Chapter Text
Above the motel, the streetlights bathed the parking lot in a warm yellow hue, dulling the wind's bite blowing off the prairie. This wasn't the first time Dean had ended up in the middle of buttfuck nowhere responsible for more that could be asked of him; the sign leading into town read 'A Great Place to Live' in weather-worn paint. Looking at the greasy tinted glass of the front office, Dean had a hard time believing that.
"Get your bag, Sam," said Dean, opening the trunk.
Reflected in the kaleidoscope of pull-tab posters and advertisements plastered to the edges of the window was a familiar scene: John, crumpled bills in hand, paying for the next week's lease. Jaundiced and worn, Dean's father faced the world with a scowl. Wrinkles cut through the craggy outline of his face, catching the light and settling into his face like old friends. The fluorescents' sickly glow didn't do John any favors, highlighting the grime caked to his figure.
Heaving his and his father's duffle bags over his shoulder, Dean slammed the trunk shut and began towards the silhouette of his Dad. Making sure his little brother trailed behind him, Dean counted the hours of work he would have in front of him before he could sleep. The middle of the night bearing down on him, it seemed to Dean that he would be working well into the morning. Sitting down on the curb outside of the front office, Sam and Dean stared aimlessly into the parking lot.
"How far are you into the new book?" Asked Dean, as moths battered themselves against the streetlamps' tinged light.
"I finished it in Rapid City. It was too easy anyway," sighed Sam.
The dime novel loose in hand, his little brother began to arrange the parking lot's gravel into lines scattering them after each row: biggest to smallest and then smallest to biggest, then back again. At eleven years old, Sam had already outgrown Dean's hand-me-downs. White socks peaked through the bottom hem of Dean's old pants, or more accurately, Sam's new capris. Dean had been a skinny knobby-kneed kid at his age, barely big enough to fit into those pants, let alone outgrow them.
"So what was this one about? Cowboys or vampires?" asked Dean.
"This one was both, I guess? I think the author tried to put a new spin on Western horror, but she lost track of her ideas halfway through," said Sam nonchalantly, Slaughterhouse Saloon slipping off of his hand and to the concrete left of the pebble pyramid.
"They can't all be winners," shrugged Dean, as the moths continued their frantic dance under the fuzz of the light.
Dean had had a hard time finding Sam's books lately. Just like his clothes, the kid's mind seemed to outgrow what Dean could give him all too quickly. The most recent pickup had only lasted Sam a day. Looking at his little brother, Dean is washed in a wave of frustration. Sam deserves better than this, Dean thought. Pebbles organized halfway into a pyramid, Sam was oblivious to Dean's musing. The door behind them swung open as John walked out of the front office. Shoving the keys and twenty dollars into Dean's hand, John made his leave.
"I'm going out," snapped John, walking towards the Impala. Sparing a glance behind him, John gave Sam and Dean a once over. "Don't get me in any fucking trouble."
The Impala came to life under John's hand, carrying him to God knows where with God knows who for God knows how long. The twenty dollars sat limp in Dean's hand, not nearly enough for the coming weeks. Standing with a sigh, Dean gathered his and his father's bags and set off towards his home for the next couple of months.
Room 4B smelled worse than Dean thought it would. Two full-sized beds took up most of the room, their threadbare white sheets tucked lumpily under the mattress. Shag carpeting covered the floor in matted clumps, its original burnt orange long since faded with footfall and negligence.
"He really spared no expense," muttered Dean. "C'mon, Sam. Let's get started."
Without thinking, the boys fell into their usual routine. Dean headed to the bathroom with a half-filled gallon of bleach, gloves, and a very used sponge in hand. Meanwhile, Sam began stripping one of the beds, leaving a cloud of dust in his wake. Throwing pillows and bedding aside as he went, the pile of linen on the floor grew until all that was left on the bed was a mattress pad. Fatigue settled into Sam's bones as he grabbed clean bedding from his brother's duffel. Since early that morning, he had been awake when John announced they would be skipping town again. With less than a day to prepare, he and Dean had had to pack up and cut ties once again. They had only stayed in Martin for a month.
"So what's the plan after this?" asked Sam, slipping a pillowcase over the lumpy hotel pillow. "T.V. or shopping?"
"Probably shopping," replied Dean poking his head out of the bathroom. Resisting the urge to cough, Dean continued scrubbing bleach into the tiles' blackened grout around the sink.
"The toilet's gonna have to soak, I think. Some of this shit isn't gonna come off in a night," said Dean gesturing to the blackened grime caked on the toilet bowl. Splashing another glug of bleach in the bowl to marinate, Dean shucked off his gloves and washed his hands in the newly cleaned sink.
"I saw a gas station about a mile down the road whenever you're done." Tucking in the edges of a thin yellow blanket, Sam finished up the bed. "They might have something to do, too." Whined Sam, "No offense, Dean, but you're kinda boring."
"Oh, so I'm the boring one! That's rich coming from Mr. Slaughterhouse Saloon." scoffed Dean walking out of the bathroom. "Go empty your backpack; you gotta carry some of the groceries too." Ruffling Sam's hair as he passed, Dean headed towards his duffel bag. Sam began opening the dresser drawers for his and Dean's clothes one step behind him.
"At least I read stuff; all you do watch T.V. and flirt with random strangers," smirked Sam.
"Shut up, turd." snapped Dean. "It just so happens that I read stuff too."
"What, the T.V. guide?" laughed Sam.
Glaring at his brother, Dean tucked the last of his stuff into the lower drawer, leaving the middle for Sam. This little shit is going to be the end of me, though Dean. Sam, smug in his victory, dumped his stuff in his drawer in one tangled heap.
"Ya know, Sam. I do have something exciting to tell you about," remarked Dean. "It's this crazy thing called 'folding' I don't know if you've ever heard of it?"
"I'll have you know that I can wear my clothes just fine without folding them. And It's not my fault that I can't fold them. Being the smarter, more handsome brother takes a lot of work, and I just don't have any energy left to worry about socks." huffed Sam
"Good comeback, dingus. Now get your backpack. We gotta get walking before I starve to death."
Closing the drawer, Sam grabbed his backpack and dumped its contents onto the newly made bed. Empty bag slung over his shoulder, Sam set off after his brother.
Chapter Text
The crisp wind blew over the cusp of the prairie around them, leaving the soft smell of sage and rain in its wake. The brothers walked amicably beside each other: Dean ahead of his brother, as usual, Sam, chattering about his latest read. Twenty minutes later, the brothers approached the buzzing neon of the closest Chevron. A shabby little building, white stucco piped with cherry red fluorescents. The bell rang as the brothers slipped through the door. The gas station attendant turned her head, observing Sam and Dean with a sluggish glare.
"What're we gonna get?" whispered Sam, leaning into his brother to avoid the prying ear of the attendant.
"Why are you whispering, dude?" said Dean as he pushed Sam out of his purple circle. "We're just gonna buy food, man, don't sweat it."
Wandering through the isles, Dean picked through the meager selection. They didn't have a microwave in the hotel room, and that limited what he could buy by almost half. Eventually settling on a loaf of bread, some limp looking lunch meat he found in the back of the fridge, and a couple of bananas, Dean figured that he could stretch that for a week.
"Dean!" hissed Sam from behind him. "The lady won't stop looking at me, and it's freaking me out."
"Quit being dramatic!" exclaimed Dean in a hushed tone, trying to keep Sam from making a scene. Shopping was already stressful enough without having some paranoid little creep following him around. That kid has to cool it before I freak out, thought Dean as he walked to the front of the store to pay.
"You're not listening to me! I was looking at the magazines upfront, and she was staring at me the whole time, and I don't know why she looks so mad at me and-" Sam started again, hardly leaving Dean a one-second gap so that he could tell Sam to just shut up about it. Finally, Sam left enough of a gap in dialogue for Dean to tell him to fuck off temporarily until the goddamn grocery shopping was done.
"Well then, don't look back at her, stupid! I don't know! Quit bugging me. I'm almost done anyway."
"Fine." huffed Sam. "I'm just gonna go look at the books all by myself even though you never let me buy one anyways."
And with that, Sam stomped back over to the magazines, looking over one of the few books stuffed in between the rack's wooden slats. Dean knows how this goes whenever they get into a fight. Sam will ignore him just out of eyesight on the walk home until it's time for dinner when he'll let the whole thing go and eat his bologna sandwich in peace. That doesn't stop Dean from having to swallow down the lump of guilt building up in his throat. He knows that Sam is right. He knows that this place is sketchy. He knows that the only other person in the gas station is the bitter old attendant with more vendettas than teeth. And most of all, he knows that he can't get Sam the book he wants. Twenty dollars only go so far. Lost in thought, Dean the food up to the front to pay. The attendant looked as mean as Sam said. Her hair went down past her shoulders in over-moussed strings, frozen in sticky waves down her head. Yellow-stained nails grabbed hold of his basket.
"Six-fifty," snapped the attendant. Her lips were drawn up in a blackened snarl. Frosted pink lipstick highlighted her yellowing teeth: thin and eroded.
Handing over the money, Dean calculated what he has left for the next week: $13.50. If he kept up like this, he would only pay for one more week of food.
"Could you take off the bananas, please?" asked Dean. That would save him enough for a couple more grocery trips after this.
"Four-fifty," scowled the attendant. She snatched the money out of Dean's hand, looking him over like he had hidden a jar of peanut butter down his pants. "Take your bag." she sneered curtly. She might have well said, 'go to hell bastard,' thought Dean.
Dean headed over to the magazine rack, bag in hand. Leaning against the gas station's wall, Sam was fully engrossed in his newest find: Lonesome Dove.
"So what is it this time, Sammy?' asked Dean. "Cowboys or vampires?"
"Cowboys," muttered Sam. Reading the book with stars in his eyes, like it were the best thing he'd ever seen.
"C'mon." sighed Dean. "You gotta eat dinner, kid."
Lonesome Dove shoved haphazardly back through the slots, Sam followed after his brother, chattering about his latest read.
Chapter 3
Notes:
Hey, Guys!
I hope you're enjoying the fic! It should start picking up soon, so stay tuned for that! I was thinking about making a playlist to go with the story? (I'm going to make a playlist).
Have fun with the new chapter :0)
Love you!
-Nameless Faceless
Chapter Text
It had been two weeks since John left and the wet death of April clung to the air. In an hour, the crisp morning sun would bathe the world in dewy light. But for now, the sky settled in thick velveteen blankets over the earth. Sighing, Dean rolled out of bed. The glowing red letters of the clock read 7:30.
The money his dad had given him was running out quickly. Rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, Dean started the shower and stepped under the sputtering spray. The day hadn’t even started and he was exhausted. Their last grocery run had been for a jar of peanut butter and another loaf of bread that they were going through faster than Dean would like. The thought of Sam going hungry made his stomach twist uncomfortably.
Water droplets ran down the mirror, leaving streaks of clarity in the foggy mirror of the medicine cabinet. Nausea creeping up his throat, Dean quickly dried off and got dressed. He thought John would be back by now.
A fragile sense of security always followed John home. Sure, Dean had to walk on eggshells, and Sam was suspended in silence, but at least they didn’t have to worry about having enough money for bologna. And as frustrating as it was to say it, Dean missed the John who used to love him.
Memories of dusty summer evenings watching baseball, his father pushing through a turbulent sea of spectators just to get Dean a coke. Sitting in hard plastic seats, lulled by the soft hum of John’s voice as he explained how they wanted the hitter to strike out. The sturdy embrace of being carried back to the car, the sunset draping itself over them in silky reds and oranges.
Snapping out of his reverie, Dean stepped into the main room. Any love John held for them died with their mother, leaving a vindictive shell of who John was with Mary. It was hard for Dean not to feel betrayed: by his mother, by his father, by himself. Dean hadn’t liked John for a long time but there was still some self-destructive part of him who loved his dad, a part of him that hoped John would change.
Sitting down on the second, untouched bed, Dean looked to Sam, spread out like a starfish across their bed. He would need another round of clothes soon, his gangly limbs caught in another growth spurt. He would turn twelve next week and Dean didn’t know what to do for him. Usually, he and Sam would’ve been enrolled in school by now, class parties taking some of the pressure off of Dean. But John had left before Dean could get them enrolled. Sam had never had a birthday without a gift.
I have to figure something out, thought Dean. The last of their money wasn’t enough to cover dinner, let alone Sam’s gift.
Sam hadn’t been taking the lack of structure easily. School was where he thrived, where he found an escape from his home life. Through around half of the public schools in South Dakota, Sam had excelled. The kid was like a knowledge vacuum, embracing the familiar challenge of new course work and readings. Dean could tell that Sam was wilting under the dull fluorescents of their room. It’s only for a while, thought Dean, once dad gets back I’ll be able to get him enrolled.
But for now, Dean had more pressing issues. They were almost through with their second loaf of bread. With no sign of John coming back anytime soon, Dean needed to figure out what the fuck he was going to do. He had enough for maybe one more week of groceries, not even mentioning Sam’s birthday. If they were going to last into May, Dean was going to have to start stealing again. The knot in his stomach only grew as he rifled around in his duffle for his biggest jacket. Swallowing his guilt, he shrugged it on, the canvas draping comfortably over his shoulders. The pockets could easily fit a jar of peanut butter, Dean knew that for sure.
Slipping their last three dollars into his pocket, Dean set off towards the gas station. If he hurried, Sam wouldn’t even have to know he left.
Through the cacophony of worry in his head, Dean trudged down the road towards the gas station, wet leaves sticking and decomposing in gummy clumps under his shoes. Worst-case scenarios flashed through Dean’s head with every step; Sam’s gonna hate me because I can’t get him anything for his birthday, I’m going to run out of money and I can’t do anything about it, the motel owner is going to kick them out after John’s payment runs out and I’m going to have to figure out what to do with Sammy.
Arriving at the Chevron, Dean felt like he was going to throw up. He just had to stay under the radar: in and out. Bell ringing after him, Dean unzipped the top half of his jacket and walked into the store sporting a flimsy bravado. Walk with confidence and nobody will say anything, he thought in spiraled repetitions: his mantra of the day.
Making a beeline straight to the back of the station, Dean looked around at what he could get away with. Sparing a glance over his shoulder, the attendant’s eyes followed his every move. This would not be easy. Snagging a jar of peanut butter off of the shelf by the back wall, Dean slipped it into his jacket, zipping it up until the attendant wouldn’t notice the red Skippy lid peeking out of his pockets.
The bell about the door chimed.
“Mornin, Luanne,” said a deep voice.
“Mornin Jim, the usual?” the attendant rasped in her Marlboro drawl reaching towards the cigarette case behind her.
“Well not today Luanne,” responded the voice from the front. “I fought with the missus last night and she didn’t take too kindly to the idea of makin’ breakfast this morning. Just gotta pick something up before patrol.”
Through the window, across the parking lot sat the state trooper’s car. Grabbing his loaf of bread, Dean decided to get the fuck outta dodge.
“Two-fifty.” grumbled the attendant, her eyes skimming over Dean’s face. Her glare cloaked dean in a thin film of anxiety.
Handing over the last of his money, Dean kept his eyes firmly on the ground. The eggshell white of the tiles didn’t help him feel any less awful. Out of the corner of his eye, Lonesome Dove caught his attention. Sam hadn’t stopped talking about that stupid book since he first saw it, spending their grocery runs speed reading as much of the book as he could before Dean pulled him back to the motel room. The magazine rack was right by the door, and Dean knew what he had to do.
“Take your change.” said the attendant mid-cough.
Pocketing the coins with sweaty palms, Dean took one last look at the attendant. “Thank you, Ma’am,” he said quietly, grabbing the loaf of bread off the counter.
The attendant’s eyes were a piercing blue, black eyeliner circled them in thick rings. The state trooper, browsing the rows of prepackaged pastries, wasn’t paying Dean any mind. Walking as steadily as he could, Dean walked towards the magazine rack by the door. Calming his heart rate as best as he could, Dean purposely bumped into the rack swiping Lonesome Dove under his Jacket on his way out the door.
“The fuck do you think you're doing?” screeched the attendant from the counter.
Pushing his way out the door, Dean only made it halfway out of the parking lot before the state trooper got a hold of him.
Chapter 4
Notes:
Hey Guys!
I hope you're enjoying the story, I'm having a really fun time writing it!
Before this chapter begins, I just wanted to warn you of some harsh language that may be triggering. During the chapter, John says the F slur, once. I really sincerely do not want to make anyone uncomfortable or upset! I thought a lot about posting this, and if you have any problems with the language or archive ratings PLEASE TELL ME!! I want this story to be for everyone and if this type of language makes you feel excluded, I'll edit it out of the chapter and forgo any usage in the future.
That being said, this chapter is from Sam's perspective. I thought I'd try to switch it up. Sometimes I get a little bored reading slow-burn fics from only one perspective. Let me know what you think! If Sam's chapter is liked he may become a regular in the perspective rotation!
Thank you for reading, love you guys! :0)
-Nameless Faceless(P.S. please please please comment!! Let me know what you wanna see in the story! Cas is coming in soon!!
Chapter Text
"Where the fuck's your brother?" kicking off his boots, John emptied his pockets onto the dresser. The smell of sweat and beer rolled off of him in waves. He walked through the room as if he'd never left.
"Dunno," mumbled Sam nervously, "He was gone when I woke up, and I haven't seen him since."
It had been three days since Dean had disappeared, and Sam didn't know what to do next. After a few days of looking around, he had called it quits and decided to wait in the room. There was only so much he could do without the adults around him getting suspicious. His eyes stung at the thought of his brother. Dean wouldn't just do this.
"What do you mean you don't know? He's your goddamn brother, Sam." snapped John. "Where the fuck did he go?"
"I dunno. He never told me." flushed Sam, tears building in his eyes. John was staring at him. "He was just gone, and I tried to look for him, but I didn't wanna get in trouble."
"Quit crying. You look like a fag." spat John as he turned away from Sam.
The showerhead sputtered to life, and John closed the bathroom door behind him.
Sam sat as close as he could to the corner where his and Dean's bed met the wall. Pangs of hunger twisted and melded with the anxiety in his stomach, and he couldn't stop tears from sliding down his face. His brother was gone, and it was his fault. His dad was right, Dean had had enough of his shit, and now he was dead. Fuzzy panic crept up Sam's throat, coiling itself, like a snake, out of his mouth and around his neck. His breathing constricted and came in quick muffled gasps. Dean was never coming back, and it was his fault. Sam would be stuck with John forever, and he would deserve it.
Steam slipped out from under the bathroom door. The muddled hum of the shower crowded Sam's mind. Eyes glazing over, the wallpaper's dated hue blurred across Sam's field of vision. Mind fading into the familiar embrace of oblivion, Sam thought about his older brother. He wished he would've been able to say goodbye. He wished he didn't have to be here anymore. He wished Dean would've taken him away too.
White noise filled his ears in a blaring cacophony, shutting him away from the rest of the world in a frantic haze.
"-'re you doing!"
A burning handprint stretched itself across Sam's face. John stood in front of him, a towel wrapped around his waist.
"Look what you made me do, you stupid shit," growled John. "Go get some ice and put on your shoes."
Sam, still facing the slap's direction, watched the blurred lights of the cars rocket down the freeway. His face stung badly. His head felt tangled and unfocused. Grabbing the ice-bucket from the bedside table, Sam put on his shoes.
John was dressed when Sam got back, a half-smoke Marlboro held between his lips.
"Put the ice in this. Get in the car," said John, throwing Sam a pillowcase. Dean's pillow was naked on the bed. Sam followed his father to the car. The pillowcase smelt too much like Dean. With ice and fatigue, grown-up numbness settled over Sam. There was nothing he could do.
Through the bitter landscape of South Dakota, Sam could see Dean and himself with Captain Call. Riding through the wild west, away from John. Sun scorched sage pulled him into the grips of elsewhere. Pushing everything else out, Sam slipped into a familiar daze. Plots and fantasy unfolding, to him, like a map that would lead him home: to a family he left behind before he could know it.
The Impala rumbled them through the empty streets. Sam had never been to this part of town before. Buildings sat on the edges of perfect squares of parking-lot, weeds peaking their way through cracks in the asphalt. A squat stucco building sat in the middle of the parking lot, cop cars lined the front row. Sam's dad hated cops.
"Stay in the car," said John. Sam's father walked into the Police Station. The ice melted down from Sam's cheekbone and dribbled down his chin.
Captain Call was on his way to Montana with Sam and Dean by his side. They told stories, stopped bandits, and rode towards the setting sun.
The air inside the car was cold now. Sam hadn't brought a jacket.
He and Dean were in a saloon, now. They were laughing at a gambling table. Dean is really good at cards, thought Sam.
The front door of the Impala opened, and John sat down.
"Your brother's gone. Pack up your shit."
The warm, dry air of the Western sun enveloped them. He and Dean were together. He and Dean were happy.
Chapter Text
“So what’d he take?” asked Sonny. The soft embrace of the early summer sun cut through the single-paned window behind them. Dean was handcuffed on the couch, sitting perpendicular to the asshole officer and some dude with a handle-bar mustache.
“Get this-- peanut butter and bread,” said the officer, whose glaring gaze turned to Dean. Under the officer’s sunglasses, a black eye had already begun to form.
“And what about family?” asked the mustache man. He was rifling around in the drawers of the beat-up desk that sat across from Dean. A thousand little manila folders had been crammed in like sardines. The drawers dipped with each movement, sagging under the weight of the records.
“Well, his old man called. Once he found out what happened, he said to let him rot in jail,” laughed the officer.
Dean’s heart dropped, heat rushing to his face. It was Sam’s birthday tomorrow. He was planning on throwing a party. He’d dropped lonesome on the ground when the officer grabbed him a little too hard; memories of John ran through Dean’s mind in frantic waves. Without thinking, Dean turned around and punched the officer right in the face. Hard. But that didn’t matter now because Sam’s out somewhere with Dad, and he hit a cop: handcuffed halfway into the middle of dirt-land nowhere with no way out.
“--ishing trip. Boy’s too young to leave in County. So we thought it best he stay here till arraignment.” finished the officer, looking towards the mustache man.
“I don’t see why not, man.” said the mustache guy, grabbing a thick stack of papers from the officer. “Where’d you get the shiner?” asked the mustache guy over his nose.
The officer’s face flushed. “I-I didn’t,” muttered the officer. Dean’s silent laughter erupted from behind them. Head dipped down, Dean sat handcuffed on the couch and tried to stop himself from laughing.
“If that’s all you need, Sonny, I’m gonna go,” muttered the officer. Face red with a mix of anger and embarrassment. Turning away from them both, the officer walked out the door without another word. Dean hadn’t stopped laughing.
“You shouldn’t do that, kid,” said the mustache guy. He put the stack of papers into an empty manila folder.
“Why? Because he’s a cop?” asked Dean, sarcastically. This wasn’t his first ‘respect-those-who-protect-and-serve’ speech, and quite frankly, he wasn’t really feeling like being lectured right now. He could tell his wrists were beginning to bruise, the overly-tight embrace of the handcuffs reminded Dean of his father’s freakouts, and he still didn’t know where Sam was.
“Because when you make him mad, he leaves with the key.” said the mustache guy.
Heat rushed to Dean’s cheeks; this was the worst day of his life. His sleeves had ridden up when the deputy pushed him around, and you could see the bruises that coated his arms. The arresting officer hadn’t taken so kindly to Dean’s attempted escape. Hot tears stung the corners of Dean’s eyes.
“Don’t sweat it,” said the mustache guy. He was facing Dean, now. His face was tan and relaxed. Light wrinkles were creased across his forehead, crows-feet were beginning to form around his eyes. He grabbed a paper clip and sat down on the edge of the coffee table, across from Dean.
The mustache guy grabbed the handcuffs. Sucking in a breath, Dean tried to make himself calm down. His heart was racing; there was no way for him to move away from the mustache guy. He could feel the guy’s piercing gaze staring at his arms and wrists.
Dean wasn’t an idiot. He knew that his arms looked terrible. Layers and layers of bruising coated them. Some from his father, some from the deputy, and some from the handcuffs: all in different stages of healing.
“Deputy do that?” asked the mustache guy. He was really serious all of a sudden. Dean kept his eyes on the floor and shook his head no. “What, your old man?”
Dean didn’t say anything.
“Well then how’d you get ’em?” the mustached guy was getting frustrated. He wanted an answer.
Dean steeled himself and looked right into the mustache guy’s face. “I got them from a werewolf,” said Dean. This guy needed to learn not to ask questions he didn’t want the answers to, thought Dean. Everyone gets knocked around, but you don’t just ask people shit like that. At least not in Dean’s experience.
