Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

I Don't Want Your Photograph

Destiel 

Changes - David Bowie

"Turn And Face The Strange"

It was a daily thing; the ache in the shoulder, spine, back, the neck, the muscles, and bones; all twined together into one giant ache and multiple aches. A thing that was a constant reminder of exhaustion from traveling on the open road and being in discomfort sitting or laying in the leather seats of the ole 1967 Chevy Impala. Even when they weren't traveling Dean could feel the exhaustion. The ache in stiffened joints, tired muscles and the smell of stale fries that were trapped underneath the seats. A smell that became all too familiar that the Winchester's barely noticed it anymore. It was a part of them.

Dean stretched his arms outwards, lacing his fingers in the process and bringing them forward, away from him. He cracked his knuckles and craned and cracked his neck, his young priming body popped quietly to his ears as he stretched. He had been woken up, to his annoyance, to his ecstatic little brother, Sammy, who sat in the back seat of the Impala.

Sam beamed at him, childish grin and gleeful blush across his boyish features, eager and determined to get inside the new - well new to them at least - house. Sam climbed out of the car, somehow practically jumping out the open window and opening the car door altogether, leaving the heavy door open as he scurried away with his tattered, dingy, orange duffel bag in his hands to the rickety, graying porch. John Winchester grumbled after his younger son, digging the keys out of the ignition and climbed out of the vehicle, closing the door with a crashing creak that woke Dean more from his daze from the drowsiness his eyes held. He looked out to the house that they were renting there for a while since John Winchester finally managed to find work at an old coal plant just a few miles out of Sioux Falls. Ending them smack, dab in the middle of nowhere; Hartford, South Dakota.

Dean turned to look at his father in the rearview mirror that had called him over to the trunk of the car, he popped his shoulder and with his own duffel bag that had been at his feet the whole trip, climbed out of the Impala. Closing the weighted, passenger door with the same creaking intent, slamming the door the same way that John had earlier when he left the vehicle, somewhat to prove a point of some kind, but also those doors were a bit of a bitch to close anyway. "Sir?" he looked to his father.

"Help your brother inside and take your cases inside," John ordered, standing broad-shouldered as he dug to the back of the trunk, his voice low from the exhaustion of driving such a long trip, a six-hour drive, all in one go, very few stops this time around. Nothing they weren't used to. Shit, they lived in the Impala once for a while when times were tough.

"Yes, sir." Dean lifted the suitcase from the trunk, shifting his weight with the duffel bag over his shoulder, avoiding eye contact as he took the keys from his father.

Dean looked at the farmhouse. It was a small, family-sized, white, two-story house. The white paint had chipped and aged off and the wood beneath had begun to turn a dingy gray and had a few chipped spots off the wood siding. The porch was bowing and shaking beneath his weight as he walked up to the steps towards the door. Guess this will be home for the while, Dean thought to himself sarcastically, maybe a week or so tops.

He sighed as he set the case down and fiddled with the bundle of keys to unlock the door. The key stuck in the lock, as expected, it hadn't been used in years at the most. Finally, he managed to get the door unlocked and set the keys of the windowsill. Sam ran inside and up the stairs, most likely choosing his room, a new sense of territory, of ownership. They owned nothing beside the contents in their suitcases and duffel bags.

Dean carried the suitcase in and stood in the doorway, getting a surrounding of the area before entering completely as if looking for any threats, a habit he had. He took a deep, regretful whiff. His nose crinkled as he cringed, he felt like sneezing and he could slightly see some of his freckles come into his vision as his face contorted. He smelt pungent air of the musty, mildew, tar-settled covered walls, aged paint, and dust. Most likely from the previous renters of many years before that had smoked, slowly shading the walls yellow-brown with their long term smoking, a dying habit, their habit. Not his.

"C' mon, Dean, outta the way."

Dean moved out of his thoughts at the attention of detail he grasped from the sound of his father's gruff voice. Almost flinching, he moved away from the doorway swiftly giving his father room to enter with a load of boxes, probably books, maybe the few dishes they owned, two of them from the accident and a few others from yard sales, thrift shops the likes. Dean went up to the stairs slowly, suitcase in hand, the duct-taped covered strap of his duffel over his shoulder. He steered himself to his right, away from the master bedroom, and turned to the nearest room, which was empty. Sam knew their constructed rules. 

It's a just in case matter of escape for the two of them, in case John gets off his I'm-Drunk-Off-My-Rocker moods, they rarely happen anymore.

They had always managed to end up in South Dakota. John had a few friends that lived around Pierre and Ellis that could check on Dean and Sam while he was at work or away on one of his benders. This time in Hartford thought they would be in the care of Bobby Singer who was now announced to be regularly the one to do it now. Dean was always at ease with the older man, he considered Bobby family at this point in life since Bobby has taken the boys in so many times in their lives.

Bobby had come over later that evening to help the Winchester’s unpack and put necessities in place, and haul over Dean’s trusty pick-up truck. He had even checked the plumbing since there was a leak in the bathroom faucet, allowing Dean to help because as he put it in his thick drawl “Even idjits need t'know a way around rustin' pipes.”

Dean was always relaxed when it came to working with his hands, he especially liked working on anything technical or car-related. He learned everything about cars that he could between Bobby and John, the rest he read up on. At one of his old schools - well the last one he attended before the move, he ended in the Auto-Tech classes and was working his way to being a licensed mechanic, but that changed when they moved away a week before his test. It had infuriated him, but he never told his dad his plan on going to college for engineering after he saved money up and got Sammy through it first, Sam had way more potential when it came to academics. Not like the man would care anyway, or even notice. So, it was just another thing Dean would “let go” of in the long run and would have to "forget about", like that girl Cassie that Dean had trained himself - or attempt - to believe that she was just one of his crushes and not the love of his life, he promised to write to her if cell service was shit. Which it was, he would get paper and envelopes later for her specifically.

He was handing Bobby tools this time around though, so he ended up twiddling his fingers or rubbing the greasy tools in his hands until Bobby asked for them.

“What’s eatin’ ya, kid?” Bobby’s voice woke him from his thoughts of Cassie and working with his hands, “Ya seem antsy,” he looked at the man under the sink, then looked away again.

Dean fiddled with the wrench in his hand, the metal cool against his fingers and he pressed his thumbnail into the grooves, scratching to pop one at a time in a rhythm. “School,” he mumbled low, barely audible if his voice wasn't so easy to carry as is and in a small space that the bathroom was. He stared at the greasy grooves on the tool, "Starting a new one's got me nervous is all."

Bobby huffed and sat up from under the sink wiping water from his hands with an old grease rag he carried everywhere, “Ya’ know you can talk to me,” Bobby trailed off, his accent laying thick as he continued, “Is it about your daddy?”

Dean shook his head, looking down at his steel-toed, boot's shoelaces, “Just tired.” he sighed, his eyes feeling bleary.

“Mhm,” Bobby hummed, “Well, whenever you wanna talk about your old man or anything else, talk.” he grabbed another tool and moved the pipe to the side, “You can go on to your room, take a rest.”

“You sure?” Dean checked Bobby’s face for another order for a new tool or to see if it was a joke.

“‘Course I’m sure, you’ve been travelin' for about a week straight, back and forth to God knows where, and you ain’t doin’ no good bein' in here twiddlin' your thumbs, trying with bendin' my tools.” Bobby barked a tease, a sparkle of amusement in his eyes.

Dean smiled lightly to Bobby, “Thanks, Bobby.”

“Now go on, ya idjit.” Bobby grumped with a smile, continuing his work.

Dean stood slowly, head swimming with dizziness and left the avocado-green bathroom. The bathroom he knew he would be scrubbing down the next day. Not because he had to, but because who knew when the last time it had been cleaned and God knows who had lived there before them. He cringed and shivered at the thought and tip-toed to his room.

He entered his room, dust was settled on the bowing bedframe and the old, rustic dresser that was leftover from the last family, from God knows when the only thing updated in this house were the bathrooms and kitchen and that had to be in the 1960s to the possible 1980s since they were multicolored and pukey looking. Today was productive in travel, fixing and unpacking, but he never slowed down enough to actually unpack anything in his room with the places he's lived, shit, he even has to leave stuff behind on occasion or Sammy does. He opened his window to let some air in and just decided to spread a blanket down across the full-sized bed and lay on it, he wasn’t much for covers anyway, he was sure he’d be warm enough in his tattered KSU Wildcats hoodie. He kicked his shoes off and laid out in a supine position, one leg bent up and hands locked behind his head staring at the decaying colored, popcorn ceiling.

The window behind him drafted in a breeze and an orange-tinted light through old, white- no, yellowed, sheer curtains from the light pole by the driveway, giving him a detailed view of the textured wall that had seemed to once have been light and bright blue, but was now a dingy, burnt, tar-covered filter of blue. The wind outside whistled and howled as it passed the house and through his window making the dusty curtains float around him, allowing some gray-blue moonlight in. He let out a deep breath and regretfully had inhaled back in the cool, dust-filled air, leaving him each time the urge to cough or hiccup.

Maybe tomorrow he’d be able to go into the small town and walk around the town square after. He and Sam could look for a diner or some type of homely restaurant and hang out while their dad was away. He might even be able to get a job before school started out, meet some students if any hung around the town, it seemed doubtful to Dean since the town of Hartford seemed practically abandoned. Maybe tomorrow will be more at ease for all of them. Maybe tomorrow would be different. Changes are hopefully happening here. 

Some Kind Of Monster - Metallica 

"Some Kind Of Monster"

He heard the thunder crackle in the distance, his eyes were closed.

Dean felt goosebumps cover him, hair standing on end as he opened his eyes and looked out to the gray, ghostly field, he turned around at the sound of thunder behind him, flinching at the deep roar. Behind him a pale woman in a tattered, white, nightgown stood just a few feet from him, whispering in echos that seemed far away, but all at once, in his ear. Her hair was tangled and blowing in the harsh, cold wind and framing her sallow features and her intense gaze bore towards him in a sacred fury of sorrow and desperation.

He stood up off the ground, feeling the thunder vibrate through his feet. He called a cry to her, but words didn’t form from his fumbling lips and his voice seemed muted beneath the harsh blowing wind and thunder and the dust of the dying field tore into his throat, making it sore, but maybe he just couldn't make a sound at all, to begin with, maybe he was just mute this time around and the fear of that being permanent struck his core. The chilling wind whistled past him, stinging his eyes with dust, tufting up his hair, he blinked away the tears that had begun to coat his eyes and he shielded them with his forearm as he looked to her. The sound of the thunder rushed through his body like a bass drum, hair on his arm stood straighter and the rumble or the vibration coated his lungs in armor to muffle him more, he had trouble breathing now. She screamed like a cursed banshee at him and his tears began to fall as he gasped out to her in his silence.

Screaming, shrieking, a noise so cruel to his ears that they began to ring, all he heard was that shrill ringing as she screamed now. She was suddenly at a gnarled and knotted oak tree, aged at the perfection of low branches. She was standing on an old, rusty, metal, milk bucket below a thick and twisted branch. He called to her again and ran to her, his legs buckling and wobbling, stuck in what seemed like quicksand, but his voice was projected into an empty void and he wasn’t fast enough to get to her. She still continued to scream like he was some kind of monster. A shallow, broken, hateful, loving, stupid, boy. Nonetheless a monster.

She kicked the bucket below her and in that instant, the rope around her frail neck snapped tightly around from her dead weight and she was left hanging and swinging to the wind, she was brought to silence, so broken, so deprived of freedom or any admission of guilt and pain she carried in her heart. Above thunder sounded and Dean could barely keep his eyes off how the darkening sky had started to crack and twist into the piece. A blinding stream of bright, blue light struck the tree. The tree leaves emitted themselves into a hungry, blood-red, angry flame and the branches into a deep, dark and settled obsidian, the bark looking that of the scales of a dragon.

He fell to his knees, hot tears falling down his cheek and screamed at her, heartbroken and torn. A crack in the sky moved his feelings to his heart, deeper still than before and lightning struck again, white and blinding him. It flashed before his very eyes beside him the next, giving him a buzzed feeling after it cracked a roar making his ears ring higher in a frequency that made his ears bleed and the sky shatter above him, falling in large chunks like snow flurries around and above.

He looked to the heavens seeing the fallen pieces of the sky and then another stream of light barreling, so bright and full of prideful fury to rid him of impurities, all of it glory coming downwards to him. Right for him.

 ***

Dean woke up his chest tight, heaving and aching in his deep cored panic, he sat up and opened the drawer of his side table by his bed and relieved himself of the quick-paced bile that came up from the pits of his stomach.

He shakingly wiped his mouth and the chill of the wind on his drenched back sent a cascade of goosebumps up onto his freckled arms. His chest heaved again as he spits in the drawer, clearing the rest of the bile from his mouth and cringing at the acidic aftertaste. He shook his head in frustration, blinking away at the bubbling, hot tears that beaded in his stinging, tired, sore eyes.

He had that dream countless of nights lately, whenever he was in a new place that wasn’t a motel or on the side of the road in the Impala, that dream...that nightmare came back to him. Came back more haunting and realistic it left him sicker than a dog eating grass each time. He could almost taste the smoke behind his tongue from the dark, dragon-scaled oak tree from his dream and could almost feel the ache for a solid, clean breath. It seemed that the heaviness of the smoke stuck in his lungs forever, instead of the tar walls of the rent house.

He rose from the bed and went to the bathroom. He closed the creaking door softly, turning the doorknob so it wouldn’t click shut in the eerily quiet hallway and turned on the light after closing it. He turned the faucet, the knob squeaking, hurting his now sensitive and overstimulated ears and the water fell into his hands. He managed to swish some in his mouth and spit it out, he repeated this process until the acid was from his mouth. He huffed and collected more, splashing his face. Head down he looked at himself.

His gaze met his reflection, his cheeks sallow and skin seemed a green-grey under the lighting, the sweat on him gave his skin a sickish, green glow, he wasn’t sure if the color was from his eyes or the horrid, green tile flooring or the backsplash on the counter. He swallowed harshly, his throat dry and caving in, He looked at himself, he looked like a frail, broken boy, that was ready to break or who had done horrid things or had horrid things done to him, all of the above. He looked like some kind of monster, one that took all the blame and carried a huge weight on a constant cycle. He sighed at himself and brushed his teeth.

After he finished he looked at his watch, its dark screen reading out 4:47 a.m. He huffed, bracing his arms on the counter, thumbs flat against the surface. Might as well stay up, John will be up to leave for work. He quietly made his way downstairs. The wooden steps creaked beneath his weight.

“Dean.” John’s voice bellowed, “Whattaya doin’ up?”

Dean flinched and turned to his father who was at the top of the steps, “Gonna make a grocery list and get out there before Sammy wakes up.”

His father stared, “You had a dream again, didn’t ya?”

Dean sighed, looking at the wooden step, he was going need to sweep them or the dust and dirt sticking to his feet would drive him crazy, “Yes, sir.” he answered.

“I assume you got sick then?”

“Yes, sir.” He looked up, shoulders tensing up to stand straighter, “I was going down to make a list and then clean it up.”

“Been takin’ your medicine like you're 'posed to?”

“Y' sir,” Dean answered without hesitation, his eyes focusing on his fathers. His father hummed as he stared back, focusing on his son. Dean took his father’s stare as a way of his father studying him to see if Dean was lying to his father.

“Well, continue...” John bellowed, turning to the restroom, “I’ ma get ready for work.”

“Yes, sir.” Dean sighed out, continuing his way down the last of the creaking steps.

Chapter Text

Small Town - John Mellencamp

“Got Nothing Against A Big Town”

Dean cleaned up the drawer, but by cleaned up that meant that all he really did was just throw it away by the curb alongside a white dirt road, it was old and smelled of age, settled-tar, and slow-rot anyway. The wood on the inside was porous so there’s really no way of getting rid of the mess Dean made in the drawer. Well, the smell really.

It was now 6:30 a.m. He took it in himself to make a grocery list after scrubbing the bathrooms and most of the floors since he did tell his father that’s what he was going to do to begin with, might as stick to his word. His father had left his spare credit card to Dean to care for things around the house, food, Sammy, always take care of Sam, that's number one above anything else.

Sam woke up a little after seven, his hair a shaggy mess than it usually was and sleep clothes baggy on his thin, growing body. Dean took notice that the kid was starting to get some more height, couple inches it seemed compared to the night before.

“Heya, Sammy,” Dean spoke softly and grinned brightly to his little brother, his pride and joy.

“Dean.” Sam pouted out his greeting, his squinting eyes visibly tired and aching for more rest. Sam rubbed his face down with his palms and then stretched his arms up by trailing his hands through his hair, causing it to stick up in new, different directions causing Dean to snicker lightly.

“What?” Sammy grumped and glared tiredly.

“Your hair.” Dean tousled Sam’s hair, earning an annoyed groan from his younger brother, “We don't have anything to eat here so go ahead and get dress, bud, we’re gonna check out someplace to eat and then grocery shop.”

“M’kay” Sam hummed tiredly, Dean smiled fondly as Sam trudged back up the stairs.

*** 

“What about that?” Sam questioned his brother as the walked on the sun-aged, concrete sidewalk.

Dean looked at the old sign Sam's gaze led him, Harvelle’s Roadhouse And Diner was in slanted dim red Legault font, under the sun the neon lights of the letters looked aged and faded, and below that he noticed a sign, “ HELP WANTED: must not look like Lord Farquaad ”. Dean found amusement in that.

“Yeah, let’s check it out,” Dean answered his brother, they walked up to the cracking steps.

The bell chimed as they both walked in. Then Dean suddenly was hit in the head and a clunk and small tune hit the floor, looking down he saw a bell on the checkered floor. He shook out his hair with his hand, disheveling his hair a bit down towards his face.

“Oh, darlin’ I’m sorry about that,” a woman’s sweet-honey, southern twang called, she stood behind the bright red bar of the diner, “I told Ash to get longer screws, guess he didn’t listen.” She sighed and made her way towards the boys, wiping her hands on the thigh of her jeans below her apron as she lifted a part of the bar up and crossed over “I’m Ellen, y'all seem new around here.” she greeted and brought her hand towards them, with a warm, genuine smile.

“Dean.” Dean smiled, taking her hand firmly.

“Sam Winchester.” Sam greeted politely, Dean nudged him “ What ?” Sam yelled an annoyed whisper to his older brother.

"Where y'all from?" she chimed genuinely curious, "Never seen ya around here."

"Well," Dean smiled shyly, "A little bit of everywhere, but born in Kansas."

"Dean be polite." Sam huffed

"Since when are you so-" Dean huffed.

Ellen chuckled at their small sibling bickering, “You boys hungry?”

“Yes, ma’am,” they answered in unison, they looked at each other with playful, annoyed glares. Sam rolled his eyes at Dean sticking his tongue out as a tease, causing another chuckle of admiration to come from Ellen.

“I admire your manners, but please call me Ellen, makes me feel old.” she smiled at them, she slid menus to them as she wrapped her way around to the opposite side of the bar, “Anything to drink?”

“Thank you.” Sam grinned, “and orange juice, please.” Dean smiled admiringly and full of pride to his younger brother, earning another aggravated, lowered“ what” from Sam again.

“Nothin’” Dean teased with a smile, poking Sam in the side, who huffed at his antics “Same for me, please,” Dean answered as he turned back in attention to Ellen, smiling that million-dollar smile of his.

“Be right up then.” Ellen chuckled as she went behind the door to the kitchen.

“Thank you,” Dean answered after her

As they read the menu Dean and Sam poked each other's sides and shoved each other's shoulders at the bar. Dean earned a giggle at one time from his brother, who then kicked Dean’s shin for teasing him about it and huffed at him.

“Lay off Freckle-Face.”

That earned a laugh out of Dean at Sam’s threatening posture and scowl. "Oh, little brother, you can't be mad forever," Dean mocked and tickled Sam again who laughed and yelled in annoyance for Dean to stop.

The door thumped shut quietly, Dean turned to look behind him, seeing a boy with an old Polaroid camera and a heavy case that he lugged around in his left hand.

Before Dean could register what the guy was doing, or even looked like, the camera kid went through the kitchen door. Dean listened to the clink of dishes and muffled voices. He heard Ellen mentioning that the Ash person would be around soon for their shift, then he heard a huffed, impatient sigh from another person, Dean assumed it was Camera Kid.

Ellen came through the door with glasses of orange juice for the boys and smiled, “Ready to order?”

Dean looked at Sam, who looked at him in approved agreement, “Yes, ma’- Ellen,” Dean nodded politely, Sam nudged him, catching that Dean almost called Ellen ma’am. Dean nudged him back with a grin.

“I’ll have the spinach-zucchini quiche, side of grits” Sam answered

“Hippie,” Dean teased “Apple pancakes for me," Sam poked his side, causing Dean to tense and flinch, "side of bacon, eggs over medium.” he continued through a smile to Ellen, who wrote the order, took the menus and smiled with her leave. Dean heard her yell the order to someone named Joe.

Camera Kid came from the kitchen and set the case on the edge of the bar, the polaroid hanging off his neck by a strap now and in a hand, as he fiddled with his shoe, trying to push his foot back in. His face in an aggravated scowl and dark hair disheveled even more before he went in.

“What model?” Dean heard Sam ask

Camera Kid looked up to the voice, spotting Dean and Sam and looking at them quizzically, eyebrows still furrowed, “Pardon?” he questioned them, throwing a hand over his hair as he stood straighter. Dean had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from sniggering at the mannerism of the word and the gruffness of the boy's voice, not to mention the nest of waves on the guys head, doesn't this guy own a comb?

“The camera,” Sam stated “what model?”

"Oh," Camera Kid cleared his throat and straightened himself up more into an honored posture “It’s an SX-70,”

“Those the types that close up and lay flat?” Sam asked, voice curious, but Dean knew that Sam knew what the camera did, Sam just wanted to seem more intelligent than he looked, Dean smirked at that thought, the thought that Sam knew he was smart.

