Michael pointed out. He wasn’t going to actually admit to having hallucinations, it was bad enough that Dean had seen his handwriting, he didn’t need to know that he was bad enough that he could sometimes see and hear things that weren’t actually there. He would admit to occasional bouts of synesthesia but only his doctors were aware of the hallucinations and Michael was happy enough keeping it that way. He didn’t want Dean’s pity, of anyone else’s for that fact, as far as he was concerned he was doing just fine.
“Why? He a friend of yours?” In the service Dean had seemed very heterosexual, but then so had Michael who avoided labels, and pretty much all the men under his command. DADT had only lifted after they were discharged but while it had been in effect the smart thing had been to keep anything that wasn’t ‘hetero-normal’ to yourself. Michael had never suspected that Dean was in the same boat, though if his words on his husband were to be believed he hadn’t been at the time. But now that he was open about it, had that husband, it wasn’t too far out of the realm of possibility that Samandriel had gotten as ‘friendly’ as he had been with Michael.
Dean was honestly surprised that Michael had bothered to remember that mouthful of a name. Shit, Dean didn’t even manage using it most of the time. ‘The kid’ sat much easier on his tongue no matter how much it annoyed absolutely everyone else. He fixed Michael with a look, one that suggested that he very much was not getting too friendly with the kid. That was mostly Cas’ job...mostly. Whatever. Michael didn’t need to know the complexities of his sex life. “He’s my husband’s kid brother,” Dean said firmly. Technically, he was Cas’ little brother. Genetically, not so much, which only helped things, because fuck Dean did not want to think too hard about that.
He looked back at the computer, “Not only that, but he’s the guy I send anyone who’s been screwed over by the VA getting back to...whatever passes for normal.” Dean shook his head. “Not like any of you idiot jarheads actually admit it when you need help,” he said, including himself in that. How many times had Cas yelled at him for just that? How many of their fights could have been avoided if Dean had actually found it in him to say something instead of just forcing himself to suffer in silence? Dean cleared his throat. “Anyway, the wings… If you’re playing real or not real with yourself, file those under real.” Dean made eye contact with Michael, making it clear that he wasn’t fucking with him, and that he’d seen some shit since he’d been back too.
Michael positively beamed at hearing the young man he had slept with was in some way related to Dean, not wanting to give anything away was the only reason he didn’t actually laugh at the thought. Dean’s new family, or at least his brothers in law, had a hard time keeping away from Michael it seemed which he found tremendously amusing as Dean likely hoped he would never have to deal with his old CO again. Of course sleeping with the little one was going to be a ‘one and done’ thing as far as Michael was concerned, but there was always the possibility of striking up a friendship with one one who kept offering him penis candles and shitty B movies. “That makes sense, I suppose,” he said when he was able to get his smile under control. “He does seem very fond of soldiers.”
The look in Dean’s eyes was compelling, but not enough for him to believe that the man was being wholly genuine. Michael may have believed in angels and most other things that went along with the Catholic faith, but he was reluctant to believe that they hung about on earth playing the violin and having sex with broken former soldiers. “Right, sure, the boy has wings. They’re huge and bright and change from color to color.” he was actually describing what he believed he had seen but since Samandriel hadn’t said a word about them when he caught him staring he believed, and was happy to, that they were in his imagination. “Maybe you ought to have him look at you.”
The mechanic was having a hard time not punching Michael on principle. “Yeah, you see him again, you should ask him about his time serving.” Samandriel might kill him for it, but if Dean was guessing right, most of it wasn’t going to be anything Michael wouldn’t find out eventually. Mostly, he was just pissed as hell that it seemed like pretty much everyone else could see angel wings where he couldn’t. It was bullshit. There was a question hanging in the back of his mind, making him wonder exactly how much he wanted to fuck with his old CO.
“He doesn’t like looking at me like that,” he said instead of bringing up Lucifer. That just seemed like cruel and unusual punishment for a good Catholic boy like Michael. Finding out the pretty little angel you maybe (probably judging by the look on his face) fucked (or were now planning on fucking,) had tied himself very firmly to the Devil might break him. Dean was all for messing with Michael’s head, but relegating him to anger and a never-ending stream of Our Fathers and Hail Marys was...yeah unnecessary. No doubt Michael would figure it out soon enough anyway.
Dean shifted and pulled up the sleeve on his olive drab shirt, revealing the handprint brand that’d been left there when a certain socially inept angel had dragged his ass out of Hell. “I’m not his charge to fix.”