The mustache guy did quick work. Before Dean could process it, the pinching pressure of the cuffs had been released. Rubbing the throbbing pressure out of his wrists, Dean was finally able to take in the room. They were in the sitting room of an old farmhouse. The walls were painted a soft yellow, and the room smelled faintly of laundry detergent.
“How do you know I won’t just run away?” asked Dean. He had to get back to Sam but making sure the weird guy with a huge mustache wasn’t going to murder him in the middle of a soybean field was pressing business. The mustache guy hadn’t said anything since he saw Dean’s arms. It was going on for about five minutes, now. Dean was starting to feel uncomfortable.
The mustache guy was messing with the folders again. “Cause you’re hungry, kid. Noone steals peanut butter and bread for fun.” He pulled a pen from one of the drawers. “Now, what’s your name, kid?”
“Dean Winchester,” muttered Dean. As much as he hated to admit it, the mustache guy was right. He was hungry. He hadn’t eaten since the night before when one of the officers on shift at the holding cell gave him a bag of chips from the vending machine.
“Well, Dean, it looks like we’ll be seeing a lot of each other the next couple of months,” said the mustache guy while writing Dean’s name down on the folder. He shoved Dean’s record into one of the desk drawers and then turned around to face Dean. “My name’s Sonny, and I’m in charge around here. Let’s go get you something to eat, and I’ll tell you about the rules.”
Chapter 6
Notes:
Hey Friends!
Here's the next chapter, let me know what you think! I had a really hard time writing this one, but I think I just set myself up for plotline success.
I post every Saturday unless I don't feel like it :0)
Things are going to start picking up, friends! Let me know what you think in the comments!
-Nameless Faceless
Chapter Text
I missed Sam's birthday, thought Dean as he stared up at the yellowed plaster of the ceiling. The corners of the room met at the ceiling light, rising up in lopsided lines. Dean hadn't been able to sleep in the unfamiliar room. The other boys staying at Sonny's filled the bunk beds, the sound of sleep suffocating the space.
Guilt and anxiety clouded Dean's head. He hadn't been able to give Sam Lonesome Dove. He hadn't even been able to say goodbye.
He didn't know how long he would be here, and he didn't know what that would mean for Sam. The kid was smart, sure, but how long can a twelve-year-old take care of themself? When Dean was that age, John was skipping town for a couple of days at a time. Sam has to deal with months.
Dean had only been at Sonny's for a night, but restlessness squirmed around his psyche. He wasn't used to being this still. He felt helpless and stuck. Sam was out there with John somewhere, and Dean was eating three square meals a day.
It became hard for Dean to swallow, panic nearly filling his lungs to the brim. Tears stung his eyes, and he forced himself to choke them back. Crying wouldn't help anything. He already fucked up.
Early summer light had begun to find its way into the room, and the rest of the boys would be awake soon. He didn't have the energy to deal with that today. Dean slipped out of the sheets, grabbed his clothes off the floor, and left for the bathroom.
Last night when Sonny showed him around, he had assigned Dean a cabinet to keep all his toiletries. And since Dean didn't think to bring a toothbrush with him when he was arrested, Sonny had filled it too.
His reflection in the medicine cabinet's mirror was gaunt. Since the last time John ditched them, he had lost weight, and the clothes Dean had worn yesterday looked baggier than they usually did, and Dean couldn't bring himself to care. The thought of Sam alone with their dad made him nauseous anyways.
Dean pulled the toothbrush and toothpaste out of his toiletry bag and decided that ignoring his reflection would be for the best. He spat the foamy mess of toothpaste in the sink.
Dean forced himself out of the bathroom. He hadn't had a chance to see anything outside the house. According to what Sonny told him last night, they were in the middle of re-fencing the ranch. Dean didn't know what that meant.
The stairs spit him out into the living room where he was handcuffed yesterday. The cuffs had left thin purple rings around his wrists, something else to add to the collection of bruises spotting his arms and legs.
"You got any other clothes, kid."
Sonny stood between Dean and the entrance to the kitchen. A blush rose up Dean's neck through to his forehead.
He didn't have any other clothes.
"No," said Dean. He hoped the ground would swallow him whole. He hadn't been able to swing a new summer wardrobe since Sam started growing faster than Dean could keep up with. He felt like crying again, thinking about Sam. He would need new pants soon, thought Dean. I should be there to get him new pants.
"C'mon then," said Sonny, turning back into the kitchen. "We have some extras in the back closet."
The kitchen was a thin hallway, with a stove on the left and a counter on the right. There was a pot of something bubbling on the stove. Dean didn't ask. Sonny led him into a mudroom filled with enough shoes and coats to clothe a small army.
"This is where you'll leave your work clothes. Always remember to take your work boots off in here, don't be tracking dirt all through the house," said Sonny, rifling through a closet in the back right corner. "Now, what size do you wear, kid?"
"Dunno," muttered Dean. He didn't exactly get to choose his sizes. He wore what he got for cheap or for free. His heart was hammering, now. He wanted out of this room and away from Sonny.
"I'm gonna say small." sighed Sonny. Sonny turned and handed him a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. "That'll do for now. We'll go out and get you some stuff this weekend. Lemme know if they don't fit, okay, kid?"
If God struck him dead right there, he'd be okay with it. His palms were sweaty against the t-shirt and the pair of jeans Sonny had given him, and Sonny kept looking at him like he was a kicked puppy. He had to get out of this situation. Immediately.
"I'm gonna go change," muttered Dean, as he pushed past Sonny into the main room.
"Breakfast is in 30," Sonny called from behind him.
The walk up the stairs was the longest, most anxious, hell-trek of his life. His thoughts were torn between the pressing problem of learning the ins and outs of living at Sonny's and the gnawing guilt and anxiety that flooded his mind. Sam was still out there somewhere. How could he just sit here with some fucking jeans while his twelve-year-old kid brother was just out there somewhere?
Deciding to avoid the room full of his sleeping peers, Dean yanked open the bathroom door.
"WHAT THE FU-" shouted a gravelly voice from inside.
"Sorry!" shouted Dean. "Didn't know you were there!"
That guy had really blue eyes, thought Dean, as he got as far away from the bathroom as possible.
Chapter 7
Notes:
Hey, guys!
Long time no see, huh? But I did tell you that I would be back, lmao. Well, either way, it's summer now so expect an update semi-frequently.
I hope you cuties are enjoying hot girl summer!
-Nameless Faceless
Chapter Text
He wished Sonny would have given him a warning. Dean had grown accustomed to sharing the bathroom with Sam over the years, but this was just ridiculous.
Scenes from this morning flashed through his mind—the sloping lines of the mysterious guy's shoulders, framed in the soft morning light. Pale freckles dotted his chest and arms. He seemed strong, mused Dean. The toned line of his abs leads his eyes down to a cream towel thrown haphazardly around his hips. Dean couldn't stop thinking about the curve of his spine. About the way, it dipped and traveled lower and lower down his torso to the seam of the towel. About how Dean could trail his hands down the other man's torso, lower and lower unti--
He had to stop this now. There was no way in hell he was going to delinquent camp straight and coming back as anything but. John had made his stance on that very clear. Dean couldn't help but think of some fluorescent night years ago. His hands pressed against the cracked drywall of the empty motel room, a sloppy kiss pressed to the back of his neck, a beating he'll never forget, and a hospital bill that they never paid.
One slip-up, and it wasn't just his ass on the line. It was Sam's too.
Guilt and betrayal washed over Dean in a sticky wave. He felt inexplicably dirty, like the secret trapped in his chest would stain the rest of him if he let it breathe.
Sitting down on the corner of his bed, Dean slipped on his shoes and pushed his feelings aside. There were more important things to deal with right now. The terms of Dean's stay at Sonny's still hadn't been decided, and the waiting was beginning to pick at him. There was no way in hell John would pay to get him out.
This left Dean in a real fucking situation. He didn't have a car, money, or a court date-- and those are all pretty important when you're trying to break out of a seemingly maximum-security farm. It would be difficult, and he would have to be sneaky, but Dean was used to working without wiggle room. Besides, he had done more with less before he dug himself into this hole.
The muffled ring of a bell snapped him out of his thoughts. Light chatter drifted through the house, getting progressively louder as Dean opened the bunkroom's door and began walking towards the large oak staircase.
A long dining room table filled the room in front of him. Big enough to seat all the boys and staff of the home. Most of the table sat vacantly-- save a few half-asleep stragglers. The majority of the room was standing in a clumped line in the middle of the kitchen. What could only be described as a cauldron of oatmeal bubbled on the stove. Sonny scooped it into bowls and handed one to each boy that passed him.
Dean found an empty spot at the table and settled in. He had been sure to snag a seat with a full view of the room. He wasn't in the mood for any surprises. The events of the last few weeks filled Dean with dread. And, as much as he hated to admit it, he couldn't shake the bathroom snafu from earlier that morning. He just hoped this whole thing would be over soon.
Dean wondered about whatever happened to Lonesome Dove. Or if Sam had gotten a new book by now-- he really hoped so. That kid was too smart to be with John. Putting up a front was second nature to the kid, but at heart, Sam was sensitive. Dean could tell that John got to him, no matter how much he tried to hide it.
Every sign points to Dean getting the fuck out of dodge as soon as possible.
The breakfast line had gotten considerably shorter since Dean sat down. Spots in the table were filling up rapidly. Dean felt like he was under the spotlight. The other boys were staring at him-- some friendly and some not so much. Dean did his best to ignore some of the more irritating glances. He wouldn't be here long anyway.
"That's my spot." called a gravelly voice from behind him.
This was already more of a headache than he cared to deal with. Dean heaved a sigh and hunched down further in the chair.
"Listen man," Dean said, not even bothering to turn around. "I didn't see a name tag or anything, so I think it's fair game."
"I said that's my spot." repeated the voice, this time sounding a little dangerous.
Dean was sure he had the worst luck in the universe. First, he's stuck in the middle of god knows where without Sam. And now he has to deal with some jackass who cares too much about a goddamn chair.
Turning his head to face the voice, Dean got himself ready for a fight. But, instead of a punch to the head, he was met with a familiar set of blue eyes. Dark, like how the deepest part of the ocean, is seen from the sky.
"I-" started Dean with the full intention of telling this man to go fuck himself. But, before he got to finish, a wave of something came over him: like electricity flooding his veins. Silently, he picked himself up and moved one chair to his right.
"Sorry man," said Dean. "About this morning too-- in the bathroom. I'm new."
The boy with the blue eyes gave him a once over and then sat down in his chair.
"Cas." he said, in a hushed tone. "My name's Cas."
It was all Dean could do to keep a smirk from breaking out across his face.
"Dean." he responded, making brief eye contact with Cas. "So, you got anything going on later, Cas. Or are you going to help me break out of here?"
Cas turned, looked at him, and smiled.
"I think I can pencil you in," he said.
Chapter 8
Notes:
Hello, All!
I hope that everything is going groovy! Before we get into the chapter, I want to start with a shoutout. This chapter is dedicated to Big Fan Spiderman, I absolutely love all your comments <3
As always, comment and let me know what you want to see next!
-Nameless Faceless
Chapter Text
His t-shirt was plastered to his back. It was disgustingly hot in the bunk room, and the July sun had already started beating down into the room through the large window on the wall opposite him.
He stretched out in the top-bunk twin that he'd been assigned after his first night there. The sheets were just as damp as his shirt-- the limp embrace of the thin blanket was becoming suffocating. As per usual, Dean was the first one up. Even though he'd been at Sonny's for a couple of months, John's early wakeup calls were harder to shake than he thought they would be.
Heaving a sigh, Dean hauled himself out of the bunk and plopped his feet down on the hardwood. After a quick shower and a change of clothes, Dean was on his way downstairs for breakfast.
Since coming to Sonny's, Dean had eaten three square meals every day. It was a foreign concept to him at first-- he often skipped breakfast or lunch back then. Sonny had to pull him aside and tell him that he was always allowed to take as much as he wanted. It had felt really awkward at the time, but it had finally felt like Dean could loosen up a little bit after that.
He had noticed a change in his appearance too. He looked less gaunt, and his skin had regained its color after a few weeks of good sleep. He was stronger now, too-- the chores around the ranch helped build muscle up across his arms and chest. All things said and done, Dean felt even better than he looked.
Making his way down the stairs and towards the kitchen, Dean wondered what he would do today. He and Cas had been talking about sneaking out to go visit the girls in town. Or maybe they would go out into the fields with a couple of Marlboros-- they had been slowly stealing them from Sonny's packs since May, and he still hadn't caught on. If they kept up like this, they'd have to start selling to the other boys just to get rid of them all.
He and Cas had caught on like wildfire ever since that first day. Ever since then, they'd practically been attached at the hip. Cas had helped him get settled and learn the ropes. In turn, Dean had figured out how to steal Jack Daniels from the cupboards, and the cigarettes had been child's play. With Cas alongside him, Sonny's had become a court-mandated playground.
A cough from behind him interrupted Dean mid-thought. Sonny was standing in the kitchen, holding a thick stack of manila folders.
"I have some news, son," said Sonny. He looked more somber than Dean had ever seen him. His usual smile lines had been replaced with a deep line furrowed across his forehead.
"Why don't you take a seat," he said, gesturing towards the couch.
Dread filled the pit of Dean's stomach. Maybe he was harboring a sick sense of masochism, but the feeling almost comforted him. Life at Sonny's had been unlike anything he'd experienced before, and, for the first time since he settled in, he felt that familiar feeling coat his chest again. Almost like an old friend.
"Dean, your sentence is almost up," began Sonny. "And we need to talk about where you're going to go."
Sifting through the pile of paper in front of him, Sonny began pulling out paperwork. Little by little, a bureaucratic nightmare began to grow on the table between them.
With each paper Sonny added, the reality of Dean's situation began to sink in. Of course, he had never stopped looking for Sam. But, after two months of secret midnight cold-calling with Cas, every lead he could think of came up dry. Dean had stopped calling the motel at the end of June when they threatened to charge him with harassment for the third time. Sam had haunted the back of his mind every single minute at Sonny's. And while Dean's life was easier at Sonny's, he could feel the spot where Sam was missing. The guilt of leaving him behind making itself known frequently throughout the day.
Like when Dean laughed at one of Cas' jokes that he knew Sam would've loved. Or when he took the first bite of the best sandwich he'd ever had. Or when Sonny handed him a warm shirt out of the dryer. Or when he and Cas snuck out of work to dam up the creek across Sonny's because they decided they wanted to swim that day.
Sonny cleared his throat and shuffled the papers around one last time; he looked uncomfortable.
"So, the sheriff's station called your dad yesterday," said Sonny. "I don't know much else, but they left a message for him with a number to call us back. Now, technically, I'm supposed to tell you that you need to be gone by July 25th. But, given your dad, I don't think that'll happen."
Sonny kept trying to make meaningful eye contact with him. Dean could feel it. He had his eyes trained to the stack of papers on the coffee table. He had a feeling that this conversation was going in a direction he wouldn't like.
Sonny kept on talking.
"When you first checked in you told me you didn't have anyone else to go to. That still true?"
He lied when he checked in, and he would lie when he checked out.
"Yeah," said Dean, making brief eye contact with Sonny.
Sonny sighed and started filling out some of the paperwork.
"Do you know where your dad is?" asked Sonny. His reading glasses were perched on the end of his nose.
"No," said Dean. "He didn't tell me when he left."
Sonny glanced up at him briefly, and for a moment, Dean felt like Sonny could see right through him. After what felt like an eternity, Sonny looked back down and continued filling out forms. After about fifteen minutes of quiet, Sonny set the pen down.
"Look here Dean, you don't have anyone else and your dad's not callin' back, so it seems like we only have a couple options here," said Sonny. "Now you could wait for your pops to come get you in the group home in town, or we could set you up a room here."
All of a sudden, it became hard for Dean to swallow. He thought he'd be back with Sam by the end of all of this. The further they got into this conversation, the less likely that seemed. He had no way to find John, no way to get out of Sonny's, and no new ideas. The world was closing in around him.
"For how long?" asked Dean, in a weak voice.
"As long as you need, son." replied Sonny.
Dean felt like crying; this wasn't fair. He wanted to say yes, badly. But he couldn't leave Sam behind like that. Swallowing back tears, Dean clasped his hands together and braced himself for what he was about to say.
"Sonny, I have something important to tell you that I didn't say when I checked in ." His voice felt weak. He turned his head up and looked Sonny in the eye. "I have a little brother. His name's Sam, and he's still with my dad. I really wanna stay, Sonny-- I do. I just, I--"
He didn't get a chance to finish his sentence before Sonny wrapped him up in a hug.
"Oh Dean," said Sonny, in a hushed tone. "Why didn't you say something sooner?"
And with that, Dean couldn't stop himself from breaking down anymore.
Chapter 9
Notes:
Hello All!
I hope that you've had a happy Pride Month so far! I'm not going to comment on the Supernatural tea except to say that I think the spin-off wouldn't even be that good anyways.
This chapter is the end of the first half, so I hope you enjoy it.
-Nameless Faceless.
Chapter Text
6:00pm
The back of the Impala felt smaller than he remembered it being.
Dean traced his fingers over the Hotwheels tracks he and Sam had made in the upholstery when they were younger. He had missed the way the backseat smelled, he thought absently.
There was a part of him that was tied to that car. The thought of leaving those memories behind was uncomfortable to him and the reason Sonny's never really felt permanent.
The bitter truth was more complicated than he thought it would be. He and Sam were reunited, and John had come back to get him, but he had always planned on feeling better after that. Instead, the anxiety and guilt that flooded his system daily rose ten-fold. He was supposed to feel better by now.
"We need gas." muttered John from the driver's seat. The Impala changed lanes, moving towards a scrubby strip of gas stations- little stucco buildings glued to the flat dirt of the plains.
Sam hadn't said anything since they came to pick Dean up, and the car had been silent for just about five hours. It had always been suffocating, but their family time was quickly becoming insufferable.
The freeway disappeared behind them as the Impala passed through the exit. He'd like to say he was excited to have a gas station dinner again, but the thought of two Slim Jims and a bag of kettle chips made him want to throw up.
He missed Sonny's food.
It wasn't perfect, and every so often, you'd have to pick the burnt edges off of a lasagna he torched to death, but it was always fresh. The thought of vegetables danced through Dean's mind. Sam would've shat his pants if he saw how much green Sonny put into every meal.
His mind wandered back to Sam. All signs pointed to the fact that he had really fucked up. Sam had been alone for almost three months, and God knows what happened between his birthday and now. Dean was going to have to grovel.
"Do you wanna split an ice cream?" Dean asked, waggling his eyebrows at Sam.
The kid didn't crack.
"What if you got to choose?" he added. There was no way Sam would ignore him after that.
Sam turned to face the window.
Tears built up behind Dean's eyes. He had promised Cas they'd sneak out to smoke Sonny's cigarettes later that evening, and now his little brother was icing him out.
And, despite everything that had happened, Dean missed Cas already.
He felt alone without Cas, and he wasn't used to feeling alone anymore. He wished he could repeat yesterday forever. Eat breakfast with Cas forever, watch T.V. with Cas forever, and make plans with Cas forever.
Groundhog day didn't seem that bad anyways.
Closing his eyes, Dean let the day's events wash over him.
9:00am
The sunlight fell in sheets over the living room. Draping over the filing cabinets and pooling in the corners of the room like luminescent puddles, the light silhouetted the beat-up old couch under the window. Two figures interrupted the diffused glow of the room. Dean and Sonny sat facing each other on opposite ends of the sofa.
"What's up, Sonny?" asked Dean, a goofy smile big on his face. "Cas and I are about to go get our chores done."
Sonny shifted uncomfortably on the couch. Almost as if anticipating the news, the air in the room became heavier.
"Dean, your Dad's on his way." said Sonny. "He called us this morning around seven. He'll be here this afternoon."
Dean felt like the floor went spinning out from underneath him. This was everything he had wanted, the best-case scenario, so why wouldn't his hands stop shaking?
"Do I still have to do my chores?" asked Dean, voice shaking. He had to get his stuff together before John showed up, or he'd be in deep shit.
"Dean, this is serious," said Sonny. He was looking at Dean with an intensity that Dean didn't expect. "Are you safe at home?"
Usually, Dean would shrug Sonny off with a smile and a wink. However, for the first time in his life, he felt like Sonny would listen to him. There were two versions of himself juxtaposed in his mind: who he was with Sam and who he was with Cas. The freedom he had felt to be young and entirely himself was intoxicating-- the hazy memories of the summer sticking to his skin like honey.
However, like most things in his life so far, it wasn't about what Dean wanted to do. It was about what he needed to do. He couldn't like a world without Sam, especially one in which he chose to abandon him.
His decision was made before Sonny could get another word in. Plastering the goofy smile back onto his face, Dean lied.
"Now why wouldn't I be, Sonny?"
1:00pm
"What are you doing?" asked a deep voice from behind him. "You were supposed to help me with chores hours ago."
Turning around, Dean was met with a familiar pair of ocean blue eyes. He had forgotten entirely about Cas. His throat felt tight all of a sudden.
"Are you okay, dude?" asked Cas. He seemed concerned.
The walls began to shrink in on him. Dean could feel his heartbeat speed up until it was a desperate sprint. He didn't realize he was holding his breath until his vision started to blur at the edges. He wished this would all be over.
Cas grabbed his hand and held on, tracing small triangles with this thumb.
"It's gonna be okay, Dean," said Cas. His voice was low and comforting- rolling through the air in what sounded like the ebb and flow lapping waves. "Breathe with me here for a second."
Letting go of Dean's hand and throwing his arm over Dean's shoulder, Cas helped Dean get his breathing back under control.
After what felt like an eternity, Dean shifted his weight and turned to face Cas.
"My dad is on his way," said Dean. His voice was strained, and the words felt clumsy in his mouth. "He'll be here any minute."
Cas' face dropped, and he became paler than Dean had ever seen him. He took in a deep, shuddering breath and then turned to meet Dean's gaze.
"Dean, I need to tell you something," Cas said.
Before Dean could ask him what he needed to say, Cas leaned in and kissed him. Electricity ran from their lips through the rest of his body. Raising his hand to hold the sides of Cas' face, Dean leaned into the kiss.
Pulling apart, Cas leaned his forehead against Dean's. The world seemed to orbit around and exist outside of them.
"Stay with me," whispered Cas, his voice hushed and joyful.
What had he just done, thought Dean? He knew better than this. John would be there any minute with Sam.
"Goodbye Cas," said Dean, slinging his backpack onto his shoulder.
He wondered if he would regret not looking back.
Chapter 10
Notes:
Hey Guys!
Long time no see huh? Sorry to leave you hanging like that. Turns out that depression does actually affect my life in negative ways. Who'd've thunk?
Anyways, someone needs to prescribe me Prozac.
But, I'm back with a new chapter and a therapist, so let's hope this whole thing works out. Either way, if you're reading this I need you to know that I love you specifically.
-Nameless Faceless
Chapter Text
Dean 10
If given a choice, Dean would have rocketed himself over the seat and strangled John hours ago. But, instead, mumbled diatribe sticky on his father's lips, Dean watched the white line of the highway blur into one. He couldn't even remember what set John off this time: one minute, he and Sam were sitting in the same taught silence as they had been, and the next, John was telling him how he wished he would've left them in Kansas with their mother.
Sam still hadn't said anything, but his eyes had glazed over a few minutes after John started talking. Dean knew that he shouldn't let Sam check out like that, but John was hurting his feelings. He shuddered to think of what this was doing to Sam.
Dean turned his head to look out the window. Slowly slipping away from the present, he let his mind wander, and, for the first time in his life, Dean was suddenly aware of the ache glued to the inside of his chest. A dull yearning engulfed him, caused not by the grief of losing what he had at Sonny's but by its absence with John. The funny thing about noticing a lack is that you have to have experienced the splendor of possession. At Sonny's, Dean had everything he could want at the tip of his fingers, he was valued, and he was loved. Here, all he had was an empty stomach and a brother that would rather eat glass than talk to him. He kept telling himself that one day he and Sam would be far away from here. Unfortunately, believing that was getting more difficult every day.
Resting his head against the cool condensation of the window, Dean let his hollow platitudes lull him to sleep. Flashes of a calloused hand holding a Marlboro ran through his mind: blue eyes, like the deepest part of the ocean. God, he missed home.
--
The rough stop of the Impala jolted Dean awake.
"Get out," said John, "I have business." They were outside The Roebuck Inn. John threw a crumpled ball of bills out the window of the Impala towards Dean. Then, in an almost cartoonish dust cloud, John made his exit. Sam, Dean, and two duffle bags were left on the busted curb. Dean started unwrinkling the bills. John had left them $60. Big spender isn't he? Mused Dean.