“Yes, they were made in the ’70s, 1972 I believe, and were the first instant film cameras by Polaroid,” he explained

“Cool,” Sam said in awe, Dean knew that was genuine by the tone “What pictures have you taken with it?”

“None,” he started an explanation, his voice low “My cousin jammed the film in before I could manage to use it, I'm waiting for my...” pause in thought “friend to look at it, he’s really technical,” he uttered.

Dean called bullshit to himself.

“I could take a look at it.” Dean suddenly said out, he paused and furrowed his eyes downward at himself, looking at his knee. What the hell? Did I say that? He looked back up to the Camera Kid.

“It’s fine, I’ll wait for Ash,” he muttered in response, fiddling with the camera’s strap nervously under Dean's gaze, keeping his head down shyly. The kid is awkward.

“Nah, lemme see what I can figure out.” Dean smiled and shrugged

“You don’t have any of the proper tools,” he argued, still keeping his head low.

Dean dug into his pockets, digging out four different pocket knives that had numerous tools in the crevices, “I think I can manage, trust me.” Dean smiled that million-dollar smile, trying to gain the boy's trust with it. A smile like that could have a blind man buy a car.

Camera Kid looked at Dean skeptically, eye gazing hypnotically, “You’re sure?”

“Yeah, man” Dean answered, “I’m pretty handsy.”

“Dean, it’s handy.” Sam laughed at his brother.

“Right,” Dean blushed lightly, and swallowed down the embarrassment with rubbing the back of his neck, “My bad, anyway lemme take a look and see what I can do,” he said trying to distract from his fumbled wording.

“Thank you.” Camera Kid expressed a sigh of gratitude.

“Don’t thank me yet, I haven’t even started yet.” Dean pestered a teasing tone.

“Don’t break it.” Sam encouraged sarcastically.

“Don’t jinx me,” Dean complained in the same tone as he fiddled with the tool of the pocket knife, he dug into the camera where the film came out and then grabbed another tool and managed to wiggle them around trying to pry it out.

The camera whirred and clicked, then started to make a loud screech. Camera Kid cringed at the noise, Dean wasn't sure if it was in concern or just the noise itself.

Dean scrunched up his nose, his brows furrowed in concentration. He wiggled the tools more, he huffed and prodded. Suddenly, the light flashed on the camera and the camera whirred again and clicked twice.

Two pages of the film came out. One with a picture of Camera Kid, he looked aggravated and seemed to be yelling through the film at someone, probably the one who took the picture of him. Half of the scene was covered by a finger somehow and the picture was blurred from movement.

The second was of Dean's eyes. Green and speckled, his brows furrowed in concentration, his freckles shining back against the flash or the light. Every single pore on his face visible and indented into a soft glow of his sun-kissed, tanned skin.

Dean looked over at the boy, his vision a bit deflated and splotchy from the light, “Here,” Dean mumbled, handing the camera over gently, “Test it out and see if it works.”

The Camera Kid furrowed his brows and his throat rippled and he fumbled with the strap to get it around his neck. The kid looked up at Sam and Dean.

“Smile?” He asked quietly, a small quirk in his lip, ducking into the camera to look into the window and pressed the button before either could register what he said. Dean blinked after the flash came through, spots of blue-green-black splattered across his vision.

“Woah, a little more warning next time.” Dean huffed a laugh and rubbed his watering eyes.

“My apologies,” Camera Kid answered sincerely, “Thank you, for fixing the camera.” he handed the film to Dean, “It’s a nice photo, shows you in your true moments,” he answered coyly.

Dean politely took it and looked at the confused puppy-look Sam had in the picture and snickered.

“What?” Sam blurted in curiosity, trying to get a look behind Dean's shoulder.

“Your face.” Dean sniggered, “Thanks…” Dean looked toward the Camera Kid, seeing he had left, “Oh…?”

“Where’d he go?” Sam asked in awe looking around then back to Dean.

“I haven’t the slightest idea-” 

“Orders up for the two cuties.” Ellen popped out of the door, tray balanced on the palm of her hand and smiled at them.

Chapter Text

Under Pressure - Queen/David Bowie

“Pray Tomorrow Gets Me Higher”

Dean couldn’t get the Camera Kid out of his head the rest of the day. The awkward posture the kid held. A stiff, straight, strong posture that radiated power, a voice that held a softness of wisdom and curiosity all in one, but the gruffness of a man who was quizzical and angered easily. Eyes covered in furrowed brows of concentration and wonder, the eyes were the most intense part of the guy. Dean never noticed the color of them, that’s the one thing that bothered him, were they deep brown? Green? Blue? Hazel? Shit, even red? Doubtful, that'd be the first thing Dean notice besides the gawkiness of the guy.

Dean barely scanned the nutrition label on the soup can he was holding, he never read them anyway, he was just distracted in his thoughts so he paused his steps and pretended to read it. He chewed on gum that he had opened in the store and had promised the manager who saw him that he would pay for it. He also noticed the way the kid carried himself as he walked, a slight glide to his foot and the same quiet politeness and the small creases below his eyes. His eyes. What color were his eyes? Dammit. Dean was so distracted by his thoughts he barely had time to register that someone was speaking to him.

He finally turned and looked, seeing a mass of dark, brown, messy-haired, blue-eyed boy in his vision. He dropped the soup can he had in his hand, it sounded a sharp clunk. He huffed and dive to scramble for it clumsily as it rolled everywhere from him.

“Uh,” He awkwardly reached for his hand with the that held the can for a handshake. It was an instant reaction to cover his flustered self, he quickly switched hands wiping his free hand on his jeans and switching the can over to his less dominant hand.

“Hi.” Dean huffed quickly as if he were holding his breath.

“Hello, Dean.” Camera Kid answered, a coy smile across his lips, he took Dean’s hand gently and firmly, “I was saying that can of soup has no hint of nutrition and that I wish to thank you for fixing my camera again.”

“ Blue, ” Dean answered softly, inaudible, chewing his gum and playing off a small smile.

“Pardon me?”

“Noth-Nothin’,” Dean quickly covered, “Just talkin’ to myself is all, uh…” he bit his bottom lip, annoyed at his accented drawl coming out as he spoke and rolled his jaw up to chomp on his gum tensely.

“Castiel.” the kid finally answered, glancing down “You can let go of my hand now.”

“Oh!” Dean flinched and let go of Castiel's hand, “Sorry…” he rubbed the back of his neck. God.

“Apology accepted,” Castiel smiled genuinely, “Do you need help with anything?

“Uh,” Dean looked away from Castiel's smile, then around the grocery store, then back to Castiel “No actually, why ya work here?”

“I help around,” Castiel answered, thumb fiddling with the pocket of his blue vest as he stared at Dean.

“Ah.” Dean tugged at the collar of his t-shirt.

Quiet.

Pause.

Silence.

Crickets.

Zzz.

Wow.

Say something!

“So…” Dean continued, tensing his shoulders wider, he popped a small bubble between his teeth.

“Pardon the awkwardness, but” Castiel suddenly spoke out, his throat rippled as he swallowed and cleared it “I uh- I’m wondering if I could- get your number so we could… maybe... hang out... sometime?”

“Oh.” Dean sighed

“Oh?” Castiel stared

“Sure, Cas.” Dean quickly dug into his pocket searching for his phone.

“Cas?” Castiel questioned, looking at Dean quizzically with his eyebrows furrowed and head tilted.

“Uh, yeah.” Dean fumbled with the lock screen, “New nickname for ya.”

“Castiel isn't a nickname,” Cas stated, tone serious.

“Prefer me callin’ ya, Cassie?” Dean commented in a snide, his heart slightly aching at the thought of his former girl, “Because that's my ex's name and no thanks.” he said pushing it off as if it didn't hurt and there was bad blood between him and his ex.

“Please don't, Gabriel calls me that.” Castiel sighed typed his number on Dean's phone.

“Gabriel?”

“The cousin who jammed my camera earlier.” Castiel sighed,

Dean grinned, “Younger?”

“Older, he's 23,” Castiel rolled his eyes sarcastically,  “just wish he'd act like it.”

Dean whistled lowly, “Hate him?”

“'Course not, he's just agitating, breaks things.” Castiel smiled and handed Dean his phone back. Dean grinned lightly and took it. “I’ll leave you to your shopping now. Goodbye, Dean.”

“Uh, yeah” pop “See ya, Cas.” Dean fumbled his speech over his cinnamon gum almost spitting it out on the ground. Cas chuckled lightly and walked away. Dean watched the sway of his walk as he left the aisle.

“Nice going.”

Dean turned and saw Sam sniggering and holding a basket full of groceries, they weighed him down to where he was carrying the basket with both arms, leaning the weight onto his hip.

“Shudup.” Dean huffed, he reached for the basket, “Here, gimme that.” he lifted in from Sam’s grasp and the weight of it guided his arm down “Damn, Sammy, you a strong little twerp.” Dean grinned.

“Sam.” Sam bitch-faced his brother, ignoring the insult because his name was more important for correction.

“Whatever, let’s finish this list and skedaddle kiddo.” Dean ruffled Sam’s hair, the younger Winchester huffed and combed his fingers through his hair to fix it in place again.

***

John came around that night, nearly breaking the door off its hinges as he held the knob tightly to balance his weight and left the key in the front lock and door open as he stumbled up the stair.

“Dean.” he barked out, barely getting up three steps

Dean sat up from his bed, Sam looked cautiously up at Dean from the floor where he was laying on his stomach, legs crossed in the air as he read from a thick textbook on anatomy.

“Sir?” Dean called cautiously, the words barely making it out of his throat, he snapped his fingers to Sam and pointed to the window behind as he stood from the creaking bed. Sam quickly busied himself with the latch as Dean walked to the stairs on edge for a possible attack.

“Help m’ yup,” John mumbled, "I can't see these damn stairs, they're all... weird."

Dean swallowed and stepped down to his father, he wrapped the older man’s arm around his shoulder and lugged up the weight of him with the ease he could muster and lead his father to his room and guided the man to his bed.

John’s weight bounced as he landed on the bed, he huffed and groaned incoherent words to Dean, Dean nodded and agreed with an mhm and yup in answer each time his father mumbled. Dean laid his father on his side and reached for the small trash bin that was below his father’s side table, setting it closer to the man’s reach if he ever needed it.

“Ya ever think about yer mom, Dean?” John mumbled tiredly

Dean stared at his father, his shoulders tensed to the question and he felt the air in his lungs leave, he cleared his throat, “Yes, sir,” he swallowed, “All the time.”

“I saw a girl today,” John moved his head to look up at Dean, “Looked so much like her, with the blonde hair and bright blue eyes...”

Dean nodded, he’s not sure why he did, he felt that it would, in a sort, comfort his father.

“You look like her too at times.” John sighed, “Especially when you look at Sammy.”

Dean lifted an eyebrow at that.

“She used to look at y’ all the same way, that protective… adoration,” John laughed lightly, “Even me at times…” he trailed off, “You especially look like her when you’re angry, your eyebrows do that thing...” John poked Dean in between his eyes, Dean furrowed his brows comically at his father, “That crease…” he looked into his father’s eyes, then lowered them, “Her smile used to brighten a room…”

Yeah used to, Dean emphasized internally.

“You definitely have that to ya,” John said sadly, “Sam has mine, it’s cocky.” Dean huffed a small, sad laugh at that, shoulders relaxing. He looked at his father, who was now staring at the ceiling tiredly, a sad smile on his features.

“I miss her, Dean,” John answered quietly, his voice slightly breaking.

I do too, Dad, Dean wanted to tell his father, he wanted to scream it, cry it out to him, desperate for the release of his true emotion, but Dean decided to stay quiet and watch over his father until he fell asleep.

When John managed his cool down to a night of deep, drunken sleep, Dean decided to go check on Sammy. As he walked down the hall he noticed a heaviness in his chest, an ache right at the bottom of his heart and felt… dread. His vision started to cloud into black smoke, it surrounded and gripped his throat. his chest heaved with panicked breaths. No. Not again. He prayed to himself, he heard deep, loud, ferocious growls and barks in the back of his head. I won’t have this. He swallowed, feeling the sudden anger pry into his chest as he walked in a stumble to Sam’s room on the creaking, wood board floors.

“Dean?”

Dean turned around, eyes wide and chest going wild, “Sammy?”

“You okay?” Sam asked he stood in the doorway of Dean’s room, his brows low in concern. He leaned a hand against the door frame.

Dean’s throat rippled as he swallowed, “Yeah...yeah- I’m okay,” he breathed out finally, “You just spooked me.”

Sam gave him a bitch-face, he hummed his suspicion at his brother, but let it go. Winchester way.

“Get some sleep, Sammy.” Dean smiled at his brother as he walked over to pass Sam to get to his own room.

As they were about to pass each other Sam put his arms around Dean’s waist and gave a slight squeeze, resting his cheek to Dean’s chest and sighed. Dean smiled lightly and held the back of Sam’s head and almost seemed to cradle him, his arms bunched up Sam’s shirt as he rested his chin on his younger brother’s head and pulled him closer. Damn this kid is getting tall. He sighed contently.

“I’m fine, Sammy,” he whispered, “I promise.”

Sam sighed, a sign of giving in, Dean relaxed at that “Okay,” Sam sighed out gave a final squeeze and let go, “Night, Dean”

“Night, Sammy,” Dean called from his doorway, he swallowed.

“It’s, Sam.” huffed Sam and turned to Dean and gave him a look that said: Stop.

“‘Kay, Bitch.”

“Jerk.” Sam smiled and turned back to his bedroom door.

Dean made sure to stay in place until Sam closed the door behind him. He slowly trudged into his own room, the curtains barely moving as a drafting wind entered through the opened window. He had almost forgotten he had told Sam to open it just in case things went south tonight. He slowly changed into more comfortable attire and sat on the edge of the bed, his weight pushing it down slightly, making it creak. He rubbed both his hands down his face slowly and leaned over on his knees by his elbows and covered his mouth with a hand.

He huffed a low, long sigh. A sigh that needed more air to fully release all the tension in his body. He didn’t try for another one through, just decided to breathe in deep breaths through his nose. He felt a sob try to build up, but he kept it down. He didn't feel like getting through those emotions tonight so he trailed around into his head. A rough terrain of shit.

He was alone with his thoughts. Again.

Chapter Text

Lyin’ Eyes - Eagles

“No Way To Hide Your Lyin’ Eyes”

The drying, gray field grass - wheat, was waving in the wind, the wind whistled and howled past Dean’s ears, dark clouds surrounded around the earth around him. Whispers in the wind past down his spine in chills and goosebumps. He shivered from the chilling voices rather than the coiling wind. Behind him, a growling, feral, storm quaked the earth and sky into a rhythm beneath his feet and through his bones, he felt the bass of thunder ripple through his ribs, stuttering his heart with each thrum.

"Dean.” called hollowed, sweet whisper, it sounded endearing and broken. He turned and swallowed, throat rippling with force to clear his lodged throat, His throat felt heavy, like rocks and dry with gravel. His bleary eyes scanned around before it settles onto being focused on the figure of the woman in the tattered nightgown, who stood underneath the tall oak, branches gnarled, twisted and sharp, hanging low and enclosing them both into a canopy. It was like a basket made to trap them both in, a cage made of twisted branches and limbs.

“Please,” he whispered to her, “Please, don’t,” Her now white hair blew in the wind that passed through the gaps on the trees, her hair hiding her face, as she looked at him with a sullen expression, full of somber hate and flooding admiration. “Don’t,” he whispered angrily to her, begging, pleading to her. His heart ached and he felt his lip quiver. He tightened his fist. He looked up to her desperate.

“I love you, Dean.” she smiled, standing onto a bucket and putting the rotting rope around her neck.

“No, plea-please.” Dean stuttered out and he tried to run over to her.

T hunder.

Lightning.

Fire.

All of it surrounded them.

He felt the burning, the electricity, felt that pulsing bass, as well as the snap of his own neck as if he were the one to hang from that tree. 

The thunder roar deeply-

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

Dean’s eyes shot open, he took in a sharp, deep breathe, a coat of thick sweat coating his shaking body. He shook and shivered his heart rapidly racing, his body still buzzing from the dream, phantom pains coursing through his veins and muscles. He looked to the side of him and turned off the blaring alarm clock quickly. He slowly sat up and put his hand to his chest, feeling his heartbeat pace. He breathed in slowly the crisp morning air, allowing it to fill his lungs as he tried to calm himself. His vision became blurry and he rubbed his tired eyes, feeling a warm wetness coat his fingertips. He was… crying?

He wiped his eyes furiously and got up from his bed and charged for the bathroom, ignoring that nagging pull in his chest as best as he could from the bubbling emotions that wanted to boil over the pot. He closed the bathroom door, not caring if it clicked too loud or not or if maybe he closed it too loud, to begin with. He turned on the orange-tinged light and looked at himself in the chipping mirror, an angry scowl on his face. He looked like he had aged ten years overnight. No, scratch that, he's aged thirty just from the dream alone. He could still feel the buzzing of lightning in his nerves.

“You need to get over it.” He said sternly to himself, “It’s been too long,” he sighed and hung his head, “I’m tired.” he shook his head.

“I'm very, very, very, very tired.” he continued and looked up into his green eyes that were accented with dark circles under them and hollow cheeks. He frowned and furrowed his brow at himself, not taking a liking to the way his face showed his weakness at the moment he stood there, angry, vulnerable and broken - a completely open book, but only to himself, but still he despised it.

“Don’t look at me like that, last time someone looked at me like that didn’t end up so well,” his reflection smirked, eyes black and head tilted forward stance threatening.

Dean flinched quickly moving away from his reflection and stood back.

His reflection didn’t move from it’s threatening stance and cocky, snarling smirk, “You did this Dean-O-Baby, you did this and you hurt Sammy-Boy that day too, didn’t you?” he sneered and seemed to stare with a leer over at Dean.

Dean remained silent and stared at his black-eyed self, his throat clicking as he swallowed.

“Didn’t you?” black eyes gleamed and a smirk grew wicked.

“Ye-Yes,” Dean whispered and hung his head in shame.

“You going to cry?” his dark-eyed taunted,

“No.” Dean snarled back

“Show what a little bitch you are? What a coward!?” his voice was seething, he hissed out, "Look at me! You fucking low graded bitch!"

Dean looked up at his reflection, eyes full of fury, he shook not in anxiety, but vibrant anger.

His reflection rippled like water, gray and smokey in the silver of the mirror, his black eyes, gone, snarling smirk, gone. He was left alone with himself again.

He sighed and glared a challenge to himself and only himself. Turning the faucet to the highest of heat to scalding water, he rinsed his hands, keeping them under the scalding water, his skin turning a bright red. He gritted his teeth to keep a whine that tried to breach through his lips, steam began to fill the mirror, coating it into a cloudy heat of fog. He stayed motionless there until the water ran cold and his vision became clearer, his brain waking him up more from the stimulation of heat then freezing, his fingers going numb. He blinked and turned the faucet off with shaking hands. A few welts had formed on his knuckles. He made his hands into a fist, feeling a slight burning tingle go through them. He sighed to himself and took in a deep breath. Better than what he used to do, he'd admit to himself.

“It's just another side effect.” Dean said to himself, this time out loud, “Just call the doc and he'll help.” He sighed out a mock, leaning against the counter, hands on the edge.

"You're not going to," his brain said in an answer to himself, "You rather deal with this alone."

A knock to the door startled him. Dean felt a rumble in his chest, he held a hand over his thrumming chest, he heard the beat of his heart rushing in his ears.

“Dean?” Sam rasped out tiredly and tapped the other side of the door quietly.

Dean took a deep breath and opened the door, the knob squeaking and hinges creaking. He looked down to Sam.

Sam’s eyebrows furrowed.

“What?” Dean barked as if he were a child being caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to be doing.

“You’re sweating.” Sam cringed in concern

Dean huffed, annoyed, but kept a comical attitude with it “And you got bed head.” he ruffled Sam’s head and pushed his way past the doorway, allowing Sam to handle his business. He kind of hoped Sam hadn't noticed how hot his hands were when he ruffled Sam's hair if Sam noticed he didn't say anything or care if Sam did he was too tired to focus on with an interrogation onto Dean.

Dean went to his room and shut the window, the smell of aged tar filling the room quickly, “Nevermind,” he muttered, his nose scrunching up, opened it back up, propping it open with a tissue box before it slid down.

He laid on his bed, staring out the window, hoping to hear the thunder outside as he smelled rain blowing in from the north.

He hoped it would clean the earth. Clean it of smoke.

He always seemed to be stuck in smoke.

Chapter Text

Hey Brother - Avicii

"For You, There's Nothing In This World I Wouldn't Do."

“Hey, Dean?” Sam called for his brother from the kitchen

“Sup, bud?” Dean called back in the same tone, busying himself with sweeping the wooden flooring, pushing the dirt down the stairs, because fuck bending down to pick that shit up each time.

“I need help…” Sam’s voice was a low, annoyed, quiet mumble

Dean fixed the broom to lean against the wall by the stairs as he trudged down them, the creak of the boards making a popping sound from his weight.

He turned to walked to the back of the house to the kitchen where his brother's voice had traveled, he chuckled at what he saw his “Sammy, what did you do?” He grinned and laughed.

Sam sighed hanging from the cabinet door, head down as if shamed, his belt had managed to get caught off the handle and he was dangling at an odd angle that kept him from being able to lift himself off.

Dean inhaled sharply holding his aching side, “Oh, Sammy, Sammy, Sammy,” Dean tutted, “What are we gonna do with you, kiddo?”

“Just help me down.” Sam huffed, annoyed and embarrassed, a light blush coating his cheeks.

“Please.” Dean snickered

“Please.” Sam huffed out and sighed.

“As you wish, good sir!” Dean exclaimed in a terrible Britsh accent, unhooking Sam from the handle and he lifted him, “You good?”

