attitude | i'm a rocketeer; let's fly

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dean winchester

i'm a rocketeer; let's fly

At first, when Faye steps behind the opera house to find that Redtail has been altered, changed to allow for steam valves rather than her usual gas engine, she's furious. It's been months since she'd flown in the craft, short on fuel as she is, and having even the thought of escape torn from her is more than she can swallow in all of his snow, weather that she's been unaccustomed to since long before she landed on the island. A girl like her's meant for sun, for balmy beaches and summer breezes, the smell of suntan lotion as familiar to her as anything else. A girl like her keeps her ship in just enough shape to rush through space, stopping only when she gets lost in it, unafraid to push herself to her limit, and still ends up among the stars.

But a taxi passing by calls back her anger and draws her attention to the steam that rises into the air in whorls and puffs. Peering around the craft, she finds no fuel. No gas tank. Hours later, she's shoveled coal, sparked a fire, and the hiss of steam seems to manage just about everything— except that all gears have taken a turn for the worse, stuck in disrepair.

"Could be worse," she sighs to herself, tugging her jacket more closely around her shoulders as she rummages around in the back for a canister of oil and her tool kit, climbing out of the cockpit and situating herself underneath the belly of the ship. "So, how do we get you to fly again?"

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He hasn't let her know to expect him, but still, Dean's disappointed when his knock finds him still standing alone on her step minutes later. "Faye?" he calls up at closed window, but nobody answers, and Dean shuffles away again with a sigh. He has some free time, Cori squared away and the clinic stocked, and he'd thought it might be nice to take her to the museum or something, make fun of all the sadsack dinosaurs now that they can't hurt them.

Hands in his coat pockets, Dean walks slowly down the street, just about to turn for home when he hears a noise down the alley to the Opera House. Brow furrowed, Dean follows it, a heat stirring in his gut that he can't explain until he rounds the corner and sees just who's making all those little grunts and groans.

"Need a hand?" Dean asks with a wide grin, his hand splayed wide against the hull of the Redtail like it'd really rather be splaying somewhere else. She's a sight, all flushed and coalstained cheeks, and it's hard for Dean not to just drop to his knees right there.

A moment later, that's just what he does, his gloves peeled off and hands reaching. "Let's play buried treasure. I find the parts of you not smeared in coal and get to do whatever I want with them."

There's a touch of wonder as Faye glances up at the familiar voice, lips parted in the middle of exertion and unable to quite catch a smile before suddenly, he's hovering closely enough that she feels the warmth of him, shielding against the wintry cold. A helpless laugh escapes her as she arches a brow, hand moving to intercept his own, fingers entwining as she purses her lips. Considers his own, pushing up and pressing a light kiss there in greeting.

"I don't think so," she grins, slightly too wide as she shifts out from under Dean. "My girl's been suffering from neglect lately, and I can't always put this off for you. Especially since she could go back to a gas tank any day now. But."

Shifting to a seat, Faye brushes a thumb by his cheek, enjoying the light smear of gray it leaves behind. "Two heads should be faster than one."

"Shoulda told me your girl needed working on sooner." Working on an engine is probably the only thing that could successfully tempt him from sex, and he sits back with no trace of disappointment.

"So what does she need? Getting rusty in the snow? Some oil? I think I have a whole closetful of tools back home if you want me to get them."

Letting out a small breath that clouds in the wintry air, Faye stretches before crossing her legs, craning her neck to get a better look at the belly of the ship, open just above their heads. "Rust in the snow, I guess. Or maybe just frozen, but I managed to get the coal burning for a while, thawed her out some. I have oil in the kit over there," she nods towards a toolbox that sits by one of the gatlings. "But she's changed, and I can't quite figure out how everything works. Just in the engine. Everything else appears to be the same."

With a small quirk of her lips, Faye shrugs, although the furrow of her brow is proof enough that she doesn't plan on abandoning the project anytime soon, no matter how trying.

"Well, let's take a look," says Dean, gloves fallen and forgotten as he gets up on his knees, cramming his head into the space above them that houses the engine. "My daddy used to say a good engine was like a lover, find out what makes her purr and she'll treat you right forever."

He pokes around a bit, running his fingers here and there, just feeling her out, before he asks, "You got a three quarter ratchet in that box?"

"I hope you don't think I'm half as easy to win over," Faye remarks, sliding over to Dean's side and dragging the toolbox along with a scrape, rummaging obediently when he asks for the ratchet. "Purring only lasts so long. And the rewards will come accordingly." Carefully keeping her gaze slightly averted, she nudges him lightly in the side with the back of her hand before holding out the tool.