The motel was as scrubby as Dean expected it to be. Faux taxidermy heads were strewn about the walls. Whoever thought a hunting lodge-themed motel room was a good idea never tried to dust a bear head. Upon inspection, the bathroom was already adequately cleaned, so Dean quickly stripped the sheets off the queen-sized beds and replaced the linens with his own.
Sam sat down in the corner of the room and buried his face in a book. The title read "The Merry Adventures of Little John and Robinhood."
"Where did you go?" asked a quiet voice from the opposite side of the room. "You were gone for two months."
Dean froze mid-top sheet. He hadn't expected to have this conversation today. Usually, he was the one who had to talk about their fights. He had really fucked up this time, though. He didn't know what to say. What should he even tell Sam? That he had had the best time of his life? Would 'Oh yeah! Sorry I left you alone with our asshole dad who you hate by yourself! Hope you don't mind that I ate three square meals a day and made a bunch of friends!' work?
Dean sat down on the edge of the bed. Sam looked so small, tucked away in the corner, there was no way that he was 11 now. Guilt gnawed at Dean's stomach, what happened wasn't his fault, but it was his responsibility. A responsibility that had fallen on the slight shoulders of his kid brother for two months. Dean cleared his throat and tried to swallow his anxiety.
"I got arrested," said Dean. "When I went to the grocery store that day." His throat felt lumpy and clogged.
Sam's eyes snapped to Dean. There was something deeper going on here. Betrayal flashed across Sam's face, leaving behind a bright blush. For a second, he looked like he was about to cry until he forced his face into a perfect mask of apathy.
"Dad said you left," mumbled Sam. "He told me to pack up the rest of your stuff and leave it in the room."
All the spit vanished from Dean's mouth, a queasy snake of vomit threatening to slither out of his stomach and into the toilet. How could John have done this? A part of Dean could forgive John for not looking for him: the piece of him that wouldn't have looked for himself either. But whatever treasonous fraction of himself wanted to stay lost was drowned out by his love for Sam.
"I looked for you everyday," said Dean. "I tore up every phone book I could find looking for you." He could feel his cheeks heating up, tears threatening to spill out of his eyes. "I love you, Sam, I would never just leave."
Sam's apathetic mask cracked. Starting with the slightest quiver of his bottom lip, the closed-off ball of stress that is Sam Winchester began to unravel. Months of stress and betrayal and hurt pouring out of him like a faucet.
Dean moved across the room and sat down next to his little brother, slinging an arm around his shoulders and pulling him into a hug. Sam cried until he had nothing left to mourn and then messily wiped his snot and tears on the cuff of his hoodie.
"I'm sorry," muttered Dean. "I should've tried harder."
"Me too," responded Sam, safe in his brother's presence.
A moment of silence passed between them, with it bringing the comfortable feeling of having nothing left to say.
Steeling himself, Dean decided what he wanted to do. Living with John was hell on Earth, and it had only taken his arrest and two months of hard manual labor to see that. His mind flashed to a house on the other side of the state, with cars stacked up so high that they looked like Hot Wheels from far away. Then, with slow, shaky movements, Dean turned his younger brother to face him.
"Sam, you need to listen to me," said Dean. His voice felt rented and cheap. "I do want to leave. We can't stay with dad like this forever."
Sam sucked in a sharp breath and nodded.
Chapter 11
Notes:
Hey Gang,
Sorry to fall off the face of the earth for literal years, but this is a coping mechanism and my life has been going good recently. I'm writing this story about domestic violence for my class and it's making me sad asf. Turns out hearing people talk about getting hit a lot makes you sad. Journalism is fun, but it sucks nuts-- do it at your own risk.
Everything is fine but I fucking hate it here.
Anyways, hope you enjoy the chapter.
-Nameless Faceless
Chapter Text
The man sitting in front of her was well put together. A navy suit tailored itself around his shoulders, cascading down his torso in sharp, clean lines. A thin tie striped the starched white of his shirt. The fluorescents above them didn't exactly turn anyone into an adonis, but the man seemed to wilt under them. His skin moved from a flat albeit healthy complexion to a jaundiced pallor.
She eyed the manilla folder in front of her: Winchester, Dean, and Samuel written in tight black letters on the tab. Something wasn't adding up. She went over the story again in her head. The boys had gone missing from their motel room; there was no sign of forced entry or struggle. All personal possessions had been taken with them. It sounded like a classic runaway story-- two kids sick of the same and running from something. It made sense.
Normally, in a case like this, all the pieces would have fit together in her mind by now. She was used to being able to bring herself away from the situation to look at the bigger picture, but this case was unlike anything she'd ever seen before. None of the other runaways moved schools twice a month or lived in motel rooms.
The man in front of her became tenser the longer they sat in silence. John Winchester was a lot of things. The devout Christian, who went to church every Sunday. The mourning husband, who never married again. The mechanic, who drove around the state looking for work. The concerned father, who just wanted his boys home.
To her, it seemed like he had a mask for every role he played. He talked circles around her, schmoozing over details and leaving all her questions partially unanswered. Nevertheless, John was a convincing actor. He had the right body language, knew exactly what to say, and knew the right tone to say it in. Almost everything about his performance was stellar, except for a tiny mistake: his eyes stayed the same cold blue no matter what he said.
There was something more happening here, and detective Harville knew it couldn't be good. She opened the folder and placed her interview notes inside, the faces of the two boys staring back up at her. One resounding question rang through her mind in a cacophonous frenzy: what is this guy keeping from her?
---
"What was it like?" he asked. His voice was smaller than Dean had heard it in a while.
Looking over at his little brother, all Dean could see was a reflection of himself at that age. When Sam was eight and he was twelve, Sam caught a nasty fever. He was stuck in bed for weeks, breaking the 100s every time Dean checked his temperature. He remembers looking down at the little green numbers on the thermometer, feeling any hope he had for Sam's recovery drain out of him. He waited three days for the numbers to drop, but they never did.
That was one of the first times he'd ever had to call Bobby.
He had told Dean everything was going to be alright and to sit tight. Then, after a 16-hour drive to get them, he had taken Sammy to the hospital. Bobby said it was just the flu, but the doctors said Sam was skinny and his immune system was too busy staying alive to do anything to fight off the bug. That was all that Bobby would tell him, but the silence was tense. Dean could remember feeling like the room was made of glass.
John had picked them up about five days later when he realized they weren't in the motel room.
"What was what like?" responded Dean, snapping out of his reverie. They had been walking since that morning. Down the highway about 20 miles, there's a greyhound station. At this rate, it would take them all day, but Dean couldn't bring himself to hitchhike. Sammy is practically glued to his side. There's no way Dean would be able to look out for them both if whoever picked them up turned out to be a grade-A creep.
"Sonny's." It was practically a whisper. The question sat between them like a loaded gun. What was Dean supposed to say? 'Yeah, I ate like three square meals everyday and made one of the best friends I ever had while you sat by yourself in a motel for three months. Anyways, hope you're not upset!' Dean let out a weary sigh, and from his side, he started to hear the telltale signs of the waterworks. He kept his gaze on the horizon and gave Sam his space to get upset. The kid was like a steel trap until he was ready to talk. Trying to get him to open up before he heard what he needed to would be near impossible.
No matter how hard he tried to hide it, Sam was still 12. Behind his bravado, Dean knew the kid hurt more than he let on. Dean had been gone for months with no explanation. He had missed his birthday for the first time ever. He had left him with John.
"I missed you everyday, Sammy," Dean finally responded. "It was great, sure. But I didn't like a single second of it without you."
Of course, that was a lie, but Sam didn't need to know that. He told Sam about everything, about Sonny, about the work they did and the food they ate, about his bed and the rooms and the animals, and how they had shelves full of books for everyone to read even though it was summer.
He didn't mention when Cas' fingers had glanced his while they passed Marlboros back and forth behind the equipment shed or how he had laughed every day for three months straight at jokes that weren't that funny. He didn't mention the fluorescent moment Cas had leaned in to kiss him or how there's still a part of him that wished he never pulled away.
He didn't know if he would ever tell Sam. Dean is sure he'll feel the ghost of John's hand on his arm dragging him away from a boy whose name he doesn't even remember for the rest of his life. But, down deep, he always felt like that part of him was wrong, and his father had reassured him of that.
Sam had stopped talking after Dean told him about Sonny's. Dean knew exactly what was going to happen. Sam would close himself off for as long as he could, and then he would break down. He had no way to tell, but Dean would guess that it had been around 15 minutes since Sam started getting upset. Dean felt like a fucked up Paul Revere-- the breakdown is coming, the breakdown is coming!
Sure enough, about five minutes after the proverbial hammer fell, Sam started crying. Dean stopped and stooped down to look at his brother's face. Tears slipped down his little-kid cheeks and melted into the collar of his shirt. Dean pulled him into a hug right there on the side of the highway.
"I didn't think you were coming back," cried Sam. The words were muffled and spoken directly into Dean's snot-soaked shirt, but they cut him to the bone.
"I was always coming back, Sammy." Dean felt his voice hitch, his throat slowly clogging with his own tears. "I'll always come back.
Dean pulled Sammy away from his chest and used the corner of his shirt to wipe Sam's tears away.
"We're copacetic, bitch?" asked Dean, trying his best to pull off a goofy smile. They had a long walk left, and a crying Sam would be near impossible to handle for the next 10 miles.
"Yeah, jerk," laughed Sam.
Chapter 12
Notes:
Hey gang!
Once again, long time no see huh? Lemme tell u COLLEGE IS HARD. I'm on winter break now, though so let's hope I follow through with my grand ideas of fanfic authorship.
I do have good news for you my friends. I'm taking a fiction writing workshop next semester so prepare yourself (hopefully) for a more consistent updating schedule. No promises tho :0)
Anyways, I'm in love with this chapter!! Enjoy!
-Nameless Faceless
p.s. merry late holiday season whatever you may celebrate... here's a gift ;0) listen while you read if you wanna hear my inspo
https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3EEYtdtEGqOjdla1vvaPTv?si=a8c519d5acfb4ef0
Chapter Text
Chapter 12
The Greyhound station in Spearfish was dead, and Dean was glad. He could feel the soles of his feet throbbing in his shoes. Turns out 25 miles on foot takes a toll. He and Sam were still 390 miles short of their destination, and there was no way they were walking that.
Dean dragged his hand over his face and leaned back in his plastic seat. Sam had fallen asleep a couple of hours ago, it was around 10 pm, and he was running out of options.
The $7.35 in his pocket felt like a sick joke. He didn’t know what he’d expected, but he hadn’t really given himself enough time to think this far ahead. He had ignored reality as long as he could, but, at this rate, he and Sammy would have to live off of planter’s peanuts and hope. Then, finally, the severity of the shit-show he had just got themselves in began to seep into the perfect picture of his new life with Sammy. He’d always known his plan wasn’t going to work, but he just didn’t want to believe it.
He had thought about jacking the Impala to just drive them himself, but that idea was quickly snuffed out after one look into grand theft auto charges. Three years in state prison is the last thing he needed right now, and he just knew John would press charges. Because, of course, he would press charges.
He felt like he had been dipped in ice water. He knew what he had to do. He just couldn’t bring himself to do it.
The lite-brite bus schedule stared back at him; the block text ‘$50 per person,’ illuminated from behind.
Fuck.
He couldn’t help but feel like he was making the worst mistake of his life. He dragged Sam halfway across the prairie on foot, too stupid to think about what next. He had known seven dollars wasn’t enough for bus fare, but he’d assumed he’d be able to figure something out like he always did. There were plenty of guys out there too proud to lose to a kid and all too happy to screw one over. Dean was good at playing them, but it only worked if there was a bar within walking distance of the station to hustle at.
Fuck Spearfish, thought Dean. Apparently, he’d walked them right into the heart of Prohibition, South Dakota.
He couldn’t hitchhike with Sammy there, and the Impala was already a day’s walk in the rearview. He felt plans A-E fall through in what he could only describe as slow motion. He turned his face to look down at his little brother, steeled himself, and got up to make a call.
---
Two fingers of whiskey should be good, though Bobby as he sank back into his recliner. It was Thursday, after all. That was cause for a bit of celebration. So he grabbed the remote and began lazily scrolling through the channels, finally settling on a Bering Sea Gold marathon on Discovery.
The room around him was draped in warm reds and browns, a well-worn couch settled into the middle of the living room. Years of happy memories color the walls of the house, photos, and jokes placed in frames surround the home. The fuzzy light of the Discovery channel blurring the lines between the past and the present, happy memories of the years gone by accompany the drama of Alaskan gold.
Halfway through the first hour of his show and a little further into his bottle than he’d like to admit, he started to feel the pull of sleep dragging him into a night on the recliner.
---
The phone's shrill ring cut through the still peace of the living room in sharp rings. The clock on the wall read 11:45 as Bobby huffed over to the phone. The shop didn’t do midnight calls, and anyone in their right mind knew not to call after 8:30.
“Hello?” answered Bobby, only to be met with shallow breathing and white noise. “Now listen who is this beca-”
“Bobby? Is that you?” asked a shaky voice on the other side of the line. “It’s um- It’s Dean.”
Bobby sucked in a breath. He hadn’t heard from the boys in years, but he thought of them every day. He’s spent years laying awake wondering where they could be, what could be happening to them. He knew John went off the rails after Mary died, but he hadn’t realized just how bad it had gotten until he and the boys disappeared off the face of the earth almost five years ago.
Memories of balmy summer days and empty otter pop wrappers nearly swallowed him whole. He remembers how small they looked tucked into the guest room bed and the dread in the pit of his stomach when he saw John come back up the driveway.
Tears stung at the back of his eyes. He had never had children of his own and had never planned to. He made that very clear in his divorce from his wife. She had since moved on to start a family of her own. Although things were tense towards the end, Karen has become one of his best and most trusted friends.
It had been the summer of 1990 that had been the final straw in their relationship. John had dropped the boys off in May and didn’t come to get them until mid-July. After that, he, Karen, and the boys had lived in a veritable domestic bliss.
Bobby remembers her reading books on the couch and playing cowboys for the 16th time that day at Dean’s insistent request. He remembers showing Sam and Dean the engines of the old cars he was fixing up and how their little faces filled with excitement when he asked if they wanted to take them for a spin.
Karen wanted to pursue custody a month after John left them there, but Bobby disagreed.
It didn’t take more than a conversation to end it after that; a hissed fight in the living room so as not to wake the boys.
“I break everything I fucking touch, Karen! Don’t you see that? The boys are better off with John and that’s the end of the story.”
He remembers the teary shock that overcame her face, anger quickly taking over.
“I didn’t think you could be so cruel, Bobby.”
He tried not to think about that night. Years after their marriage, Karen strong-armed him into therapy, and since then, leaving the boys to John has been one of his biggest regrets.
Bobby cleared his throat and wiped the tears off of his cheeks.
“Dean, I-” he tried to swallow the lump in his throat. “I tried to call, but your daddy didn’t leave a number last time he left. How are ya kid?”
He was met with an uneasy silence. Bobby could hear the tinny cadence of an announcement through the line. ‘Bus 365 to Murdo, South Dakota departs in five minutes. Please approa-’
A deep breath cut off the rest of the automated voice.
“Can you come get us, Bobby?” asked Dean. His voice was thin, and it sounded like he was holding back tears. “I don’t know what else to do.”
Bobby felt his heart drop into his stomach, and before he could even think about it, he was on his way to Spearfish, South Dakota.
Chapter 13
Notes:
Hey Gang!
Guess who's back lmao? I'm thriving and vibing, hope you guys are too!
Enjoy the chapter, she's a little short but I'm doing my best :0)
-Nameless Faceless
Chapter Text
Chapter 13-
Manilla files and loose-leaf court documents spanning the last twelve years covered the table in front of her. Lined up in neat, chronological stacks, they told a morbid story of one of the worst cases she’d ever seen. There were investigations and cases against John Winchester for both abuse and neglect across more than half of the continental 50.
The case against John Winchester would be easy. The hard part was finding him. He disappeared shortly after their interview, with no paper trail and no warning. Based on the records in front of her this wasn’t new behavior.
She heaved a sigh and took another sip of her coffee. She was running out of options. John had waited three days to report the boys missing and there was no way for her to know how far they’d gotten. She had no leads, no witnesses, and no John.
As of right now, she was staring down the barrel of a few more milk carton kids.
---
The rumble of the engine had long since lulled Sam to sleep. Bobby’s truck was worn and warm- it smelled familiar. Dean didn’t really know what to say. Bobby showed up to get them after an uncomfortable night in the bus station. Dean was surprised he even made it that long. On about hour four of the wait he started teetering into sleep. Passers-by blurring around him like figments from a dream.
-us 365 to Rapid City departing in 15 minutes please make your way to your seat.
He saw Bobby’s pickup pull up not long after that.
The cab of the truck felt cozy, but the air was still heavy. Dean was on edge, he didn’t want to be the first one to talk.
Bobby reached over and turned the radio down.
“So are we gonna talk about what’s goin’ on?” asked Bobby, breaking the almost three-hour silence that had blanketed the truck.
“I-” Dean didn’t even know where to start. Bobby was watching the road, but he seemed calm. Soft rock played softly over the radio and the landscape around them blurred into a golden haze.
“I got arrested a couple towns back. Got sent to a boy’s home cus dad wouldn’t get me.”
“Why’d you get arrested?”
“Stealing,” said Dean. He was hoping this would be over soon. He hadn’t thought about the whole talking to Bobby part of staying with Bobby. He felt like an idiot.
“What did you steal?” asked Bobby. He just kept staring out the window, watching the road as they crossed into Murdo.
“Peanut butter,” said Dean. A billboard with a jackalope passed by his window- mysteries of the world, exit 150.
“What’d John say?”
“That I should stay there and learn my lesson.”
“Who was watchin’ Sammy?”
“I dunno, he won’t talk much about it.” responded Dean. He was getting close to the end of his rope. He was used to going through a gauntlet of questions, but he didn’t know what Bobby was thinking-- how he would react.
“How long were you gone, then?” asked Bobby. He still seemed calm.
“Couple months,” responded Dean. His throat started to tighten up. He didn’t want to talk much about it either.
Bobby was quiet after that, the DJ started talking over the radio and Dean rested his head against the cool glass of the window.
---
Dean fell asleep not long after that. Bobby didn’t know what to think. Dean was cagier than Bobby remembered him being. He keeps thinking about the peanut butter.
He hates himself for leaving the boys behind. He can’t imagine what was going on with them. Last he checked in, John was an irresponsible, erratic asshole. It seemed to him like nothing had changed.
He let his mind wander back to the final days of his marriage. He doesn’t even recognize himself now. He guessed he just wasn’t ready at the time, but it doesn’t really feel that way. He doesn’t feel ready now either.
He thought about John, how he could put back more than Bobby had ever seen. When they were young it was funny-- a party trick. Two six packs on a Wednesday, flying high. It got serious after Mary died.
He had made as many excuses as he could for John, it wasn’t that he was ready for the boys now, he was just done taking John’s shit.
Sam was out cold in the rear-view, Dean passed out to his right. It was crazy how young they looked while they were sleeping, thought Bobby. He recognized their little kid selves, aged through a funhouse mirror. It was bizarre.
He never thought he’d see them again. He wanted to talk to Karen.
They were about two hundred miles to Sioux Falls, and Bobby started worrying about when the other shoe would fall.
---
The dive bar across from the motel had a really sticky floor. John rested his head in his hands and stared at the whiskey in front of him. He could kill Dean. Where the fuck could the kid have gone?
“Last call,” the bartender started wrapping up cherries and limes.
John brought his drink to his lips and tipped the rest of it back, stumbled a little bit getting off the barstool. He grabbed his keys out of his pocket and made his way to the Impala.
He’d find the boys, he resolved. They couldn’t be that far, and even if they were, he’d find them.
The Impala came to life as he swerved out of the parking lot. He might as well get started now, thought John. He had a bone to pick.
Chapter 14
Notes:
Oh lord, guys, wow did this week take a turn. If you decide to date a guy keep your head on a swivel or you're gonna get blindsided by something. (speaking from experience.)
Anyways, hope you like the chapter.
-Nameless Faceless
Chapter Text
Chapter 14
Dean had always thought the whole 50s thing was a little much. The booth they were sat in was covered in blue glitter vinyl, the walls were pasted with records and old movie posters. He was making eye contact with Elvis. Sam looked like he was enjoying himself though. His little head was bopping along to the doo-wop pumping through the jukebox.
It had been a long time since Dean had been able to order for himself, usually, John would figure out what they could swing as a group and make the call for them all. He had been a little surprised to wake up outside a highway diner-- its tin can roof beaming the sun back at itself. It was Bobby after all, he remembered going out to get pizza with him and Karen every couple of weeks. It used to feel so luxurious, he guessed it still did.
The waitress swung by with their waters, and he decided he would follow Bobby’s lead on ordering.
“Alright, do you guys need a few more minutes?” she pulled a tiny notebook out of her front apron pocket.
Bobby closed his menus and looked at the boys with a smile. “I don’t think so, ma’am. I’ll have a burger and fries, thanks.” he handed his menu over as she turned her attention to Dean.
“I’ll do the same,” said Dean, giving Sam a nudge to order for himself.
“Me too, thank you ma’am.” said Sam. She gathered the last of the menus and made her leave.
An uneasy silence engulfed the table, that seemed to be the pattern-- Bobby would ask a few questions and Dean would answer shortly, quickly plunging them back into silence. Sam sat to his left and looked out the window, or around the room, or anywhere but Bobby. John would’ve been happy, but Bobby just seemed uneasy.
“So, Sam,” said Bobby. “Are you still into cowboys like I remember? I think I have some of Dean’s old books saved still. You’re probably ready to read ‘em now.”
Sam looked up from the little paper sculpture he was making out of straw wrappers. He turned his head to Dean before he answered, something that wasn’t lost on Bobby.
“Yeah,” said Sam picking up the paper sculpture again. “I started this really good one in Rapid City but I didn’t get to finish it before we had to go again.”
Dean started picking at the frayed edge of his hoodie. They were veering into dangerous subject matter.
“Oh, really?” said Bobby. “What was that one called?”
“Lonesome Dove,” said Sam. Dean wouldn’t say his sculpture was taking shape, but it was bigger than it used to be.
Bobby look at Sam like he had just grown an ear on the middle of his forehead. “You’re twelve now, right son?”
“Yeah,” responded Sam. The hoodie sleeved was starting to look mangled. Sam was supposed to have gotten Lonesome Dove in May.
Bobby sat back in his chair and let out a whistle. “You know, Sam. I didn’t read that till I was in highschool.” Sam seemed to puff up at that, and so did Dean. He had taught the little shit to read, he had played a fair role in the education of fifth grade Lonesome Dove prodigy, Sam Winchester.
The waitress came back with their food, and the table lulled into a comfortable conversation about Sam’s favorite books and which ones Bobby thought he’d like to read next. Dean kept to himself, picking on his fries and observing the passers-by in the restaurant. The TV behind him switched to channel five news.
The TV was silent, subtitles flashing past to the preppy beat of Buddy Holly. He had taken a couple of bites of his food before he looked up and made eye contact with himself. It was their most recent CPS input photos, they looked pale and scared. That had been about a year ago. The subtitles were a couple seconds late-- two brothers from Spearfish reported missing last Tuesday night. Report any sightings or known whereabouts to (256) 686-8477 as soon as possible.
Dean felt sick, he forced himself to swallow the bite he had just taken and then put his burger down. The news hosts began talking to each other about their disappearance, and height. What people should do if they see them. He started pulling at the hoodie sleeve again.
“Dean are you alright? You look like you just saw a ghost, son.” Bobby was looking at him with worried eyes. He couldn’t bring himself to look away from the screen. Bobby followed his gaze and locked eyes with the news anchors. His and Sam’s faces were still resting in between them in the middle of the screen.
“Oh Jesus Christ,” said Bobby, looking at the TV.
Sam noticed their photos now, he shrunk down in the booth. The TV started playing a segment about recycling in Sioux Falls. Bobby’s face was blank, he had turned away from the TV and was facing Dean again. He ran his hands down his face with a sigh and when he looked back at the boys he looked more scared than Dean had ever seen him.
“Finish up your burgers,” he said. Worry seemed to pool in the wrinkles between his eyebrows. “And then we’re gonna have some explaining to do here.”
Dean didn’t feel like eating, he didn’t think Sam did either. Sam took a few half-hearted bites, Dean sat and panicked. He didn’t think John would report them missing. He didn’t know why he assumed he’d just be able to leave, of course, it wouldn’t be that easy. He felt tears rush to his eyes, what had he done?