“Yeah,” Sam huffed as Dean set him down

“How in the hell did you manage that?” Dean chuckled

“I fell,” Sam mumbled as he swept dust off the thighs of his jeans.

“Okay?” Dean continued “And?”

“I was dusting out the cabinets, that's all.” Sam huffed, waving his dust-covered hands

Dean grinned at Sam and ruffled his fringey hair.

“Dean!” Sam growled, patting his hair back down, getting dust all on his head, “Jerk!”

“Bitch.” he snickered as he ran out of the kitchen when Sam grabbed a spatula, he managed his way out of the kitchen from his little brother, grabbing a towel that he swatted with at Sammy as he ran.

He manages two steps up the stairs before he suddenly stopped, holding his chest, vision going dark, but it wasn't a head rush type of blackout- no it was something in him that made him this way. He fell against the wall of the stairway, leaning his weight against it.

“Dean.”

Dean started grabbing at his collar and holding his chest, breathing and heart increasing, he felt hands on his wrist, “N-No-No, don't!” He gasped as he felt a grip on his throat, hands sweating as he gasped in breaths and started to shake erratically. “Keep off!” He yelled what he could muster through his trembling lips.

"Dean?"

He heard the deep howls and growls of rabid dogs, long, hollow, and chilling. Chilling him to the core of his bones and heart, his very mind scrambling for a grip to reality. Smoke was forming into his vision in wisps of grey and red, bright flashes of lightning and fire surrounded him, claws and teeth digging into his skin. He cried out in pain from the burning and biting sensations coursing through his veins.

“Dean, move your hands and just breathe!”

He felt a grip move from his throat. His vision started to clear and he looked to his left meeting soft, concerned, hazel eyes, full of concern and fear, Sam's hands were gripped tightly and his knuckles were white around Dean's.

“Sammy,” Dean's voice ached

“You were choking yourself through your panic attack.” Sam answered, his voice bubbling out breaking emotions, fear was the main one, “What did you see this time? Where's your medicine?” Sam yelled frantically gripping at Dean's sleeves now in desperation, tears welling up in his eyes.

“One answer-question at a time,” Dean huffed sadly and in agitation, he swallowed his throat rippling harshing from the dryness and from the pressure he had held on tightly to it from earlier. “Please,” he looked at Sammy, instantly regretting it as he saw a tear trail down Sam's cheek. Fuck.

“Did I hurt you?” He asked suddenly, sitting up quickly nearly knocking Sam off him as checked Sam's face and arms for any welts and bruises that he may have caused. Guilt carrying low in his gut and surround his heart. Fuck.

“Dean, no.” Sam pushed his brother's hands away, Dean started to lift Sam's sleeves “Stop," He desperately pushed them away again as Dean reached to check for marks again, "Stop worrying about me and worry about you.” Sam huffed and hugged him tightly, squeezing the air from Dean.

“Relax.”

Dean gripped his brother tightly and hid his face into the tufts of hair, they tickled his nose and smelled of the cheap, generic, dollar store, dandruff shampoo, he blinked slowly, getting back his surroundings.

“It's okay Dean, stop shaking, it's okay.” Sam whispered assuringly, “I'm here. I'm safe. You are too. It's okay. We're safe. We're not hurt. It was a minor blackout.”

Dean nodded and gripped Sam closer and sniffed deeply. Breathing in Sam's smell, it was the one thing that was going to ground him at that moment, the one thing that was a reality and wasn't a dream or hallucination in Dean's head. Sam.

Sam looked up at Dean, concerned calmness across his features now, eyes dry and serious, “Wanna talk about it?”

“I'm okay,” Dean answered, a slight smile across his broken features.

“I don't believe that but okay,” Sam said and leaned back into his brothers embrace, “You don't have to talk now, just relax, I'm here for you.”

“I’m the one that’s supposed to comfort you,” Dean argued lightheartedly, tears flowing down now, “I’m the big brother, I’m supposed to be the strong one.”

“You are the strong one,” Sam argued and looked up into Dean's eyes, “You’ll always be the strong one and you’ll always be my big brother."

“Thanks, Sammy,” he whispered, voice breaking more into raw emotion with each word.

“Thanks, Sam .” huffed the younger who chuckled and hugged his brother tighter before letting go. Dean ached in his chest, his senses buzzing, tingling and coursing through his veins. He rose suddenly and grabbed for an old vase. His breathing heaved acid and bile filled his chest and throat.

Sam put a gentle hand on Dean's shoulder, cradling it to soothe Dean from feeling alone and to calm him, “It's okay, Dean.”

“I know,” Dean whispered, “I know,” he repeated to himself, spitting into the vase and inhaled deeply.

“I love you.” Sam leaned his head against Dean's shoulder, his hands holding onto shoulders as a way of hugging and clinging to his brother.

“I love you too,” Dean whispered in a small voice, it's what he felt, small. He reached to his shoulder to hold Sam's hand have flat to his shoulder. “Sammy I'm so sorry you have to go through this, it's not fair to you, I'm the one who takes care of you-.”

“I like taking care of you, Dean,” Sam answered, interrupting Dean's whirling mind, “I’m giving you back what all you do for me, it's okay.”

“Not to me,” Dean answered softly.

***

Sam sat in the old, shedding leather chair by the window, reading over a book of astrophysics. He glanced up to look at Dean, over the leaves of the book, who laid upon his side, brows furrowed in his sleep. Sam sighed and set the textbook to the side table, nearly knocking over the rickety lamp at the side, he quickly grabbed it as it tottered. He anxiously clenched his teeth and looked to his brother.

Dean was still asleep. Sam leaned back in his chair and stared him down as he did so. He sighed sadly. Sam was really concerned about Dean. He worried and worries. The panic attacks were getting better, but they still exhausted Dean. Sam wondered if Dean had been having those dreams again. Mrs. Singer, Bobby's wife, had said it was probably from traumatic events, she was a counselor at the school, but Sam had no idea what could've happened for Dean to become like this. Dean didn't talk about that sort of Dean, so Sam didn't either.

Sure, John had a few rounds on his brother a few times. Scratch that. A lot, if Sam's being honest with himself, but that's just how it's always been. Probably always will be.

Sam shivered from the draft in the window, it was raining and foggy, he looked over to the grandfather style clock that hung over the couch Dean was asleep on. It was barely eleven o'clock.

Dean twitched in his sleep, brows furrowing then softening. Sam leaned up and sat straighter in the chair, he heard Dean groan in his sleep and whisper a barely audible “No.”

Sam went to the kitchen and looked in the pantry for the bucket. He walked back and set in beside the couch.

“No!” Dean yelled suddenly and threw off the blanket that was over him, making Sam jump out of his skin, chills running up his spine, hairs on his body up on ends. Dean huffed and practically growled as he thrashed his arms, knocking over a throw pillow.

Sam sat in the loveseat that was closest to Dean and watched over him, protectiveness taking over his blood. He knew not to touch Dean while he was having a terror, he'd learned that the hard way after Dean had hit him, while Dean was nearly in the process of a heart attack on top of the panic attack in his dreams once.

“Please,” Dean begged, voice raw with emotion. He was hurting, Sam wanted to cry and reach for him but knew better than to do so.

Sam wanted to take this all away so badly, his heart broke every time Dean had these episodes. He went to the floor on his knees, clasped his hands tightly, knuckles practically white and prayed as Dean had taught them when they were young.

Dean doesn't pray anymore. Sam knows this, but Sam kept his faith even if his brother didn't. Sam doesn't even think his father ever had faith, but Dean told Sam that their mother, Mary, had faith and had told them angels were watching over them.

Sam had to have this faith. Because if he didn't, who or what was going to actually help Dean through this, from himself. Sam whispered inaudibly to himself, words muttering over his lips.

“Send us angels, God,” Sam whispered out loud looked up to the ceiling, “Dean doesn't know it but he needs you.” he looked to his brother, who was now still.

He hung his head again resting his head on his clasped hands, “And so do I.” he whispered, “We need you.” He looked up at the ceiling again. “Amen.” He said in a pleading, broken voice.

The door suddenly clicked shut bringing Sam away from his thoughts as he turned to look who came in.

“Dad-”

“What happened,” John asked, dropping his work belt with a heavy thud.

“He had-” Sam swallowed, “He had a panic attack and is going through a bad dream.” his voice stern, but to him, he sounded small, he felt small beneath John's gaze too, but he tried to cover it by puffing his chest out and standing straighter.

“Has he been taking his medicine?” John asked his voice still low, but softer than when he came in.

“I think so,” Sam answered without hesitation.

“Did he hurt you?” John interrogated

“No, sir.” 

“You okay?” John asked softer, drawl coming out thick, concern on his features.

“Yeah?” Sam answered, looking quizzically at his father.

John went over and covered Dean with the blanket that was kicked to the floor. He sighed and sat beside Dean and scanned over Dean's taunted features.

“Dad,” Sam trailed, wondering if he should continue as John looked up to him, eyes full of sadness, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” John sighed, looking down at his knuckles, picking at the dirt under his thumbs “I'm okay.”

“Okay,” Sam said softly, trailing to sit on the loveseat.

“C'mere, Sammy.” John interrupted Sam's walking, now patting the seat beside him.

Sam listened and made his way over tentatively. He held still, but every fiber and hair jumped out of his skin as John put an arm around him and gave him a firm squeeze, very rare from his father.

“I know I don't tell y' all much but,” John swallowed, “I love you, boys.” John held Sam closer now, firmer, “And I've done some shitty things to the both of you and I'm so sorry you both had to grow up like this, on the run constantly.”

Sam took in a deep breath and looked up at his father, he felt incredibly small right now, John was above average in size and that intimidated Sam in many ways at the moment, he felt like a child. He was a child, but he had the understanding that he grew way too fast and he knew Dean had grown way faster since the accident and all the other stuff that Dean doesn't want Sam knowing. Sam knew everything, he was smart that way, always figured it out, always a few steps ahead.

“It's time to change,” John answered, “But I'm going to need your help with this, I know I put a lot on your shoulders, but I need it.”

More on Dean's shoulders than mine, it's why he went crazy. Sam wanted to say but refrained as he listened to his father. He felt discomforts and pings fill his chest and lungs as he sat beside his father and he could sense John's tension that he felt the same awkwardness.

Sam took the liberty in himself to rise from the position his father cradled him in, it felt unnatural, John hadn't held him since that night at the hospital when Dean had attacked him in a terror, that was a year ago, he still had a scar from it.

“I'm going to bed,” Sam said walking to pick up his book from the side table he had left it on.

“Alright,” John muttered, putting a hand over his mouth as he rested his elbows on his knees, a motion Dean had carried and a movement Sam knew all too well, a way of coping with stress.

Sam turned to the stairs and took three to four steps before he stopped and to a look down at his father over the railing, John looked up, moving his hand from his chin to look at his son.

“Go easy on him when he wakes up,” Sam muttered lowly,  “He's not as okay as you think.”

With that Sam continued up the stairs slowly, legs shaking with each step. He leads himself down the hall to his room, the floor creaking and softly thumping with each step. He flipped on the light switch by his door and sighed in relief, ridding himself of anxiety, the weight leaving his lungs. Instead, he put that weight into leaning his own weight against the door closing it with a solemn click, the cool surface of the dingy, panel door chilling his spine and shoulders. He slowly slid down the door, letting his weight carry him down into a sitting position, one leg bent up to his chest, hugging it close, looking down at the floor, book beside him on the floor. He wanted to cry, but there were no tears to muster.

Everything was fucked for them boys.

Chapter Text

Best Of You - Foo Fighters

"I Got A Confession To Make"

Dean stared out of the window of the Impala; graying water dripping down in a race as the engine slightly rumbled and blew in cool AC that was really unnecessary in this weather. The school had weathering red-gray bricks. Students stood and lounged in the front and on the courtyard of the school and chattered even in the sprinkling of the start of rain.

“You boys do good,” John ordered as the boys hopped out. Sam practically slammed it earning a side glance from Dean.

“What?” Sam barked, a solemn, gloomy look on his face, water had started to mat onto his forehead from the drizzle.

“Be careful with Baby.” Dean pouted, sticking his bottom lip out at his brother. Sam huffed and walked to the steps ahead of his brother to avoid embarrassment.

Dean paused and looked around as people stared at the two of them, he heard the rumble of the Impala distant out as John drove away. He brought his jacket tighter around him and put his hands into the pockets and paced himself to catch up to Sam, who was waiting for his brother now, obviously insecure being in a strange place, backpack slung over his shoulder, Dean wish Sam had both straps on, better for his back, but Sam wouldn't listen, Dean didn't do it, why should he?

Dean reminded himself that he forgot his backpack in the Impala. John was already way gone when he looked back. He sighed and walked with Sam to the office, listening to the chatter that surrounded them. Anxiety crept up his spine. Sam took notice and gripped at Dean's jacket in secret as the walked in, it was a habit of reassurance and grounding. A comfort for the both of them.

The front desk lady smiled brightly at them and Dean instantly felt a rush of his tense structure wash away, a weight lifted from his shoulders.

“Hey, Ellen,” He smiled, a bright chuckle across his features “You work here too?”

“I'm substituting for a few couple of months,” she grinned back, brightening Dean's mood instantly “Kelly is on maternity leave.”

“Sounds nice, um” Dean rubbed his neck and lowered his gaze to his hands, fiddling with his thumbnail now.

“We're here to pick up our schedules,” Sam answered for him, smiling lopsidedly.

“Winchester, correct?” Ellen questioned, Sam and Dean each gave a nod in confirmation, she smiled and handed them each yellow sheets.

“Thanks,” Dean smiled shyly at her and took his leave with Sam. She waved after them.

Sam nudged him, “Got a crush on her or something?” He teased.

“Wha-? No, dude!” Dean chuckled defensively.

"Then what are you all flustered for?" Sam asked as if his accusation was correct

“She reminds me of mom.” Dean shrugged underneath his jacket, shoulders tense and defensive.

“Ew,” Sam scrunched up his nose at the accusation he made now, then curiosity crossed his soft features, “What way is she like mom?”

Dean paused a second as the walked, looking down at his brother, “I actually don't know.” he answered.

Sam smiled and nodded, trusting his brother to his word.

***

Classes were a bitch. The students, even more so. Dean cleaned out his hair in the sink, pizza sauce in his hair. It was a complete accident, so Dean didn't take anything that went down personal.

He turned as he heard a knock on the door and sighed as he unlocked it  “Come in.” He huffed

“I can't,” a sarcastic raised voice called back “I don't have the right genitalia.”

Dean huffed and decided to just open the door, he looked down at a bright red-headed girl.

“‘Sup.” She grinned, tilting her head under her bangs a little and awkwardly handing him a t-shirt.

Dean hesitated taking the shirt, “'Sup.”

“Charlie.”

“Dean.”

Dean closed the door at that, maybe a bit too harshly.

He changed out of his clothes and put the shirt on. It read “Orgasm Donor.” Dean muttered a curse under his breath and pulled his jacket over it, of all days to get him in trouble it was today? And over a shirt that wasn't even his, he knew it, he was going to get in trouble, he always did.

He ruffled his now wet hair and opened the door, “Thanks.”

“You're welcome, a little rude, but you're welcome.”

“How am I rude?” Dean asked pointing to himself, “I'm not the one who threw pizza on myself now, am I?”

“Doesn't mean you don't have to slam the door on my face after I give you a shirt in apology.” She crossed her arms, head swiveling with each word.

"Yeah real nice shirt," Dean rolled his eyes,

"Thanks, but drop the attitude."

“ 'Drop the attitude,'" Dean mocked and rolled his eyes, he started to walk off, “and forget my thanks, I'm stealing this shirt now.”

“The hell you are!” She chased after him, hair swishing side to side.

Dean smirked down at her as she caught up to him, he turned, “Wanna hang sometime?”

“I don't play that team.” She huffed, crossing his arms at him.

“What?” Dean glared in confusion, “Oh, no no no, not what I was asking,” he grinned, chuckling out a breath “You're cute, but I got my eye on someone anyway, I was just wondering if you wanted to just chill and talk about Star-Wars and shit.” He said pointing to her t-shirt.

She grinned up at him mischievously, “You have my attention.”

“Friday?”

“Friday.” She answered, “5:30.”

“Deal.” He took out his hand

“Deal.”

They shook, grinning.

“Well see ya,” Charlie said walking away and winking back at Dean. He chuckled and made his way to class.

Maybe this school would have some good.

*** 

The school was out. The boys walked side by side to Ellen's restaurant. Sam shuffled his bag up higher on his shoulders, putting his hood up. Dean ruffled his own hair with the rainwater. As they walked up to the steps Dean saw a figure go in before them. Castiel.

Dean's heart rate paced faster and he started to feel giddy seeing the boy. Castiel struggled with his umbrella trying to get it closed.

“Hey, Cas.” Sam smiled

Castiel jumped and looked between the two of them, “Hello.” Castiel smiled lightly.

Dean took the umbrella gently from Castiel's hand and shoved the handle in with a snap, the umbrella closing.

“Thank you,” Castiel muttered, taking it back as he stared at Dean impressively.

Dean stood stiffly before walking over to open the door, the bell falling onto the checkered flooring. Dean looked up when he heard a sigh from Ellen.

“You got the tools?” Dean asked with a grin, picking up the bell.

Ellen smiled back, “Hey, Dean,” she looked to Sam and Castiel, “Sam, Cassie.” Castiel groaned at the name and Ellen smiled brighter, “What brings you, boys, here?”

“Just wanted to hang out a while, this place feels peaceful,” Dean answered, "I like it, it's homey."

Sam rolled his eyes at his brother, “He's hungry, as usual.”

“Hush.” Dean barked, Castiel snickered quietly and chills went down Dean's spine at the sound, “But, anyway, you need me to fix this?”

“It'll just fall again.” A boy from the back of the kitchen came in, setting out pastries into the baked goods window. The boy's hair fluffing down under the heater that he stood under.

“Nice mullet.”

“Business in the front,” he flipped his hair, “party in the back.” He grinned, “Name's Ash.”

“Dean,” he shook Ash's flour-covered hand, he pointed to Sam, “This is Sam.”

Castiel cleared his throat in an interruptive manner and walked closer to Ash, “You get the film today?”

“In the back, in my backpack, next to the laptop.”

“Color?”

“Red one.”

“Thank you.” with that Castiel made his way to the kitchen.

“So, how about them tools?” Dean finally mentioned out, wiping his hand of flour onto his pants.

Ellen motioned for him to follow her to the kitchen, she bent down and open the cabinet doors to reach under a dripping sink for a red and black box, the plastic handle broke from lugging the weight of the tools.

Dean took it from her politely and Ellen smiled and he dug through them.

He decided to start with the dripping sink, he at least paid attention to Bobby enough to know how to fix that after Bobby fixed their sink.

Castiel was tinkering with something in the back, Dean didn't bother with his curiosity, he needed to focus on this, not the strange kid.

 ***

Ellen set down two slices of pie on the counter as the boys worked on their homework by the bar. Sam slightly shoved his slice with his knuckles toward Dean as he wrote down math problems.

Dean gave Sam help when he needed it, but for the most part, it was just Dean poking and prodding at Sam with his own pencil. Snickering when Sam whined or when his nose twitched in agitation. Ever patient Sam was, so Dean soon gave up with his instigation and began to eat a slice.

It was a Wednesday and the rain outside left a chill through the quiet diner. The windows whistling and pattered as wind and rain went past. It was always raining in this season. Soon it'll be sunny, it was the ache in Dean's elbows that told him it would be.

“Hey, Dean,” Ellen called for attention as she wiped the counter. Dean looked up to her from his homework and looked at her quizzically for her next response.

She smiled, “How do you feel about working here?” she asked, “I mean you’ve already been pretty much workin’ on everything here, but I feel like you at least deserve more than a hundred dollars, so I’m offering.”

“Hundred for what?” Dean laughed lightly, “A leaky faucet and a bell?”

“Hush, you deserve it, you start Monday.”

“I didn’t even say yes.” Dean chuckled, gushing over the offer.

“You don’t get to, you work here now.”

“Ellen, if I do work here, it’ll be temporary.”

“I realize that and I’m okay with that, with school, friends and especially because of your daddy’s situation at home.” Ellen looked over to him in all sincerity.

“My dad’s situation?” Dean mused the tone.

Ellen sighed, draping the rag over her shoulder and apron “I know y’ all probably want to keep it on the low in this town,” she reached for Dean’s hand and held it gently, “But Bobby Singer mentioned how your dad is a little down with being sick and all.”

“Sick?” Dean chided

Ellen’s face switched to disbelief “He hasn’t told you.” she muttered softly, a clear oh shit look on her face.

“Told us what?” Sam chimed up, distracted from his work.

Ellen sighed and grabbed for the towel from her shoulder, “It’s not my business to tell, it’s something you need to talk to your father about.” she answered and went back to wiping the same spot she just cleared.

“So, Monday?” Dean amused sadly

“Yes, sir.” Ellen lowered her gaze.

Dean quickly packed up Sam’s papers and his own into Sam’s bag and slung it over his shoulder quickly. Sam quickly followed after him with his pencil and binder in hand, realizing it was time to go.

Not a word was spoken between them as they walked to their old, tar-covered house.

Chapter Text

The Good Part - AJR

"Can We Skip To The Good Part?" 

John didn’t come home that night, or the night after. Dean and Sam are now in school and the sun is bright and shining. Dean can’t shake this weight of secrecy his father is keeping off his own shoulders at the moment.

It left Dean worried. He keeps his thoughts running on different scenarios in his head, gears windin’ n’ grindin’. He bounces his leg at his desk until the bell rings for his next classes, always staring out the window, not listening. A few teachers notice him being more distracted than usual and one of them took him to the hall to talk, but he shrugged it off to the guy, explaining it was “Family Business.” Which it was, but he wasn't about to tell anyone John had left them alone without a reason or a phone call.

