Chapter Text
Dean is standing in his living room, deciding which box to unpack first. The guys from his new firehouse and his brother, Sam, were a great help when it came to unloading the box truck he drove down from Chicago. But even after plying them with pizza and beer, they wouldn’t help him unpack the boxes. He figures them pitching in to put together his bed and bookshelves is as good as it gets.
Today is his first day off. Of course, he had two days when he arrived to get into the new house, ‘Dude, I own a house!’ , but then he had his first three-day shift right off the bat.
Benny, Garth, and Victor are on his rotation, and they’re pretty amazing guys. Garth usually drives the big engine carrying the guys and the gear, and Victor drives the rescue truck with Benny, the House EMT. The House is a smaller neighborhood station, and they don't have a big ladder truck. He kinda misses riding the big articulated ladder truck.
Interestingly, the original station was located half a mile away from the current one and opened in 1946. It was one of the first buildings in the township, other than the few houses and post office. The location that Dean is working at opened in March 2021. Another interesting fact is that once he puts a gate in his back fence, he can walk the 100 yards to get to the station's front door. There is a grove of trees between his cul-de-sac and the road where the station is located, but it’s an easy, reasonably straight path across.
Realizing that he isn’t going to get anything done inside right now—it’s just too pretty out—he heads to the front yard to check out the flower bed. ‘I have a real freakin’ flower bed!’ . Getting busy weeding out some of the overgrowth, he feels a sort of proud satisfaction. He used to grumble about yard work when he was a kid but secretly loved spending that time with his parents.
Speaking of family, it’s nice only being 45 minutes from Sam, instead of the seven and a half hours it was for the past several years. Sam lives and works in Kansas City, and Dean is now in Lawrence. Funny being back in the town where he was born. He doesn’t really remember it, though. His dad got a job in Topeka when he was about ten, so his memories of Lawrence are mostly from photos and stories. He does remember loading little Sammy and all the soft drink bottles he could find into a wagon and hauling it to that old firehouse to redeem for a handful of coins. Which he usually spent at the little corner store on cola and candy for them to share on the walk home.
Smiling, Dean sits on his butt and claps the dirt off his hands; he looks around and notices his neighbor sitting on his front porch. He waves and hollers a friendly “Hey neighbor!” but doesn’t get a response. The guy seems to be working on his laptop and must have earbuds in or something. Oh well, he tried.
Dean is tidying up the rubbish and raking some new mulch around the flower bed when he sees the guy suddenly get up and start running down the block to the corner. He left his laptop sitting there unattended. That shit wouldn't fly in Chicago. Dean watches the guy jog down the sidewalk. He hears the squeaking brakes before he sees the yellow school bus.
The doors open, and a child leaps from the steps into the man's arms. He hugs the kid tight before swinging them up onto his shoulders. If the bouncy blonde pigtails and pink cowboy boots are anything to go by, a little girl. She is so busy waving her hands in front of his face that it’s a miracle the man doesn’t trip. Dean can hear the girl giggling from a couple of houses away, and the man is smiling from ear to ear. When they reach their yard, the man lifts her up and twists her over until her little boots touch the ground.
“More, more. Do it again, Daddy!” she squeals while her little hands motion toward her dad. He picks her up once again and holds her above his head, tickling and jostling her until she wraps her legs around his chest and kisses him on the cheek. He leans down and gently falls into the grass; the girl jumps up and skips around him, singing and laughing before flopping down beside him.
Dean watches the scene in a state of awe, unnoticed by the pair. While they catch their breath, Dean’s eyes drop to his lap, and he reaches up and wipes a stray tear from his cheek. Nope. He can’t go there.
He gets up and heads to the shed to put his tools away.
When he returns to the front yard to put the hose away, the little girl is standing on the edge of her driveway watching him. He smiles and waves. She smiles back, glances over her shoulder, and steps into the grass. Her big, curious, blue eyes are fixed on Dean. She slowly reaches the property line and barely toes her little pink boots into his yard.
“Hi,” Dean says as he wraps the hose on the hook. “I’m Dean. I’m your new neighbor.”
“I know; I watched you, and the firemen unload that big truck. Are you a fireman too?”
“Yes, I am.”
“Oh, that’s nice.” She inches closer and looks Dean up and down. She stops about halfway onto his lawn. “I’m Claire,” she gestures with her hand, then points to her house, “That’s my daddy. His name is Cas.” She makes a different gesture, and it finally clicks. She’s using sign language.
His heart skips a beat. He tenses internally and forces himself to move past it.
“He works on his computer, making cool games. He makes me new games sometimes too. He’s the best daddy ever.”
“He sounds wonderful. You’re a smart little thing, aren't you?”
“Yes, I am. I’m in the first grade; I’m so much smarter than Taylor, but he’s just a silly boy.”
“Yeah, boys are silly. Hey, I like your boots. I’ve got some cowboy boots, but they ain’t nearly as cool as yours.”
“Really? Can you show me?”
“Well, I still haven’t got all my stuff unpacked yet. But I’ll be glad to show you as soon as I find them.”