He should’ve just let a sleeping dog lie. A stray tear slipped down his cheek and onto his now mangled sleeve. The table was silent and Bobby was staring at him.
“Oh, Dean,” said Bobby. “C’mon, get back in the truck, boys.” Bobby left a couple of twenties on the table.
Bobby put his arm around Dean and walked with them back to the cab of the truck. Sam lead the way, he was looking pointedly at the ground.
“Alright boys, you hop in the truck I gotta make a call,” said Bobby. Dean felt his breathing quicken a bit, he wanted to crawl into a hole and die. A few more tears fell down his cheeks. Sam was looking at him with scared eyes, he didn’t know what to tell him. How could he be so fucking naive, thought Dean. Bobby looked down at them and pulled them both in for a hug. “It’s gonna be alright, boys. I’m glad you called me.”
They got in the truck, and Sam took Dean’s hand in his own. They sat pressed side to side and watched Bobby pace back and forth on the phone.
***
Karen was mid puzzle when she got a call from Bobby. She placed her beer down on the card table and picked it up.
“Hey, Bobby,” she said. “Long time no see huh?” She heard a shaky sigh from the other side of the line.
“Hey, Karen.” he sounded upset. “I’m afraid I got a bit of a situation here.”
“What’s goin on? Are you okay?” he was worrying her now. It had been a long time since she got a call like this from Bobby. Not since his dad died.
“I’m a couple hours outside of Sioux Falls right now, I got a call from Dean yesterday asking to come pick him and Sam up from Spearfish. I thought it was just John bein’ John, but I think something’s really wrong here.” he let out another sigh.
She felt her hands start to shake. “Are they alright? What’s going on?” she asked. She remembered their tiny smiling faces looking up at her. She never thought she’d see them again after John disappeared and they divorced.
“They’re reported missing.” said Bobby. His voice was shaking. “I’m in way over my head here, I don’t know what to do.”
“What do you mean they’re missing?” she sat back down at the card table.
“I mean I just saw their faces on the news. John reported them missing.”
“Bobby you gotta go to the police,” said Karen. “You gotta let them know where y’all are at right now.”
“Am I gonna get arrested, though?” Bobby sounded like he was about to cry. “I’m technically kidnapping them right now, aren’t I?”
“Bobby, I don’t know. This has never happened to me before.” she said. “You start driving them to the police station in Sioux Falls, I’ll give em a call and let them know what’s goin’ on.”
“Alright, I’ll call you when we get to the station.” said Bobby.
“Alright, talk soon,” said Karen. The line went dead and she put her phone down on the table for a minute. A few sobs escaped from her lips, cutting the perfect silence of the room. She gave herself a minute, wiped the tears from her face, and looked up the non-emergency number.
“Sioux Falls, PD. Cheryll speaking.”
“Hi, I need report a couple of missing boys found, Sam and Dean Winchester. They’re safe and with my husband now. They’re about two hours out from Sioux Falls, he’s on his way to drop them off with y’all right now.”
“Alright ma’am, I’m going to need you to answer a couple of questions and stay on the line,” said Cheryll.
“Okay,” responded Karen. “We’re family friends, they called him from Spearfish to come get them. He didn’t know they were missing till he saw ‘em on the news,” she could hear her voice start to choke up. “He didn’t know.”
Before she knew it she was crying and on hold with the Sioux Falls police department.
Chapter 15
Notes:
Hey Guys,
Happy pride month! This chapter is homophobically not gay, sorry about that. I'm really trying to milk the tension here, but let me know if I'm going overboard. I promise the next chapter will have some answers for you! But, for now, enjoy the uncertainty. Surely this is the only place where not knowing what will happen is fun.
My life has been weird! I don't have much advice, but here are my thoughts that might help you.
1.) always make playlists about everyone, if the vibe of the playlist is sad or bad just stop hanging out with them
2.) don't move in with someone if you've only been friends for a little bit even if it seems fun at the time
3.) cut people off if they keep sending you rude texts
4.) always be a gracious queen, it feels bad in the moment but LORD is it satisfying to watch someone stay madAnyways! Hope you enjoy the updates my lil babies! (Idk how old any of you are and if you don't want to be my baby you don't have to lol)
-Nameless Faceless
Chapter Text
Chapter 15
The telephone poles blurred together out the window. He was still holding Dean’s hand. His palm got sweaty forever ago but he didn’t want to let go yet. Nobody had really said anything since they left the diner. Bobby’s hands were gripped tightly to the steering wheel, the radio was on louder than before, like he was trying to drown the silence out.
He wished he would’ve waited to finish his book. Robin Hood didn’t last him very long in the Grayhound station. He looked up at Dean who was staring aimlessly out the opposite window. He was glad that they got to ride in the back together again, it had been a long time since John said Dean was too old to sit with him anymore.
He pulled the sleeve of Dean’s hoodie.
Dean turned to look at him. He was worried, Sam could tell. He leaned down to Sam’s level.
“What?” whispered Dean. Sam leaned up to whisper in his ear.
“Where are we going?” asked Sam. This wasn’t the first time Sam had been left out of the loop as to where he’d be living. It didn’t really matter where he ended up with John because all the motels were pretty much the same, but he didn’t know what to expect with Bobby. The thought had been worrying him since they started driving.
“I don’t know,” whispered Dean.
Sam squeezed his brother’s hand and went back to watching the telephone poles blur past.
***
“Detective Harvelle, you have a call on line one,” the receptionist called from her desk a few yards away.
Ellen Harvelle was in the middle of a very normal day. She arrived at the office at 9 am, had a few meetings, and then settled in for another day of crime-solving. She was on to coffee number two when she picked up the phone.
“Detective Harvelle speaking,” she was reading through the long list of John Winchester's arrest warrants and skipped bails.
“Hi, Detective Harvelle. This is Cheryll down in general reception. I just got a call from a woman here in Sioux Falls saying her ex-husband is driving the Winchester boys to the station now. She said they are en route to arrive in a few hours.”
Ellen froze at her desk.
“Alright Cheryll, thank you for letting me know. Before I let you go can you give me the name and information for the woman who called this in.”
She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She had been seriously flirting with the idea that John had murdered them. They had disappeared with no trace, and then so did her only suspect and connection to the boys. She had been hoping for a break in the case, but she never thought they’d just show up.
“Absoultely, her name’s Karen Martin. I’ll send you an email with her address and contact information now. She said she and her ex-husband are family friends of the Winchesters and watched the boys semi-frequently. According to her they called her husband from a bus station and asked for help so he came and got them.”
“Alright Cheryll, thank you so much again.” Ellen closed the files on her desk.
“No problem, Detective Harvelle. I’ll give you a call when they arrive,” the line went dead after that.
Ellen put her head in her hands and took a deep breath. Today just got a lot more complicated.
***
The hours went by quick enough, Dean passed the time reciting old rock lyrics in his head and pretending he was anywhere else but where he was. He wished he could go back in time and warn his past self about the outcome of his grand escape plan.
He had thought he would just be able to take Sam and make it to Bobby’s, that the warrants would stop John from reporting them missing.
He had been wrong, he knew that now.
He assumed Bobby was taking them to a police station somewhere. He hadn’t heard all of what Bobby said on the phone, but in between Sam’s sniffles and Bobby’s pacing he had heard enough.
Sam fell asleep on his shoulder about an hour ago. The sign to his right read Sioux Falls, 65 miles. The DJ on the radio started talking about back to school, and Dean wondered where they would be in August.
The channel switched back to classic rock-- (Don’t Fear) The Reaper.
Dean let the music wash over him, getting lost in the familiar cadence of the Blue Oyster Cult. They were right at the end of the day, it wasn’t the reaper Dean was afraid of, it was whatever was waiting for him at the end of this car ride.
***
Garth Fitzgerald was used to getting urgent phone calls-- panicked parents, custodial hearings, foster placements, and re-placements. He had run the gauntlet a few times. You name it and he had dealt with it at some point in his career.
Today was different though.
Garth was a few sips into his mid-morning tea when Ellen Harville got him on the line, something about a couple of foster placements and an active investigation, nothing he hadn’t seen before. What he wasn’t expecting was the almost hundred-page-long record the Winchester family had wracked up over the years.
He had already hung up the phone by the time Ellen’s email came in with the details of the placement, he wished he would’ve kept her on the line. He couldn’t stop his stomach from filling with dread, was he in over his head?
Child endangerment, child neglect, child abuse, tax evasion, credit card fraud, theft, assault and then aggravated assault, driving under the influence, driving under the influence with the presence of minors, trespassing, property destruction--
He could’ve kept going, but he felt like the records spoke for themselves. There were numerous CPS investigations open against John Winchester across the country. Starting from when Dean was six, and ramping up in frequency and severity over the years. There was one thing that was very clear to him, the boys would not be going back to live with their father for a very long time, if ever.
Garth picked up the phone and called his supervisor down to his desk. He would need to bring in the big guns for this one.
Ellen said the boys would be arriving in the next couple of hours, that gave him just enough time to consult with his supervisor and start making arrangements for the boys until they could figure out what the fuck was going on with their case. He would only have a few hours to figure something out before they arrived and he was needed to interview the brothers on what exactly had been happening while they lived with John Winchester. He raked a hand through his hair and started looking through his contacts, he needed to find an emergency placement yesterday.
“Hi, this is Garth Fitzgerald, I was hoping to get in contact with Brad or Cindy Wyatt? I have an emergency placement and was wondering if you could take in a couple of brothers until we can find something more permanent.”
***
Bobby took a hand off the steering wheel and turned the radio down as low as he could get it without turning it off.
“Alright, boys. We’re getting close to the police station in Sioux Falls,” he sighed and ran a hand down his face. “I called ahead of time so they know to expect us. I’m not leavin’ you by any means, do you understand that? I just can’t take you anywhere else without getting in some serious trouble.”
Bobby looked up and made eye contact with Dean through the rear-view mirror. He had shaken Sam awake as soon as Bobby started talking. Both the boys were looking at him with wide eyes. They were scared. Hell, Bobby was scared too.
“Now I know this is a bad situation, but I promise you boys nobody is going to get in trouble. We did the right thing by callin’ this in as soon as we knew something was wrong here,” Bobby couldn’t tell if he was trying to comfort the boys or himself at this point. “We’re gonna pull in, and they’ll probably separate us to get interviewed. I promise you boys, I will come back for you no matter how long that takes.”
Bobby took the next exit towards Sioux Falls. The police station was about fifteen minutes away now.
“Are we gonna get to come live with you?” asked Sam from the backseat. He and Dean were holding hands again.
“I don’t know, Sam,” replied Bobby. “Not right away at least.”
The car fell into an uneasy silence, Dean put his arm around Sam and pulled him in for a half hug. The streets of Sioux Falls passed by quickly, and before he knew it, Bobby was staring at a drab brick police station.
He unbuckled his seatbelt and got out of the truck, the boys weren’t far behind him.
He turned to face Sam and Dean. They were standing next to each other, Sam pressed tightly to his brother’s side.
“Alright, boys this is it,” said Bobby. “Remember, I’m not going anywhere. I’ll just be one phone call away, you remember that.”
Dean nodded his head and let Bobby put a hand on his back as they walked into the station.
Chapter 16
Notes:
Hello again :0)
Did I mention I post infrequently? Don't worry though, I always come back. The story isn't over I wouldn't leave you hanging like that.
Anyways, here's a new chapter!
-Nameless Faceless
Chapter Text
16
“Alright,” said Detective Harvelle. “You want to start from the beginning?”
The boys and the man they called Bobby arrived at the Sioux Falls police station about an hour ago. She knew him as Robert Singer. His record was thin— a couple of possession charges about 20 years ago and a DUI around the same time. He looked good now, healthier than he did in the mugshots. His cheeks had filled out a bit with age and sobriety.
“Of course, Ma’am,” he rubbed the palms of his hands on his jeans. “I was watchin’ TV at home last night, and I got a call real late in the evening. Probably around 9 pm, I think.
“Dean was on the other end of the line, said he and Sam were stranded in a bus station in Spearfish. He asked if I could come to pick them up. I thought their dad was on some bender again, so I went to grab them and take them back home so they’d be safe until John got back.”
The story wasn’t adding up. She couldn’t believe John would drop the kids off at a bus station and report them missing afterward. But then again, she never thought he’d report them missing and disappear into thin air.
Either way, Bobby took them, they ran away, or John dropped them off and then reported them missing. She just had to figure out which story was true.
“Alright, Mr. Singer. So you’re a family friend. The boys called you for help, and you went to get them. But what I don’t understand is what your relationship with these kids is, right? You haven’t seen them in years, and then all of a sudden they’re calling you for help? That doesn’t sit right. You’re looking at potential kidnapping charges, you know that, right?”
Bobby shifted uncomfortably in the hard plastic chair. His eyes were fixed on the hard metal of the interrogation table. Unlike John, Bobby’s face settled under the fluorescents with calm resignation. He started back up again.
“I didn’t know they still had my number. I honestly never thought I’d see them again. John used to drop ‘em off with me and my ex-wife Karen when he was off doing fuck-all,” he was picking at his cuticles now. “One day, John came to pick up the boys, and I didn’t stop him. Karen and I got a divorce after that, and I never saw the kids again. Not until yesterday. I failed those boys back then, and I couldn’t just leave them there.
“I probably called John a million times on the way over. I never got an answer, so I thought he was too fucked up to think or something. We were a couple of hours outside Sioux Falls when I saw ‘em on the news,” he started to choke up. Ellen didn’t know what to think of him. His story lined up with his ex’s, but kidnapping is some serious time. She’d lie to avoid it too. He wiped a hand over his face and started again.
“Stuff like this has happened before with John, and I thought he had dropped them off or something. I don’t know how I could’ve been so stupid,” the last part was almost a whisper. He swiped at his eyes and then folded his hands on the cold metal table of the interrogation room.
***
The carpet in the break room of the police station reminded Sam of his last classroom. They had got him and Dean McDonald’s earlier. The wrappers were sitting in the tiny garbage can by the fridge.
Dean was talking to the blond man with the hair band mullet now. Sam had only seen that style on the covers of his dad’s CDs.
Despite what all the adults in the room were thinking, he and Dean knew exactly what was going on. CPS would ask them if they felt safe with their dad, check for bruises, and then turn them right back over. Sam knew what to say. Dean had taught him how to be convincing, how to school his face into a neutrally happy grin. He remembered what Dean said the first time a nice man in a gray suit came to ask them if they were safe at home.
They don’t need to know what they don’t need to know, Sammy. Stay calm and cool, like you don’t have a care in the world.
It had worked back then and every time since. Dean was usually out of the room in 45 minutes, and Sam only had to stay for 30. The big hand on the clock passed the six on the bottom. That meant it had been an hour and a half had passed. It had never taken so long before. Sam started to feel anxiety fill his stomach. Dean hadn’t told him anything before he left.
After a few minutes, the door to the break room creaked open, and Dean walked back in.
“Hey, Sammy,” his eyes were red and puffy. “You doin’ okay?”
Sam stared at his brother before responding. Things were definitely different this time.
“I’m fine,” said Sam. Dean sat back at the table. He ran his hands over his face, the same way their dad did when they didn’t have enough for gas. Sam turned his eyes down to a piece of scotch tape stuck to the edge of the table. “You’re not telling me something, though.”
Dean looked up at him. He was more scared than Sam had seen him in a while.
“You’re right,” said Dean. He was picking at his hoodie sleeve again. “I told him the truth— the motels, the food, how dad won’t put us in school sometimes. How I take care of you,” he stopped talking after that. Sam felt his world spin out from under him. He knew Dean said they were leaving, but there was a part of him that wasn’t fully convinced. Not until now.
They had always gone back before. He thought they would probably stay with Bobby for a while until their dad came back to get them again. Dean started back up.
“I told them about how dad talks to you and how he treats me. I told him about what happens when he gets too drunk and about the one time he locked us out of the room because we were too loud. And I told them about how we lied before,” Dean’s voice started sounding choked up.
“Are we going home with Bobby?” asked Sam. Dean looked up at him with watery eyes.
“I’m sorry, Sammy.”
Sam looked back down at the tape. He didn’t say anything. He just sat as still as he could while Dean tried to hide that he was crying across the table from him.
***
Garth Fitzgerald prided himself on his mind of steel. He’d heard a lot of bad things throughout his career. Neglect, abuse, stories that made his stomach turn. But never had he been filled with the hollow ache that overcame him now.
He and Dean spoke for a long time.
He looked back over the notes he’d taken. The truth of it all was worse than he’d guessed it was. The abuse they had documented was just a sliver of what John had done. Dean had archived years of mistreatment. The whole story took up five pages in his notebook.
He closed the folder in front of him and went to find Ellen. They had some catching up to do.
***
Bobby put on the radio and cranked it all the way up. He didn’t want to think about today. He didn’t want to think about anything. The drive back to the salvage yard was long, and what Detective Harvelle had told him kept running through his mind.
Alright, Mr. Singer. Dean and Sam confirmed your story. You’re free to go.
He needed a strong drink and an hour-long shower before he was ready to call Karen. She knew more about the adoption papers than him, and he’d need to get moving quick if the boys were going to start school in the fall.
Garth Fitzgerald is their social worker. I’d be in contact with him if you have any further inquiries about the boys.
Thinking about Sam and Dean made him nauseous. When he left yesterday, he thought they’d all be watching TV together right about now. The car was too quiet without Sam filling the silence with stories about anything and everything.
The boys will stay with a temporary placement until you can get your papers sorted. If you hear from John in the meantime, please contact us immediately. It’s paramount he doesn’t talk to the boys, do you understand?
He turned into his driveway and made his way to the house in the back of the salvage yard. He had just turned the corner of the driveway to park when he was confronted with a familiar scene.
John leaned against the hood of the Impala, cigarette in hand. Bobby parked his truck and stepped out.
“Bobby!” said John. His tone wasn’t friendly. “I heard you had the boys.”
“You better get out of here, John.” Bobby took a step forward.
“I’ve been looking for those boys,” said John. “And you’re going to tell me where they are.” He flicked his cigarette on the ground and stamped it out with a worn black work boot.
Chapter 17
Notes:
Heyyyyyy guyyysssss!!
So don't hate me! Here's another chapter-- AND I'm happy to say I'm stockpiling writing for you as well. There's an eighteenth chapter ready right now.
This chapter goes out to Alaskan Wendigo, thanks for getting on my ass about the story... I always need a little motivation to keep going! I promise you all (including Alaskan Wendigo) that you could NEVER bother me with comments!! They make me so so happy. Thank you for keeping me going!
Well anyways enjoy the chapter! And then enjoy the speedrun of chapters I'm trying to get out before I go back to school. I finally finished my internship for college, and let me tell you if you're thinking of pursuing writing professionally DON'T publish your unfinished fanfiction freshman year that you're really excited about at the time... the unfinished chapters bother me too (probably not as much as they bother my lovely lovely readers... I still have some incomplete fics I think about from my fiction reading years lol)
Here's to us finishing this story together!
XOXO Nameless Faceless
Chapter Text
17
“ And anytime you feel the pain, hey Jude, refrain, Don’t carry the world upon your shoulders,” the soft night air drifted through the gauzy curtains of Dean’s childhood bedroom.
They were curled up in Dean’s race car bed, Goodnight Moon resting by their feet. Mary held him close, she rubbed small circles into his back and Dean still remembers how the hum of her chest felt when she sang him to sleep.
“ For well you know that it’s a fool who plays it cool by making his word a little colder,” Mary slowly began to hum the next verse. She pulled the covers up and tucked them around Dean as he slipped into sleep.
***
Dean doesn’t remember much about his mother anymore. What she was like or who she was. But he does remember Hey, Jude, and how safe he felt in that dumb red plastic race car bed. He’d been having dreams about her ever since things settled down.
He and Sam moved in with the Wyatts a few weeks ago. It was strange to be in a nuclear household again. The Wyatts weren’t like their parents or Bobby of course, not anything close. But, they were nice.
He and Sam were staying in the same room. There were two twin beds and a couple of dressers. Two large windows with sheer white curtains like he remembers from Lawrence filled the room with morning light.
Dean sat up in his bed and wiped the sleep from his eyes. He looked over at Sam, who was wrapped up in a tangled nest of sheets. He got up and stretched his arms over his head, grabbing a pair of jeans and a T-shirt for the day.
“Hey, Sam,” Dean shook his little shoulder. “It’s time to get up dude, it’s almost 9:30.”
Sam rolled over in bed and grunted at Dean. He got the message.
“I’m gonna go take a shower,” said Dean over his shoulder.
The bathroom was mostly beige like the rest of the house. He guessed the Wyatts didn’t like to take strong stands on much of anything, including the decor. They hadn’t talked much about John since they moved here and the Wyatts had stopped pushing for new information.
It wasn’t for a lack of trying on the Wyatts’ end, but more so a vehement dismissal of the subject from both Sam and Dean. Brad had tried to ask them about John around a week after they got there over pasta salad and it hadn’t gone over well.
They had been sitting on the back deck eating dinner in the nice weather before their backyard froze over. Brad took a bite of his chicken and chimed into the conversation. They had been talking about Cindy’s childhood in the Black Hills and her grandfather who wouldn’t buy chicken from the store because it ‘just didn’t taste the same.’
“So did you guys do any barbecues or anything with your dad?” he asked like it were the simplest question in the world.
Dean froze mid-bite, he forced himself to swallow. He looked over at Sam, who like usual after any mention of his father, was staring intently at the ground. He looked back up at Brad and Cindy, who had realized by then that they shouldn’t have asked that.
Dean forced a tight smile onto his face. “Not really,” he reached over and gave Sam’s shoulder a slight squeeze. The conversation quickly moved on to the best Boxcar Children novel, but Dean hadn’t really been hungry anymore after that.
Nobody had seen John since he showed up at Bobby’s looking for them. Detective Harvelle was looking for him, but Dean knew there was only so much she could do. John was a hard man to find.
He turned the shower on and waited a few minutes for it to warm up. He looked into the mirror above the sink. He had felt the worst he had ever felt since moving to Brad and Cindy’s. It didn’t make any sense, and he was mad at himself for feeling like such shit, which only made him feel worse. He was guilty and overwhelmed and trapped, and it showed.
He ran his hands across his face, trying to wipe the uncertainty and tiredness out of his eyes. It didn’t work, if anything the bags around his dark circles were worse now. He looked away from his reflection and stepped under the spray of the shower.
He picked up the shampoo and started washing his hair, lost in thought. Sam was thriving here. Brad was an English teacher at the local middle school. Sam would be starting school there in just a few short weeks. They had been quick to find common ground, talking about all their favorite books and Sam’s story ideas.
Sam seemed to respond to Cindy in fits and spurts. He was stiff and nervous around her at first, he still is. But now, sometimes Dean can see Sam look up at her while they’re all watching T.V. like she’s a mystery to solve. Sometimes she notices too, and each time she gives him a warm smile. Earlier this week, she had brushed Sam’s bangs off of his forehead while he was eating lunch and asked him what he thought of his new book. Dean saw his face go blank for a second before he answered. Like he had to reboot. He went back to his normal stiff self after that. But now, every so often, he can see Sam start to open up to her. It scared him.
Dean knows this is Sam’s first chance to live a life he’s always dreamed of. And he’s happy for the kid, he really is. But Dean never wanted the life Sam was dreaming up for them, he just wanted a chance to breathe. He thought he would get that with Bobby, and the longer they stay with Brad and Cindy the more he realizes just how bad the mess surrounding him is.
The whole thing scared him. Highschool, the Wyatts and Sam, John and the case, Garth and Bobby and Castie-
No, not Castiel.
He sighed and washed conditioner out of his hair. Castiel was gone and he needed to get over it. His mind had been wandering to all the happy places of his life recently. All the places he could be with Sam instead of here. All the places where he doesn’t feel like he’s watching his brother play family with a couple he doesn’t even know anything about. All the places where he’s ever really felt safe.
Cas was one of those people-- one of those places. And he had been stuck on Dean’s mind recently. His shitty jokes and the freckles that line his shoulders. How Cas’ cracked lips felt against his. The Old Spice and laundry detergent that flooded his senses and blurred out the world in a hum of Cas, Cas, Cas .
Dean turned off the shower and stepped out. There was no use wanting what he couldn’t have. It wasn’t like he would ever kiss him again. Like he would ever even get close to it. He knows what a relationship with Cas would mean for him and he wasn’t interested in taking the risk.
Dean got dressed and stepped out of the bathroom back to his and Sam’s room.
