More than a Memory

Chapter 8

Dean had gone back to semi-normal speed, trying not to tailgate the little silver sedan in front of him. When he had tried whipping in and out of traffic again, Claire had threatened him again. He many not be afraid of the small girl in his passenger's seat, but he did have to admit he was driving a little recklessly, knowing that Ben was in good hands. So, he had got behind a car doing at least 80, leaned back in the car a little and flipped the radio through until he found some classic rock. This was the way the two rode for the next 100 miles or so and were half way through Nebraska.

Claire had drifted off at one point. Dean had stopped for gas and some lunch, grabbing cheap hot dogs, chips and soda before they hit the road again. Neither of them said much. They both ate, Dean quicker than her so he could get back to driving. He wanted to make it to the bunker by dinner time. If he kept up his legal speed limit driving, he would be there in another three hours.

"So, what's the deal with these Men of Letters guys?" Claire asked in between snacking on her chips.

Dean sighed and turned the radio down some and looked at Claire. He looked back in front of him and ran a hand over his face, "Well, let's first get the difference outta the way. Sam-well Sam used to be, along with Mom..." He paused, his voice breaking at the end. He grunted and gripped the steering wheel.

"What's wrong now? God, ya pms more than any woman I know," Claire chided, playfully punching his arm.

Dean sighed and chuckled lightly, "Yeah, I guess you're right. I'm turnin' into a fuckin' wimp."

Claire took a drink of her mountain dew and then folded her legs up under herself, making herself more comfortable. She looked Dean over for the first time since the drive. He had grown a lot harder since the last time she had seen him. She thought maybe it was just from saving the world, like three more times since they had last seen each other, but the more time they spent together, the more she was beginning to think his home life was turning to shit. She didn't really have room to talk, but she was worried about him. Yeah, Dean was good at being upset about something, but normally he would burry it behind several walls and a few glasses of beer. She almost pitied him, but at the same time, was proud of him for finally being able to tlak about things openly. "Man, Cass really brought ya outta your shell," she said with a half smile and then munched on another chip.

Dean wrinkled his brows and looked over at her, "Was that a pity-smile?"

Claire looked down at the chipped, dark purple nail polish on her fingers and picked a few pieces off, "What are ya talkin' 'bout, old man?" Dean opened his mouth to protest but she added, "I'm glad ya finally have someone to talk to. I'm glad Cass made ya realize ya don't have to fight all of your inner battles alone." She reached over and patted his arm and then cleared her throat, "But enough of that. Finish tellin' me why these British Men of Letters are no good."

Dean chuckled and patted her hand, "Alright, little girl, lemme teach ya a thing or two."

Claire pulled her hand back and smiled, "Man, if you were twenty years younger, that might be real kinky." Dean looked over at her and she winked and then giggled.

"I forgot how much sass and flirt ya have in ya, kid," Dean chuckled and then cleared his throat. "Well," he started and Claire shifted in her seat, reaching for her soda. "Those fuckin' British Men of Letters took Sammy early on and tortured the poor kid. He was in real bad shape when Mom and I finally found him in the middle of nowhere, drenched in freezin' cold water, coverd in scrapes and burns."

"Why?" Claire interjected, sitting up-right in her seat, her face angry.

"As Lady whatshername said as she had me tied up, they wanna get rid of us, the Winchesters, because they're gettin' tired of cleanin' up after our messes," Dean bit out.