Dean walks down the hall, looking at the ground or ahead in a daze, he hadn’t realized he walked outside until he felt the sun beaming on his back. He stood by steps of the school, leaning against a rail by his elbows for support and stared at the trees on the campus into his glazed over gaze again. He barely heard the voice behind him calling his name.

“Dean!” Charlie came into vision and he flinched from her sudden voice, “Hey, you okay? I’ve been talking to you for five minutes now.”

“Really?” he cocked a brow up, confused.

“Nah, it was…” she shrugged, quirking her face into her thoughts as she looked at him “Maybe two?”

“Sorry, I got a lot on my mind right now,” he sighed.

“Well in that case…” Charlie grinned and liked her arm with his, “Let’s get you out of that mind because this doesn’t seem like you.”

“We don’t have plans until 5:30.” he mused with a small chuckle

“So?” Charlie mused back, “Let’s go early.”

He smiled down to her beaming face, “First let me drop Sammy off.”

“Sammy?” Charlie quirked an eyebrow at him.

“My little brother,” he answered as he walked to the courtyard of the school, she followed after, hair swishing behind as they walked down the walkway.

Dean moved out of the way of some of his peers, stepping on the crisp, graying grass as Charlie spoke, he managed to put in a few hums in agreement. He was almost completely in his thoughts until he felt a sharp jab in his shoulder, he flinched and glared at a figure.

“Watch it,” growled a low voice with a tilt, that continued to walk past.

“My bad.” Dean huffed aggravatedly, and huffed under his breath “Dick.”

A scuff of shoes silenced, still “Pardon me?” the voice murmured

Dean turned around slowly. Crap.

“What?” Dean barked, shuffling his arms in his agitation at the guy.

The guy hummed, peering at Dean with dark eyes, putting his hands into the pockets of his long coat casually, “I would watch your tone,” his voice carried a chilling threat, a smile of charismatic teasing “Person gets get into trouble with an attitude like that.”

Dean’s throat rippled as he swallowed, “Not me.” he grunted out.

The Brit purred a hum again, peering into Dean’s eyes one last time before he turned and walked onto his own direction. Dean relaxed his shoulders, a shiver crossing up and down his spine as he breathed out all the tension.

“Dude. you really shouldn’t have caught an attitude with Crowley.” Charlie said with a  shaken and concerned look across her face, “He’s not the type to mess with.”

Dean shrugged, “I’ll be fine.” he answered, “Just another rich asshole who thinks he runs the place, I can handle him.” Charlie sighed.

“Just- just keep away from him,” she stuttered out ”He’s really not the type to even talk to,” she said as she hooked her arm around his from the sudden chilly breeze.

Dean huffed and walked with her towards Sam, who sat on a bench, face already in a book. Nerd. “Heya, Sammy.” Dean smiled at his brother.

“Who’s this?” Sam asked not looking away from his book.

“This is Char-”

“Name’s Charlie!” she answered putting her hand out to Sam, who flinched from the sudden movement.

Dean shrunk into himself a little from that reaction Sam had, an ache in his chest, the corroding his heart. He covered it with a slight smile.

Sam shook her hand “Nice to meet you.” he smiled

“Okay, so,” Dean trailed off as Sam stood up, “I have plans with Char tonight and” he wrapped his arm around Sam, “I wanted to know if you’re okay being alone tonight at home or if you want to go to-”

“The Diner. Ellen’s.” Sam answered without a beat.

“Okay,” Dean smiled, silently relieved with Sam’s choice, “Let’s go then.”

The walk was chattery with Sam and Charlie in front of Dean on the sidewalk, it’s interesting how well they got along so well, most of Dean’s former friends didn’t get why Dean was so hooked on his little brother, his safety, his happiness, seeing if he was alright, but Charlie, Charlie did, and Dean felt his heart lighten a little from that thought. He smiled at them whipping at each other with strings of wheat, laughing.

“Hey, no fair your’s is longer!” Charlie giggled out almost shoving Dean into the ground as she dodged Sam’s blade. Dean chuckled as Sam chased after her to the diner. His mood shifted when he heard a low voice grumbling on the inside of the place, his heart racing.

The door opens to the chime of the bell Dean fixed and Dean’s eyes transfixed onto blue. “Heya, Cas.” he gruffed softly.

“Dean,” Cas eyes widened as he stopped a few steps from running into Sam, who stood between the two taller than himself, “Hello.”

“Hi,” Dean stuck his hands into his pockets.

“Hi,” Castiel answered back, rubbing his neck and snaking his way between the group, he turned around facing Dean at a closer “Um, bye.” he murmured, quickly walking off.

Dean turned to follow the direction Castiel went, he watched how Castiel’s tan coat flapped in the light breeze and sun showed the different textures of his hair. He wondered what those eyes looked like in the sun. Did they show specs of green? Brown? Or were they just that deep azure blue through and through? He wondered many things after, like what would happen if he ran after Castiel, walked him home. Wondered if Castiel would invite him in to meet his parents. Dean’s mind rambled on and on, over and over on its own for a while.

Charlie laid out across the field grass, wheat tickling her nose, “So,” she chirped

“So?” Dean contorted his face quizzically, eye closed from the afternoon sun as he chewed on a piece of wheat.

“You got a crush.” it wasn’t a question

“Who?” Dean chuckled off

“Castiel,”

Dean sputtered on the blade and spit it from his mouth and cleared his throat, “What makes you say that?” he asked opening his eyes to the sky.

“I mean when you saw him you got all tense-”

“I got tense with that douche Crowley too,”

“A different type of tense, you made yourself look taller in the same way, but you were nervous in a happy way.” Charlie grinned over “With Crowley, you just…” she trailed “You radiated anger, with Castiel, you” she sighed happily, “You just got all flustered.” she grinned “It was cute.”

“Shuddup.” Dean threw grass at her, “I’m straight, he’s just interesting.”

Charlie hummed, “He has an effect on people.”

“Whatever.” Dean grumbled, “Anyway what’s with analyzing my body language?” Dean teased

“Not analyzing, just stating the obvious,” she groaned as she sat up, “Castiel was nervous too, I’ve never seen him like that, he’s normally so…” she paused “Robotic.”

Dean chuckled, “I guess that’s a term you can use, he’s kinda like Spock.”

Charlie laughed.

“Spock-stiel.” Dean laughed, a quirky grin on his features.

“You are blocked.” Charlie whacked his shoulder for emphasis.

“Unblock me.”

“Unblocked.”

“Be my friend?” Dean pouted his lip, leaning closer to Charlier

“Okay.” She whacked him with a blade to the face, “Geez, desperate much?”

“Yay." Dean grinned up at the sky, the heated orange across the atmosphere and clouds floating above.

“Days like this are the best,” Charlie answered softly, “The sky goes down into a dark purple-pink, and then finally that twilight blue.”

Dean smiled silently. Thinking about that prophetic twilight blue as Charlie rambled.

Chapter Text

Trees - Twenty One Pilots

"Silent, In The Trees, Standing Cowardly"

Charlie was right about the sun setting down into that blue being the best. He trudged his way through the woods to the house, the trees leaves whispering in the warming breeze of evening, he felt at peace altogether. Nothing on his mind except blue, but a much calmer, happier blue, not the sad, pent-up-anger blue. Twilight Blue.

The leaves crinkled below his heavy boots, twigs snapping and dirt scuffing up into the air, he breathed in the earthy aura of the woods. The bark of the tree, the dirt, the pine needles, the oak leaves and the sandy soil beneath him brought him in a different headset, he had glimpses of the dream pass through his mind but his thoughts were interrupted by the sound of scuffling behind him. He turned quickly, heart racing.

He took a taller stance, broadening his shoulders for a threat, the beat of his heart rushing in his ears, coursing adrenaline in his veins. This was fight or flight. He never expected to see a figure stumble to his feet, he flinched back, brow furrowed.

“Castiel?”

Castiel looked up, eyes wild in fear, blood going down the side of his brow and sweat drenching his hair down to his scalp. Leaves and branch rustled behind the direction Castiel came. Castiel stood and bolted as they came closer. Footsteps.

“Cas!” Dean whispered after him, “Cas,” Dean whispered, walking to Castiel quickly, Castiel gripped tightly to Dean’s jacket to sturdy himself on his feet, Dean held with just as much tension in his hands, “Whoa, whoa, hey I got you, I got you, common,” Dean whispered, helping Castiel trudge with his wobbly legs.

“I just wanted- I just wanted to see the moon.” Castiel rasped out, “Wanted to see it over the field as I stood between the oaks and pines, they came from nowhere.”

“We still can just lemme see if you’re okay, okay?” Dean said leaning to where Castiel could sit down against a rock in the hidden brush, he fumbled to get his phone and turned the screen brightness up to check on Castiel’s bruises and cuts.

“Damn, Cas,” Dean sighed, digging into his pocket “What happened?”

“None of your business.” Castiel snarked, slightly pouting at Dean with a glare. Dean didn't hear the footsteps anymore.

Dean hummed sarcastically at that answer, putting a spare cloth from his pocket to Castiel’s cut, Castiel flinched slightly and glared harder. Dean moved away slowly from the boy’s face, “You can trust me.” Dean reassured.

“I’m not too sure about that.” Castiel snarked, “For all, I know this is a trap.”

“Trap?”

“There are these guys that have been messing with me since forever, used to it.” Castiel shrugged, voice low in a gravel baritone. He didn’t seem to dare to look up at Dean.

“Well let them come around now and we’ll see what happens,” Dean growled back with an attitude

“There’s four.” Castiel groaned out, leaning his head back in pain as he stretched his leg out, sweat glistening on his forehead.

“Handled more than that one time.” Dean huffed, slapping Castiel’s leg slightly,

“Ow!” Castiel growled out, glaring at Dean

“Lemme see.” Dean gruffed, motioning to Castiel’s leg, "And drop the damn attitude,"

Castiel huffed back with the same attitude with his comply. Dean started to lift Castiel’s pant leg, his finger’s soothing over the damp cloth, blood.

“Damn, Cas.” Dean’s voice broke the quiet as he looks over Castiel's leg. Castiel hissed as Dean touched a little over the gash.

“Just a sprain and cut.” He mumbled through gritted teeth, eyes jumping to Dean's, obviously trying to hide the pain.

“Dude, it’s like a sword cut through you.” Dean gawked.

“Had worse.” Castiel chuckled, probably in shock, or he’s just insane; Dean thought and then shook his head at it.

“C' mon, my house isn’t that far.” Dean grunted as he stood, and readied himself to help Castiel, “I’ll clean you up there, not letting you walk through here, too easy to get an infection.” he said offering his hand to Castiel.

Castiel stared at his hand, then looked up at Dean cautiously.

"C' mon, dude," Dean huffed, "Don't make me Forrest Gump ya."

Castiel huffed, not bothering to argue and took Dean’s hand, who lifted him to a sturdy foot. Castiel groaned lowly and leaned against Dean for support as Dean hooked Castiel’s arm around himself. “I gotcha,” Dean huffed, feeling Castiel’s weight, the kid didn’t look it under those baggy clothes but he was pretty solid.

“I gotcha,” Dean repeated. Castiel mumbled a small thanks, they trudged and limped through the woods together.

*** 

A few minutes had passed and Castiel had to pause awhile for his leg, the pain in his shin radiating his body into heat.

Dean had set Castiel against a tree and felt a small fever in Castiel’s leg. Dean felt Castiel sigh peacefully. “What?” he gruffed, a little defensively.

“Nothing,” Castiel smiled lightly, looking through a few white oak trees, passed the wheat-filled field and to the deep sky hallowed by small, almost invisible clouds, “Just the moon and stars have never been so bright in that dark blue.”

This dude is nuts.

“Twilight,” Dean answered sternly as if correcting Castiel, not sure why he said it so strongly or even why he made the comment, but it felt right.

“Twilight,” Castiel whispered, slightly both in awe and agreement, he closed his eyes and sighed again, much deeper and calmer. Dean shrugged

They sat in silence, listening to the woods in the back full of frogs in a pond and the crickets surrounding a pond and creek they had passed earlier and deep in the fields around them.

Dean looked at a faint light past the tall grass, “There’s the house.”

“Yours?” Castiel asked, not even opening his eyes, sweat dripping down his neck.

“Not really, just live there.” Dean laughed to himself shortly, barely able to hear in his tone at the irony of it. The house, like many, was temporary and soon Dean would leave and either forget Castiel or Castiel would forget him, both even, or maybe by then, Dean would take the final action and just leave.

“I’m in the same situation.” Castiel let out a held in sigh.

Dean looked over at the boy, who always wore a trench coat and the basic knitted sweater that made him look small, now Dean noticed that Castiel only wore a button-down and black trousers. Dean huffed quietly, prep.

“We should get there before my fever spreads more.” Castiel groaned lightly as he sat up away from the tree.

“Cas, rest,” Dean said pressing Castiel back against the tree, “Jesus, dude, rest for five minutes.”

“I have, I've had rest plenty,” Castiel growled, glaring at Dean with annoyance.

“Yeah, but I don’t want you putting that weight on that leg so sit and hush it.” Dean barked back with an attitude, "What's with you man?"

Castiel huffed and suddenly was on his feet, well most of his weight on one leg rather than his injured one, holding the tree for balance, “Just help me.” Dean looked up to Castiel, who took a challenging stance but was really in a rush to get there. Dean couldn’t see Castiel’s expression in the dark but the way Castiel’s body shifted and tensed showed Dean that Castiel needed to get home, a movement Dean was so familiar with.

“Fine,” Dean gruffed, grabbing Castiel's arm a little rough to help Castiel through the field to the farmhouse, “Just to get you home,” he mumbled.

“Thank you,” Castiel whispered, eyes looking deep into the field in the distance, the deep hollow stare sent chills down Dean’s spine as the trudge and wobbled to the light of the house and through the moonlight with themselves linked together.

Dean could get lost in those eyes.

Chapter Text

Tequila Sunrise - Eagles

"This Old World Still Looks The Same"

Dean looked over Castiel as Castiel stood from sitting on the stool, the stool creaked from the lifted weight, his feet pointing pigeon-toed as they hit the floor with a soft thud. Dean’s heart fluttered at the child-like gestures, it was almost cute how the blue-eyed boy seemed aged into adulthood and so far into childlike ways all in one.

Dean shook his head to himself. Cute? He threw the bloody rags into the trash, the bag rustling and wastes thumping against the plastic can as it landed in.

“Thank you,” Castiel murmured, lowly in a whisper as if trying not to wake anyone in the house.

“It’s just us dude, no need to be so quiet,” Dean whispered back with a smirk on his lips, leaning his upper body to project the whispered tease.

Castiel couldn’t help but stare at Dean and that left Dean chuckling at him quietly at the blue-eyed boy's doe-like face. Dean watched Castiel swallow and lift a side of his lips.

“You could just say ‘you’re welcome,’” Castiel grinned, still whispering.

“My ‘you’re welcome’ is me teasing you, Cas,” Dean chuckled.

“I’ll take my leave then.” Castiel’s voice broke away from the whisper now, his voice gravelly and gruff, it sent shivers down Dean’s spine.

“Woah, Woah, hey,” Dean scrambled after Castiel, hitting his hip on the sharp corner of a counter, Fuck, “Lemme drive ya home,” he scrambled out.

Castiel seemed panicked “You don’t have to, you’ve done enough already,”

“Can it,” Dean muttered, grabbing the keys to the red pick-up, “Just lemme do this too.”

“Dean, no I-” Castiel sighed at Dean’s determined gaze, frozen under the green stare, he huffed “Fine,” and walked out the door with Dean trailing quickly behind him.

Dean locked the door with a click, the key roughly sounding out a low scrape as he took it out of the lock, the bunch of them jingling together as he moved them. He looked to Castiel, jingled them obnoxiously in his hand and grinned as he leads Castiel to the truck. Castiel promptly followed at his side, his stature punctual and carefree.

Dean rolled a thick zipper jacket into a ball and tossed it to Castiel, who barely managed to catch it with both arms, almost fumbling it all together. “Put it on, it’s getting chilly and I don’t want you catching a cold after patching you up,” Dean grumbled as he entered the truck.

Dean started the pick-up, the engine revving up with a sharp squeak until it started into its regular roar. It was shaking his core, but not in the same way as the Impala, it started with the rumble and shifting of the motor as he breathed in the scent of oil, he would have to check for that later. With Castiel by his side in the truck, slamming the heavy door. He drove.

“Thank you,” Castiel’s graveled voice broke the silence as they drove down the red-dirt-gravel road, “I appreciate everything you’ve done for me tonight and I apologize-”

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what?” Castiel questioned as if in a challenge if Dean had glanced over long enough he was sure Castiel had that head tilt and squint in his eyes, but decided not to wreck the truck by looking at Castiel.

“Don’t apologize,” Dean answered Castiel’s tone calmly, looking at the headlights in his rearview mirror come up.

“I just feel like a burden to you,” Castiel murmured, barely audible over the roar of the engine, “I barely know you and here I was bleeding on you, your furniture, you taking your bandages to cover up my wounds, cleaning them beforehand and now you’re driving me home.”

“I really don’t mind,” Dean glanced quickly to Castiel in the passenger than to the road again. Look at the road, moron.

Castiel felt Dean’s gaze leave as soon as it appeared onto him and he leaned closer to the window of the oil smelling pick-up truck, resting his head against the cool window, water from the nightly dew was drizzling down the glass.

“Yeah, but,” Castiel sighed and turned to look at Dean again, curls sticking to his forehead “I still feel like I am on account of all of this and you not even really knowing me.”

“Really man it’s okay,” Dean answered, “I really don’t mind and honestly I already consider you a friend and like you seem like a nice guy and interesting to say the least, plus-.”

“You missed the turn.”

“Huh?”

“You were supposed to turn, but I didn’t want to interrupt you.” Castiel murmured as Dean looked over at Castiel, who looked back with a blank stare on his features. Dean couldn’t help it. He laughed.

He laughed so hard he had to pull over the pick-up and he continued his belly starting to become sore as he did, he looked at Castiel again, seeing him try to hold in his own laughter by biting his bottom lip as if trying to be polite, but as Dean looked at him it managed to escape from him as well.

They were left in the pick-up, on the side of the road, middle of the country full of fields and trees, laughing. Laughing at what neither of them knew, but Dean felt his shoulders become lighter than they had in ages.

Dean never laughed that hard in his life and he put his whole body into to where he had to lean against Castiel’s shoulder for support, he felt the gently grip Castiel had on his arm as they laughed and he never felt at peace as he did in that moment of just laughing his ass off with a boy he barely knew.

It took moments of breathing and laughter between until they managed to stop. Dean buried his face into Castiel’s arm breathing in the scent of him through the sleeve of the jacket. Castiel still had a few bursts of laughter shake through him. Dean felt the jolts of his chest move him around and he smiled.

Dean sat up slowly, holding his jaw, “I haven’t laughed like that in ages.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever laughed like that,” Castiel mentioned quizzically.

Dean stared, a little shocked at the comment Castiel casually brought up, “Really?” he asked as he sat in the driver’s seat again.

“Yes,” Castiel answered stoically, “It’s rare of me to laugh at anything, I find joy, but… not like that, I’ve never laughed at someone else’s laugh until now.”

Dean felt his ears turn red in embarrassment, not in shame but because it seemed Castiel was complimenting him, “Well I like your laugh.”

“I like your’s more,” Castiel answered, staring intensely, “It brightens the room, same with your smile.”

Dean’s blood went cold at that sentence and he felt those walls come back up. A barrier. Brightens a room. “Uh, yeah, so…” he trailed clearing his throat, “I’m just going to back up and turn around and… stuff.”

Castiel squinted at Dean, “Did I say something to offend you, Dean.”

God, his voice saying his name sent shivers down his spine and Den wanted so badly to hate it, but he couldn't. This guy was different.

“No, ‘course not.” Dean turned the trucks steering wheel, busting a U-ie.

“If you don’t tell me it’s going to bother me so…”

Dean shrugged his shoulders and he drove onto the gravel road.

“Dean-”

“My dad mentioned my mom the same way,” Dean answered interrupting Castiel.

“I don’t understand,” Castiel pointed out, “Help me to?”

“My mom passed away somethin’ odd years, my dad mentioned her smile brightening the room and like” pause, “I don’t know it got me into my head.”

“Your head is a dangerous place I assume?”

Dean’s throat rippled through tension as he swallowed, “Yeah,” he answered an answer barely audible, his voice breaking slightly, he cleared his throat, “Yeah.”

“Let’s just,” pause, “Pull over.”

“Huh?”

“Pull over,” Castiel answered loudly.

Dean pulled over again, looking out to the field.

Castiel hopped out of the truck before it could even pull over, causing the hair on Dean’s neck to rise in anxiety as Castiel ran to an old rickety pasture gate.

“What the hell are you doing?” Dean called out the opened door.

“Opening the gate!” Castiel called, unlatching the chains and swinging the creaking metal gate open, “C’ mon Dean, I want to see the sunrise!”

Dean sighed, “I’m tryna get ya home, Cas, won’t your parents be mad?”

Castiel hopped back in the truck, slamming the door, he shook his head looking at Dean in the fading twilight, “No, they’re dead.” he stated casually. “Now common drive to the oak uphill and we’ll watch it rise, I want to see it with you.”

Dean stared at those eyes he knew were now blue and the colors of all the skies and oceans combined, but he would never notice if they had greens and browns in them until the sun rose. He wanted to see that.

He drove at the thought about the colors of Castiel’s eyes and the future blue of the sky. Twilight would be no more.

The field sounded out the ironic hum of the old pick-up's radio. Playing the Eagles; Tequila Sunrise.

Chapter Text

Truce - Twenty One Pilots

"The Sun Will Rise And We Will Try Again"

The long, low, hallow, horn of a train sounded in the distance as the laid in the back of the pick-up. The had collected hay from the side of the road and laid it out in the back and found a couple of blankets under the seat of the truck and nested in the bed of the pick-up.