“What do you wanna do today?” Sam was tying his shoelaces. The Wyatts had refilled both of their wardrobes, he was lacing up a pair of black Converse. His white socks were scrunched down and bunched up over the hightop edge of his new chucks.
“Maybe we could walk down to the libary again or something,” said Dean.
They had a bookshelf set up for Sam, and he finally got ahold of Lonesome Dove again once they figured out the local library was only a ten-minute walk away.
Dean was going to be a junior in high school, Sam was going to be starting seventh grade. It was the middle of August, and the school year was quickly approaching. Cindy had started dropping hints that they should go out for gel pens and Elmer’s glue. Sam was buzzing with excitement about his first unbroken school year. Dean didn’t have the heart to shatter his joy, but he was personally dreading the thought of staying with the same group of weird losers for the whole year.
“Morning, boys!” called Cindy from the deck. She was in her gardening gear, which included a huge floppy sunhat with an adjustable chin strap. She took off her gardening gloves and big old hat, set them on the deck table, and stepped through the sliding glass door. “You guys hungry? Brad just got back from Costco if you want some muffins but I can do some eggs too if you want.”
She started washing her hands in the sink.
“Muffins are great,” said Dean. “Thanks Cindy.”
“Of course! They’re in the white box on the counter,” she turned to face them and started drying her hand on a dish towel embroidered with cats and teacups. “What’re you boys going to get up to today?”
“We’re gonna walk to the library,” Sam said through a mouthful of a chocolate muffin the size of his head.
“Wait till you’re done chewing to talk, dude,” said Dean. He handed Sam a napkin and brushed the sleep out of his hair. Sam gave him a ‘don’t tell me what to do face’ and swallowed his muffin as fast as he could.
“Jerk,” said Sam.
“Bitch,” responded Dean. “Thanks for finishing your bite before you got your dig in though, very polite of you.
“Anytime,” Sam took another bite of his muffin.
Cindy and Brad had been shocked when Dean first called his kid brother a bitch. But when they sat down for a talk and realized Dean wasn’t in fact bullying a child but calling him by his age-inappropriate nickname, they started adjusting to the new normal. Sam and Dean had too.
The day passed quickly, scanning the shelves for Sam’s next reads. He hadn’t even gotten close to finishing Lonesome Dove, and Dean had to say he was feeling pretty smug about finally being able to get the kid a book that challenges him. He felt like he'd won a game that everyone else said was rigged.
The boys went back to the Wyatts and settled in for another night. They ate dinner and watched an episode of T.V. with Brad and Cindy. Sam fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. Dean wasn’t so lucky. He hadn’t been able to sleep soundly since he left Sonny’s, and he was exhausted.
He stood up as quietly as he could and pulled on a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie. He opened the front pocket of his backpack and pulled out his last pack of smokes left over from Sonny’s. He needed something to quiet his thoughts right now, and chainsmoking himself into oblivion seemed like the best option.
He crept down the cream-carpeted stairs and out the front door. The bedroom windows face the backyard, so he thought there would be less of a chance he’d wake the Wyatts up with the smell. Dean knew he shouldn’t chain smoke on his foster family’s porch, of course, he did, but he couldn’t get himself to care that he shouldn't right now. It didn’t seem important compared to the rising tide of anxiety he was trying to shove down.
He sat down on the porch and lit his first cigarette, tucking the pack and lighter back into his hoodie pocket. He took a few long drags and watched backlit silhouettes cross the path of widows in the house across the street. He was truly in suburbia-- sidewalks, neon lawns, and everything. It was a foreign concept to him, he felt like he was staring at a movie set.
He watched the silence of the street through the first cigarette and halfway through the second, willing himself to think about nothing at all. The front door opened behind him mid-drag. Dean held the smoke in his lungs, trying not to get caught, and turned around.
“Can I bum one?” asked Brad.
Dean turned back to look at the street and exhaled through his nose. He knows Brad can see the smoke, and he knows he can chain smoke better than most 16-year-olds should be able to. He decides not to push his luck, pulls the pack of Marlboros out of his hoodie, hands one to Brad, and gives him a light.
He starts coughing almost immediately. Dean looks away, takes another drag, and tries to stop himself from laughing.
“Can I sit?” Dean nods and scooches over on the Wyatts’ wicker deck furniture. They sit in silence together and watch the passing cars. Brad gets the hang of his cigarette after a little bit.
“You’re not mad I’m smoking?”
“No, not really,” Brad took another drag and exhaled. “I mean, I don’t like that you’re smoking, but I get it. Cindy got me to quit when we got married. I used to smoke Reds too, did for years. I understand why you want to.”
Brad looked over to Dean for a moment. “Are you doing okay, Dean?”
Dean kept looking into the street. He felt tears sting the back of his eyes and he swallowed them back. He didn’t trust Brad like that yet. “Yeah,” Dean responded. “I’m doing alright.”
Dean couldn’t tell if it was the truth or a lie. He felt like it was a little bit of both, and from the concerned look Brad gave him from the corner of his eye, Brad didn’t think it was the whole truth either.
They fell back into a comfortable silence. Crickets were chirping into the summer night around them and the air was cool and peaceful. Dean finished his second cigarette and lit his third. A few cars passed and Brad didn’t say anything else about Dean’s smoking or otherwise. Dean appreciated that.
A blue Subaru turned into their cul-de-sac, music, and laughter spilling out from the open windows. Dean sat and watched the car park by the house across the street from them. A girl with red hair around his age stepped out of the driver’s side door, and another kid with short black hair stepped out of the passenger side. They opened the backseat together and pulled their friend out.
He was shitfaced-- singing and swaying incoherently, grabbing her face with both hands and telling her she was beautiful. Dean recognized that voice. He stood up without saying a word and walked down to the end of the Wyatts’ driveway. Brad watched him.
The drunk boy let go of his friend's face and spun around, just in time to make eye contact with someone he’d never thought he’d see again.
“I--” Castiel stopped dead in his drunken tracks. He looked like he’d seen a ghost. “Dean?”
“Hey, Cas.”
Castiel turned around and threw up in the grass of his front lawn.
Chapter 18
Notes:
Hello again!
Didn't I say there would be another chapter ;) AND I can promise there will be another update early next week. Enjoy, hope you like it!
Nameless Faceless
Chapter Text
18
“Well what’re we going to do with him, Amelia?”
Castiel’s parents were fighting downstairs in the hissed whispers people use when they think everyone around them can’t hear what they’re fighting about. “That’s what I don’t understand. You won’t ship him back to military school, you wo--”
“It wasn’t military school, Chuck!” snapped his mother from the first floor. He could hear the frustration and fear in her voice, carried upstairs from the kitchen through the vents.
“Well maybe military school is what he needs, then. I’m done, Amelia,” He could hear his dad start putting away dishes. He slammed each dish back into its place and each cupboard shut. Each new slam punctuated his diatribe. “He’s getting drunk and into fights. He won’t go to church. Oh, and he took his brother’s new car for a joyride and smashed it into a tree. We paid thousands to get him into that fucking summer program on such short notice and what did we get for it? A pile of vodka-soaked teenage vomit killing a yellow patch in my grass as we speak.”
He heard his mom sigh. He bet she was running her hands through her hair right now. “I’m done talking about this right now, Chuck.”
“Fine,” his dad sounded cold. “Let our son turn into a delinquent piece of shit, see if I care. Michael and Luc are going to college next year anyways. I’m two for three, Amelia. That’s good enough for me if it’s good enough for you.”
The last cabinet slammed extra hard. Castiel sat up in his bed with a headache-- half of it left over from the night before and the other half from his parents’ daily ‘what are we going to do with Castiel’ fight.
“He just got home, Chuck. Give him a fucking chance here.” his mom was on the edge of crying.
“How many chances does he deserve?” his dad slammed the backdoor. Cas heard him get in his car and leave. Good.
His dad had another wife before his mom. He had Luc and Michael with her right before their divorce. Say what you will about Chuck’s past relationships, but Cas was pretty sure Luc and Michael were a ‘fix-it’ baby that turned out to be twins and who did not fix the marriage. His mom met Chuck a few months after and they hit it off.
Castiel is only a year younger than his step brothers, and ever since he was a little kid he could tell his father preferred the twins. Michael and Luc always got bigger newer versions of everything, winning their dad’s approval through lacrosse and grades Cas could never swing. Castiel was always just there . Things got worse after the whole joyride incident. He wouldn’t be surprised if his dad actually did send him off to some military camp where he’d be trained to die in a foreign war over American oil.
Cas stood up and walked to the bathroom. Snippets of last night came back to him as he leant over the toilet bowl and puked up the rest of whatever he drank that didn’t make it onto the lawn. He remembered the party he went to on a Wednesday without telling anyone, how the cheap lights filled the dingy basement in a halfhearted disco. He didn’t remember knowing anyone there, just getting trashed and dancing with some boy whose name he never asked.
Charlie and Kevin came to get him when he started to drunkenly call them to come dance with him. He vaguely recalls getting shoved into the backseat.
But, he definitely remembers Dean. Dean, who somehow still had a Marlboro standing on the end of Mr. Wyatt’s driveway. He remembers the small wave and crooked smile, the familiar green eyes he thought he’d left behind more than a month ago.
Castiel had wanted to say more, to tell Dean how shit his life had been without him, to run over and pull him into his arms and never let him leave again. But, Castiel’s dad took that time to grab him and yank him back inside to start their nightly screaming match. He spent his dad’s whole ‘what the fuck is wrong with you, Castiel?’ rant trying to look out the picture window and watch Dean finish his cigarette. He never got a good look, and by the time he was able to get back outside Dean was gone. Again.
He heard a knock at the door. “Castiel?” called his mom from the other side. “Are you okay? Can I come in?”
Cas sighed and wiped the vomit off of the corners of his mouth. He grabbed a glass of water, opened the bathroom door and sat back down in front of the toilet. He didn’t think he was done throwing up yet.
His mom stepped through the door and closed it behind her. She sat down next to her son and started smoothing his sweaty hair back off his forehead.
“Michael and Luc are going to be gone this weekend,” she said. “I was thinking maybe we could do some gardening like we used to.”
“Thanks mom, but I think I’m just going to work on some school stuff. Get ahead, ya know.”
She didn’t say anything at first, just stared at their reflections in the bathroom mirror. Castiel took it as a chance to keep throwing up what was now mostly stomach acid. He finished his second bout of upchucking and leaned back against the wall.
He heard his mom start sniffling from beside him. He turned his sluggish head over to look at her. Silent tears ran tracks down her cheeks, slow and steady.
“I don’t know what’s wrong, Cas. You used to be so happy. What happened, Castiel?”
“Mom, I-” Castiel started. He didn’t know what to say. ‘Mom, I know you’re a Pentecostal wife, but I’m gay and I’ve been hiding it since I was twelve. The boy that I’m in love with and thought was gone forever was across the street last night and his first impression of me outside of the boy’s home you sent me to was a shitfaced wreck with a grabby dad. Luc and Michael are dad’s favorites. They always have been and I can totally tell and it makes me feel like shit. Plus I’ve overheard every fight you and dad have had about me, maybe find a better place to talk than the kitchen right under my room.’
It all felt like too much, so he decided not to say anything at all. He took a sip of his water and bit his tears back instead. She took a deep breath in and stood up. He knew it hurt her when he shut her out, but he was trying to protect her. From what he still wasn’t quite sure, maybe from having to hate him like his dad did. The secrecy seemed like the lesser of two evils, but that didn’t mean he felt good about it.
“I’m making breakfast. Come down for some oatmeal, okay hun?”
Castiel swallowed the lump of guilt in his throat stopping him from talking. “Alright, mom. I’ll be right down.”
***
Sam was bored, it was official. Bored wasn’t the right word for it, maybe stuck in a haze of ambiguity and intractability? But, he didn’t have the words to place it, so bored would do for now. He was sitting on the overstuffed deck furniture that formed a halo above the Wyatt’s back yard. Sam felt uncomfortable living here.
He had been trying to read Lonesome Dove for the last few hours and he couldn’t get into it. His mind kept wandering back to reality. His worries and memories interrupted him no matter how hard he tried to stay lost in a world that wasn’t his own. He had never had this problem before.
He closed his book and set it down on the ground next to him. Dean was napping right now. He’d been trying to hide it, but Sam could tell he wasn’t acting right. Dean hated naps. The glass door opened behind him.
“Hey, Sam,” Cindy had two glasses of sun tea and a magazine rolled up under her arm. “Mind if I join you?”
“No, not at all, Ma’am,” Sam picked his book back up and started turning back to his spot, fiddling with the pages as he went.
“You know you can call me Cindy if you want, right?” She put one of the glasses down next to Sam and gave him a smile. “What’re you reading?”
“Lonesome Dove,” he nervously drank his tea.
“Wow! Great job, Sam. I remember struggling to finish it in college! It’s one of Brad’s favorites, you know. How do you like it so far?” she unfurled her magazine and started reading about Johnny Depp and Kate Moss’ torrid romance.
“I like it a lot! Gus reminds me of Dean sometimes,” he looked at the trees on the far side of the lawn.
“ That’s good to hear! Gus was always one of my favorites,” Cindy went back to her tabloid gossip.
He kept thinking about Lonesome Dove and Dean, his mind blurring the lines between Augustus and his big brother. I doubt it matters where you die, but it matters where you live. Sam didn’t get what all the big fuss over Montana was about. Sure, it was beautiful, but it wasn’t like living there would really change anything. The two months they had spent in Great Falls had proved that to him. He didn’t see how Call could be so blind to that. He was thinking about what Dean said to him the night they decided to go. I do want to leave, Sam. We can't stay with dad like this forever.
At the time he had wanted to leave too. Now, on the other side of their decision, he worried they had just found their own metaphorical Montana: even with all of the change the lack of substance persisted. He still felt empty, and that was a scary feeling.
Like the rest of the feelings he couldn’t or wouldn’t deal with, he pushed it deep down where he couldn’t see it. His grip tightened on Lonesome Dove as he lost himself once again -- in a story that was now both an anchor to and an escape from the real world.
***
Castiel knocked on his parents’ door. His dad was driving Michael, Luc and their friends up to the family cabin and he’d be gone overnight.
His mom was sitting on her side of the bed in an old t-shirt she used for pajamas; 5k to Beat Cancer 1983! was printed in cracked baby pink lettering across her chest. The blankets were tucked up to her hips and she was propped up doing a crossword. Her reading glasses were perched on the bottom of her nose, and she took them off to look at her son.
“What’s up, hun?” She put the newspaper down on her bedside table.
Cas didn’t know what to say, so he just sat on his dad’s side of the bed and moved to sit by her like he did when he was a kid. She wrapped her arms around him just like she used to without thinking. He laid his head on her chest and they were silent for a while.
Cas let his mind wander as his mom ran her fingers through his hair. He had knocked on Mr. Wyatt’s door earlier that day looking for Dean.
“I’m sorry, Cas but he’s napping right now. I’ll tell him that you stopped by when he wakes up.”
He didn’t know how Dean got here, or what happened with his dad. He didn’t know if he was okay or if Dean even wanted to see him again. Tears started falling down his cheeks, all the pain and confusion he was too scared to talk about building up and spilling out any way it could.
“I’m sorry, mom,” it came out as a broken whisper. “For everything.”
She looked down at him, her baby. She could guess at what was wrong, but whatever it was she couldn’t help him if he wouldn’t let her in. She was scared for him and she was sure he could tell. But right now there wasn’t anything she could do for him besides hold him closer, and that killed her.
Chapter 19
Notes:
Here's the next chapter, enjoy! The plot is starting to get juicy buckle up everyone
-Nameless Faceless
Chapter Text
(19)
It was a little Queen Anne -- old construction, single story. White shiplap covered the sides in scalloped lines, the siding was painted a robin's egg blue. John pulled his collar up and hunched a little lower in the front seat of his rental car. He left the Impala behind at the motel for the sake of discretion. The boys had been gone for three months and John could practically see the sword hanging over his head.
His kids were a liability to his freedom, Dean especially, and he couldn’t have that. They knew everything -- the hospital pseudonyms and the evidence doctors would find under them, his caches of drugs, money and guns he had buried around the continental 48 in preparation for the next time he needed to get the fuck out of dodge. And, worst of all, everything he had barely gotten away with. With their help, he was sure a prosecutor could find a way to get him life behind bars.
He took a drink of one of the flat, luke beers in the cupholder, pulled out his notebook and started taking down times. 1 p.m.- Dean leaves for house across the street, Sam sits on front porch reading. Foster mother in backyard, foster father gone.
No one had noticed the gray Ford Taurus he was camped out in. It had really been all too easy to find them. One call in a fake Dakotan twang saying he was Bobby was all it took to get the address. He swung by the rental lot after that and problem solved. Now he was just playing a waiting game.
According to the idiot on the CPS line, the case against him was being held until he was found and could be detained. No bail. He had asked if they had any leads, any idea where he could be -- he got shut down with the same old bullshit about an active investigation and all that. Fucking cops, he had thought, don’t know their own ass from their goddamn forehead.
This wasn’t his first run-in with the law, but it was the first time his kids turned against him. He could feel the white hot rage simmering in his stomach, easing its way into his chest and down his arms. He took another drink of PBR and swallowed his anger down with it. He didn’t know what he would do with the boys once he got them back. He would have plenty of time to figure that out later, for now he just had to watch.
***
Dean had spent longer than he wanted to admit getting ready that morning -- showering until his skin stung and styling his hair until there wasn’t a single strand out of place. He and Cas wouldn’t ever be anything more than what they were now if Dean had anything to say about it. But, that didn’t mean he didn’t want to look nice the next time they saw each other.
He was excited to have something that felt like his own here. He had never lived in his own space and he didn’t particularly want to stop sharing with Sam right now. But, he had always had something that was entirely his before this. Hustling pool, making out with girls in the janitor’s closet, the few nights a year John hitched a ride with someone else and he got to joyride the baby. The Wyatts’ had already given them so much and he didn’t want to risk asking for more. And, most importantly, he didn’t want Sam to think he wasn’t enough.
Castiel seemed like a perfect out -- someone who he knew was around to see him. He needed that right now.
He and Brad had continued their nightly tradition of cigarettes on the porch. They mostly sat in silence and watched the streetlights together. Last night was one of the first times Brad spoke up, and their interaction kept running through his mind.
“Hey, Dean?”
“Yeah?”
“I threw up the last time I smoked a whole one, can we just share tonight?”
Dean laughed and passed his lit cigarette over. He liked Brad, reminded him of a softer Sonny. He liked how he was honest even if it made him look dumb and how he treated Dean like an equal. It was a refreshing change of pace from the rest of everyone else in Sioux Falls, who had by now learned of the two abused brothers Brad and Cindy took in a few months ago. He didn’t like being recognized like that. He worried that type of attention would carry over for him and Sam once they started school.
Brad took a puff of the cigarette and let the night settle back around them. He enjoyed these nights with Dean as much as Dean did. The kid was a mystery to him, and the only time he felt like he ever got a real glimpse into what he was thinking was when he temporarily encouraged his nicotine habit. Cindy had been pissed when he first came back to bed wreaking like Marlboros, but that anger quickly softened to pity when he filled her in. She told him that they both had to quit by the end of the school year. But, in her words, ‘Whatever works, works. If the kid needs to smoke to let us in then so be it. But he’s not killing himself like that forever. And neither are you.’ After that she rolled over and went back to bed.
“Can I ask you something?” Brad decided to push his luck. He’d been letting Dean take the reins of their conversations, leaving them in silence more often than not. He didn’t want to press the kid too hard and grill him on something he didn’t want to talk about. But, Castiel Novak had knocked on his door earlier that day looking for Dean -- a kid that hadn’t been to Sioux Falls since he was eight, where he knew Castiel had lived his whole life. Obviously, he had told Dean about it as soon as he woke up from his nap, but the curiosity of how they possibly could’ve met kept nagging at him. He didn’t care what the answer was, he guessed he just wanted to know.
“Sure,” said Dean. He looked over at Brad through the corner of his eye and took a drag.
“How do you know Castiel Novak?” Brad looked over at Dean and tried to make eye contact. The kid wasn’t having any part of it. He stared at the house across the street where Castiel lived for a little longer than it should’ve taken to think of an answer.
“You’ve read my case file, right?” Dean took another drag, Brad could see his hands shake a little as he brought the cigarette up to his lips.
“Yeah, Cindy and I read the gist of it. Just the things Garth said we needed to know for you and Sam to be happy here. Cindy and I thought it would be best to give you two the space to tell us about it yourselves if you wanted to, you know?”
Dean looked over at him like he hadn’t expected to hear that. He gave Brad an appraising look and turned back to the street. He took a pause and continued.
“Garth tell you about Sonny’s?”
“Just what it was and that you were there, nothing much else after that.”
“That’s where I met Cas.”
“Oh, I thought Castiel went to a music camp this summer.”
“What?”
“I mean that’s what Amelia and Chuck said at least.”
“You know them, then?”
“Castiel used to be one of my students. He was such a bright kid. Things changed with him the year after he left my class, started getting into trouble. His folks and I don’t talk too much beyond the normal neighbor stuff, they’re not really our type of people.”
“What does that mean?”
“Oh, nothing bad. They’re just super religious, Chuck is the local pastor out at the Pentecostal church. They’re good people, Cindy and I just had enough of the bible thumping a couple of years ago.”
Dean didn’t respond, he just passed the cigarette back to Brad. He looked up to the house across the street.
“They sent me there after I got busted stealing Sam’s birthday gift. Cas never told me what he did. Thought he probably got caught smoking weed or something.”
Brad exhaled and handed the cigarette back to Dean. “I dunno, kid. Maybe you’re right.” After that they finished their cigarette and went to bed. Dean had been stewing on their conversation all night.
He had thought Castiel was like him, that things weren’t great at home. The thought of a kindred spirit comforted him, and now that he knew Cas was actually a preacher’s son from the burbs, he couldn’t help but feel a little betrayed. He had told Castiel a lot. In veiled terms of course, but you don’t spend months frantically searching your whole state for a 12-year-old if you think that 12-year-old is safe and happy. Cas at least knew that much. He was just now realizing how much Cas hadn’t told him.
But the need for connection, for someone who understood him, outweighed Cas’ secrets. He opened the front door and walked over to the house across the street. There was a bird bath and a little angel lawn ornament on the corner of the front lawn next to the door. He took a deep breath in and knocked. A short woman with curly dark hair and eyes just like Cas opened the door.
“Hi, can I help you?” she sounded the type of concerned you are when a random teenager you’ve never seen before shows up on your doorstep unannounced. It made Dean’s palms sweat.
“Hi, um. I’m uh looking for Castiel? I thought he lived here?”
“Oh! Castiel! Yes, he does! I’m so happy to see he’s been making friends. Can I ask who you are before I go grab him?”
“Um, yeah. My name’s Dean,” his words were awkward. He wasn’t good with moms. “Winchester. Dean Winchester.”
“I’ll go let him know you’re here,” she closed the door and he heard her walking up the stairs. He took a moment to steel himself on the front porch. What if it was too weird after the way they left things off? He didn’t want to talk about any of that now, and he was worried Cas would. He wiped his palms on the sides of his jeans.
The front door opened again, and this time it was Castiel. Standing right in front of him.
“Hey,” Dean couldn’t come up with anything better than that, all the air escaping his lungs the minute he was face to face with the boy he thought he’d left behind.
“Hey,” Cas looked like he didn’t know what to say either. They made eye contact for a little too long. Cas threw his arms around Dean’s shoulders and pulled him into a hug. “I missed you, Dean.”
Dean was stiff at first, arms at his sides. After a few seconds, he felt tears welling up in his eyes and he let himself give into the hug. Consequences be damned. He just wanted to feel held again, like he always had with Castiel.
“I missed you, too,” Dean said it so quietly Castiel almost didn’t hear him. Cas smiled and squeezed Dean tighter.
***
Bobby and Karen were sitting at Bobby’s living room table pouring over the veritable mountain of documents Bobby would have to fill out and requirements he would have to meet before the boys could come live with him. Karen had made sweet tea and they were sipping on their glasses while Bobby figured out what the hell he was supposed to put in all the little boxes punctuating the two thick stacks of paperwork he had to turn in the following Monday -- one pile of papers for Sam and one for Dean.
“You’ll need to move most of the cars out of the lot. This paperwork says ‘no hazardous materials within open reach of the child or children.’ I’m pretty sure half of the tetanus-makers you got out there would count as hazardous,” Karen pushed her bangs out of her face and continued reading.
Bobby sighed and filled in a few more boxes. They kept going on like this, Karen making a to-do list of all the child-proofing they’d need to do and Bobby tackling the first steps of becoming registered as a foster parent. Bobby’s phone began to buzz on the table.