Pressing her lips together, Faye tilts her head in thought. "So... mechanic on the side? As a cover?"

"Had plenty of covers," Dean admits, "mechanic was never one of them. We never stayed in one town long enough for anything like that. Never more than a few weeks since I was seventeen, for sure."

He takes the offered tool and half disappears into the gorgeous belly of her ship. "N'aw, I learned this stuff for my baby. God, I wish you could see her. Nineteen sixty seven Chevrolet Impala, black as night and fucking cherry. Probably the only thing on Earth as sexy as you are," sighs Dean.

She's had stories like this of her own before, Faye supposes. Stories she used to tell, of how avidly she watched reports about the latest developments in space, or of pen pals, or of childhood friends all splashing in a fountain together under the summer sun. But it all feels distant now, halcyon days hidden somewhere deep, where it aches to pull them out at all. Listening to Dean calms her, in its own way. Sometimes, it's just easier to picture the lives of others.

"So was it love at first sight for you?" she asks curiously, arm curved around her knee, too little space in the opening to squeeze her way up there without it being a tight fit. "Or is it the memories? If I remember correctly, Chevrolets were pretty big cars."

"Both," says Dean, disappearing again, "and see, that's where some people get it wrong. They think the Impala's a muscle car, and they're not wrong about her engine, or all those sleek lines. But what the Impala is, what she really is, is a car big enough to fit a family. All those big, long bench seats, that trunk, that engine big enough to protect them from any kind of impact...I. Yeah."

Dean descends again with a shrug. "Yeah, I loved her even when I was four."

God, but it makes her stomach twist quick. Sometimes she wonders, when she's with Dean, about things like this. It's not the lack of love that she worries about— if anything, she should be alarmed by how quickly she's fallen for him (only these days, she's not, she's not at all). And although it's not something she's prepared to tell him yet, sometimes she feels it reflected with such force, in the way that he looks at her or the brush of his finger against her chin, that they rest on the tip of her tongue nonetheless. Curling the other arm around her knees, she rests her cheek on her arm, glancing up at him.

What she wonders about is just how much they can offer one another. Whether it'll be enough.

"So you want her here, huh?" she asks, only it's not the car she's wondering about. It's never been the car.

"Sometimes," Dean admits. "I miss sitting behind her wheel, the whole damn world in front of me. All I ever had to do was pick a direction. But it's not like that here."

Sighing, Dean returns to the ground. "There's nowhere to drive her. And, you know, it's funny. She felt more like home than any of the hundreds of motels we stayed. I don't want her to have to compete with the home I have here."

"I think having a home scares me," she admits, with a rush of breath too quick as she pulls her hand to the back of her neck, threading it through the hair at her nape. "Redtail was it for a while, but even then, she wasn't— she wasn't really home. She was a way to keep exploring so that I wouldn't need one. It didn't have to be her so much as it was just flying through space and with all the stars right there. Homes never seem to last long."

Her expression remains strong through the shrug, and her gaze falls distant, thinking of fallen walls and rising dust. Or of an empty ship, her steps echoing through the halls.

"But why?" Dean asks, forgoing the tool he needs to get her Redtail off the ground and returning, instead, to Faye's side. "Everybody needs a home, Faye," he murmurs, pushing the hair away from her neck to kiss the spot. "Doesn't have to be the same home for everyone, but we all need a safe space. Nothing wrong with that, is there?"

Exhaling softly, Faye considers her answer, but it all jars in her mind, too much and too quick, and all she can find the heart to do is to turn and brush her lips against his cheek, gratitude that doesn't make its presence known too garishly. That he's here means the world to her, but the last thing that Faye ever wants, with Dean or with anyone else, is to be that person who needs to pass off that weight and that burden. The only way to survive, she reminds herself, is to be able to carry it all on her own.

"It's up in the sky," she says. Up in flames. "If we get her fixed, I could show you." Her grin widens, teasing.

"Show you why a girl might never want to leave."

Dean laughs, the sound of it easy; he doesn't really think about the consequences of what he's doing, fixing her aircraft. He's in it for the engine, for the joy of some simple maintenance and mechanics, and for making her happy. He's not flying in this thing, but he's happy that she might.

"Yeah, well," he chuckles. "Maybe someday. This, though, I think I can get running this afternoon."

"Not someday, then," Faye proposes, her eyes dancing with mischief and anticipation alike, her heart lurching in her chest at the thought of being up in the air so soon, the one last part of her life— her life, and not her past— which Dean hasn't had access to yet. Perhaps that should be terrifying, in its own way. And it is. To allow someone so fully into one's life means that the departure would leave them aching in every possible way, hollows waiting just under the skin.