They stared at the now fading stars, talking about the basic anatomy of hands now, Dean fiddled with a string on the button of his flannel shirt as Castiel talked about ligaments and tendons, the what-not. He couldn’t help but smile at Castiel’s dorky admiration over the small things, listening to everything he had to say about what fingernails were made of and how broken fingers mend themselves.

There was an underlying feeling that Dean refused to acknowledge, but honestly, he didn’t know what it was. Dean wasn’t one to be in tune with his emotions, feelings, and thoughts. They usually left him frustrated. Angry really.

“I like how the stars start to fade out into the colors of the sky,” Castiel sighed, arms laying on his stomach as he fiddled with the groves under his nail.

Dean chuckles lightly at that, a slight grin on his face, blinking eyelashes past his eyes to look up at the opening colors of the sky. “Never really noticed it.”

“It’s strange seeing stars here, and them actually being so far off and away and dead.”

“Well damn Cas, you don’t have to be so blunt about death.” the bubbles of air passing through Dean’s lungs into a small laugh.

“Death is probably the bluntest thing in existence.”

“What do you mean?” Dean looked to Castiel, who was now sitting against the window of the truck, leaning his weight against the rear windshield glass.

“Because death can come at any time, you never know when or how even if you have an expectancy of how you die,” Castiel sighed, “Like cancer...”

For some reason, that word sent chills down Dean’s spine and his nerves tingled, “Cas,” he swallowed “Are you sick?”

“What do you mean?” Castiel’s eyes widened, “Oh! No, no, no, no, but my aunt had cancer and I remember how she was expected to live three months but ended up living for five more years,” Castiel chuckled, playing with a piece of hay, staring out into the field, “Stubborn woman she was.”

Dean sighed.

“I didn’t mean to startle you, I apologize.” Castiel looked up at Dean now, away from the open field, he gripped Dean’s hand slightly to acknowledge his apology to be more sincere.

Dean looked to his hand covered with Castiel’s, slightly mesmerized with the hold and grip, the vein that pulsated out slightly and callous. Castiel didn’t seem like it, but he was, in fact, able-bodied and solid for his height, and Dean could just tell by the way Castiel had gripped him in the seat of the truck and now by the heaviness of Castiel’s hand. Dean slightly moved his hand away and Castiel moved away.

Dean felt a grave dig into his heart as the contact left. It made absolutely no sense. He wanted to be touched in every way by everyone, but all at once he hated the contact because of the peace it held - or even the absolute harsh measures of touch that would have him aching in positives and negative.

He wanted to have Castiel touch him ever so gently and firm, but hit him for wanting it. The fierce course in his veins ached for something, it was almost sadistic and so wrong. He wanted to say please for so many reasons. Please tell me it’s alright to be happy. To be in this moment. To be with you. In this moment. I don’t know if I’m lost or if I’m genuinely wanting this, but tell me everything will be alright.

“What are you thinking behind those eyes of yours?” Castiel questioned, face blank in a stare. It was almost soul-destroying, but it was also renewing.

Dean swallowed, low into his throat, the heat of guilt swallowing his stomach, he struggled for breath to get out what he wanted to say, he sighed out finally“I’m hoping everything is going to be alright.”

“Of course it is.” Castiel mused softly, laying down and shifting his body to face towards Dean.

“What if I’m not?” Dean asked, feeling the grave dig into vulnerability.

“I’m not either,” Castiel said, moving a tuft of hair from Dean’s hair, he really needed a haircut, “But that’s alright.”

Dean didn’t believe it.

“Or it will be,” Castiel continued, “Maybe not today, or tomorrow, or the next, but eventually,” Castiel suddenly put his hand on Dean’s face, pressing into the hard cheekbone - Dean hated himself for flinching at that, but Castiel didn’t move, “It’s going to be okay Dean, I may not know what you’re going through, but I know this - You will be alright.”

Dean nodded, feeling small in Castiel’s palm and for the word speaking through his heart. He barely knew Castiel but… Here he was, going for it.

Castiel’s breath caught between them before he pulled and snaked his other hand around Dean’s head, the other still on Dean’s face, bring them close together as they took it in themselves into a small kiss. Castiel hooked his leg between Dean’s and gripped Dean’s shirt. Dean groaned out air when his shoulder bumped the side of the truck but kept his lips up with Castiel as the moved.

What am I doing? This isn’t right. Not for me. Not for Castiel.

Dean pulled away, getting a gust of air before he was pulled back into a kiss so fervent, hungry and deep that he almost couldn’t breathe out and in for more. It wasn’t Castiel that pulled him in, in fact, Castiel was the one to fumble through the kisses before getting on track with Dean. This kiss wasn’t from Castiel. It was from Dean.

Dean flipped them over in the hay, pressing himself to Castiel, but keeping most of his weight off of the boy. He looked down at the boy below him. Castiel’s eyes were wide and hazy with a yearning for more and the greed of the morning sky opening up with the sun past the window shutters, clouds.

Dean felt a riveting rebellion against himself, his mind, body, soul, his father, Sam, society, the dreams, and Castiel as he tested out a liquid thrust against Castiel’s stern and sharp hip bones, causing a sudden, low, gasping breath from Castiel.

“Dean,” Castiel rasped. Dean moved against him again, feeling the sudden slight hardness against his hip as he moved against Castiel’s thigh.

Fuck. He moved again

“Dean,” Castiel rasped out and moved his hips up away, slightly bucking Dean away, “Wait.”

Dean nodded, holding tightly to Castiel and gave a peck at Castiel’s neck, he shifted away to give Castiel room to sit up. The blush deep on Castiel’s face and lips were already swollen from the biting playful nips Dean had abused his teeth on.

Castiel let out a shaky breath, “I…” he swallowed, “I’ve never really done this type of thing,” he cleared his throat, “I’m not that experienced.”

Dean smiled lightly and brought Castiel’s face closer to him and gave him a light peck. “I don’t either,” he whispered against Castiel’s lips, brushing the softly as he spoke, “Well not with boys anyway.”

Castiel blinked, eyelashes cascading a shadow, “Kiss me.”

Dean did.

He heard that wailing cry come from the distance, below the oak tree. He saw flashes of lightning. He flinched away, closing his eyes.

****

Dean opened his eyes, the sun beating down on him as he woke up from the dream, a light lined layer of sweat clung to his body and his neck ached from sleeping in the bed of the truck and he felt the aching hardness of his cock in his jeans. He looked beside him seeing Castiel asleep sitting against the corner of the bed of the truck, curled into himself.

What the fuck.

Dean had a different dream.

A dream about Castiel.

A boy he barely knew.

A dream about kissing him and having the want of…

...Fucking him…

What the fuck.

Dean flinched as Castiel moved slightly in his sleep, brows furrowing in his sleep, lips setting themselves into a pout. God Dean was curious about how they felt just now. Were they as soft as they were in the dream - Wait - Why was Dean thinking that way? There’s no way that’s going to happen. Yet, the small part of him he always knew was screaming on the inside.

He swallowed it down.

No time for that bullshit.

He sighed, frustrated with his hard-on and the thoughts of Castiel from his dream.

Chapter Text

Hurt - Johnny Cash

“What Have I Become, My Sweetest Friend”

It had been two weeks since Dean had watched the sunrise with Castiel and Dean could only focus on the whirlwind of dreams he had been having lately. They weren’t the regular dreams, dark field, thunder, and lightning and screaming. No, these were much different, much more colorful. Dean had almost forgotten that he could see colors in his dreams, he had been so used to the color of dying gray Earth.

Dean had been working at the Roadhouse for that while and this week he was supposed to get paid, it would be enough for groceries since John had been gone. Money was low. Dean dreaded the conversation he was supposed to bring up with his father about the situation Ellen had mentioned. Bobby had refused to say anything about it, but Bobby’s voice had grown solemn when Dean had demanded answers. Dean got nothing.

Castiel hadn’t been around lately either and Dean noticed that he ached to see his gawky friend again. Castiel had told Dean that he would be gone for a while, some kind of classes or camp in Pierre. 

He sat in his window, a leg hanging out of it, slightly kicking at the siding of the house, his weight making the windowsill creak with every movement. Holding a book on his lap as he wrote down the words for Cassie. He had meant to write her as soon as he got here and now he sat in the window fifteen pages down on how and what he was doing and who he met and his newfound friends; Ash, Jo, and Charlie.

He didn’t write about Castiel.

It didn’t seem right.

***

Dean had his fair share of scars, scrapes, stitches, and bruises. A million dollars worth of punches from fights that left some with things broken or out of place. Most which were expected when Dean felt cornered.

He sat chatting with Charlie during lunch over a new project for physics when a cruel weight came from his side, knocking him in the head onto the floor of the rust-colored tile flooring of the cafeteria. Today was one of those days. Dean didn’t spare a moment to get on his feet and tackling the aggressor down into an all-out brawl.

Now, he sat in the principal's office with a bloody cut on his brow bone and aching fists. The aggressor sitting beside him with a bloody nose and a chipped tooth, ice pack pressed to his eye and cheekbone.

“Morningstar,” a calm, patient, tired voice called. The guy beside Dean stood up with a low sigh and entered solemnly.

Dean took a good measure in picking the dried blood off his knuckles, ignoring the fire that ignited when he touched his own broken skin, it would heal in a week. He was surprised he could feel anything in his hands anymore and with that thought in his head, all he could loop it in the ties with was the feeling of Castiel’s warmth he had felt in his dream weeks ago. He found himself craving Castiel’s presence and it was just strange and all he wanted lately.

Dean was an open book with his sexuality, he may not be out to his family. John had made a few comments toward an old gay couple years ago to keep Dean to stay in the closet, Sam was just too young at the time Dean figured himself out to understand, but Dean was sure Sam would figure it out, he was in middle school, after all, everyone's a part of the LGBT+ in middle school, just some stick to it through life and a ridiculed for it forever.

“Winchester,” a snide voice took his attention from his thoughts and he looked up to Principal Adler. Dean stood at attention and walked past the tense and pale Morningstar to the office. The door closed behind him with a click and Dean felt a tense, eerie aura fill the dark room around them. “Have a seat.” 

Dean did as he was told as he watched Adler walk to his side of the desk.

“So, let’s see,” Adler hummed as he brought out a thick folder with a name tag, Dean’s name tag, “Shoplifting, vandalism, destruction of property, trespassing, soliciting, aggravated and physical assault, the list goes on, huh?”

Dean bit the inside of his cheek and nodded with gritted teeth. Adler sighed.

“Dean,” he made eye contact with Dean, “Is everything okay at home?”

Dean nodded, “Yeah,” he rasped out, his throat dry from lack of use.

“Your father never answers the phone and-”

“He’s busy at work.” Dean interrupted sternly, his voice strong if the school knew that John had been gone they would involve the state because of Sammy.

“Lucius is a minor, Dean,” Adler announced, “He’s thinking about pressing charges.”

“Okay, and?” Dean huffed, hoping his anxiousness wouldn’t shine through, his life was practically a shit hole, go head, contact John an send him to jail or another boys home again.

“ And I can make an arrangement to where this is all covered and never happened, your whole record too.”

All of Dean’s hair stood on his body at that sentence, “Arrangement?”

“Your father hasn’t been at work, I own that plant and he hasn’t been in for weeks,” that’s news to Dean but he keeps his face a complete poker and breathing steadily, "I'm close to people in law and I even did a few home visits and John wasn’t home, I realize you’re nineteen and capable of handling your brother, but if you’re charged for the assault of Luc-”

“He attacked me!” Dean barked, standing suddenly, slamming a fist to the desk in front of him, brows furrowed and body vibrating.

“But you conducted the most damage that clearly doesn’t seem like self-defense and if the law is involved they might investigate your life at home,” Adler stated matter of fact, his voice pulled Dean in softly “And we both know you don’t want that,” Adler’s hand reached over the desk casually, caressing Dean’s.

Dean’s not sure of the reasons why and he's disgusted while he does it but he allows Adler’s hand to linger against his sore knuckles. He leans into the support, completely starved of gentle touches have him aching to any hint of kindness directed to him.

“I can take care of you, Dean,” Adler’s voice was low, as he brought Dean’s hand to his lips and Dean had the thought of outright slapping the man “Just if we have an arrangement made.”

Dean’s throat rippled as he swallowed the gravel down into his esophagus, every fiber of his being was saying to run and scream, but Adler had so many points that reeled him in with the bait. His throat clicked as he swallowed again, “What kind of arrangement?”

“Well, Trouble-Maker,” The insinuated pet name sent a chilling cold shiver through Dean, “The arrangement deals with a substance.”

“That’s it?” Dean wished it was, but he was sure it wasn’t, “Drugs?”

“For now.”

 Dean had a bad feeling about this.

It was worth it.

***

Dean never wished to be able to cave more into himself as he did when he drove Sam home. Sam noticed his brother’s mood instantly but didn’t try to push Dean into an interrogation. Dean was grateful for that to say the least.

Adler had given him an address and a meeting time of midnight by an old abandoned railroad station earlier that day in his office. His touches had lingered against Dean’s skin and clothes like a stain to pure white cotton, Dean felt tainted, but when he looked over to Sammy reading all he could think about were the consequences. Dean refused to lose Sam in any way. 

Even if it meant that Dean would have to give Adler his body in the future.

Chapter Text

Twisted - MISSIO

“I'm uncontrollable, emotional, chaotically proportional, I’m visceral, reloadable. I'm crazy.”

Dean looked around at the smoke that surrounded him in the cool air. The stars flickered and leaves rustled as the wind blew, cascading the smoke to the night. The gravel beneath his boots grated into a crunch as he walked. Even with the cigarette smoke in his lungs, it felt like he could breathe purely.

Again, he was always surrounded by smoke, but the reason he smoked wasn’t to escape his anxieties, but more as a way to consume him from the fiery bolts of lightning. Something that regularly consumed him. It was his grip on reality.

He made his way to the old rickety bridge, as he walked across his steps thumped and creaked. The wind passed over him causing goosebumps to rise on his neck, he lifted up the color of his jacket and continued, one hand fisted in a pocket. He made himself over by the tracks.

As he walked he noticed a dim glow, he followed it until he was beside an old rickety train station. The wood had grayed and aged with time and the foundation was chipping away and crumbling slightly. He found himself on an old bench that was built into the side, his weight making it creak.

He waited…

Waited to the sound of rustling leaves and the howling wind that passed.

Waited for the sound of footsteps.

They were coming towards him. Multiple.

He watched the flare of his cigarette glow in the dim cast as they came near. A tall, haunting, lanky-built one, a broad one, and a stocky figure in a peacoat. That fucking prick. Crowley. Crowley smirked, his eyes flashing red, mischievous.

Dean took a long soothing drag, the smoke corroding his throat and lungs with its acid. He held it as he measured and with a sweeping motion flicked it to Crowley's feet.

Crowley peaked down at the dimming ash and with his leathered shoe, snuffed it out with a twist of his ankle into the rock.

“Welcome to The Tracks.” Crowley smiled, a sarcastic wave of his hands.

What have I gotten myself into…

Dean was seated in the passenger seat of a 1996 Chevrolet Impala SS, and boy did he feel like he was cheating on Baby with a hooker infested with herpes. He felt disgusting.

“So,” the lanky driver beside him rasped nasally, “have you ever done a getaway?”

“Yeah.” Dean stared outside of the window, not paying him too much mind, he looked into the wing mirror.

“That’s nice,” he hissed, crooked, “You have experience wi-“

“Hey, Allistair.” The brooding of Gordon’s voice interrupted.

“Hmm?” Allistair turned to look at him, head contorted, neck a creeping stretch.

“Shut the fuck up, kid has experience, keep out his life.” Gordon seethed, Dean felt the chills he didn’t know he had seep from his spine, he felt oddly protected.

Alistair stared back at Gordon. He reminded Dean of a snake.

“That’s enough boys,” Crowley called from the back behind Alistar, he gave Alistar a look of annoyance. “There’s work to do, Dean, do you drive?”

“Yeah,” Dean answered and he felt those snake eyes turn to him.

“How good?” Crowley asked

“Good” Dean shrugged

“Then get in the driver's seat, we’ll be inside, you’re the getaway.” Crowley gruffed, reaching into his peacoat to grab into the inner pocket.

“‘Kay.” Dean opened the thin door of the car. Alistair mimicked and as Dean passed he made eye contact with the snake, keeping his face stoic and unreadable, eyes full of fire.

“Be easy on her.” Alistair rasped, brushing the keys into Dean’s hand, a little too intimately for Dean’s liking.

Alistair brushed his shoulder against Dean’s, he could feel Alistar's violating stare go through his skull, he could feel every detail that Alistair was taking from Dean. He did not trust Alistar. Alistair was officially a creep. Fuck that guy.

Dean rolled his eyes as he opened the driver's door and swung himself inside.

He watched the other three trudge up to the apartment complex and he had the impulsive idea of just driving away and leaving them behind and stealing Sammy and just escaping everything.

He decided that wasn’t a good idea and just decided to play with the radio. The knobs were cheap cracked plastic and the sound from the radio when he started it was nothing but static. Guess that’s karma for thinking about ditching.

“Bullshit…” Dean grumbled, turning the radio and air off.

It was maybe ten minutes later that they came rushing out, Dean unlocked the doors and started the car.

“Start the fucking car!” Gordon yelled hopping in the passenger

“It is started asshole!” Dean retorted, putting the car in shift as Crowley and Allistair climbed in.

He hit the gas and the wheels spun in smoke and then the car pushed forward barely giving Allistair time to get his foot in to close his door.

“Gordon you fuckin’ moron what happened to being quiet?!” Crowley growled

“I panicked the alarm was silent, it’s Allistair’s job to know about security!” Gordon chided

“And the fuckers will be behind us any second now, so let’s fucking GO!” Allistair screamed, throwing his body in just in time “GO!”

Dean said nothing as he sped up, he looked in the rearview seeing a total of three black Chevrolet Suburbans with modifications, he winced as he was blinded by the top LED light beaming behind them.

“Shit” he hit the gas and ran the car onto a side road from them towards town. Gravel flying behind them, hitting the back of the car.

“NO!” Crowley yelled, “We have to stay out of sight, take a left!”

“Let me drive!” Dean retorted as he continued forward “Let me focus!”

“I told you it wasn’t a good idea to let a nobody be the getaway.”

“Fuck you too Gordon!” Dean piped as he banked and drifted on gravel he heard a thunk on the roof of the car

“Fuck!” Gordon chirped, Dean looked in the passenger at him and smirked seeing that Gordon had hit his head.

“WATCH OUT!” Allistair’s nasally voice boomed, pointing a crooked finger at a vehicle in front of them trying to create a roadblock. Dean flinched into himself and barely had time to turn the car away from the SUV that had popped up in front of them, they drove side by side, practically racing neck and neck.

Dean hit the gas harder and the SUV taunted back with their engine speeding up as well and knocked them on the side causing Dean to lose a bit of momentum and control of the wheel and car, the gravel causing them to swerve.

He clenched his teeth and continued to speed up, waiting for that swerving hit from the SUV.

It came for them again and he hit the brakes, dust flying in front of them as the SUV ran into a ditch.

That was lucky.

Dean’s anxiety hit him all the sudden and he found himself stopped on the road staring at the SUV trying to get out the ditch, everything seemed to stop and slow down and go quiet and loud all at once

“Fuck, fuck, fuck…” Gordon mumbled

Those were the words that woke Dean from his thoughts.

“Scared ya?” Dean smirked at him

“Fuck you!”

“Enough boys!” Crowley crowded in an authoritative voice.

Dean looked behind in the rearview and flew out of there like a bat out of Egypt. He saw an end to the road with a two way arrow sign, a highway. He didn't bother to stop as he started drifting onto a paved highway, now he was very lost at this point, the tires squealed as they cut off a minivan, the puny sound of their horn made him laugh.

“No one is behind us yet, but keep a lookout,” Gordon grumbled

“You head okay?” Dean asked nonchalantly, he was trying to be genuine

“Hurts a little, we’ll check on it when we’re in the clear for real,” Gordon grumbled out

Dean shivered into himself, he felt awkward and didn't want to start a fight, Gordon was like him

“Thanks for checkin’.” Gordon huffed

Never mind, not like me.

“No prob, Gord.”

“Don’t call me Gord.”

“Thank god,” Dean chuckled, “So sorry man.”

“No prob Dean-o” Gordon chided back with a small smile in his voice.

Chapter Text

Daffodils - Nina June

“I outran a hurricane. Look at the sky. It's never been so clear my love”

The old, rusting, farmhouse light on the porch flickered gold and was dimming from the cold rain that was falling, Dean grumbled to himself for not wearing something with a hood as he shivered from the wind. The weight of him caused the porch to creak and his boots thudded on the rotting wood. The wind howled as he opened the screen door and the metal made a clang as it whipped. Keys were jingling in his hands as he fiddled for the one that opened the door.

“Dean!” a flash of brown beckoned him into a sharp hug, knocking the wind out of him

“Oof- Sammy,” Dean pulled his little brother closer in for a tighter hug, “I’m soaked, buddy.”

Sam shrugged into the hug, the wool of his sweater making Dean's hand itch “I was worried…”

Dean’s brow furrowed and he pulled Sam away from him, the sweater stretching off Sam's shoulder “Hey, look at me,” Sam looked up with sad puppy eyes, oh Dean had fucked up, great. Just great. He fixed the shoulder.

“I ain’t ever not gonna come home ya hear?” he said sincerely, looking Sam in the eye, Sam fiddled with the long sleeves.

“I don’t even think what you said was English, but… Okay.” Sam beamed a little bit, but still seemed burdened with something. Something that he needed to tell Dean. Fuck.

“What's wrong?” Dean asked, ready to interrogate Sam. His brow furrowed causing Sam to look away a bit.

“Dad wants to have ‘A Talk’,” Sam said putting emphasis with his fingers into quotation marks, making eye contact again a small awkward smirk on his lips as he continued messing with the knitting on his sweater

Dean scoffed, taking off his rain-soaked jacket “Since when do you do quotations with your fingers bud?” 