“Bobby Singer, speaking,” he kept on filling in little boxes.
“Bobby, this is Detective Harvelle. I just wanted to give you a call and make sure you have the boys’ new address and everything. You have that information, correct?”
“Yes, I do. The boys’ caseworker gave it to me when I left the station after dropping them off. Why are you asking?”
“Garth got a call the other day from a number he didn’t recognize. The man on the other side of the line said he was you calling from a payphone. That sound familiar?”
Bobby felt his blood run cold. “Detective Harvelle, that was not me calling. Please tell me he did not give out that address. “
“He did. Said the man on the phone was able to answer all of your security questions verifying he was you. Garth didn’t realize something was up until we had our meeting this morning on the boys’ case.”
“Just a minute, Detective,” Bobby put his phone down on the table and ran his hands over his face. He was tired of being so scared for the boys. He loved them too much to be so worried, he was falling apart over it. He picked the phone back up.
“I think that was probably John, Detective. You gotta call the Wyatts and let them know what’s up. Not long before he’s there if I know John.”
He heard Detective Harvelle sigh on the other side of the line.
“I was worried that would be the case. Okay, Bobby, I gotta go. I have some calls to make.”
“The boys are gonna to be alright, though. Right?” Karen was watching him now. Her eyes were sharp and filled with concern. He was sure he looked the same way. Detective Harvelle paused for a little too long before answering.
“I’ll do my best to make sure they are, Bobby,” the line went dead.
Bobby put the phone down and looked up at Karen, neither of them knew what was going to happen next. But, they both had a few good guesses and none of them came with happy endings.
***
They were sitting on the bleachers outside of the high school they’d both be going to next year. Dean was surprised to hear Castiel would be a senior. Half of him was relieved, it put a timer on their relationship. The other half was worried Cas would leave the second he graduated like he’d said he would at Sonny’s. Cas had been quiet, starting off at the five yard line.
They had spent all day walking around town, Cas showing him his favorite haunts. Sorry we have to walk, Cas had said. My dad took away my car after I came home drunk. Dean had said it was okay and asked him where they were going next.
Lincoln High School was their final stop and they both had to be back home in an hour. The afternoon sun highlighted the freckles across Dean’s cheeks and lit his eyes up like emeralds. Castiel thought he was gorgeous. They were sitting shoulder to shoulder like they had at Sonny’s. Cas resisted the urge to throw his arm around Dean. He swallowed the nervous spit in his mouth instead.
“Can we talk about it?” asked Castiel. He looked over at Dean, who was staring at him like a deer in headlights. Dean held Castiel’s eyes for a moment until he looked down at his lap.
“About what?” Dean looked over at Cas. The sun haloed his profile. Dean knew Cas wanted to talk about the kiss. But he wanted things to go back to the way they were before. He didn’t think they could, at least he didn’t think it was fair to ask that of Castiel.
“I kissed you,” said Castiel.
“Yeah,” Dean wouldn’t look at him. He didn’t know if he could right now.
“Did you like it?” Castiel tried not to sound scared. He couldn’t tell where this was going. He kicked himself for ‘did you like it?’ How awkward could he be?
“I mean, I guess I did. But I didn’t at the same time,” Dean raked his hands through his hair and sighed. “I don’t want to hurt your feelings, Cas,” Dean wasn’t lying. He loved Cas, he just couldn’t be what Castiel needed him to be. He remembered the electricity that ran through his chest and down the tips of his fingers. How he felt weightless and grounded at the same time. Secure. But, he also remembered how he had felt afterwards and what a relationship like theirs could mean for him and Sammy. If only we could, thought Dean.
“What’re you trying to say, Dean?” Cas’ voice broke. He started trying to blink tears back in vain, a rouge teardrop sliding down his cheek.
“I don’t know,” said Dean. He paused for a second to think of how he should put it. “Just in another life, maybe. I can’t, Cas. I-” Dean choked up, tears started flowing down his cheeks. He didn’t know how to tell Cas how dirty he had felt that night in the motel room. How ashamed he had been to feel that way and scared he had been to sleep in the same motel room as his dad. The secret had felt like it was burning a hole through his chest. Like one wrong move and John would realize what he had done. He couldn’t live like that and he just couldn’t risk blowing it with the Wyatts or Bobby.
Dean took a deep breath in.
“I think we should be friends, Cas,” he looked up at the only person outside his family he really knew in Sioux Falls. He didn’t want to lose him again. Although a band-aid and nothing close to what they wanted, friendship was the best he could offer.
“Okay,” Cas looked back at the yard lines on the field. He wiped a stray tear off of his cheek.
“I’m sorry, Cas,” Dean reached over and put his hand over Castiel’s.
“It’s okay,” Castiel moved his hand to hold Dean’s properly. They sat like that until they had to walk home.
Chapter 20
Notes:
Hello again!
I hope you like this one, it's some really big bombshells and our setup for conflict to come. The story is coming along nicely! I want to leave room to expand on the plot as I fill out details, but we're in the final stretches of world building here, friends! I'd say were definitely closer to the end of the story than the start, which is a crazy thought! This was originally supposed to end up around 20 chapters, but obviously we've overshot that lol. Give me just around ten more and the story is done :) Stay tuned! I promise I'm in for the long haul, this story will be marked complete in 2023 so help me god.
-Nameless Faceless
Chapter Text
20
The Wyatts were sitting in the living room talking in hushed concern. He assumed Sam was off reading or exploring the block somewhere. They had decided on a ‘fly solo’ day so Dean could have some time alone with Cas. Fly solo days had become a part of their routine while they were motel hopping and Sam started developing interests outside of Dean’s own. It gave them both some time away, but there were rules to it. They had agreed they would both be back at 5 p.m. for dinner. Sam had told him that he was going to see what the park down the street was like earlier that morning.
The Wyatts turned their head to look at him with something akin to fear and pity. They had been waiting for him to get home. This couldn’t be good.
“Hey, Dean,” Brad was holding Cindy’s hand. They were sitting on the couch in the living room. “How’s Castiel?”
“He’s good. We walked around town and stuff. Is everything alright?”
Brad cleared his throat and gave Cindy a look.
“Why don’t you sit down, Dean,” Brad watched Dean move over to the chair on their left and take a seat.
“Is Sam okay?” his mind immediately went to the worst. This wouldn’t be the first time Sam disappeared. He thought about Poughkeepsie and the seven hours he couldn’t find his little brother after school. He had been at a friend’s house the whole time, but the dread that overwhelmed him then came back for him now.
“Dean, oh my goodness, yes. He’s upstairs right now, he got back home around an hour ago,” said Cindy. Her eyes were puffy; she had been crying. That made Dean more upset. Brad spoke up.
“We got a call from Detective Harvelle earlier today. John is looking for you two, and we think he might know our address,” Brad kept talking in an exceedingly soothing tone. Dean couldn’t hear what he was saying anymore. His ears were ringing.
Dean felt like he was submerged in ice water. His breathing picked up and his hands started to sweat. Nausea filled his stomach and coiled it into knots. Memories of John flashed through his mind. He interlaced his fingers when his hands started shaking. He could feel his eyes start to glaze over, a familiar sign of a breakdown to come.
Dean did his best to keep a mask of indifference up. He didn’t want Sammy to know how bad everything was, and he didn’t want the Wyatts to figure out what John was really like. Because of John and his pseudonyms, their files were conveniently missing the worst of the worst. If he couldn’t act like everything was okay then how could he expect any of them to believe it.
Brad stopped talking mid-thought when Cindy grabbed his arm and made him look closer at Dean’s reaction. They sat in silence next to each other in the living room. Brad and Cindy were staring at him. Dean made eye contact with Brad and he couldn’t hold it together any longer. He was going to be sick.
Without wasting another moment he stood up and ran through the open floor plan to the kitchen. The sink was the first and closest place he could think of to vomit. He white-knuckled the counter while he heaved and thought back to all the hospital visits under Sam and Dean Smith -- the desperation and resentment they had lived in for twelve years engulfing him. He knew Sam had never known anything else and he felt like it was his fault. He had tried his best to get them away from John and his best obviously wasn’t good enough.
He had lost it completely now. Dean put his hand over his mouth to muffle his sobs and sunk to the floor. He didn’t want Sam to hear any of this and come down to see what was happening. A doting Sammy would only make things worse right now.
He curled up in the fetal position and put his head down on his legs. He was having a panic attack. His breath was fighting to break through his fingers and stifled sobs. He felt Brad and Cindy sit down on either side of him. Cindy started rubbing circles onto his back like his mom once had. That made him cry harder.
He knew it would all catch up to him eventually -- Cas, his dad. Everything he was running from when he called Bobby from that bus station in Spearfish. He felt like a fool, like he had single handedly ruined any shot he or Sammy ever had at happiness. He didn’t know what his dad would do when he found them and he worried he wouldn’t leave the hospital afterwards. He let himself spiral, his worries covering his senses completely until nothing was left behind.
The Wyatts sat by his side until he didn’t have any more energy to cry. Dean didn’t know how long it had been and he felt completely wrung out. He took his hand down from his mouth and tried to regulate his breathing. The circles were helping now. He could feel Brad pressed against his shoulder and smell the fresh linen candle Cindy always burned in the kitchen. He took inventory of the world around him, forcing himself to find a tether back to Earth. After a few minutes he picked his head back up and ran his hands over his face.
“What did I fucking do?” it came out as a sob. Cindy pulled Dean into a hug and he let her. They were silent for a while longer.
“I think he might kill me,” Dean’s voice broke at the end. Brad and Cindy made eye contact over Dean’s head. They both knew he was serious.
***
There were too many non-descript sedans parked around Sam and Dean’s foster house. The cops were on his tail. John had already started growing out his beard, but he pulled his hood up and put on a pair of sunglasses. He couldn’t get caught this early in the game. He knew his M.O. and so did the police. They would assume he skipped town again if he just laid low. He was in a gold Toyota Corolla today.
John used to be a police officer, before everything. So he knew what he was doing. He and Mary met young, she had been 19 and him 24. They had a white-picket house, two cars and a dog -- as close to the American Dream as John had ever hoped to get. Dean came along a few years after they were married. They used to cruise around Lawrence in the Impala as a family. John drove, Mary rode shotgun and Dean babbled from his car seat in the back. They had their problems of course. Bipolar on Mary’s side and Depression on John’s, but they were a little family: happy, together. It all went to shit after Sam.
Sam was an accident neither John nor Mary were prepared for. The second pregnancy was hard on her. She hadn’t had any time to prepare her medication like she had with Dean, and she couldn’t take her tried and true SSRI without hurting Sam. She wasn’t herself by the end of her second round of medication roulette. She developed postpartum after he was born and everything got worse. She felt trapped in their life, smothered by a normalcy she knew she could never live up to.
John turned the corner out of his sons’ new neighborhood and drove back to his motel on the edge of town. He turned the radio on and let his mind wander back to his wife.
Mary couldn’t take care of Sam like she had with Dean, and John was working too much at the time to notice. The house fell deeper and deeper into mess, Dean stopped laughing as much and Mary just wanted out. John didn’t do anything until it was far too late.
Dean had been in his room playing Lincoln Logs when John burst through the door and handed Sammy to him. Mary had sprinkled his baby blanket with gasoline before placing him back in his bassinet. She put on her cardigan, duly soaked with gas, before she started rocking him to sleep. John walked in right as she threw the first match onto the curtains.
“ Take your brother outside as fast as you can. Don’t look back. Now, Dean, go!”
The flames had consumed Mary by the time John could make it back to the nursery to save her. He was ashamed to say it at first, but he blamed Sam. He couldn’t stand to hold him in the months following Mary’s death. All he could think about was his happy little family and the baby that ruined it all. Eventually Dean started talking again and John learned how to tolerate his younger son.
Their new normal didn’t come without drawbacks, though. John fell into a dark place and started drinking to numb his thoughts. He would take swigs as the boys passed milestones he wished Mary could be there to see. He knew the gap between Mary and his sons would only grow, and he resented Sam for that.
As soon as he could hand Sam off to his eldest he moved on to hard drugs and liked them. He started making connections with dealers around Kansas after that. It became easier to get mad at the boys because he never saw what went on behind the curtain. His priorities shifted and things escalated from there.
John pulled into the parking lot of his motel and went inside his room. He pulled out a handle of Jim Beam, poured himself a heavy drink and started thinking about his next steps. To him, it was just a matter of time before he got the boys back and could deal with them himself.
***
Bobby watched the semi pull out of his lot. More than half of the junkers that had been collecting dust out there were leaving with the driver and Bobby was glad for it. He had called in a favor with his old boss, Rufus, at the city scrap yard. They had talked on the phone for a few hours earlier that day.
Rufus had been surprised to hear that Bobby wanted to get rid of the old parts. He had helped Bobby start his own salvage yard a few years back. They were best friends and had been for years even though they were both too surly and emotionally unintelligent to call each other that. Bobby explained that he was trying to take in John’s kids, and the cars just had to go. His boss went silent on the other end.
“How are the boys?” Rufus’ voice had an undercurrent of sadness to it. Everyone did when they talked about John and his kids. They had all known each other before Mary died; they all went hunting, watched the games and helped fix up old classic cars together. John’s steady descent into worse and worse criminal endeavors and his subsequent disappearance was a sore subject for them still. Bobby cleared his throat from his living room.
“You really wanna know, Rufus?” Bobby hadn’t told Rufus about the majority of what went down with Karen and the boys years ago. He had been too ashamed of himself to talk about it at the time. Rufus knew they moved around a lot, but he didn’t know anything else about what things were like at home for them.
“What’d John do this time?” Rufus sounded worried. He remembered Dean’s pudgy little three-year-old cheeks and how he’d stare at Rufus in awe every time he so much as changed someone’s oil. He used to sit the kid down next to him while John and Bobby talked shop to explain how every piece of the car fit together to make it run. The kid used to just eat it up, and Rufus remembers those days fondly even now.
“It’s not a this time type thing, Rufus,” Bobby sighed through the phone. “John’s been leaving them in motel rooms for days while he went off on benders since Dean was eight.”
“Eight.” Rufus sat down on his couch and ran his hands over his face. “So Sam was only four, then?”
“Yes,” Bobby sounded pinched. “They ran away earlier this summer and Dean called me from Spearfish. Told me they needed a ride. He and Sammy are with a foster family across town now while I wait on the paperwork to go through. Their case worker said it could take around a year or so depending.”
“Jesus,” Rufus felt guilty for not doing more when he could have. “Listen Bobby, I'll send the semi out later today. Let me know if I can help, those boys deserve better.”
“Thanks, Rufus. I’ll give you a call later.”
Bobby walked back into his house and looked at the now empty lot in front of him. He scratched the third item off of his ‘baby proof’ list. Only fifteen more to go.
***
Sam hadn’t taken the news well.
The Wyatts reassured Dean that they would be staying, and no, they would not have to go to different foster homes. The Wyatts had already discussed the options with Garth; which turned out to be either separate the boys and send them to group homes where John still might still find them or keep the boys together at home and ramp up security around the house until John could be found. Garth told them the police thought John was planning on skipping town again. That they thought getting his kids’ new address was just a precaution.
The Wyatts told Dean that they had never even considered separating them. It made Dean feel marginally better about their situation, at least they’d be together through it. After Cindy gave him a glass of water and Brad made sure he was ready, they all walked upstairs together to talk to Sam.
He was sitting crisscross on his bed reading Lonesome Dove without a care in the world. He looked up at them with what anyone else would think was a neutral expression but what Dean knew was his ‘what the fuck is happening right now’ face. Dean gave him a tight lipped smile and went over to sit crisscross on the end of Sam’s bed facing him. The Wyatts followed and sat on either side of Dean.
“Hey, Sammy,” Dean’s eyes were puffy and he knew Sam could read him easily. There was no use beating around the bush. “Dad is looking for us.”
Sam looked up at his older brother while his hand rose to the side of his face where John’s five-star had landed just a few months ago. His eyes glazed over into a thousand-yard stare and Dean picked the book up off of his lap. He placed Sam’s bookmark, handed the book to Brad, sat next to his brother and pulled him into a hug. They laid there together in silence for hours. Sam was catatonic and Dean knew he probably wouldn’t come out of it for a while. The Wyatts were really worried about them.
Cindy knocked on their door.
“Hey, boys,” she was speaking like one loud noise would topple them over. Dean didn’t want to admit it but she was probably right. “I brought you some food.”
She started laying sliced apples, peanut butter and crackers out on the bedside table. Dean watched her do it. She sat down next to Sam and started stroking his bangs back off of his forehead. He didn’t even seem to notice. She took a deep breath in and looked at Dean. Nobody had cared for them like this for as long as he could remember.
“Are you hungry, Dean?” Cindy reached overtop Sam and held his hand. “I made some spaghetti if you want some?”
Dean was starving. He hadn’t had anything to eat since Castiel and him shared a bag of chips that afternoon.
“I don’t wanna leave him like this,” Dean looked down at his little brother. Helpless.
“I can stay with him if you need a minute. You need to eat, baby,” Dean made eye contact with her and tried to suss her out. She looked sincere and Dean could feel his stomach growling. He looked down at Sammy.
“Okay,” he unlooped Sam’s arms from around his torso and stood up. Cindy moved over to the other side of the bed and paused to look at Dean before he went downstairs. She reached out and pushed his bangs back just like she had for Sam. He felt tears well up in his eyes. She pulled him into a hug and held him until he pulled away.
“Go get some food, baby. Sam and I will be here whenever you’re ready to come join us again,” she picked Sam’s book up from the floor and took Dean’s spot. Dean watched Sam’s little arms reach out and wrap around her. She settled back against the headboard and looked down at his little brother like he was her own kid. She opened Lonesome Dove to Sam’s place, left his bookmark there for when he was feeling better and started reading to him. Dean went downstairs for spaghetti.
Brad already had a bowl ready for him. He poured Sam’s portion back into the pot and put the now empty bowl in the sink.
“How you doing, kid?” Brad served his own portion and sat down at the table with him.
“I’m alright,” Dean took a bite of the spaghetti and hoped Brad would take the hint. He didn’t want to talk about it right now.
“That’s good,” Brad didn’t sound like he believed him but he didn’t press. Dean was relieved. They finished their spaghetti together and Brad took their bowls to the sink.
“Do you want a smoke?” Brad walked over to the kitchen island and grabbed a brand new pack of Reds. Dean could cry, instead he nodded his head. “Let’s go on the back porch from now on, okay?”
Dean followed him out the sliding glass door. Brad tossed him the new pack. It was still sealed, Dean felt like he was unwrapping a present cracking into it. He grabbed one for himself and one for Brad before closing the pack and placing it between them on the lawn furniture.
Dean had been thinking about John all evening. He hadn’t told Garth about the stuff that wasn’t listed in the CPS reports during their interview. Just what he knew was above the table so to speak. Back then, he thought telling him might risk complicating things even more. But, now he wondered who he was really protecting when he made that choice. He had convinced himself it was Sam, that the worst details would damn them both to a group home. Now that he knew they weren’t leaving, he was worried that withholding the worst of it would be better for John in the long run.
The nicotine made his lips tingle when he took another inhale. It calmed him down. He knew he should tell Brad where to look, but he was worried the other man would figure out why John had sent him to the E.R. Sam and Dean Smith had been to the hospital a handful of times over the last few years, mostly for broken bones and unrelenting fevers. But, the night John caught Dean pressed up against the wall of their motel making out with another boy stood out like a sore thumb. Three days of hospitalization, one of which in intensive care. They told the doctors he got in a fight at school and skipped town before CPS could prove that the bruises on John’s knuckles were related.
Dean took another drag. He wished they could still sit on the front porch so he could see Cas’ window.
“Hey, Brad?” he sounded nervous as fuck. Dean kicked himself for that.
“What’s up, Dean?” Brad concernedly turned to look at him. Dean paused before answering, he wanted one last chance to decide if it was even worth bringing up. After a few moments of thought, his fear of John decidedly outweighed his fear of being outed. He looked down at his lap and started speaking.
“Our CPS records aren’t all the way accurate,” Dean started picking at the skin around his thumb. “Our dad used to use pseudonyms sometimes.”
“Pseudonyms for what?” Brad was paler than he had been a few minutes ago.
“For the hospital and stuff. When it got bad,” Dean kept looking at his lap. He took a long drag off of his cigarette. “The records are under Samuel and Dean Smith.”
“Okay,” Brad put his arm around Dean's shoulders. His brow was furrowed. He looked into their dark backyard and wished John a long and painful death. “I’ll talk to Garth in the morning, kid. Let’s just sit here for tonight, yeah?”
Dean nodded and leaned into Brad’s side a little more. They kept smoking their cigarettes for a while until Brad broke the silence.
“It’s such a beautiful night out tonight, huh?” Brad was looking up at the stars. “You know my dad used to sit outside with me just like this and teach me the constellations.”
Brad pointed to a bright star above their heads to the left.
“See that one? You trace it down and it’s Orion’s Belt. Trace it up and you can see the rest of Orion,” Brad started telling Dean all about the constellations and the stories they represented. How you can use them to navigate. It was all he could do for the kid right now, but God, he wished he could do more.
Chapter 21
Notes:
Hey guys!
The chapter as promised! Sorry for the technical difficulties lol!
-Nameless Faceless
Chapter Text
21
It had been a month since they found out John was looking for them, and Sam had been restless ever since-- more so than usual. Dean had been calling shots without him, and he had never done that before. They had always been a team, and now that Dean was working with the Wyatts outside his purview he was paranoid. The other shoe had already dropped-- John had been and still was looking for them. But, Sam was worried there was a secret third shoe that was about to blow his life up once again.
He knew John wouldn't let them go without a fight, but he couldn't figure out what his next move would be. Usually, his father would have taken them to some town in the sticks where they would’ve camped out under pseudonyms until the paperwork piled up and the warrants went cold. After that they would jump states again and start fresh where his dad had waited out one of his statutes of limitation. They had a map in the Impala with charges, dates and details on when they could safely return to each state in the continental 48. They would’ve been in Michigan right now if everything was going according to plan.
But they were in new territory here. Sam knew Dean was telling the Wyatts about more than he’s been letting on but he didn’t know what his end goal was. He had originally thought that Dean was just taking them to live with Bobby for a while, but, over the months they’ve spent at the Wyatts’ Sam had realized Dean had wanted to go to salted earth-- to cut contact entirely.
It was what Sam had wanted his whole life, and now that he had it he was more lost than he had ever felt. All the rules of the world around him were different now, and he felt like he was the only one who didn’t know them. He had no agency in, understanding of or way out of the situation he was currently in. He knew the strings Dean was pulling in his peripheral vision would have serious consequences on their future. He didn’t know what those consequences would be, and, at this point, he didn’t trust that Dean did either.
Things had been getting more and more tense with Dean the last few weeks. His brother kept addressing all his concerns with platitudes and non-answers. He knew he was younger, but it was his life on the line too. He was getting sick and tired of sitting by while Dean decided where to go and what to do. He didn’t feel like it had worked out very well for them thus far.
This was the first time in his life Sam had ever even thought of wanting someone else to take care of him. It was apparent Dean didn’t know what was going on any better than he did and that terrified him. He loved his older brother beyond words, and Dean would always be the most important person in his life. But, right now, Sam was starting to resent him for breaking the peace. He wished he wasn’t stuck so deep in unfamiliarity and he wished they would’ve let a sleeping dog lie. Things weren’t good back then, but they were together and Sam had never questioned if Dean really knew what was right for them.
Sam had a lot of issues with John, but he was consistent. Predictable. He had learned that over the months he had spent on the road with John earlier that summer. John had given him the briefing on Dean’s responsibilities-- how to rent the room, take inventory of the caches John had hidden across the country, keep note of what misdemeanors and felonies John had wracked up and advise him on which state held the least risk of his incarceration. And, of course, how to take care of himself. His dad handed him a .22 caliber pistol-- small for little hands- - and told him to tell anyone who knocked that he wouldn’t hesitate to shoot.
Everything had been going as well as it could be-- exactly as he’d expected it to. His new responsibilities overwhelmed him, but John was gone more often than not and it was better that way. Even carrying the weight of Dean’s daily chores, Sam could never win the good little soldier treatment his brother got. John had always favored his eldest son, but the few months John and Sam spent alone solidified his brother as his father’s favorite in Sam’s mind. He didn’t care-- or at least he told himself that he didn’t to sleep at night. He had never liked his father, but it still stung to get concrete proof that his father didn’t like him back.
He had been spending most of his free time at the Wyatts’ getting ready for school and avoiding the context of his life. Brad helped him get his hands on a 7th grade math book. He had missed most of the 6th grade and he would not let himself be held behind. He turned to the third chapter and picked up where he left off.