But if she's to live in the moment, and freely, that means throwing all the doors open, come hell or high water.

"This afternoon," she proposes, arching a brow. "Once you get it running, we'll head on up together. She's only got seating enough for one, but I don't think that should be a problem."

"If she's built for one," says Dean, all the casualness he can muster in the rise and fall of his shoulder, "better just be one." He smiles at her, projecting earnest dismay as hard as he can. "If it's not made to take on extra weight, it'll be unsafe. But hey."

He reaches, almost settling a greasy hand on her thigh before he catches himself. "It'll be better. I can see what you're doing from the ground, and you can really show her off."

Her gaze tears away for an instant, up to the sky, thinking about all the times Redtail has supported more than her share of weight. Three, four people, sometimes more cargo than anyone should have cared to take through the air— if for no other reason than the fact that the extra gas burned was a black hole in her pocket.

(Even more of an excuse, she used to say, to gamble it all away.)

Soon enough, she glances Dean's way again, struck by a sudden thought.

"You're afraid of flying, aren't you?"

"Of - " Dean repeats, suddenly breathless, "Of flying? No." He motions with his hand as if to wave the thought away, promptly disappearing back into the bowls of the engine.

"I fought monsters back home," he says, muffled, "Vampires, djinn, demons...How dumb would it be if I was afraid of flying?"

Raising a brow in amusement, Faye slipped closer to where Dean stood, laying herself out on the ground below him with a knowing smirk. There were times when Faye wasn't sure she could ever understand what went on inside his head, but just then, he wore his heart— or more accurately, his fear— on his sleeve.

And, hell, somehow it just ended up endearing.

"So fly with me," she concluded, tone easy, words light. "Unless you're afraid of my piloting."

"'Course I'm not afraid of your piloting," says Dean, mostly to cover the sound of his own uneven breathing, though it's true. "I'm sure you're a great pilot. I'm, uh."

Looking up, he sees at least twelve gears he could jam a wrench into and make his escape, but he can't do it. Not to a good engine, and not to Faye. "Yeah." He swallows, the beginnings of Metallica already in the back of his throat to distract himself. "Yeah, I'd love to go up."

"Hey."

She sits up, wraps her arms around his shoulders, her hand splaying against his back while her lips are curved in a mischievous grin, and an almost feline curiosity sharpens their edge. It softens when she sees his eyes, pointed stubbornly up at the engine, and she hooks a thumb in the loop of his jeans, gives it a slight tug.

"If you don't want to go, we don't have to go," she points out with a tilt of her head. Her grin widens, unable to keep from poking just once. "I mean, if I want to hear you shout, I'd rather it be for other reasons."

The thought goes a long way towards cheering him, and Dean grins down at her, not minding the grease they're smearing pretty neatly between their clothes. "Said I would," he replies, and hell if he actually wants to go up there - just the thought of sitting in the cockpit makes his stomach lurch - but when else will she be able to show him this, her last real bit of home?

"Will it make you happy?"

Her brows raise in slight disbelief. They shouldn't. She feels a touch bad for it as soon as they do, because of all the people she's ever known, Dean wouldn't be the kind to be disingenuous about that. He's never been anything but genuine with her, she thinks, and there's such an impulse on his end to take care of everyone that it's hard for Faye not to simply let herself go, to let herself be taken care of in the way she was once.

She brushes the back of her hand against his temple, gaze growing distanced for a second in thought.

"If you like it," she decides, a small smile on her lips and a slight wrinkle in her nose. "But if the thought really makes you sick, it's fine. I know how to fly solo."

"I said I'd go," says Dean again, mentally steeling himself even as the words leave his mouth. She wants to go up, he'll go up, and do his best to like it. "I'm not gonna puke on your cockpit, I promise."

"You know, when I'm from, flying is our equivalent of driving. The kind of thing I could probably do single-handed," she considers, brow wrinkling in sympathy. "In case you need someone to hold yours. But, how about this." Glancing above at the skyline, Faye draws a square with her finger, roughly around where she's pretty sure Buckingham Palace and its garden are.

"No further than a couple of blocks. And we won't go that high," offers Faye, even as she can feel her cheeks flush with excitement again. Truth be told, even if Dean has to sit this one out, being up to the air's going to be like nothing else she's had yet in London. And while the option of flying on her remaining fuel's still available on the island itself, Faye knows that she needs to save that.

Just in case.

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i'm a rocketeer; let's fly

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