“Castiel does it all the time, speaking of which he said you never called him.”

“Called him?” Dean questioned, brow furrowed again

“Yeah, his number is in your phone, but I guess you never gave him yours?”

“When did that happen?” Dean questioned more

“At the store!” Sam yelled in frustration, sleeves flailing about.

“Oh... oh?” Dean pondered, the realization hit him “Oh!”

“Yeah,” Sam rolled his eyes, digging into the couch and pulling out a thick textbook about amputations “Duh.”

“Well, then I guess I should text huh.”

Sam hummed at him in answer, already too invested in the book. "Ew..." he deadpanned

Dean made his way up the rickety stairs, shaking his head and rolling his eyes. “Nerd.”

He sat staring at the name and number for a few minutes, even though it felt like hours.

He typed:

-hey…

He deleted that.

“Well then guess I'm not texting him…”

He pondered and shook his head

“... talking to myself…”

He rolled his eyes, resting his elbows on his knees, leaning forward looking down at the cracked phone screen of the phone that was probably better used as a paperweight.

“Fuck” he grumbled, why was he so nervous? Why was he so awkward about it? It’s literally just saying Hi. 

He typed away;

-hey, is this castiel? forgot to give you my number wanted to make sure it was you… if i decided to call making sure your not some weirdo

-*youre

-its dean

-dean winchester

-fixed your camera

He threw his phone onto the bed, the anxiety taking a bit of a toll. He laid back onto his bed, the mattress squeaking from his weight. The smell of tar on the walls reminded him of the cigarette he smoked on “The Tracks” as Crowley had called it. It was a thing he never wanted to crave other than to use a way to harm himself. Every time he smoked he thought of the way the nicotine would cover his lungs with the same tar that was on the walls. Trapped in tar. That was his existence. Trapped.

Trapped with guilt, pleasure, addiction. 

Life.

He closed his eyes and let the world wash him with a dazing slumber.

He opened them.

Still the same gray world, with the bellowing thunder crackling in the distance. It always burrowed closer and charged at him as if it was almost in him. All that power and electricity. Thunder has a scream so powerful it boomed and made your ears ring. The electricity was all trapped inside his gut, fizzling like a mento in a coke bottle but with flame and heat and lack of starch. Goosebumps rilined up with the cold, harsh, howling wind and the sharpness of freezing rain. The dry wheat grass waved in anticipation of the doom it would face from the lighting striking it. Each little strand is being consumed by a blaze of burning fire.

Fire.

He turned away from this. An all too familiar chill down his spine felt like pride and protection. He heard the creaking of the oak trees surrounding her. The screaming and shattering shrieking but turned away this time.  He’s turned away a few times, but only so she wouldn't see how tormented he was by her. By himself. By the guilt. Her most of all or him most of all he has no clue. He heard the crashing of the bucket and the tug of the rope, the snapping of the rope as it took her screams to a different form of anger and sorrow. Still, he would not turn. Something was different and he could feel it. He could feel a warmth and he could see the usual red of the tree leaves become beneath him?

He turned to a red glow that was below him rather than surrounding him… Something was different… It was yellow… The only thing in the field now was…

A daffodil.

The sky was gray but there was a clearing in the sky, it looked like a black and white film with the sun peaking over the clouds and grass and full leaves of the trees. The world has become a way to a colorless sunny day. He felt the heat of the sun across his cheekbones and sighed

Ping.

The sound of the alarm woke him from his dream.

He sat up his heart racing and reached for his side table, well a replacement for his side table, it was just a really big 12-gallon drywall bucket. The rattle of the amber bottle with the white cap brought him to his reality. He took a deep breath and shakily pressed and attempted to unscrew the cap off. Stupid childproof. The bottle dropped to the floor with a rattling tumble in the eerie silence of the house. He heard the silence of Sam being quiet and listening and heard the beat of his racing heart. 

Why was he so nervous?

He stood up with a sigh and walked across the boards creaking under him and he picked up the bottle, the light outside his down beaming down at it like a beacon from heaven. He chuckled softly, shaking off the anxiety. 

He looked out at the rain. The raindrops sparkling in the glow with the headlights of John’s car as John drove in.

Maybe he was healing…

Maybe he was actually starting to process everything that happened…

He looked at the pills and the glow on the amber plastic was gone.

Maybe he hadn’t healed an ounce… 

He set the bottle back on the bucket.

Only time will tell.

He looked over at his phone, the blue hue of the screen lit up a reminder that he had a message. From Castiel.

-Hello Dean.

He smiled.

Chapter Text

“My time will come, I promise that. Pull the trigger back, back. Bullet in a gun”

The fact he smiled made his heart flutter for some reason. It must have been the vulnerability of his emotions at the time, but they went back and forth for three days. Every notification Dean received he always got the giddy feeling in his chest and throat because he had a hope it was Castiel’s message. 

They see each other every day after school at the diner, Dean notices he never sees him there. Sammy has even grown close to Castiel. Jo and Ash bring the place light as they all talk and work together on fixing the place. Dean loved his job at the diner. It kept him busy and brought them a good income. John hasn’t been home in a few days now, so Dean and Sam had free range to do as they wish. Which mostly consisted of walking around the square and hanging at the diner. 

Dean was actually somewhat happy with everything going on. Things have been good. He felt lighter on his feet and he smiled more. Sammy has been doing very well in school as well and that brought Dean out of a funk as well. Things have been going good. 

Suspiciously good. 

Today it seemed a bit quiet on Castiel’s end, which was kind of a blessing, but made Dean worry and feel nervous about today’s assignment. He chewed at the skin around his thumbnail anxiously. Something about the guy grounded Dean. That feeling itself also worried him, the fact that Castiel was calming to him. The last person to calm him in this way was his girlfriend Cassie. Was she his girlfriend? He should message her. 

Today he sat in the old, musty, “abandoned” train station just as he always did every few days. He lounged on a wobbly, creaking chair that tilted side to side if he sat a certain way. Instead, he balanced his body back against the backrest and continuously bounced his leg. Anxious for the outcome of tonight. The empty pizza box on the table filled the room with the aroma of onion emitting from the cardboard. The grease seeped onto the table through it. The pizza was gross honestly, but not much he could do about it. 

“Well alright, so.. Dean,” Crowley’s voice buzzed in his ears, he looked up to see the Brit's poshed grin, “Pay attention would ya.”

Dean huffed and rolled his eyes, wiping his hands on a paper towel “Dude, I’m just the getaway driver. I don't need one of your weapons, I have my own and I carry it every time we have assignments.”

“Well time to change that, this time it’s serious and we’re dealing with the actual suppliers again.” Gordon grumbled, arms crossed. “Which you would know if you were paying attention, we all need to be carrying everywhere we go.”

Dean stared up at Gordan with a glare, Gordon stared back with the same coldness. Dean leaned forward a bit over the table, staring; blank and empty.

“Then explain in a way that's not fucking elaborate and boring.” Dean ordered, his attitude not giving Gordan a chance to retaliate with a word “I’ve probably been dealing longer than the three of you combined. You have no power here, Gordon. Also, we can’t carry everywhere because we’re all in high school, step off your high horse already, literally no one listens to you. Crowley is the leader out of any of us and we all know I’m next in line if you keep up with the attitude with these so-called suppliers, they’re all just shitty business-men with egos that terrorize low-income families 'n' not one of us in this fucking room is any better than them considering we put it out there for those assholes.”

Gordan’s face turned sour, he turned and huffed away, grazing Allistair’s shoulder with a shove, opening the squeaky door to the outdoors and slamming it shut, the slam rattled the room a bit. 

The three of them; Dean, Crowley, and Al waited in silence until they heard the slamming of a truck door and the sound of the engine of the Ford Ranger turning over outside. Dean rolled his eyes and continued to wipe his fingers off with the paper towel. Pizza was messy. Jeez . 

“You shouldn’t challenge him.” Crowley sighed, putting out his cigar in the amber-colored glass tray as Dean rolled his eyes again. He’s been dealing with these amateurs too, too long. It was clear none of them knew the realities of drugs or had ever dealt with addiction or seen it in a loved-ones eyes. They’re all goody- goody rich kids. Just a few kids trying to make quick bucks. Of course, wanting to feel like business-men with a bad reputation. He threw the paper towel into the empty cardboard with a huff. 

“Crow’s right.” Al rasped out. 

Dean glared at him. The audacity for Al to speak up at this moment sent him into a strange frenzy. Sure he’s quiet when Dean called him out at his staring, and quiet when someone asks for an answer or opinion any other time but now he wants to chirp up about Dean feeling challenged and being seen as an idiot? Sure, Al, sure . Dean felt off and he could feel himself start to sweat under his clothing. Why is this building so muggy ? 

Al stared back with his dead stare, the stare was almost… sinister to Dean but he stared back. He really wasn’t about to let any of these hooligans intimidate him. He chuckled at the thought of the word hooligan and made a note to call Sammy that later. He could sense Crowley’s uneasiness and it made him laugh more silently, shoulders shaking as he stared blankly at Al with a small smile.

Oh the satisfaction of seeing Al lose eye contact. Crowley’s body language was still uneasy, but it was more towards Al than Dean. Dean could tell when and who Crowley was threatened by, he gets tense with his gazes and his shoulders slag at ease so he seems like he’s not bothered, but Dean knows. Dean watches each of them and can read all of them. Dean could tell Al was nervous too, almost like he was being found out for doing something he wasn’t supposed to. Dean stared wild eyed and chuckled more. 

Let these fuckers think he’s crazy. Fuck them . 

“Fuck this,” Al stood from his chair by the door and let himself out as well, his snake-like frame slithering away. A coward

“Hooligans.” Dean shook his head and chuckled. He felt Crowley relax. With the slam of the door Dean looked at Crowley with a sly smirk as if to tell him; see what I did?  

“You’re a looney pulling that.” Crowley answered, a sly grin on his face and he took the last swig of his amber-colored drink, the small ice cubes clattered on the crystal glass with a sharp clink. 

“Well yeah, I’m not about to let any of you intimidate me, I’ve been dealing since the fifth grade man, this isn’t new to me.” Dean grumbled slouching into his chair as he answered Castiel’s message with a “:)”.

Ironically he was smiling genuinely through text with the basic “:)” but the smile around these guys was never genuinely happy or sinister. He liked the fact that he could be unpredictable around them. It gave him control over this situation. He absolutely couldn’t wait to leave it for good. 

“What about Zach, does he seem intimidating?” Crowley mused, his flushed face instantly showed regret to the question. Guy was definitely drunk and didn’t mean it but it struck a nerve in Dean. Dean looked up at him, brows furrowed.  

“What about him?” the tone of Dean’s voice was defensive, angry. Stupid move Crowley, Dean’s on a roll today . 

“Dean-”

“No.” Dean interrupted, his voice dark, “What about him?”

Silence.

“Look. I really don’t care what you motherfuckers think about my situation that I have with Zach, that’s my fucking business. Yeah, I let him do whatever he wants to me, but I was assigned by all of you day-fuckin’-one as a get -drive and nothing else and I’m not doing anything else. I’m sick of it. I’m sick of everyone treating me like I’m stupid and don’t know what I’m doing. I deserve the same respect as any of you shitheads and I won’t be disrespected when that pedophile’s name is brought up when it comes to my situation. Got it?” Dean demanded

There was a pause from Crowley that almost brought in Dean’s fury.

“Got. It?” he repeated leaning forward, making Crowley back away a bit, but staying on guard. Dean wanted to punch that sly grin off his face.

“Yes.” Crowley's voice chimed casually, “I’ll see you at seven. Don’t be late.” As Crowley was grabbing his coat off his chair Dean grabbed his wrist harshly and stood up leaning in to stare the Brit in the eye. 

“Look me in the eye and tell me you understand,” Dean ordered, feeling Crowley tense up as Dean grabbed him closer and pushed him back down into the chair, cornering the smaller teen into his seat.

Dean didn’t like this side of himself suddenly, this wasn’t him at all, but it was familiar. He felt dizzy. Weak. He let his grip loosen. He continued his fiery stare towards Crowley. 

“You’ve got it you, arse, I’m just going home like the rest of ‘em,” Crowley rolled his eyes, pulling Dean’s hand away and fixing his sleeve. “That attitude is going to get you in trouble, not from me but the other two. They’re already planning to sabotage you, but you didn’t hear it from me.” And with that Crowley left with that caution. 

Dean sighed and sat on the chair leaning his head on the table, slightly and gently banging his head. Fuck . He was so tired of this stuff already, the temptation of all those drugs were starting to get to him and it was making him irritable. The temptation of just taking enough to kill himself with a high was enough to make him want to- well… kill himself. He picked at the cardboard pizza box with his fingernail. Catching a glimpse of shine on a hunk of metal. A gun. 

He looked at the nine-millimeter handgun on the table, he knew the weight of guns well but this one was definitely a bit over the top with the gold and silver decor on the side. 

Kids are so stupid he thought to himself . He picked it up and checked the clip for bullets. All there. All ten. Straight with a perfect silver smile. 

Now here was the moment … he thought. 

One would be enough for him alone. 

Dean… don’t . 

Sammy’s voice rang in his ears and it almost made him not put that cool metal against his temple, but Dean did anyway. The coolness held a heavy comfort. A sense of frenzied control but a sense of being completely out of it all at once. 

Look, Dean knows he’s not doing good mentally lately, even with all the happy vibes around him. Even if he does feel happy. There will always be that gnawing ache of disappointment and disaster and the disappointment from a lack of disaster. Dean knows he’s crazy. What can he even do about it? This. 

This would be the perfect place for his actions and all the consequences would go to these shit heads. They would try to cover it up as best as they could. Zachariah wouldn’t be able to touch him. John and Sammy would run out of town as soon as they knew where his body was and had a funeral. They could escape from the threats Zach had put out onto Dean. He stood by the murky window. The aged glass gave him a halo from the lighting outside. Deep breath. 

Dean . Think .

That was his conscience right there, being an everlasting angel over his shoulder. Always telling him what to do. Just like everyone else. He could see that fucker standing there silver robes and a golden halo. He brushed him off his shoulder. The figure turned away like an illusion in a mirror.

He thought about this countless times. He had fantasized about it, shit he’s attempted a few times, just for the hell of it, people saw it as a way for a call for help or attention. Not Dean, Dean did it so he could feel that need to not want to die. He wanted that rush. That one last piece of hope. That one piece that he really felt human. 

That’s why John is on him about those pills. Without them Dean is an inconvenience to John. Dean goes wilder without them than with them. Dean is starting to remember why he’s drugged all time. It’s to keep him trapped in his head without the consequences of his actions, but his actions working around into his warped mind would definitely have different consequences; Mania. Anxiety. Hallucinations. Split personality. 

Dean is the definition of crazy. He’s done so much just because he didn’t have any good outlets of stress or any guidance. He could have anything he wanted in his little sad world if he took enough time to leave his body and go to his brain. His imagination was one of his best and worst qualities. 

He can’t help to feel that everything and everyone would be better off without Dean fucking with it, but he also thrives in being the scapegoat for everyone. So many emotions were running into his mind at once. Each one colliding and collecting and eating at one or the other. Sammy would actually be able to do what he wants because he knew John wouldn’t give a fuck about Sam once Dean was gone. Sam would go to Bobby in an instant and John would spiral and drink himself into a coma. Maybe John would actually cry at his funeral and actually say what’s on his mind or wouldn’t even give a shit, just hit the road, drop Sammy off and live a good life without the boys. Sammy would be alone and focused. 

The thought of Sammy being alone shook him to his core. 

Sam wouldn’t be able to handle that grief but would hide it the same way he hides his grief for a mother he never knew. He would brush it off as a tragedy that was out of his control.The same way Dean did. It was his fault that his mother was dead. His mother couldn’t handle the grief of knowing what he had done as a child. He was vile, green, wicked and deserved to burn in hell for all his wrong doings. She never said it to his face, but everytime she would look at him she would tear up and Dean knew what she was thinking,what her glimpses of sadness were. That he was a monster that tore her family apart. Teeth and all, all the blood was on his hands even in shackled chains that she tried to hound on him. Dean was a feral beast.

He thrived in his chaos.  

That cool metal was now warm from his temple. He bit his lip as those hot tears fell down his face. God he was so selfish and selfless and overwhelmed with everything. His mind was racing and he was so sweaty and shaky. The room was starting to tilt and spin and engulf him in its darkness.

“… If you hear me…” he prayed to no one “please hear me right now…” he was shaking, he really didn’t want to do this but if it’s gods will “give me a sign not to do this…” he shuddered “I be- I beg- I beg you I don’t know if I can continue this anymore...“ he whispered “I can’t do this anymore. I don’t want to. I can’t keep Him in anymore. He’s going to kill me. Please. I beg you. I can’t handle this. I’m going crazy and he’s here. Here. I need you. I can’t anymore.” He begged and bargained his calls desperate for anything or anyone to hear him.  

“Please!”

Please...

Chapter Text

"Feelin' like I sold my soul
Devil in the form of a whore" - Post Malone

The weight of his phone in his pocket buzzed against his thigh. Pulsating through the worn fabric of his jeans. It was almost soothing. Tickling. 

He slowly set the gun onto the table and slowly sat down on the creaky chair. His weight makes it squeak and his hands were shaking as he answered the call, almost dropping it. 

“ Dean .” The voice of an angel called to him. 

Dean looked outside wide-eyed, seeing that it was dark, fuck he needed to get home, how long was he out here? Goddammit, Gordon was his ride. How long has he been here in his thoughts? He looked at the time 8:54pm. He was so sweaty and shaky. His mind was warping and whirling. He could almost hear the gears ticking in his brain. That constant; tick, tick, tick, tick, tick, tick, tick, tick… 

He felt feral, paranoid with an ache. The voice….

“Dean.” 

That voice called in a form of a quiet, whispering gravel. It was four-something when Crowley left. Dean must have been here for hours. He tried to do the math but couldn’t think straight. He had a math test yesterday that he for sure flunked.

How Irritating and Irrelevant. To think about a stupid math test he didn’t care about. 

“Dean.” Castiel’s voice woke him again from his thoughts. 

“Hey Cas,” Dean’s voice was so weak and broken, but he said it with a smile in his tone. He hated the sound of his own voice. Weak . 

He heard a sigh of relief from Castiel, “Dean, Sam is at the diner with me, you haven’t been home in a few hours and he’s worried. It’s dark, he says you were supposed to be home at 5, he’s worried about you.” 

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck . 

He couldn’t speak.

He definitely missed the assignment. Did Crowley know at that moment that he was drugged? Was Crowley in on it? 

“Dean, please talk to me…” 

Dean chuckled a sob “I don’t even know what to say, man.” 

Oh dear god, he’s been drugged . 

“Dean, where are you?” 

Oh, sweet angel, please do not come for me at my moment of weakness, but only in my strength . 

S H U T.   U P . 

“The Tracks.” Dean whispered the pressure of those words echoing in his ears. 

“I’m on my way.” Castiel answered as he put on his coat, “stay on the phone with me okay?”

“Where is he?” Sam asked quietly, his nervous stare burned into Castiel, but it was hopeful to know that he would have answers. 

“From what I gather is that Dean is safe, Ellen is going to take care of you and will get you home,” Castiel hoped he comforted Sam with that sentence, he was sad to answer the boy with more unspoken questions. 

“Okay.” Sam answered sadly, turning to sit by the bar with his books, his head laid onto them. 

“Mom’s gonna be a bit late, but I’ll watch over him.” Jo answered, sliding through the door. She leaned over to hug Sam to bring over a teasing comfort, the boy shoved her away with a fake gag. 

Castiel nodded silently with a small smile towards them and headed to his car, not knowing what he was getting himself into. He didn’t want them to worry about Dean. Castiel was worried enough about Dean for all of them. Just as he was worried about Sam, but Dean was definitely going through something, he could hear it in his voice as they spoke on the phone and he just had the aching feeling something wasn’t right, but even then something inside himself told him to be the one to take care of it. Take care of Dean. 

Castiel felt protective of this green-eyed boy. Dean was the first person in town that treated him as a person (besides the people of the diner) and not as someone to use or abuse or gawk at. 

Well Dean was new, there’s no telling what Dean will think of him once he knows the truth. Castiel didn’t mean to create a lie, but it just created itself and he hasn’t had the chance to come forward about it. 

Castiel drove down the old dirt paths towards the old woods to get to the old train tracks. Seeing that the sky was turning darker and the street lights of town were brightening into a dim, orange haze behind him in the rearview mirror. He had been down this road before with his father and mother once before and vowed to never return again. 

The Tracks was a place of bad luck. Nothing good ever happened there. Everyone in town knew to stay away from this area, but a reminder that Dean is new here. Castiel’s stomach sank seeing the old abandoned train station. Seeing the lonely and old rusted track behind them. Pieces of it scattered around like gravestone. One turn left and it was the exact place he had lost his parents to a drug deal gone wrong. 

His parents weren’t into this stuff. No, no, but they were victims of a shootout, it’s a miracle Castiel survived barely scratched. He had a scar on his arm that stayed hidden under his clothing. He always kept it hidden. It was a sad reminder. 

They had just had a nice dinner for his birthday and decided to go for a small countryside drive. He still had the old car with the bullet holes and busted windshield in the garage. A reminder. He doesn’t know why he kept it. Castiel somewhat blamed himself a bit for it being his idea, but even as a child he knew it wasn’t his fault. His grief was a sad and tragic one, but it gets easier as time goes on. His parents would be proud of him for helping another individual that was in this cursed place he thought to himself.

Castiel explained this side of himself to Dean as they spoke over the phone, he knew it was a sad story, but he hoped Dean didn’t feel alone in whatever he was going through. Dean’s small voice would always be a comfort towards him. A million apologies that were genuine. Even though he never needed to apologize for something he knew nothing about until this moment. 