“What the hell is that?” Michael asked before he was really fully able to process what he was seeing. He had to think back to the last time he had seen Dean shirtless or at least sleeveless, just to be sure that he hadn’t seen it before. His memory really wasn’t the best anymore but he felt he would have remembered something like that, especially as comparing tattoos had been such a big thing on base. But the thing was that whatever it was on Dean’s arm it didn’t look like a tattoo. It looked almost like scars from a burn. “Were you branded? Is that a thing now?”
At least if Dean was showing it to him it was a pretty good indication that he wasn’t just seeing things. He might have been out of it for a while but he was still pretty sure that getting branded wasn’t a popular new thing when it came to body modification. He didn’t really question the ‘he doesn’t look at me like that, not his charge’, he simply assumed that Samandriel’s ‘seeing to’ was pretty much sex based and it made sense to him that he wouldn’t do that. Dean was a married man after all, and the kid was apparently his brother-in-law. “Why would you do that to yourself?”
Dean was at least glad that Michael hadn’t decided to reach out and touch it as he jammed his sleeve back down. “I didn’t do this to myself,” he said firmly. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he could hear Castiel going on about how when an angel lays claim to a human soul, it leaves a mark- a brand. “Didn’t even ask for it to be done. Just woke up one day and there it was all fully healed like it’d been there forever.” It’d been the same in the dreams. Dean’d just crawled out of his own grave with it and it was fine. Weird, but fine. “Look, man. Believe me or not, but shit gets weird in the OC. I don’t know what more you want me to say here, because anything that falls out of my mouth is just gonna sound batshit anyway.”
“I’m pretty used to you talking bullshit, batshit really isn’t all that far off.” He was pretty quick with that, it was the typical, automatic thing when dealing with anyone who had been under his command longer than a week. There was also fun to be had talking to Dean like that, but for the moment he was trying to find his way through what he was saying. Waking up with a branding was odd as it was likely painful to receive and even if he had been drunk at the time he probably would have remembered getting it. “Right. So you’re saying the kid I took home the other night, your brother-in-law, is some kind of angel or something? And that you were made somebody’s ‘charge’? It does certainly sound batshit, Winchester.”
“I’m not saying he’s some kind of angel or something. I’m saying he is an angel point blank end of statement. Kid. Angel. And-” Dean glared at Michael. “You fucked the kid?” He couldn’t help but arch a warning brow, that muscle in his jaw twitching again for all the things he really wasn’t saying. If Michael hadn’t been his CO, he wouldn’t have bothered even trying to refrain the patented Winchester murder look. As it was, he was real close to the kind of visible anger he got when his boys fucked something up that could’ve screwed the whole unit. “That better have been a one night stand.” It didn’t matter if Michael was Michael or not. He wanted that asshole nowhere near anyone as good as Samandriel was.
He had seen that brow arch and twitch before and he was enjoying it more than he ever had before. There was something very entertaining about getting under that tough skin, like poking a bear. Of course poking a bear took skill if one didn’t want to get mauled, the same was true of Dean. Getting him riled was one thing but letting him explode after Michael had just given him his car was probably a pretty bad idea. “He’s very persuasive,” Michael buried that urge to smile. “But I wouldn’t worry, he’s not exactly my type. Though I may have to call him later and ask if he could do whatever it was he did to my head again.” he had a difficult time believing Samandriel was really an angel, no matter how sure Dean seemed. “It’s actually rather sweet that you’re so loyal and protective of family.”
Dean wanted to point out that Michael’s type could be redefined into ‘anyone who would piss Dean off.’ That was a low blow, and while Dean really was protective of his family he knew the kid was more than capable of handling himself. “Family don’t end with blood,” he said simply, parroting the words that his dream father-figure had said so many times. Bobby was way more a dad than John had ever been. The fucked up part was that Dean would have defended them both equally at least in that life. In this one? John was lucky he got a dismissive not worth the effort from Dean.
“Go call your damn ride,” he muttered. Dean was done with this conversation. He had shit to do that had nothing at all to do with convincing Michael about the weird shit that went on around here. He’d figure it out himself sooner or later and when he did, he couldn’t say that Dean hadn’t tried to warn him.
“It was good seeing you too, Dean.” he didn’t drag out the ‘Major’ voice again to comment on how he wasn’t allowed to dismiss him but he had made his point already, and in a way that was less likely to break Dean’s restraint and end with Michael’s broken nose. Still, he wasn’t entirely finished with the man. He headed outside, intending to make his call out of earshot in case he also decided to call Samandriel and ask after what Dean had tried to tell him. If nothing else it might make the violinist laugh. Just as he was about to leave earshot he called out to Dean. “Dismissed, Winchester.”