“Sweet!”
There is a clapping sound, and Claire whips around to look at her dad. “I gotta go.”
“It was nice meeting you, Claire. Maybe next time you can introduce me to your dad.”
“Okay,” she yells as she runs across the two yards. She clomps up the steps and begins signing excitedly to her dad. The man, Cas, glances over at Dean and gives a small smile before taking his daughter inside.
It’s been a productive morning; Dean has unpacked all his clothes and got that shit put away like the friggin adult he is, set up the laundry room, and is nearly finished unboxing and putting away all the kitchen items.
That’s when the terrible ruckus at his front door begins. The bell is ringing nonstop, and someone is banging on the door. Then he hears his name being called in an agonizing cry from Claire.
“Dean! Dean! Please help!”
He swings the door open and is kicked in the shin. “Ow. Claire, what’s going on?”
“Daddy,” she pants, face tear-stained, “he cut his hand, and then he fell down. He won’t wake up. Dean, please, help me!”
Dean returns to the kitchen to collect his first aid kit, grabs the little girl, and runs barefoot across the lawn. “Where is he?”
“Kitchen.”
Flying into the house, he rushes into the kitchen and sees Cas sitting up against the cupboard doors, holding the back of his head. His left hand is draped across his knee, the injury dripping blood onto the floor. Dean sets Claire down and kneels next to the man.
“Claire, I’m going to need you to translate for me. Can you do that?”
She nods and pats her dad on the leg.
He looks up, glassy-eyed, and gives her a weak smile.
“I’m going to tell him what I’m doing, but you need to help me, so he understands. Got it, hun?”
“Yes, sir.” She begins signing.
“Okay, buddy. I’m going to check your head. I need to be sure you didn’t do any severe damage there.” He carefully feels the back and sides of Cas’s head, and there is a slight bump but nothing too bad, and no blood. “Alright, I’m going to look at your hand now.” Cas wobbles as he looks toward Dean and then back at Claire. “Ssss, yeah, that’s to the bone. That finger is gonna need a couple of stitches.”
Dean notices the running water and some fresh veg on a cutting board and understands what happened. “You just fainted, buddy. That sometimes happens when you run cold water over a fresh wound. You’re gonna be fine. I can drive you to the clinic if you want.”
Cas nods slightly. Dean checks the freezer and finds an ice pack in the shape of a penguin. ‘That’ll do.’ He places it against the back of Cas’s head and helps him up, setting him in a kitchen chair. “I’ll go get my car. Wait, Claire, are you okay without a car seat?”
“I’m supposed to use my booster, but if you drive carefully, I can sit like a big girl in the back seat.”
“Okay, sweetie, talk to your dad. I’ll be right back. Hey,” he ruffles her messy blonde locks, “you’re doing great. I’m proud of you.”
She looks up with those big blue eyes that he now realizes are the spitting image of her father. The thought speeds across his mind, ‘Where is her mother?’ but it’s gone before he can grasp it.
Carefully, Dean walks Cas into the clinic and directs him to a seat.
“Hi, my neighbor had a little kitchen accident. I think he will need a few stitches on his finger, and he may have fainted and bumped his head. Um, do you guys have an ASL interpreter? His daughter is helpful, but she’s only six.”
“Oh, yes, sir. If you will have him fill out these forms, I’ll notify Pam to come up and lend a hand.” The nurse winks and picks up the phone.
Dean fights the urge to roll his eyes at the pun.
Cas is busy completing the intake forms when a pretty brunette kneels in front of him and waves to get his attention. She begins to sign. He promptly answers.
“Psst, Dean,” Claire stage-whispers, “that’s Miss Pam; she teaches ASL at my school.”
“Oh yeah?” He smiles at the woman.
“Only part-time, I also teach at the civic center. Evening classes.” Pam smiles back and raises an eyebrow. “You’re new.”
“Um, yeah. Just moved to town. I’m at Station 6. You’ll likely be seeing quite a bit more of me around.”
“Plan on bringing all your neighbors to the clinic? Or is Cas a special case?”
“I, um… I mean… I was just….”
“Settle down, hot shot. I’m just teasing. Welcome to Lawrence.”
“Heh, thanks.” Dean rubs the back of his neck and glances at Cas and Claire.
“Come on, Cas,” Pam says as she signs. “Dean, can you watch over Claire while we get him fixed up?”
“Of course.”
Claire scoots over into the seat her dad vacates, leaning heavily against Dean. “Thank you, Dean. I’m glad you’re our neighbor.”
“Hey, Claire. How did you know the guys who helped me move in were firemen?”
“Mmm, my class took a field trip to the new fire station, and Mr. Benny and Mr. Garth teach fire safety and first aid at my school. They bring the big fire engine for show and tell.”
“Oh, cool.”
He strokes her hair, finger-combing out the tangles and smoothing it into halfway decent curls down her back. A distant memory threatens, but he refuses to allow it to take hold. He can’t. He won’t. This isn’t the time. Instead, he focuses on the silky-smooth feel of this child’s golden locks. Knowing that her dad is okay and will be back out shortly.