If Sam was dedicated to one thing besides his brother it was this. He had decided long ago that if he couldn’t control anything in his life for the first eighteen years of it, he’d spend that time getting ready to run the second he became an adult. He would spend the rest of his life making his own decisions and he wouldn’t look back. Sam poured all his feelings into his workbook and started angrily solving one-variable equations. If he couldn’t trust Dean to save him and he couldn’t trust John for anything, then he’d trust himself. He was almost done with the workbook, another one and he’d be ready for the advanced class he was enrolled in.
He worked halfway through the chapter before Dean came back into their room.
“Hey, Sammy,” He walked past Sam’s bed and ruffled his hair. Sam felt his stomach fill with annoyance. He just wanted to be left alone.“Whatcha reading?”
“Nothing. I’m trying to catch up on math,” his tone was icy. He didn’t even look up from his book to address his brother.
“You work too much, kid. You have all year to do math, you'll be fine. You always are!”
Sam’s annoyance turned to anger. He snapped the book shut and looked up at his older brother.
“What does that mean.”
Dean gave Sam a face at his tone and continued more seriously this time.
“I’m just trying to say you’re really smart. Stuff like that has always come easy to you, you know?” Dean tried to diffuse the situation with flattery, as he usually did. Sam wasn’t having it.
“It doesn’t come easy, Dean. You just wouldn’t know because you never tried.”
Dean sucked in a breath. “What crawled up your ass, Sammy. You’re being a real peach, you know that, right?”
Sam let himself laugh from his bed. He wasn’t thinking about his brother’s feelings anymore, he was going for blood. Dean hadn’t told him anything real for months and he was sick of the small talk. Like usual, he let all his frustration build up until one comment about algebra was all it took to set him off. He let the anger consume him.
“What crawled up my ass? What crawled up your ass!” Sam was yelling now. Dean was giving him a quiet down look. It made him want to scream louder. “You leave for two months and then all of a sudden we just have to leave and now look where we are!”
“You’re not being fair, Sammy,” Dean was quiet, he was hurt and Sam could tell.
“You haven’t told me anything about anything since you came back and I’m not being fair?” Sam was close to tears now. He and Dean both were. Brad and Cindy took that moment to come try and break them up.
“I don’t have anything to tell you, Sammy! I’m fucking trying here!” Dean was crying now.
“Well then quit trying! You don’t get to ruin everything and act like nothing is wrong! You did leave and you’re sorry and you’re back but it doesn’t matter because we’re still here, Dean. Nothing is better,” he spat the last line at his brother and hoped it stung.
“Sam!” Brad called his name out in the same voice he used for students that were disrupting his class. Both the boys froze and turned to look at him. “Leave your brother alone, go downstairs and cool down.”
Sam left the room and he didn’t look back.
***
“I think Sam hates me,” Dean was sitting alone on the back porch. He didn’t feel like company tonight. Cindy and Brad made sure he was alright by himself before leaving to go spend some time with Sam. Dean didn’t really want to talk to his brother right now. They had made up a few hours ago after a family sit down the Wyatts insisted on but Dean’s feelings were still hurt.
“Why do you say that?” Castiel was sitting in his room starting out the window to Dean’s house across the street.
“We got in a fight earlier,” Dean looked up at the stars and searched for Orion. “He’s really mad at me.”
“I’m sure he’ll get over it eventually. You guys are really tight, right? He can’t stay mad forever,” Castiel laid back on his bed and stared up at the ceiling.
“You don’t know Sam, then,” Castiel laughed at that.
“Don’t be dumb. From what I’ve heard that kid loves you more than anything, you just gotta listen to what he’s saying you know? I was angry as a kid too. He kinda reminds me of me. He probably just doesn’t know how to tell you he’s scared, that was it for me at least.”
Dean hummed into the phone. “You’re an old soul, Castiel. Anyone ever tell you that?”
Castiel blushed when Dean called him by his name.
“Not before, but thanks.”
They fell back into comfortable conversation until Castiel was almost falling asleep. Dean wished him a good night and they finally hung up.
Dean walked upstairs to the bedroom he shared with his brother. He and the Wyatts had long since turned in, but he was hoping Sam was still awake. The reading light was on when he opened the door. His little brother was curled up around Lonesome Dove reading.
Dean sat down on the end of his bed. He didn’t say anything at first, but he could tell his brother was paying attention to him. He clenched his jaw, he had to tell him the truth if that was what it was going to take to get them back to normal. He would rather eat a bowl of broken glass than admit what a shitstorm they had waded into, but, for Sammy he would do both. He cleared his throat.
“I’m sorry, Sam,” Dean was looking at his little brother’s face. He was getting older and Dean was still treating him like a kid. He was a kid, but a kid who had seen enough to have some pertinent worries. “I haven’t been fair to you, you’re right.”
Sam was silent, but he closed his book and set it down next to him. He moved to face his brother fully. Dean continued talking.
“I’m trying to make it all okay but I can’t. Not for a long time at least. And I’ve been too scared to tell you because it’s my job to take care of you and I failed both of us this time. I didn’t think we’d be here when I decided we were leaving. I didn’t even think dad was going to look for us but now he is and I’m so sorry.”
Dean started crying and so did Sam. They looked at each other for a moment as equals. It was strange, Sam was just now realizing how much harder Dean’s life with dad had been. Sam had taste of it, but he didn’t have an eight year old following his every decision as if he were an ultimate authority. It had always been Dean’s job to take care of him and Sam had relied on him entirely. He had never even thought to return the favor before. But, if he hadn’t then, he would now.
“It’s okay, Dean. I’m sorry too, for everything. I shouldn’t have said that nothing got better, I didn’t mean it,” Sam reached up and wiped the tears off his cheeks. “We’ll figure it out together like we always do.”
Dean let out a surprised laugh and wiped the tears off of his cheeks.
“Of course we will,” he pulled his little brother into a hug.
Chapter 22
Notes:
Heeeeyyyyyyy guuuuuuyyyyyyssssss!!
Good lord don't hate me-- I've been an AO3 criminal. I do promise that this story will be completed, just hold on with me. I'm almost done with school, which is crazy, so shit's just been off the wall since idk-- like when was the last time I updated this fic??? A criminally long time ago? Probably.
Either way-- ask and ye shall receive. To all the LOVELY LOVELY homies that asked for an update, I owe you my firstborn child. THANK YOU FOR KEEPING ME ACCOUNTABLE AND REMINDING ME THAT I'M PASSIONATE ABOUT WRITING!! (this is for you GrievingDeanWinchester... your comment just like brightened my day, so, a chapter dedicated to you... enjoy!)
Later haters, next time you see me I'll have a degree, sooooooooooo... jot that down! Also-- after the degree thing is wrapped up, hopefully I can just finish this thing for you! Bear with me, I love you ten billion for sticking around this long.
You keep me going!
-Nameless Faceless
Chapter Text
(22)
Spring in Sioux Falls swept across the city-- pollen and sage trapped in the winds that coined the season. Life had been breathed back into the grass and trees, the weather warmed in fits and spurts. And, over the hustle and bustle of the streets, was an unbroken, cerulean sky.
Castiel spent most waking moments of his life the rest of the semester thinking about when he could possibly see Dean Winchester. After their confrontation on the football field, things had gone back to normal for the most part. Cas introduced Dean to Charlie and Kevin, and they became somewhat of a group. Dean and Castiel were back to just friends, and Castiel couldn’t complain about that. For them, normal was still new and somewhat forced-- like riding a bike without training wheels for the first time. They had never known each other in such a mundane setting. Castiel partly wonders how much the lack of parental authority and the separation from reality he had felt when they met contributed to his chronic pining.
Castiel’s thoughts swirled around in a haze of Dean, Dean, Dean . When he woke up in the morning, when he drove to school, through all his classes, at lunch, at home and when he went to bed. It was partly infuriating, the space Dean Winchester managed to take up in his psyche. He had been hopeful, when Dean moved in across the street, that they’d be able to see each other at school, but different grades and conflicting schedules meant they couldn’t speak except for lunchtime or the few minutes they passed each other in the hallways. Castiel knew this was a stupid infatuation-- that nothing would ever come from it and Dean had explicitly told him so. But there was a part of him that just couldn’t let go of his golden memories from that summer. He was coming to terms with the fact that the feelings he had been running from since he was a kid weren’t going to go away. Being with Dean made him feel lighter, like he belonged and never even had to question if he did. Castiel was too scared to say he loved Dean, even in his own head, but there was a part of him that knew those feelings were there.
Castiel was almost done with high school, and the freedom he had been wishing for since he realized he could leave his hometown in 7th grade didn’t feel so freeing anymore. His father had always expected him to follow in the family footsteps at The University of North Dakota, just like Michael and Luc. Cas had never felt very strongly about it before-- he had been planning to go for four pointless years to keep the peace like he always had. But, Dean’s presence in Sioux Falls made him think about what he really wanted. The soft peace that overwhelmed him each time they sat side by side was an entirely new feeling to him-- one that he wanted to pursue. One that he knew he wouldn’t find studying next to his brothers in Grand Forks. The worst part about knowing Dean Winchester was realizing how shit the rest of his life was, and, Castiel was petrified that he would be miserable forever.
He didn’t know how to tell his father that he didn’t want to go to UND, he didn’t know how to tell his father that he might not want to go to college at all. He didn’t know how to tell his father that he didn’t really know what he wanted, and, he didn’t know how to tell his father that all these revelations came about because of his ginormous crush on the boy next door. So, as he usually did, he opted for complete silence on both fronts-- Dean and his parents. In four months, he’d be 18 and his parents wouldn’t have any stake in his life anymore. It was a half-baked plan, icing his family out until he could legally ghost them, but he couldn’t make himself think any harder about it without spiraling into existential dread. He didn’t want to leave his mom. Luc, Michael and his dad would be fine without him— better even. But, the thought of his mom’s laugh and the clean baby-powder smell of her hair made him falter. It’s always been the two of them against the world, and he was scared to take life on by himself. Almost too scared to bite the bullet.
As for Dean, Castiel knew anything between them was nothing more than a pipe dream he used to make himself feel better about the fact that he has absolutely nothing going for him. If he was used to anything, Castiel was used to harsh realities. Dean didn’t love him, and any feelings Castiel had were his own problem-- simple as that. There was no need to rock the boat, and, Castiel had bigger fish to fry. Mainly, figuring out what the fuck he was going to do with himself as soon as he was legally allowed to leave without being stopped.
He’d been sitting outside in the student pavilion during lunch whenever he could since Kevin and him had been freshmen together. Charlie joined them a year later, and now, Dean. Cas took his limp looking school pb&j to sit down with his friends for the thirty minutes a day they could distract him from his mind.
“Hey Cas! We’re discussing whether Mr. Sinclair is wearing a toupee, or, if the rumors about his hair plugs last year were true,” Charlie had her lunchbox splayed out in front of her-- Captain Kirk and Spock lining her thermos and lunchbox, seemingly exploring the landscape of carrots and hummus like an alien world.
“I dunno, doesn’t seem like those are butt hairs to me,” Dean took a bite of a school apple-- always strangely mealy and smaller than can be bought in the store. “I mean, I never knew him before, but I’ve seen my fair share of toupees.”
Cas sat down in between Dean and Kevin, completing the group’s lunchtime circle. He set the thin styrofoam plate holding his mediocre lunch on the ground and tilted his head towards the sun. It was spring in Sioux Falls, the sun making an appearance for the first time since November.
“Oh really? A toupee connoisseur, are you?” Cas kept his eyes closed, and his face turned toward the sky. He could feel the sun kiss his face, the warmth pulling him away from the reality of the moment.
“I wouldn’t say connoisseur, but maybe toupee proficient. Used to break them out for John sometimes when he couldn’t get any when I was a kid,” Dean’s laughter carried the end of his sentence up into the air, dissipating in a golden, joyous cacophony. God, Cas needed to keep it in his pants. It was a laugh, not a fucking hand-job. Really, when it came to Dean, anything he did was enrapturing. It took everything in Castiel to keep his eyes closed and face set in a calm mask of passive enjoyment. It was hard.
“You’re a real one for that,” Cas purposefully avoided eye contact.
“Who’s John?” Kevin and Charlie hadn’t been filled in on all the intricate details of Dean’s home-life. The air surrounding them fell flat-- a smooth tension creeping over the group.
“Oh, um. John’s--” Dean cleared his throat. “He’s our dad. Sam and mine. We haven’t been with him since this summer so.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, dude,” Kevin looked like he hoped the ground would swallow him whole. “I didn’t know.”
“It’s all good, man,” Dean slipped an easy-going smile onto his face, the smile Cas knew he used when things got too heavy. “Don’t worry about it, can’t know until you know. Besides, he was never around much anyway.”
A brief pause overwhelmed the four of them.
“Well, I think we can settle the butt-hair rumors-- definitely a toupee,” Charlie fell into another stream of chatter, carrying them away into a world of science fiction and space and the new series everyone and their dog should have watched yesterday because it’s just that good.
***
All CPS offices looked pretty similar-- white floors, white walls, motivational and informational posters peppering the room. Brad had brought him and Sam to talk to Garth after Dean told the Wyatts about the nonexistent ‘Smith brothers’ and the aliases they used when things got bad with John.
Dean knew that he had to tell the truth, but, being honest about what happened and why it happened was terrifying. He didn’t want to admit to the feelings he didn’t think he should have; feelings that lead him to his first kiss with a boy and one of the worst moments he’s ever had with John. Thinking about that day always drew him back to the butterflies-in-stomach feeling that overwhelmed him when he first met Benny, then, to the steady impact of his father’s boot against his ribs, which happened in that order, and, had haunted him since. The fluorescent memories of that night made him sick. Whether he was ashamed of himself as a whole or of his inability to do anything at that moment he wasn’t sure, but, shame filled his stomach and chest nonetheless.
Garth was waiting for them in a beige carpeted room, Dean pushed Sam ahead of him and forced himself to face the music. The conversation started as normally as it could-- Garth had collected all the records of Sam and Dean Smith’s hospital visits over the years. Sam and Dean confirmed the stories, and filled in blanks until Garth reached the second to last file.
“The next file dates back to a few years ago when Dean was in the ICU for a few days,” Garth looked up from the folder. Dean was staring at the table, he could feel his face heating up and his throat tighten.
“Do, uh. Sam, do you think you could step out for a sec?” Dean didn’t look up. He heard his little brother get to his feet, and the telltale scrape of the heel of his converse against the linoleum of the office floor. Dean waited until he heard the door latch shut before he started again.
“Um. What did you need to know?” Dean covered his hands with his sleeves and dragged them over his face, trying anything to ground himself.
“How did you get hurt?” Garth was trying to make the kind of eye-contact all adults want to make with a kid who obviously does not want to rehash what must be talked about.
“My dad kicked the shit out of me because I-- after he--” Dean cleared his throat. “He caught me um, he caught me with another boy and uh. He um-- yea.”
“Okay, Dean, I understand. John’s abuse was related to sexuality in this instance?”
Dean’s voice was barely a whisper.
“Yes,” Dean could feel the ghost of each kick as he stared at the table-- “ I’ll beat the fag out of you, boy.” Dean wanted to cry.
“And what happened after you woke up in the hospital?”
“A social worker lady visited and asked me why there was no record of Sam or Dean Smith except for a few reports from hospitals around town and I told her I didn’t know,” Dean started picking at the sides of his nails, the thumb on his right hand long since bleeding. “She asked me if my dad ever hit us and if he had anything to do with the other hospital trips and I told her he didn’t. Our dad took me out of the hospital as soon as she left to file her paperwork.”
***
“Dean wanted me to leave the room earlier,” Brad looked down at Sam for a moment, studying his face as he picked at the loose threads on his hoodie.
“Are you doing okay?” something was bothering the kid, but Brad wanted to give Dean his privacy. They were both quiet for a while, Sam staring down at the seams of the linoleum floor.
“I just feel like everyone keeps treating me like a little kid. I was there too, and I feel like I should get to know what’s going on now,” Sam wiped his eyes with the sleeve of his hoodie and paused again. His voice dropped to just above a whisper. “Dean got really hurt a while ago, and he had to go to the hospital. Nobody would tell me what happened, but I’m not dumb, and he still won’t tell me anything about it. I don’t know what’s going on, but I know it’s not good, and we’re not going home, but nobody will tell me why,” Sam was tearing up, he had made a valiant effort not to, but everything was just too much.
“Oh Sam,” Brad put his arm around Sam’s thin shoulders. “It’ll be alright, the quickest way out of this is through it, right?”
Sam didn’t reply-- sniffles muffled through the sleeve of his sweatshirt. Brad continued.
“There are some things you haven’t told Dean about, aren’t there?” Sam nodded his head yes. Brad paused for a moment. “Why haven’t you told Dean about those things yet?”
Sam stared at the seams of the linoleum tile, lost in thought.
“I dunno, I didn’t want him to worry about me when he didn’t have to.”
“Well, I bet Dean is feeling the same way right now. Nobody’s trying to keep things from you, Sam. I know it can feel that way, but you just gotta give Dean some time to be ready to tell you. I promise, I’ll let you know everything you need to know about what’s going on, but, for now, nothing is really going to change. We’re gonna to talk to Garth, and then we’re gonna go home and have dinner-- you and Dean don’t have to go anywhere.”
Sam leaned into Brad’s side. After a few minutes, the door to the room where Dean and Garth had been talking cracked open. Dean walked out and sat down in a flimsy plastic chair-- his eyes were bloodshot, and he looked worse for wear.
“Alright, Sam, do you want Dean to join you while we talk?” Garth made eye contact with Sam, a reassuring smile on his face. “I just have one last file and then you guys are good to head home.”
“You don’t have to say yes unless you want to, Sammy,” Dean squeezed his brother’s shoulder lightly.
Sam looked over at his brother, who gave a half-hearted smile, then stood up and walked into the room by himself.
Chapter 23
Notes:
Hey everybody!
I'd say long time no see, but that wouldn't be true... I'm proud of myself, usually you wouldn't see me again for another six months after an update. On that note, the reason you see me so soon is that I am now a graduate! And more than that, I'm also starting a career! If you ever think "wow, I will not be able to make a living on writing this is so depressing," you're wrong! You totally can-- in fact, it was not that hard! I shan't tell you more about my career bc I'm nameless faceless for a reason, but it is INSANE to say I now have a CAREER in writing. Like WHHHHAAAAATTTTT???!!!???! All this to say-- don't give up on the things that fulfill you. People are going to say all sorts of shit about how you're making a mistake or won't make money, or you're wasting your time, but doing what you love is NEVER a waste. I'm not sure if you've even made it this far into the notes, but if you have, and you're thinking "I guess I'll just be an accountant then," this is one person telling you that you can make it too. I don't know you, or your life, but I know that if I could do it so can you!! Give writing a serious shot and don't give up because one day it may just work out... anyways, just things that I wish someone would've told 14-year-old me who thought they'd die working in customer service-- things do get better!!
Back to the important stuff! This may just seem like a regular update, but (and I hope you love this as much as I do) the whole story is now outlined and almost done!! And I swear to God, once this thing is complete, I need you guys to share it with everyone you know who would be even remotely interested in reading a Supernatural fanfiction that's like the size of a novel. I worked so hard on this, help me get it out there lol! I can't give you a solid number of updates because I'm super disorganized atm, but I read all your comments and I know that you want this to be done... don't mark your calendars bc I can't give you a solid date, but if I were to make an estimate I'd say this thing will be completed in 2024. Crazy!!
Not to get too sappy, but I started writing this story my freshman year of college. I was sad and bored and lonely, so I fell back into old hobbies, and I'm so glad that I did. There were some moments over the last four years that made me feel like I might not be cut out to write, and it's silly, but you guys kept me pushing through that. I can't even begin to tell you how much that means to me-- I owe my career to the group of lovely, lovely people who kept reading my SPN fanfiction and kept asking for more. It's surreal to look back at who I was when I started this fic-- I genuinely didn't think I'd amount to much. And how good does it feel to be so wrong?
Thanks for being here, thanks for being you, thanks for coming back (if you are). Most of all, thank you for reading. I hope you enjoy the next chapter, and, if you take anything from this note, know that I love you all more than I can convey.
-Nameless Faceless
Chapter Text
23
Jody had spent her morning as she had for the nine months she’d spent looking for John Winchester-- shuffling thick stacks of arrest records and warrants around on her desk, trying anything to find the common thread that pulled through them all. So far, it was nothing but a jumble of illegal, and mostly morally reprehensible, activity. John was consistent in breaking the law, he just wasn’t consistent in how he broke the law, and that made Jody’s job a hell of a lot harder.
Obviously, she couldn’t dedicate her whole career to finding John Winchester, but mornings, that she could do. There was something about the case that kept itching at her-- keeping her awake in the early hours of the morning with unsettled mysteries and unanswered questions. It was callous, but she couldn’t see what John’s reason was for even wanting his kids back in the first place. To her, and from what she’s learned from Garth’s retelling of events, John didn’t want those boys any more than they wanted to be with him. So, the question remained; what on God’s green Earth does John want with those kids? She settled down to her notes and started lining up her papers and calls for the day when her phone rang.
“Detective Harvelle speaking,” she took a drink of her coffee and settled the phone between the crook of her neck and shoulder to speak.
“Detective Harvelle, it’s Lieutenant Laffite down in Baton Rouge. I know this is out of the blue, but we’ve had a warrant out for a man named John Smith for the last two years.” Laffite paused, the sound of shuffling papers and office chatter cutting through the background on his line. “Funnily enough I saw your mugshot on the wall of our precinct, and I think we have the same guy.”
“John Smith, huh?” Jody grabbed a legal pad out from under the rat's nest of paperwork in front of her. “So, what did John Smith do?”
“So this is where it gets interesting-- John Smith was arrested for drug trafficking. Schedule one and two. And from what it says a lot of them.”
“Trafficking-- where about?”
“Well that’s what we’re trying to figure out. Our John Smith was caught on the border between Louisiana and Texas, but Captain Ketch over in Kansas has a John Wesson arrested for trafficking near the Colorado border. I’m assuming that your John Winchester’s record’s coming up with no trafficking, am I right there?”
“Yes, Lieutenant, you are,” Jody dragged her hand across her face. “And what are you implying is going on here?”
“We think John Winchester’s been using aliases for the real stuff, but we’re not sure for how long, and we’re not sure where.”
Jody let out a weary sigh and took a grounding drink of her coffee. She just figured out what John wanted from those boys-- not a relationship, not a family. John wanted their silence, and she was worried about how far he’d go to ensure it.
“I think you might be right, Lieutenant. Listen, in those reports was there anything about his kids?”
“Yeah, now that you mention it-- both in the backseat at the time of the arrest. They were taken in by social services and last we heard of them they were still runaways.”
“Alright. I have those boys in Sioux Falls right now-- they’ve been in a foster placement since this last summer. I have a feeling they know a little bit more than they’re letting on about what their dad was up to. Listen, I’m going to give their case worker a call-- before I get off the line can you give me a list of all John’s known aliases?”
Jody started writing a series of Johns down on her legal pad-- John Smith, John Wesson, John Lewis, John McCarthy and so on and so on. She felt a headache coming on. She hated working with the FBI, but it didn’t look like she had much of a choice. John, and the multitude of Johns he embodied, have run a racket across the continental U.S. for years. How much the boys remembered, she was unsure, but she felt the clock ticking down. If this was true, John wasn’t leaving those boys behind-- not with the testimony they could provide against him. The second shoe had to drop, and she was worried that when it did those boys would never be seen again.
“Alright, thank you so much, Lieutenant. I think you’re going to need to call in the Bureau for this one. We need to find him, and we need to find him yesterday.”
“Agreed-- I’ll give the Bureau a call and loop them in. You’ll hear back before the end of day today, alright?”
Jody put her phone back on the receiver, and walked straight into her Captain’s office. This was an all-hands-on-deck type of situation. She wouldn’t be able to work on her other cases for a while and she knew it. Eventually, John Winchester would catch up to her, and she was doing everything in her power to buy as much time as she could to prepare for it.
***
“Dean!” Charlie ran up from behind him and threw her arms around his shoulders. “Do you wanna work on the project together for Mr. Sinclair’s class? I’ve been stressing about it and I thought it would be better to at least get to sit in the same room together while we limp through it.” She laughed into his ear, always too loud, but Dean wouldn’t complain.
“For sure, I haven’t even started yet, though. Fair warning.”
“God me neither, that’s why I’m asking. I couldn’t bring myself to sit down and do it, I need the social pressure.”