“No one deserves that hurt, especially you.” Dean spoke, his voice broken in tears, Castiel hated the sound of Dean’s quiet whimpers. He somewhat regrets telling him, he didn’t mean to make him cry more. 

“I’m okay,” Castiel said “no need to cry, I’ve dealt with this 10 years ago.” 

“I’ve lost both of mine in a different way so I kind of understand your pain, not meaning to make it about me, just letting you know I’m here for you.” Dean shuffled around on the phone, “Are you here?”

“I’m here.” Castiel said, putting the car in park. Dean was so sincere. 

“Okay.” Dean answered with barely a whisper. He sounded so exhausted to Castiel. It was sad, aching, hurting. 

“I’m hanging up, Dean.”

“Okay.” 

Castiel put the phone into the pocket of his dress pants and headed towards the old building. It really looked shabby and seemed like it needed to be torn down. Chills were all over his skin. The place was so eerie. How was Dean in there without it toppling over him? How did it not warn him of the dangers of this place? Then there was the most important question; Was Dean okay? 

“Dean?” He called out to the building. He heard a shuffle and a clatter, “I’m coming in, okay?” 

He cautiously knocked on the door and turned the squeaky handle and peeked in, seeing Dean standing in front of an old table and a chair on the floor. His heart broke seeing the tears fall down Dean’s face in the faint lighting of the old and musty place. 

“Dean.” He came forward, feet making boards creek and cupped Dean’s face in his hands, seeing if there were any new marks on his skin in the dim lighting. Dean always had marks on him. He always wondered where they came from, but he had enough clues to know that some weren’t from fights at school like Dean said they were. He saw that Dean’s pupils were small, even in the dark. Definitely took something.

“I didn’t take anything on purpose.” Dean shuddered in his hands, warm tears falling faster and onto his hands, “I promise, please don’t let Sammy see me like this. Please.” 

Dean’s begging and pleading voice shattered Castiel in places that he didn’t know could be shattered. It was like this poor boy was begging for forgiveness, it felt like Dean thought he wasn’t deserving of goodness.On a day Dean and Castiel hung out at the diner and spoke of life Dean had mentioned that he had issues with drugs before, but Castiel knew Dean was telling the truth at that moment, Dean was just hurting, he knew. He also knew how this would’ve broken Sam’s heart to see his older brother like this. In pain. No one deserves that pain. 

“I believe you, I genuinely believe you,” Castiel wiped the tears gently. He leaned forward and embraced the boy and the boy embraced him closer, tighter, it made Castiel’s heart race 

“I’ll tell Sam you’re tired and staying with me, let me call the diner to let Jo know.” He continued 

Dean slipped down to his knees before Castiel, staring at him. Castiel dialed the number of the diner shakily, watching Dean carefully. 

Dean had never seen a more beautiful creature. He had never wanted to worship anyone anymore than he has right now, not even God. That embrace was the drug he needed to calm him down from whatever drug the gang slipped him earlier, he knew the pizza tasted odd. It had that weird bitterness that he shrugged off as bad garlic oil. 

Confession from Dean’s mind; There was no gun on the table but Dean had a very bad hallucination in his psychosis from his medication mixed with that unknown drug that was really kicking in. Dean has always been very sensitive to chemicals. This was the worst relapse he could’ve ever have had. It wasn’t in his control, he wanted control. He just wanted control. 

Castiel was here to save him. Castiel was on the phone but those deep blue eyes were burning deeply into Deans soul. He could tell the angel was worried but he knew he could be saved by him as well. He could get lost in them, Castiel’s eyes held a power and secrets that Dean would like to know. Secrets he couldn’t wait to know from those eyes. Those eyes…

They themselves were more euphoric than all the drugs in the whole world combined. He felt himself be helped up to his feet, he slightly towered over Castiel and he smiled into the boy's face. The world tilted like he was on a boat and was getting into having his sea legs back. He just couldn’t help it… Maybe it was the drugs or the vulnerability of the moment or the fact that he was safe in Castiel’s arms, but he felt his hand snake around Castiel's head at the base of the back of his neck and the other cupped the boy's face gently. His fingers tingled as he did so. Dean felt his body lean close to Castiel feeling the solidness of the other boy. Castiel’s muscles tensed as Dean gave him the embrace of a sweet, gentle kiss. It wasn’t until Dean processed what was happening that he had regrets. He didn’t want to corrode this pure being. He pulled away and took a shallow breath. 

“I’m so sorry.” Dean whispered his desperate apology “I’m so sorry.” Tears fell harder and he started to cry harder in his embarrassment. 

“Dean,” Castiel held him up more onto his feet “it’s okay, really, you’re in a weird state right now.” 

Dean was shaking and just wanted to disappear. He shook his head, crying down at the ground as Castiel held him up. God, he was a mess. An idiot. That’s not how he does things. That’s not who he is. Castiel didn’t deserve to deal with Dean in any way shape or form, but he really didn’t deserve to deal with this episode at all. Dean hated himself at this moment the most. This was dirty. This was disgusting, yet he still had the lingering feeling of wanting that closeness again. That moment Dean was his true self. Vulnerable. A sobbing mess. Grieving and hateful. vile. 

“Dean, I promise you it’s okay,” Castiel laid him in the back of the car, covering him with a blanket, “you’re just having a very bad time with those drugs, I promise I don’t hold anything against you, you just caught me by surprise.” 

Dean was extremely dizzy as he felt the coolness of the leather seat on his head, it was either making him sicker or soothing him, he wasn’t sure, but he did know that Castiel fingers running through his hair was the best feeling ever in that moment and he didn’t want it to end. It was the greatest form of comfort to him. His mother used to do it to him when he was sick as a child.  

His mother…

The tears ran down more at the thought of her. He missed her so much. The smell of her perfume, the way her shoulders shook when she would laugh as she would chase him around the house, the way she would pick up Sammy and bring him over to Dean to sit and play with. The smile that would always haunt him in his dreams. His good ones. 

She killed herself . Dean sobbed but he knew Castiel wouldn’t understand his blubbering well. 

“It’s okay, Dean, it’s alright.” Castiel shushed him, lulling him to rest. 

He heard Castiel sigh to himself. He knew that Castiel was wondering in his pretty little head; What has he gotten himself into.

Chapter Text

"Lights will guide you home
And ignite your bones
And I will try to fix you"

Coldplay - Fix You

Dean would never forgive himself for bringing Castiel to The Tracks. No matter what, this is unforgivable. Castiel had to relive a waking nightmare of grief. All because Dean didn’t realize Al had drugged his shitty pizza. 

He didn’t dream last night. Not even from the drug state of his mind. Nothing. 

Maybe it was the fact he felt safe in the cushy bedding, knees curled up to his chest as he buried himself into the pillows. Everything felt like a giant piece of cotton candy that was made into a bed. And it smelt clean and fresh. 

He opened his eyes surrounded by the white bedding. The sunlight seeped through the curtains to his right. The beam hit him on the nose, making his eyes flutter from the light sensitivity. He moved his hand to cover his eyes feeling a tug. He looked at his arm where the resistance took place and followed the clear cable to the IV bags. His vision was a bit slow and blurry from the sleep in his eyes. He let out a low exhausted sigh that raised in his gut, he felt like he got plenty of rest but was always tired. 

Hospital. Was his first thought and he panicked a bit. John was gonna kill him when he got here. Their deal was no more hospital trips. Which sounds crazy but Dean has put them into a massive medical debt for his shenanigans from the past. 

He took a look at his surroundings, seeing big golden frames around old forms of paintings that Dean would only see at museums. The bed frame was a deep, dark brown. Almost black. The sheets, pillows and comforter white and plain, but clearly are made of expensive cotton you would see in movies about a fancy life.

The rest of the furniture was spaced out but clearly centuries old and well kept and oddly, looked like it was still functional. He was able to identify a wardrobe and dresser in front of him. Side tables on each side of his bed to keep in some form of symmetry. 

He realized it wasn’t a hospital for the fact that there was a comforter and fluffy pillows. Clean ones at that. Oh, and the open window that let in a cool breeze. The leaves rustling on the trees outside. Goosebumps raised on his skin as he took the comforter off and walked out towards it to see the big oak trees outside. IV stand in hand the tubes clattering to the floor in a whisper on the wood flooring. 

He looked down at the hedges that created a small maze in what he assumed was a garden. The rose bushes were barren of any flower but he watched them sway with the wind and watch some fallen leaves create a whirlwind. A “Mini tornado” Sam used to call them when he was younger. They used to play a game of spotting them on their walks. Maybe Dean should start that up again. 

He began to wonder where he was. The garden was so neat and had so many earthy smells emitting from it. The oaks created canopies in their own territory and swayed with trailing moss and vines on the limbs. The chaos with nature was so messy but uniform. Planned. 

This is what heaven must be like. The serene peace. The quiet surrounding the wind and not his mind. A clear mind with no worries. He began to hear soft footsteps down what only he could assume was the hallway coming closer to this room. He hurried over to the bed only to get the tubes caught on the chair and snagging out of his arm. He hissed slightly at the sting in his arm and put pressure on it out of reaction.  The door in front of him opened slowly and his eyes met with blue ones. Castiel stood in the door frame with a bundle of Deans clothes with a worried and concerned look. Almost a look of confusion. 

“Are you alright?” Castiel asked, coming forward a bit but then stopping, casually clearing his throat, “I’m sorry for not knocking.” He apologized, almost sounding embarrassed. 

“I assumed you were still sleeping, may I come in?” 

Dean felt slightly like a cornered animal, his discomfort wasn’t from Castiel himself but just because he was in a new territory he knew nothing about. 

“Um…” Dean doesn’t understand why he hesitated “Yeah!” He answered, bringing his thoughts together “yeah c’mon in man.” His mind was still foggy but he was sober, just tired. 

“I had your clothes washed.” Castiel said, setting them on the king sized bed that was between the two boys. His posture was so straight and formal. 

“Um, yeah…” Dean rubbed his sore arm a bit, suddenly realizing he definitely wasn’t in his full clothing and feeling a bit on display. 

“Thank you, I really appreciate it.” He continued, he lowered his gaze shyly. 

“You’re welcome, it wasn't a hassle or anything, in fact I needed to learn.” Castiel smiled softly, barely noticeable. “Well I wanted to, Miss Missouri taught me how.”

Dean smiled softly at Castiel’s small smile of pride and picked them up, feeling that the clothes were still warm from the dryer. “Thank you.”

Castiel’s eyes scanned Dean’s arm, he was concerned “You’re bleeding!” walking around the bed to look at Dean’s arm. 

“Oh… um…” Dean stuttered “I got spooked and was trying to run back into the bed…” he admitted sheepishly “and I accidentally pulled out the IV.”

“It’s okay, it’s alright, I’m just worried about your blood being thin, we’re not sure what drug you were given.” Castiel said, taking hold of Dean in a gentle but firm grasp. His fingers brought warmth and Dean couldn’t help the blood from rushing to his face and felt a tickle in his fingertips. 

“I’ve bled more from worse, it’s okay.” Dean tried to brush it off, but he knew Castiel was persistent by now. 

“I’m going to get some stuff to clean you up a bit and then I’ll put the IV back in.” Castiel scurried off, closing the door behind him. 

Dean shuffled his weight side to side as he waited for Castiel’s return; he decided it would be a good idea to change at this point. It was then he realized that someone had to change him out of these and that really made him feel even more anxious. 

“Fuck .” 

Anxious. 

His meds. 

He didn’t have them on him because he expected to be home last night. He hurried on to changing his clothes, almost falling on his face as he slithered awkwardly into his jeans. The buttons warm on his skin. John was gonna kill him. Know what fuck it! John’s not ever home.

 “Fuck!” Sammy! Sam is home alone. His breathing started to get a bit erratic

 “Hey, Cas!” He called out “I gotta go Sammy is probably home alone and I gotta make sure he’s okay!” He muttered swinging off the shirt, wait that’s his shirt actually, fuck. Now the struggle to put it on. 

Okay, now he felt that panic seeping through more as he scrambled to pull on his jacket. He heard footsteps coming down the hall now. 

“Where’s my boots?” Dean asked sitting on the bed to put his socks on, looking at the guy with whiskey colored eyes and brown hair. He froze. 

“Who in the hell are you?” Asked the impish man with a twang

“I could ask you the same…?” Dean awkwardly put on his other sock, his hands trembled a bit.

“I’m Gabriel, I’m Castiel’s cousin.” Said the man crossing his arms. “Explain yourself before I call the cops.” 

“Woah. woah, woah, buddy I’m not-“ 

“Don’t you buddy me.” Gabriel furrowed his brow, starting to get closer to Dean’s unknown territory “you’re in my home!”

This really made Dean want to either fight or run. We all know what option he’s thinking right now. 

Yeah that’s right. 

Fight and then run. 

Don’t corner a wild animal in an unknown territory, Buddy . 

“Gabriel!” Castiel's gravelly voice growled out, sending chills down Dean's spine. 

“Who’s this fuck nugget?” Gabriel asked, pointing a thumb over at Dean. 

“Dean!” Castiel retaliated glaring at Gabriel “Quit!”

“Hey, I’m not scared!” Dean argued “Nervous? Yes. Scared, no.” 

“I’m just messin’ with ya bud, I knew you were here. I’m Doc Novak.” Gabriel said, holding out his hand for a handshake. 

Dean’s shoulders relaxed and he almost let out a sob. His heart was racing. 

“Woah, kid you look pale,” Gabriel said, catching Dean before his face planted to the ground, “I didn’t mean to scare ya like that.” 

Castiel huffed at Gabriel and walked over and sat beside Dean on the bed, putting an arm around his shoulder. “Dean.” 

The sound of Castiel’s voice was so comforting. The weight of his body against his sent chills over his arms. Goosebumps. He felt Gabriel’s hand check his forehead, feeling the tackiness of his sweat transfer to Gabriel’s dry, cool hand. 

“I’ll be back, Cassie, watch him okay?” Gabriel ordered. Castiel nodded, but glared at the name. 

“Lay down, Dean.” Castiel ordered gently, guiding Dean's weight to the bed, “Gabriel will help you and then we’ll get you home.”

Home! 

“You really don’t understand, Cas, I need to get to Sam now.” He hoped his voice wasn’t desperate.

“Dean-“

“Please take me home or I’ll run there.” Dean sat up, “where’s my phone?”

“We left it at The Tracks in the train station by accident.” 

“Fuck!” Dean growled standing up fully and heading for the door, the hallway was like with the same fancy paintings and old furniture with vases and decorations. He felt so small as he passed by doorways. This place is huge. 

“Dean!” 

Dean felt the grasp of Castiel’s hand on his arm and he flinched as the boy accidentally gripped the sore area that the IV was torn out of and turned around quickly to pin the smaller boy's frame against a door with his forearm. Any other individual had done that he would’ve seen red, but he just wanted to get a message across that this was urgent, but also he realized he might’ve been hurting Castiel. 

“I have to go.” Dean said gently in his desperation. The closeness let him feel Castiel’s body radiate with warmth. It was suddenly very hard to move away

“Let me take you then.” Castiel's voice spoke back with the same gentleness, hand holding onto Dean’s forearm, gaze soft. 

Dean instantly knew he was fucked when he saw the large frame of his father on the rickety front porch. The pit in his stomach held him to keep composure. Dean knows he fucked up. Dean also knew that he looked fucked up, even though he had a detox. The eye contact he received from his father was almost deadly. It was practically able to crack the windshield of the car. 

“Go home, Cas.” Dean said “Thank you.” 

“Dean, if y-“

“Please do not finish that sentence.” Dean interrupted solemnly, “Just drive safe, I’ll see you later and text when I can.” 

He got out of the car and closed the door. Waving Castiel goodbye. He watched the boy drive away, he ached for his return. He looked over to John’s angry stature.

“Get. Inside. Now.” John ordered his voice harsh and low. John was livid . Dean felt that ache in his stomach of wanting to run away. Dean walked past his father on the porch, his steps bouncing from the bending wood and went inside to direct his way to the living room to sit on the couch. Yellow tar walls engulfed him just like the tattered couch did as he sat. Oh, how he wished he could disappear into them. John was definitely scouting to see if Castiel was going to turn around.

Chapter Text

"Father of mine
Tell me, how do you sleep?
With the children you abandoned
And the wife I saw you beat"

Everclear - Father Of Mine

You could always tell John was angry by his footsteps. They were heavy in his boots and made a pattern of anger that you wouldn’t know was angry unless you knew the side of your parents as abusive. John’s heavy footsteps made that old porch creek from his weight and stomped angrily like a scene from a horror movie. The weight made a rhythmic thud with each step. Each step caused his heart to stop. Until they stopped three feet in front of Dean. Dean lifted his gaze to his father, heart racing as John stared down at Dean with rage. His voice shook Dean’s rib cage with the hallowed whispered tone;

“Stand up.” 

Dean stood, keeping his eyes on his father. He would never dare challenge this man, but this was the first time he ever looked up at his father before what was about to happen. He could almost see a glimpse of hesitation in John’s eyes. John was definitely sober right now and it was clear he didn’t want to be. Probably just Dean’s hopeful imagination though. 

He closed his eyes. Waiting. The silence of the room was deafening in itself and the tension of the room could be cut with the dull pocket knife in Dean’s jacket pocket. He felt the familiar movement of John as he raised his hand and he felt that panicked tingle in his fingertips. This time it wasn’t the start of a panic attack but of wanting to hit first for once. He didn’t, but that was new. 

The strike of the slap made a sharp sound echoing on the walls around them. Dean gasped quietly on the impact and fell to the floor, the air pushed from his lungs from the harsh thud. Spotted vision of green and purple. He opened his eyes and blinked rapidly, trying to straighten his vision and get his bearings on the surroundings. His cheek was definitely going to bruise; he could feel the stinging skin start to swell already. His gaze met his father’s steel-toed work boots. He lowered his head and closed his eyes, inhaling while he could, waiting for the next impact. 

The swift kick his father gave him with that boot came out with a quiet groan and made his vision darken as well, but he also knew his father was holding back. Sober John wasn’t as emotional as Drunk John, Sober John knew there were consequences toward his own strengths. It’s funny how John drowned himself with drinking to get rid of the emotions of losing his wife to being a complete emotional mess from the poison he used to cope away from said emotions.  

The air Dean drew in was cold and heavy. He looked out towards the top of the stairs seeing the sad image of Sam with his hands on the bars as if in a cage, a blank, somber stare on his face. He hated this the most and hoped his pleading stare he directed to his younger brother as they made eye contact would wake Sammy up from his dissociation to go back to his room. He watched Sam scurry quickly and quietly. Dean really didn’t want Sam witnessing anymore of this part of life they had. Dean had done the best he could though to protect the worst of it. 

Dean’s had plenty of bruises and scratches and has never once fought back. Dean is powerless in everything he does. 

“Get up.” John's voice rumbled. 

He stood slowly. Instantly grounding himself for the other side to be struck. He made eye contact with John this time as well. John’s face was angry and scowled into a frown, he walked forward, cornering Dean. Dean didn’t bother to flinch away, flinching made it worse. John slapped Dean down again with a bit more force. Dean exhaled as it happened, but looked up at his father. Eyes full of fury. John kicked him hard in the ribs this time as if to bring Dean down a few marks. Dean really wanted to curl up, but he also wanted to hit back. Dean could almost feel the crack in his ribs. He knew he would be bruised. Wasn’t the first time he would have marks. He would always play them off as if he got into fights with locals. Even when he did actually get in any fights John would hit him for that too. 

John got down on one knee and grabbed Dean by his jacket and shook him to the floor and picked him up again after Dean hit his head by one hand effortlessly picking him up as if Dean weighed nothing. He backhanded Dean with the other hand and Dean felt his nose start to bleed. 

The bruises, scratches, scrapes and so many more types of wounds would always cover Dean’s freckled skin. Dean stared at the wall of the living room. Seeing the old tar-colored paint that had streams of drip patterns over it. The tar has just cascaded over more and more tar until it gave out to drip down. He felt himself lift away from his body. His vision blurred. He inhaled deeply, feeling the blood from his nasal cavity deep into his throat. He swallowed hard, the taste of blood in his mouth. 

He was so done with this. So sick of it. He was tired of feeling helpless. He was tired of feeling small. He pushed John back forcefully and got his bearing. Dean stood and planted his feet into a stance. 

What are you doing ? 

He raised his fists, standing in a stance to hit John. John was standing now. Still towering over Dean. Always a tower. Always an intimidating force of Dean’s that was always against him. Even if what John did “was good for him”. He hated his father for the first time ever. 

“Hit me.” Dean ordered. 

John stared down at Dean trying to intimidate Dean into submission with his glare. He took a step forward to Dean. Dean stood back his stance getting ready to swing, John hesitated at that and stopped. 

“Boy-“

“Hit.” Dean's voice was low this time “Me.”

“Dean-“

Dean furrowed his brow and clocked John square in the jaw before John (or even Dean) realized that Dean took a swing at him. The man turned his head back to look at Dean after the punch and rubbed his jaw. Dean’s eyes fell with hot tears and he was trembling. 

What have you done ?

“Fucking hit me, John,” Dean’s voice shook “Hit me.”

John stared at Dean quietly. As if calculating every tremble and shaky breath Dean took in. Dean grew more angry at John analyzing him. John doesn’t know anything about him. Why is he trying to read him now? 

“You have been beating me since I can remember, why aren’t you hitting me now?” Dean yelled “You’ve been hitting me ever since Mary died!” 

John flinched at Mary’s name. Dean clenched his jaw and glared at John more, this isn’t over. 

“I’m fucking done, John.” Dean stood straight, laying his fists at his sides, but still clenching them, “You make me fear you, not respect you, you’re not a father to me.” He took a deep breath and let his face fall with sadness now “Or Sam.” He whispered “You’re not good to us, you never were. You weren’t even good to mom.”

John opened his mouth to speak as if he was going to argue back on that. 

“You cheated on her!” Dean barked out not giving him a chance and saw the shocked look on his father’s face “I know about Adam! If you think I don’t remember the first time you ever hit mom, you’re wrong, I was playing with Sammy when I heard you hit her, she called you a bastard! I remember!” He shook now with rage, his hands trembled as he unclenched them.

Dean is his mother’s grief and his father’s rage. 

“I remember everything, even when I really don’t want to.” He sobbed, tears fell as his shoulders shook, “I remember all those drunken nights you had that I had to bring you comfort and put you to rest and all the beatings I took for Sammy because I didn’t want him to know the real you.”

“Dean-“

“If you want to fucking apologize it’s too fucking late!” Dean screamed he felt his blood boil “I’m done and I’m taking Sam with me!” 

“Dean.” Sam’s small voice carried from the stairs

“Sammy go upstairs, pack.” Dean ordered gently, not taking a chance to look away from John. 

“You walk out, you're not coming back.” John bellowed

“We won’t be.” Dean bellowed back, “You come after us, I’ll kick your ass.” With that threat out Dean walked upstairs to get his belongings. John didn’t follow.

Dean came into his room and saw the sight of Sam. Sam was sitting knees to chest, head resting on his knees as he sat in the middle of Dean’s bed with a scared and uneasy stare. Dean rummaged for his duffel bag and opened all his drawers to bundle all his clothes up into it. 

“Where are we going to go?” Sam sounded so sad it almost broke Dean’s heart, he looked at his brother with a sincere look. 

“I’m not sure yet, but once I figure it out I’ll let you know.” Dean said crouching to Sam’s level “I want you to know that we’re going to be safe and I won’t let anything happen to you.” 

“I’m scared.” Sam sighed “We’ve never done this on a whim, how will we travel?”

“We’re taking Baby. She’s mine. He said so.” Dean answered

“What if he doesn’t let you take her?” Sam’s eyes watered and he sniffled “I don’t wanna go.”

“Sammy…” Dean embraced his younger brother and sighed deeply as the young boy burrowed into his neck and sniffled “It’s okay.” 

 “I don’t wanna go…” Sam blubbered softly, his voice at a whisper. “I’m scared.”

Dean was absolutely panicking now, but he knew he couldn’t make Sam leave. If Sam wanted to stay he could. 

“If he hurts you, promise me you’ll call or if you change your mind.” 

Sam nodded and sniffled again “I’m sorry.”

Dean wiped Sam’s tears away “Don’t be, just promise me.” 

“I promise.” 

Dean hugged him tighter, he tried to keep his emotions at bay. He cleared his throat “Okay… enough sap, I gotta pack.”

“I don’t want you to go either.” Sam was practically pleading with those puppy eyes. 

“I have to.” Dean sighed sadly, collecting his book bag as well and filling it with more stuff. 

“I know, I just don’t want you to.” 

“I don’t want to either, but I can’t keep doing this Sammy.” Dean said scurrying to the bathroom to grab his personal hygienic products. He got a glimpse of himself in the mirror, seeing that his skin was red and welting. Fuck . He grabbed his medication bottle on the counter. 

“He’ll kill me.” He continued, he wiped his nose, the motion making his nose sting. 

“I know.” Sam whispered sadly, defeated. Standing in the doorway of Dean’s room now, watching Dean closely.  

Dean looked at him. Taking in Sam’s frame as if to take a picture for the last time. This wasn’t goodbye, but it sure as hell did feel like it. He walked over to Sam dropping the duffel and backpack on the floor, still keeping the rattling bottle in hand. 

“I love you baby brother.” Dean’s voice broke as he hugged the smallest Winchester. God, he’s getting tall . 

“I love you too.” Sam sobbed and sniffled. 

They stayed embraced for a few more seconds until they let go and looked at eachother. 

“I’ll see you everyday at school I promise you. We’ll still go to the diner.” Dean promised 

“Please.” Sam beamed sadly. 

“Of course, now stop moping.” Dean ordered shuffling Sam’s hair as their last goodbye. He picked up the backpack and put it on his shoulder and picked up the duffel  shifting his weight. 

Turning towards the stairs he felt an ache. He didn’t look back at Sam, if he did he would’ve stayed. He knew he would’ve stayed. He walked down the first few steps feeling taller and taller as he went down. He was still on guard as he had his hands full and he didn’t know how John would be. The last step was a breath of fresh air almost. He didn’t see John in the living room. He quickened his pace to get to the front door hoping to sneak out. 

John’s back was facing towards the house as he stared out to the fields. Keys for Baby in his hand. Fuck . Dean rolled his eyes. Goddammit . He shuffled the weight of the bags and opened the screen door, the movement of the door making John turn a bit and then look away casually, as if to act like he didn’t see Dean. Dean let the door slam behind him. Something he never would have let happen before. He hates to say it but he had a small heart of satisfaction with seeing John’s face a bit marked. He felt proud of himself. 

“I’m assuming you’re here for these.” John sighed, jingling the keys a bit, “She’s yours. Completely yours.” John turned “I got the paperwork done yesterday, she’s in your name now.” 

Dean looked quizzically at his father, but let the man hand him the keys. He nodded in thanks. 

John and Dean don’t talk. 

It’s sad and tragic how this was let out, but Dean will not die by John’s hands. 

“You got a mean right hook, son.” John complimented Dean awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck, “Hate to say it but I’m proud of it. Take care of Baby.” 

“Thanks…?” Dean wasn’t sure how to answer.   

They stood in silence again. Both of them stared at the field together. 

“You hurt him, I'll kill you.” Dean threatened. 

John hummed low in response to that. Translation; I believe you .

Dean hummed his huff back. He walked towards Baby. He couldn’t believe she was his. She had always somewhat been his, but now she was officially his. On paper! To be honest he couldn’t help the small, giddy smile. He opened the heavy door and pulled the lever that opened the trunk. He placed his things inside and closed the trunk, looking up at his old bedroom window. 

Sam looked out of the window with a sad stare. Dean waved to him, choking out a smile. He almost cried right then and there as Sam waved back. He’s going to miss the kid. Going to miss the late night homework sessions and the wrestling matches on the smelly couch. It’s odd how he felt an ache for the tar covered walls and drafty windows. 

He made his way to the driver seat and when he sat in her he had to take a glance again at John. John stood solemnly staring at Dean, hands in the pockets of his jacket. Dean saw the man’s shoulders raise and sag as John sighed. He started Baby up, keys jingling as he listened to her purr and rumble. She was just as happy to leave as him, but sad all the same. This is a new beginning for both of them, even though Dean knew he’d come back if Sam needed him. As he reversed he saw Sam run onto the porch to watch him go. Dean started out onto the driveway taking a few glances at his rear view mirror. Sam ran behind him waving with a sad smile, dust clouding out his figure as Dean drove further and further. 

To be honest, once Dean got onto the main road he found a safe, private spot to park Baby. Just to cry. Not just from the sad ache of leaving the pieces of a place he called home. Not the people either. Not even his anxiety.

He looked into Baby’s rear view mirror and adjusted it. He took deep breaths and sighed deeply after each. 

He was free. He was free and he had no idea what to do with his freedom. He had dreamed of leaving multiple times. This is the embodiment of a dream come true and Dean had no idea how to carry on. He had no plans for himself whatsoever, his thoughts were always him and Sam and his focus was always on Sam, even now he was worried about Sam. Everything he ever thought about was in the moment of a situation and a fantasy. He had no idea what to do with himself. It dawned on him now. What also dawned on him was that he was homeless now as well. What a predicament . He started Baby up again and drove to The Tracks. He had to go get his phone. 

The drive there he thought about his next move. He could probably stay at the train station, but that place was just disgusting to be in. Not the building itself but the whole energy of it. Bad vibes. Plus he wouldn’t be able to shower. Ellen was his boss so that was a no. He didn’t really know Ash. Charlie was gone. Castiel had practically tried to offer but Dean didn’t want to bother him. That left the one person he really didn’t want to bother; Bobby Singer.

The only issue was that Bobby lived in Sioux Falls, but honestly even though distance was all Dean was worried it seemed very much worth it. He worked after school so he could handle gas and get groceries for him and Bobby when needed. Once Dean had his phone he would give Bobby a call. 

Dean pulled slowly into the drive and the junkyard had gotten more crowded around it. Bobby must’ve been trying to find a specific part and was sorting piece by piece and had no other space. That or he had gotten into a weird art stage with junk. Bobby was bent over a vehicle as usual. Always fixing things. Always working. 

As Dean parked Bobby turned and grabbed a greasy rag in his hands. Walking towards Dean as he twisted the grease with it away. He leaned over Baby and ducked to look at Dean. 

“Shit, boy,” That twang rolled “You got an ugly mug on you now.” 

Dean chuckled, “I think I just look normal, normally I’m pretty.”

Bobby shook his head with a light smile, then his face turned serious. 

“Who done it?”

Dean didn’t answer. 

“Dean,” Bobby pat his shoulder through the window “are you in trouble?”

“No.”

“Dean.”

“John.” Dean sighed out, ah shit . 

“Your daddy done it?” 

“Yes sir.” Dean answered truthfully. 

“That no good son of a bitch!” Bobby yelled, throwing the rag down onto the ground and stomping away towards his truck “I oughta kick his ass myself this time!”

Dean jumped out of Baby to chase after the man who was sorting through his heavy key set. “Bobb-“

“The nerve of that man!” Bobby interrupted “To hit you and just kick you out to this world!”

“Bobb-“

“Son of a bitch is gonna wish he never had fists when I’m through with him!” Bobby growled as he climbed into the truck

“Bobby!” Dean grabbed him by the arm. 

“What?!” Bobby fumed, pulling it away and sitting down on the old truck bench. 

“I-hit’em.” Dean mumbled, trying to keep eye contact

“You what?” Bobby asked quizzically. 

“I hit him back.” Dean looked at the ground 

“And I left by my own terms,” He looked back up to look at Bobby “I couldn’t do it anymore.”

Bobby grabbed Dean by the shoulder and then pulled him into a hug. Dean embraced him back. 

“About damn time you stood up for yourself kid,” Bobby said hugging tighter “I’m so proud.” 

Dean knew he was telling the truth, he closed his eyes and sighed. 

“Welcome home.” Bobby said pulling away and gently patting Dean’s face, 

Dean flinched slightly as his face was still sore. Home . This place would always be home and he was happy to be back. 

“Sam wanted to stay, because he was scared, but I told him to call me if he needed me to come get him.” 

“As you should,” Bobby then pointed back to the house “I know you’re not of legal age, but ya want a beer?”

“Bobby!” Dean laughed “You haven’t drank in ten years ain’t no way I’m lettin’ you start up again.”

“I’m joking, but I do feel like celebrating,” Bobby laughed, patting Dean’s back “I can’t believe you hit that bastard, I wish I could’ve seen his face when it happened!” 

“Tragically it’s not the typical ‘You should see the other guy’.”

“Let’s just both jump the bastard,” Bobby smiled with a gleam in his eye, smile on his face, “C’mon I’ll make us dinner, we’ll have your favorite.”

Dean smiled, “Bacon cheeseburger.” He answered.

"You got it, son!" Bobby smiled.

He was completely restless the entire night. Constantly waiting for a phone call that never came. Constant what if scenarios clouding his mind into a spiral that made him pace his room to calm himself. He thought about going back just to ease his worry. Thoughts of John hurting Sam in any way made him anxious when he lived with them, but he was always able to be watchful.

Now that he wasn’t there, it was worse. He had taken three of his anxiety pills throughout the night. Right now he stared out the window. The world outside was growing gray and the lingering start of a sunrise was starting to shine. That was enough to calm him down a bit, but the worrying gnawed at him in his chest. He looked at the old alarm clock, the red numbers showing 4:37 A.M.

Might as well get ready for the day. He thought to himself, he walked to his bed to dig under it for his duffel. He thought about unpacking it last night to get comfortable, but also something in his gut told him not to. He might need to run off again. He grabbed a set of clean clothes he had set in a plastic grocery bag. He laid the dirty ones on the bed. He would wash those later. The whole duffel needed a wash honestly. Yesterday was wash day for the Winchester household. Dean was proud of himself for teaching Sam how to use the washer and dryer a week before. It seemed like everything was falling into place. Even though he felt he was falling to pieces. 

He was very sad to leave his brother. He was even sad to leave John, but only in the sense of pity. John could barely function, Dean was pretty sure he didn’t even know what bills were due next week. Luckily again, he showed Sam how, Sam was smart, he did the math very well, it gave him a challenge and a sense of independence. Dean was proud of Sam. He missed him.

He headed downstairs his weight making the wooden stairs creak and groan. He looked at the pictures in the frames of the stairwell seeing Bobby’s life story covered in dust. These pictures have been up here before Bobby’s wife died. She definitely made him put up the nails to hang them how she wanted. Dean looked at the photograph of their wedding day. He wishes he was there to see it. Bobby looked happy. It’s sad and tragic how a good person like her passed. Dean never met her but everyone spoke of her in the best ways. He sighed and carried on to go outside and find Bobby. 

Bobby again was bent over the same car as yesterday. It took Dean two tries to close the front door making sure it closed. He would fix that for Bobby later, he’s surprised Bobby hasn’t. He tested it again with his face scrunched looking at the hinges and swinging the door. The weather strips were even in need of being changed. 

“I’ve been meaning to get on that door before winter.” Bobby gruffed. 

“Yeah,” Dean closed it shut again, “I can  fix it for ya.” 

“I’d appreciate it,” Bobby answered nodding his head curtly, “Find whatever tools you’ll need, I organized again last week.”

Dean chuckled, “A week is all that it takes you to forget where you put it and then you tear it all up again.”

“You’re right, you’re right.” Bobby smiled and turned away to look at the engine again. “Good luck.” He snickered as Dean nodded and turned to go to the shed. 

The door took him an hour to fix and he took it in himself to sort through some of the junk for some parts Bobby could eventually sell. He worked and walked aimlessly until something caught his eye in the labyrinth of tires, cars, old rusted forgotten tools. He had been outside all day. He had almost forgotten the sound of nature to be a peaceful thing. Even in a busy area it was peaceful. He would ask Bobby if he could make a clearing later. 

The one in his pocket buzzed. He was honestly surprised he had service out here as he fished for it with dirty, greasy hands. The screen read Castiel and he smiled.

“Well hello, Castiel.” Dean answered by stringing Castiel’s name out with a twang. 

“I’ve gotten myself into a predicament.”  Castiel retorted, tone serious. 

“Predicament as in tied up or emergency?” Dean chuckled 

“Dean,” Castiel groveled, Dean could hear his eyes rolling, “please be serious.”

“Alright, I’m serious,” Dean sighed “whatcha need?”

“I have a flat,” Castiel sighed back, “I just need a lug wrench.” 

“Well you called the right guy,” Dean said walking briskly to Baby, “What tire ya need?”

“I got a spare.” Castiel sighed

“Where ya be home fry?” 

“Highway eight and 67, by a graveyard.” Castiel sighed again, “Just get here.” Castiel hung up. 

Dean had a weird feeling. 

“Hey, Bobby!” Dean called out “I’ll be back gotta go help a friend with a tire change!” 

Bobby waved “Alright, be careful.” 

It was dark when Dean found Castiel. Castiel’s silhouette was leaned up on a post, arms crossed. From the headlights it appeared his trench coat and shoes were covered with mud. Dean pulled Baby over behind the yellow mustang convertible. Dean got out of Baby king wrench in hand.

Dean whistled “Ain’t she a beaut.” 

“Hello, Dean.”

“Hey, Cas.” Dean smiled

Castiel sighed and leaned himself off the post and grabbed for the king wrench. Dean snatched it back. Something was off. 

“Dean-“

“What’s wrong?” Dean glared questionably. 

“Nothing is wrong, I just have a flat and some delinquent won’t give me the lug wrench to fix it.” Castiel retorted. 

“Cas-“

“Just hand it over.” Castiel was clearly annoyed and left no space for argument and attempted to snatched the wrench from Dean. Dean used Castiel’s grip to his advantage and pulled him closer to face him. Their eyes met. 

“Cas,” Dean hoped his voice brought comfort. He could smell the alcohol on Castiel’s breath. 

“I’m drunk.” Castiel huffed sadly. Dean tugged the wrench away. 

“Go lay down in Baby.” Dean ordered “I’ll call Bobby.” 

“Dean-“

“I’ll fix the flat, but you’re not driving!” Dean raised his voice, “Have you lost your mind, driving drunk?” Dean was angry “That’s not like you!”

“You don’t know me!” Castiel snapped back with the same anger, his gravelly voice shook with it, “Spare me the lecture!”

“I know that the Castiel I know wouldn’t do this without a reason and he’s not talking about it because he doesn’t trust me.” Dean retorted 

Castiel glared at Dean through the headlights.

“I called you for a reason, Dean.” Castiel sighed, brokenness in his eyes, “Please, just help me. You owe me that, please.”

“Then let me.” Dean sighed back, relaxing his grip on the wrench. How did things get so tense?

“I don’t mean to be this way, I just needed to get out of there.” Castiel leaned against Baby as Dean guided him. 

“Where?”

“That stupid ball!” Castiel threw his arms into the air for his vent “that big stupid ball, the one where all my family and my parents friends come just to sigh about how they miss them without taking into account of how I feel about them being there as stupid mouth breathing heathens that just want attention, but I have to have them there and be nice to fund Gabriel’s stupid fundraiser that’s not actually stupid, but he chose the stupidest idiot in the county to host it! Me!”

“You not stupid-“

“Let me finish!” Castiel interrupted “Don’t get me started on my family, they expect me to be able to run all the business with no recognition whatsoever and I’m sorry but who the hell put a 11 year old in charge of a multimillion estate?” Castiel answered himself “Oh, yes! My lovely dead parents!” 

Dean waited.

“I hate them so much for that, I just wanted to be a normal family.” Castiel’s sighed “I know I sound like a brat, but they were never home and when they were they were fighting, the last good memory I have of them is seconds before they were murdered.” Castiel sobbed “But sure it’s a miracle I survived, no one asks about how traumatic it is unless they want to have a therapy session and put pills in you! No one genuinely cares and wants to help!” He sighed and sat on the ground. “I just want to sleep forever, but I’m carrying the weight of a legacy that I just want to get rid of, you understand?”

“Yes.” Dean sighed, he wished he didn’t. It always felt like he was the constant memory of Mary. He looks like her. 

“I hate rich people.” Castiel spitted out in slurs.  

“Me too buddy.” Dean chuckled sitting beside him 

“I’m sorry I rambled.” Castiel apologized.

“Don’t be.” Dean said

“It’s late.” Castiel’s sighed

“It is.”

“I’ll lock up the mustang and we can do this tomorrow.”

“I don’t mind changing the tire now, I just don’t want you driving,” Dean said “out of anything we can go get Bobby’s tow truck and I can get you home.” 

“I would rather sleep in the mustang than go back.” Castiel grumped. 

“I’m not allowing that.”

“Well why not!” Castiel’s voice rang. 

“Because I can’t trust you not to drive.”

“Good point!” Castiel huffed, crossing his arms. 

“I’m changing the tire.” Dean stood and headed towards the mustang. 

“Fine!”

“Fine.” Dean chuckled. 

“Fine.” Castiel chimed.

“You’re a drunk brat!”

“Fine.”

“Oh my god!” Dean huffed and shook his head and opened the trunk to get the spare out. 

“Can I continue to vent?” Castiel asked. 

“Yeah go ahead, just be nice.” Dean sighed, turning off the bolts.

“What do you do when the person you like doesn’t even look your way when you want them to?” 

“That’s a question,” Dean chimed “what do you mean by that?” 

“Well you see,” Castiel tugged at the trench coat sleeves. “I try to look nice for this person every time I know I’ll see them, but they always surprise me or I end up seeing them when I look a mess.”

“Cas you look good in any way, shape, or form, if the person cares about looks that much then you shouldn’t be interested in them. It’s shallow.” Dean rolled his eyes, not at Castiel but who the fuck made Castiel feel that he had to go all out for a bit of attention. 

“I just feel like I need to look presentable for them.” Castiel muttered “They deserve nice things.”

“You always look presentable .” Dean answered “Don’t let others dictate who you are just for a bit of attention, if the person you like makes you feel insecure then you’re looking for the wrong person for you. You deserve nice things too.”

“He’s just perfect.” Castiel sighed, “He’s always nice.”

“Well he’s an idiot for not paying attention to you in a good way that you deserve.” Dean muttered

“ He’s so good, he’s just hard on himself.” Castiel leaned his head on Baby and looked at Dean “He’s good.” 

“He better be, I’ll kick his ass.” Dean grumbled, pulling the flat off. 

Castiel chuckled

“What’s so funny?” Dean asked

Castiel calmed his laughter with a drunken smile, “You’re an idiot, Dean Winchester.”

Dean gasped, acting in offense “Why Castiel, that’s so rude,” he put his hand over his chest “especially since I’m changing your flat tire.”

“I appreciate you,” Castiel chuckled and leaned his head back on Baby “More than you know.”

“I appreciate you too, bud,” Dean responded, putting the bolts back on “I really do, you’re my best friend.”

“You’re mine as well.” 

“Well let’s lock her up.” Dean stood and put the flat in the trunk. 

Castiel groaned and fished for the keys deep in the pockets of his trench coat, they jingled as he tossed them to Dean. 

“Woah give a guy a warning!” Dean chuckled, catching them swiftly, “Always know how to keep me on my toes don’tcha.”

“Damn right.” Castiel stood and trudged to the passenger side of Baby with a wobble in his walk. 

Dean chuckled and walked to the mustang to close the roof and windows, the gears whining and groaning as they moved. He locked the doors and made his way to Baby. As he situated himself to sit in her leather seat he turned to give Castiel the keys, seeing the boy passed out already, his head leaning on the window. 

He drove them back to Sioux Falls.