“Fair enough,” Dean smiled and pulled his backpack off his shoulder and onto the ground beside him. He actually had books now, having attended the same school for a whole semester for the first time, and he finally understood why Sammy always complained about his bag weighing too much.
They sat down next to Kevin and Castiel in the courtyard as usual. Dean started unpacking his lunch as Charlie and Kevin chattered about prom preparations and student council drama he had no intention of involving himself in. Apparently some girl named Ruby was campaigning for the theme “dark regency” all too successfully.
“If she gets her way, should I wear a corseted ball gown with ruffles and a petticoat? Like, it’s South Dakota people, not Bridgerton. Who actually wants to dress up like we’re wandering through the plot of Wuthering Heights?”
“I don’t even know what dark recency is supposed to mean,” Kevin opened a single serve packet of hummus and a bag of baby carrots. “And I know for a fact Ruby isn’t going to be the one folding all the stupid paper roses she’s so intent on ‘matching the vibe.’”
“ God! She’s always so busy whenever we have to actually commit to the stupid plans she comes up with,” Charlie took another bite of her sandwich.
“So you’re telling me I’m going to have to break out the culottes for my senior prom?” Cas piped up from Dean’s side.
“Most likely,” Kevin said through a mouthful of hummus and carrot. “Start looking for a plume and jaunty hat.”
Castiel and Dean were sitting shoulder to shoulder. Dean knew he was admittedly sitting too close to his best friend in a courtyard with no other groups to take up space. He couldn’t get himself to care all too much. After the interview with Garth about his dad, Dean had been looking back at how John had treated him in more detail. He didn’t know where the Wyatts stood, and he didn’t know about Sam, but Garth hadn’t seemed disgusted by him at all. If anything, his face filled with a type of profound sorrow he hadn’t seen since Bobby spotted them on the news all those months ago. It made him wonder where his feelings about his sexuality really came from-- if they were his, or another gift from John Winchester.
The conversation carried on without Dean. Lost in thought, he focused on the warmth of Castiel’s shoulder against his, the smooth white lines of his fingers on the concrete. He missed the sunkissed moments they had shared-- the little world they had inhabited together at Sonny’s. They didn’t laugh the same way anymore, an undercurrent of tension perpetually running under everything they did. Dean knew it was his fault, but he didn’t know how to go back on what he had said last summer. He didn’t know if he was ready to.
Castiel was everything he’d ever dreamed of having as his own-- stable and kind, funny without being arrogant. He was permeating Dean’s life, his thoughts about his future. He knew a world without Castiel was substantially worse than a world with him, but Dean’s rejection sat between them like emotional no-man’s-land. Dean was too scared to be the first one to wave the white flag. He knew he had to if he was going to have any semblance of a chance of a relationship with Cas. He’d have to tell the truth. But for Dean, the truth meant admitting to more than he was comfortable with. Namely the fact he’d have to tell Castiel the reason he rejected him was so that he didn’t get killed by his dad in some dingy motel room halfway across the middle of buttfuck nowhere.
So, instead, he let the conversation move on without him. He focused on the ink smudges on the side of Castiel’s hands, and the fleeting feeling of home that passed him by whenever Castiel left.
***
John had it down to a science now. Sam and Dean had always been predictable-- even more so now that they were living with Mr and Mrs White Collar. Sam’s school let out before Dean’s, but was further from the house. He rode the bus with some wiry kid he’d nicknamed Glasses. Glasses had a ride on Tuesdays and Thursdays, then he took Sam home. Either way, Sam was back in the house by 3:45 every afternoon. Dean returned shortly thereafter at 4:30. Mrs. White Collar returned every evening at 4:45-- his window was small, but he knew he could do it.
He rolled his dull gray Hyundai Elantra around the corner and watched Sam step onto the bus. The kid was laughing at something Glasses had said. His shoes were new. John clenched his fists around the steering wheel, something about it set him over the edge. Everything was prepared and he knew what he was doing.
He hadn’t seriously shaved in the last month or so and his beard had grown in full-- with a baseball cap and some sunglasses he was practically unrecognizable from his last mugshot. He’d go to Walmart this weekend for a pack of Just for Men, getting rid of his grays would only help disguise him further. He drove past Dean’s high school-- he wouldn't stop there anymore. His eldest son’s age bracket meant that the parking lot was overcrowded with freshly-licensed drivers-- too high visual, too risky. He spent a few weeks last month camping out on the street across from the school, watching the comings and goings. Dean entered the building, sat in the courtyard every afternoon and then went back inside until school let out. He had watched Dean and his friends, chatting aimlessly and laughing on the concrete pavilion. His son had always been social, Dean took to people easier than he or Sam ever had. But this was something else entirely. John had watched as his son pressed his shoulder into another boy’s side, watched Dean stare up in admiration at him, laugh at all of his jokes. He had thought he and Dean had come to an understanding, but obviously, the lesson hadn’t stuck.
John merged into the correct lane and checked the clock again-- right on time. The plan went as follows; Tuesday of next week, he’d dress up like Mr. White Collar and grab Sam before he joins Glasses for his ride home. He’d take Sam back to the appropriately white-picketed home of Mr. and Mrs. White Collar until Dean returned. Then, he’d use Sam as his collateral and get them both in the car. They’d drive to Nebraska and hide out until he decided what the fuck they were going to do next.
He couldn’t tell which son he was angrier at-- Dean, for taking his brother on a goose-chase across the state, or Sam, for willingly going with him. In his mind, the whole brouhaha really only told him one thing. Sam and Dean were loyal to each other before they were loyal to him. He didn’t know what it would take, and he hadn’t planned that far ahead, but if he knew one thing about what the future held in store for them, he knew he would make that change.
John pulled away from his parking space across from a jolly looking yellow house across the street from Sam’s school. He flipped a u-turn and drove in the direction of Dean’s school. It was Monday-- he had six days left to time himself. He’d made his mark everyday last week.
He started thinking about what he was going to do with Dean. Sam would be easy-- the kid hated him so much that taking on Dean’s role permanently would be punishment enough. Dean, on the other hand, posed an interesting challenge. He thought of returning him to whatever farm he had found him on last summer, but that seemed like letting the kid off easy. He wasn’t just going to leave Dean out of sight and let him fall out of mind.
John arrived at the final intersection before his turn into the neighborhood of Mr. and Mrs. White Collar-- 3:32. Perfect timing. The light turned green as John kept one eye on the clock. What to do with Dean would come to him in time-- for now the problem at hand was making sure he had the boys back, scott free. Best not to put the cart before the horse, anyways, thought John as he turned right into the neighborhood.
Chapter 24
Notes:
Remember me?
I'm back, baby! I'm trying to think of a good life update for you, but really I'm just a dude. Living my truth, making my way. Aren't we all?
I hope you like this chapter-- it's a little different, but really I just wanted to write out this scene, and you try finishing your fanfiction you've been trying to finish for the last four years.
On that note-- we're hitting the ending stretch of this story. Exciting news in and of itself. But, that also means that I get to start a new story. I want to celebrate how far we've gotten together. So, my lovely readers, what could I write for you? Drop a comment, let me know!
I love you as much as always (which is to say a lot).
-Nameless Faceless
Chapter Text
24
Dean hadn’t been able to eat since he found out John was circling the waters. It was the only thing he could think about-- what his father would say when he found them, what he would do. He was paralyzed in it.
Sure, he’d messed up before, but he’d never left. He’d never even hinted at it. He couldn’t begin to think of what John would come up with as suitable punishment.
To Dean, John was an eventuality not a potential. All he could do was brace for impact.
That’s what was running through his mind as Cindy and Brad sat him and Sam down at the dining room table. They both looked nervous, and Dean knew something big was coming, by the looks of it Sam knew too. Cindy broke the silence.
“We got a call from detective Harvelle this morning, and she said things are going to get pretty serious, here,” Cindy was wringing her hands on the table, twisting the ring around her finger in nervous circles. Brad interjected.
“You boys aren’t going to be allowed to go anywhere on your own until John can be found. We’re sorry, but that means any friends will have to come over here and we’re not going to leave the house for a while,” he grabbed Cindy’s hand in his own.
“We’re basically going to go on lockdown for a bit,” Cindy jumped back in. “Just until John can be found. But it’s really important that you boys know that this isn’t your fault at all, and this isn’t a punishment. We just need to keep you two safe.”
Dean had been staring at nothing, listening to what Brad and Cindy were saying. He knew that there was nothing else they could do. At this point, it was just a matter of time before John did something big. Dean looked down at his little brother, they made brief eye contact for a moment in silent agreement. It’s probably for the best anyways.
“Okay,” Dean said. He was trying desperately hard not to make eye contact with either of them. The situation was becoming quickly overwhelming, and he could feel his nerves running thin. Brad kept going.
“Detective Harvelle wanted to talk to you two. She said that John was involved in some pretty serious crimes, and had multiple aliases. She told us the FBI has gotten involved, and she’s going to bring a few agents over to interview you. Do you two know anything that could help the police find him?”
Dean felt his ears start to ring, as his heart beat fast in his chest. He didn’t know what to say. John’s cardinal rule-- the one right above never leave-- was never tell anyone what the family business was. Not anyone, not ever.
Dean had never even dreamed of telling anyone what his father did for a living-- if he had he was sure his father would have killed him and Sam both. They would have posed too much of a risk. They would have become collateral. He was sure of that.
His words felt caught in his throat, and all he could do was look down at his little brother. Sam had already been staring at him. His eyes were steady, analytical. They stared at each other for what felt like an eternity-- Dean felt like a deer in headlights under the overly-observant gaze of a boy four years his junior. He couldn’t help but wonder what Brad and Cindy were thinking.
Sam looked back up at his foster parents without warning. Dean watched with a strange fascination as his little brother schooled his face into a juvenile mimic of their father’s, squared his shoulders and took up as much space as he could. He paused for a moment, seemingly weighing his words.
“What would happen if we did,” Sam stared them down. His voice was cold and detached, but demanding. He hadn’t asked a question, he had made a non-confirmation. An un-prosecutable acknowledgement of what nobody would say. Dean would be proud if he weren’t trying not to hyperventilate.
Brad and Cindy were quiet for a moment, staring back at Sam. The boy that they had known to be sweet and quiet, glaring at them as if they were prey-- something to bat around and be done with. Brad felt goosebumps rise up his arms, and squeezed his wife’s hand. Cindy cleared her throat.
“Well, we’d talk to the agents, and you’d tell them anything you think could be useful to them,” Ciny looked over to her husband. They made brief eye contact and turned back to the brothers. Sam was still staring at them, seeming to weigh the validity of what they were saying. Dean was staring at his little brother, unmoving.
“And what if we may be involved,” Dean looked up at that, staring at Brad and Cindy.
The air between them was crackling with a silent, thrumming tension. Brad made eye contact with Dean across the table. Dean felt frozen, Brad’s concerned face staring into his own. Tears started welling up in Dean’s eyes, and he broke eye contact, swiping at his eyes with his sleeve before looking back up. Brad was still looking at him, eyebrows pinched in a silent question-- is it true? Dean nodded minutely, and felt a tear slip down his cheek. Brad sighed, and ran his hands down his face.
“What do you mean by that, Sam,” Brad turned his attention to the younger Winchester.
Sam continued his bravado. He said nothing for a moment, staring into Brad’s face.
“What would the FBI agents do to us if we could tell them everything? Would we be charged.” Sam stared directly into Brad’s eyes. His face was stony and he didn’t back down. “I’m going to college and we’re living in peace, or we don’t know anything.”
Brad stared back, his eyes wide, and hand still holding Cindy’s. Dean took a deep breath in and pushed his own feelings to the side. Confrontation? Not his forte. But damage control? That he could do.
“Sam, why don’t you go get a glass of water or something for a second, okay?” He sent his brother his best calm down before things get weird look. Sam stood up silently and walked to the kitchen. Dean wiped his sleeves over his face and took a deep breath out to collect himself. He put on his best nothing-has-ever-been-wrong smile and turned back to Brad and Cindy.
They were stony-faced and silently concerned-- a classic tough crowd. Dismiss, evade, reassure, move on-- Dean knew the routine well. He waited for Brad and Cindy to break the silence. He started sweating in his seat, picking at the hem of his hoodie.
Brad looked over to his wife, eyes searching her face for any indication of what to say. He took a deep breath and turned back to Dean, no judgment in his face. All of a sudden, it became hard to keep up the a-okay show. Dean looked back down, away from Brad and Cindy.
“Did you do any of it willingly?” Dean shook his head no, eyes glued to the table in front of him. Brad continued. “We’ll tell them that, okay?”
“Okay,” Dean responded, he could tell it sounded a little too wavering to be from someone that’s alright. Dean swallowed and looked back up at Brad and Cindy.
Cindy was crying, every so often wiping at her eyes with her free hand. Brad was calm, concerned. Their reaction made it hard for Dean to write things off.
Usually, people were angry-- potentially dismissive. When someone wants to get on with their day “everything’s alright” answers a lot of questions. He didn’t know how to respond to genuine concern: to an unrelenting and non-judgemental inquiry into something he knew to never bring up. He cleared his throat.
“Sam didn’t do anything,” he felt his words choke up. He cleared his throat, and steeled himself to ask what he needed to. “Am I going to go to prison?”
“We’re going to do everything in our power to stop that.” Brad was holding on to Cindy’s hand like a lifeline. “But to do that, we need to know what you did and we need to know what John would do if you didn’t do it.”
Dean wiped at his eyes and looked back down to the table. He took a deep breath in and let it out. He didn’t know what to do, but he trusted Brad and Cindy to help-- to at least try their best. And given the decision between life with John Winchester or the consequences that could come from protecting him for all those years, Dean decided he would rather choose prison.
“He made me keep track of everything-- like an inventory. There’s caches across the country. I'm responsible for keeping track of what’s inside them and where they are. Who’s connected to them. I needed to know all the states we could go to and the ones we couldn’t, but Sam was always better at that.”
“What do you mean the states you couldn’t go to?” Cindy broke her silence, voice quiet and sad.
“The ones with warrants out or CPS reports or something. Sometimes John made bad deals-- the people we couldn’t work with anymore. Things like that.”
“And what happened if you didn’t keep track of what was in the caches? Or Sam sent you to the wrong state?”
Dean swallowed.
“If you’re lucky you got the shit beat out of you and if you’re not you’re collateral.” Dean didn’t look up. “Telling you this makes me collateral.”
Brad cleared his throat.
“And what would happen if you were collateral?” Brad’s voice was low and soft-- it sounded like the dads in the movies.
Dean started crying, chin wobbling no matter how hard he tried to stop it.
“He’d kill us, most likely,” his throat felt raw.
He didn’t want to admit it, but John had made it abundantly clear. Mistakes weren’t possible, and betrayal would mean something unimaginable. The situation had gotten far out of his control. He just stared down at the table and waited for someone to say something.
“Okay, I understand,” Brad sounded more sad than Dean had ever heard him sound before. “We’ll tell the police that, okay? You didn’t do any of that of your own volition, Dean.”
“Okay,” it was barely a whisper. Sam came back into the room and sat down next to his brother. He handed Dean a glass of water. He had been listening from the other room, Dean could tell.
“Do you have a map of the country?” Sam wasn’t posturing anymore, but he had maintained the detachment, his voice eerily cold for his age. “And a pen?”
Brad stood up, and rummaged around in the junk drawer, returning with a poorly folded bunch of maps, and a few old Bics. Sam started sorting through them-- choosing one before tossing the rest to the side. He spread a map of the United States out on the table.
Dean watched as his little brother started adding little numbers next to cities scattered around the country-- everywhere they’d lived before. It was a macabre image, watching his brother map out their childhood of horrors. Dean preferred to keep it all safely forgotten-- part of the reason he had so much trouble remembering where they could and could not go. Apparently, Sam had no issue.
“Do you have a red pen?” Sam looked up from what he was doing, pausing halfway through the Dakotas. Brad stood up wordlessly and rummaged through the same drawer, returning with a red pen. “Dean, draw out your half.”
Dean watched his younger brother turn back to the map, numbering each place they had been in chronological order. Dean picked up his pen and followed suit, using his brother’s number system to start mapping out each cache he had managed.
Brad stood up to call Detective Harvelle while Cindy watched the boys map out a criminal empire on her kitchen table with the map she had intended to take to the Grand Canyon that spring break.
Chapter 25
Notes:
Well, fancy meeting you here...
I swear to God I will finish this fic, keep it in your back pocket, friends. OBVIOUSLY I did not finish it within 2024. As it turns out the AO3 author curse is real lmaooo. Took me a minute to get back on my feet. On an unrelated note, if you graduate college during your country's steady descent into fascism it's not a fun time. Two years post-grad and all I can say is 2025 has been a much happier year for me. If you're in the same boat right now, I am truly sorry. Shit's rough out there.
The ending is planned out. I know what will happen. Finishing this fic is deeply important to me. Just hang in there my sweet babies, I'll get you new chapters when I can.
I love you all and I hope you enjoy!
-Nameless Faceless
Chapter Text
(25)
Castiel had never liked his bedroom. He had memorized every part of it, the shelves stacked with childhood soccer trophies and the slight indent in the soft cream drywall made from the corner of his dresser when his father had moved it into the room. He had a few photos of Charlie and Kevin on his desk, but beyond that, the room felt as depersonalized as it could be. No part of it belonged to him, despite the claim it always had.
The sunset filtered through the gauzy white curtains as Cas watched birds flit from the tree resting in his backyard to the power lines above. He hadn’t seen Dean since they’d heard from the police about his father. It was strange, Castiel’s sudden solitude. He could call Charlie or Kevin, but he didn’t want to exist in Dean’s absence. It was a gnawing, distracting feeling to see so clearly their friend group was missing someone. A part of him regretted introducing Dean to his friends, but the rest of him felt guilty for letting the thought grace his mind.
So, instead of calling Charlie, or distracting himself, or doing anything at all, he watched the birds dance in their disjointed circuit from tree to wire and back again. A letter sat on his desk underneath an 8th grade photo booth strip of Charlie Kevin and him on the cork board. To, Castiel Novak, from the University of North Dakota student admissions. He hadn’t been able to get himself to open it when he got home from school. Instead, he put it on his desk and trudged his way through the meatloaf his mom had made for dinner.
“Did you get your admission letter yet?” his dad had asked, like his dad had been asking over dinner every night for the last month. Cas usually did his best to find a way to a friend’s house for dinner. But he couldn’t always avoid the tension of his mother’s beloved mahogany dining room table.
“No, not yet,” Cas muttered through a bite of mashed potatoes. “Hopefully next week, though.”
“Really?” his dad took a drink and set his glass down with a sharp click. Chuck looked up and smiled like nothing was wrong. “Melanie from accounting said her son got his acceptance letter yesterday afternoon.”
Castiel swallowed. For a split second, he was tempted to go grab the letter but the drop in his stomach quickly discouraged the thought. He wiped his palms on his jeans beneath the table and let out an awkward laugh.
“Doesn’t Melanie’s last name start with a D? I think mine’s probably just in the mail or something. My counselor said they send them out alphabetically,” Cas took another bite in a futile attempt to avoid his father’s critical eye. It only took him a few seconds before he caved into the eyes boring into him. The meatloaf went dry in his throat as he lifted his eyes to make eye contact. His dad raised a disbelieving brow and took another sip of his drink.
“That’d make sense, right, hun?” his mom tried to save the situation, but Cas already felt sick. It was Friday evening, and it was quickly settling in that he only had one more weekend before the future felt more real than it ever had before. He was going to school at the University of North Dakota with Michael and Luc. He was going to the University of North Dakota with Michael and Luc.
He felt his pulse quicken, and the writhing nauseous feeling in his stomach intensified. He looked down at his meatloaf, and began forcing himself to take steady small bites. He had to leave this situation, and if it meant choking down all the lukewarm meatloaf in the world he would’ve done it. The room was silent save for the intermittent shaky scratching of Castiel’s fork against his plate. He forced down a final mouthful.
“May I be excused?” he didn’t look up from his lap as his dad muttered a bitter yes into the thick silence. Cas’ chair scraped against the hardwood floor, and he made his retreat. He could hear his mother start talking as he ascended the stairs to this room.
“Why do you always have to be like this with him?” his dad responded, but by then he was too far away to discern what he said.
He’d been in his room ever since, watching the birds and dreading a letter he’d yet to open. It wasn’t until his thoughts turned to Dean that he decided to reach underneath his bed for the secret stash of vodka he kept in an old water bottle.
He twisted the tiny cap off the top of the bottle, and listened to the cheap plastic crinkle as he raised it to his lips. It reeked, like all room temperature vodka does. He felt his throat begin to burn as he took as long a swig as he could stand without throwing up.
Tree to the powerline to the tree to the powerline and back again.
He took another drink before he twisted the cap back on and tucked the bottle underneath his pillow. He walked over to the desk and picked the letter up. The paper felt cheap beneath his fingers. Before he let himself back out, he ripped the seal of the envelope open.
Congratulations, Castiel…
He dropped the letter on the floor, fingers numb. He couldn’t feel anything but the frantic beating of his heart and the heat rushing to his face. He sat down on his bed and put his head between his knees. He couldn’t breathe. He didn’t know why his body felt so numb, but he could feel his heart in his throat, beating in frantic circles. He clasped his hands and did his best to control his breathing.
He thought about the birds outside the window, unending in their current. He thought about the clicking of the sprinkler outside and the fan spinning in the corner.
Eventually he controlled his breath enough to unclasp a shaking hand towards his pillow. Reaching underneath, he could feel the flimsy comfort of vodka he had stolen from someone’s mother at a house party.
He fumbled to twist the cap off before he did his best to finish the rest in a few shots. After a bitter final swallow, he let himself fall into the tide of an unearned comfort. A final grasping thought pushing through the current of drunken sleep: you’re going to go to the University of North Dakota with Michael and Luc.
***
Fucking dodgeball. An exercise in public humiliation if you were to ask Sam. Usually, he’d cry wolf and get out of it. But, getting called on his bullshit was an unintended consequence of the whole of seventh grade at the same school.
So there he was, chucking flimsy foam balls across the center line of the basketball court. The cheap elastic of his school-issued gym shorts was digging into his waist. They only had a smalls left when he finally got registered for classes two weeks into the start of the fall semester. He simultaneously felt too skinny and too fat. Like one of those aliens from Men in Black. All of a sudden, he felt too observed. Like the other kids across the court knew exactly what he was thinking about himself. Like they agreed.
Dirk laughed to his friends from his vantage point across the court and it all felt too real too quickly. Sam took a break from the barrage of foam projectiles to join Barry in the back of the gym.
He stared down at his knobby knees as he and Barry held the fort underneath the basketball hoop. The dodgeballs didn’t hold enough weight to reach this far. Even when Dirk tried to whip one across the gym and into Barry’s chest. Instead of the seek-and-destroy missile intended by this school’s bully, the balls fell in graceful arcs like feathers drifting to earth. It really undercut the point of the game, at least in Sam’s opinion.
Eventually, the rest of the kids on his team would be stricken out and the gym teachers would usher him, Barry and the stragglers to the front of the court. That’s where Dirk and his flying monkeys would cream them while the rest of the class laughed from the sidelines. Joyous day.
He watched his team’s front lines steadily dwindle and the spittle fly from Dirk’s laughing mouth. Five minutes passed like that. He and Barry didn’t say anything to each other, they didn’t need to. They both knew what was coming for them.
“Alright, boys. Up to the front,” the student teacher still had acne covering his cheeks. Sam turned to meet his eyes, a sympathetic ‘just get it over with’ look overwhelming the teacher’s face.
“C’mon, Barry,” Sam turned and started walking towards the center line of the court.
It was just Dirk’s group left on the other side. They were elbowing each other and laughing giddily, thumping dodgeballs in their hands in what Sam could only imagine was a feeble attempt at an intimidation tactic.
Sam, Barry, and about five other dorks were standing between Dirk and victory. It wasn’t an ideal situation to be in. Sam saw Dirk turn back to his best friend and whisper something to him. They both started laughing as they turned a conspiratorial eye to Barry.
Dirk walked right up to the boundary line, centered Barry in his aim and let loose. The dodgeball whistled through the air as Barry froze like a deer in headlights. The ball clocked him in the face, knocking his glasses to the ground.
“You’re out, loser,” Dirk said it like he had undeniably won. Something about his smug assuredness reminded Sam of his father. He felt his blood start to itch under his skin. He picked Barry’s glasses up from the ground and handed them to his friend.
“That’s against the rules, Dirk,” Sam called from across the court. “No head shots. He’s in the game.”
Dirk turned incredulously back to his lackeys as if to say ‘are you hearing this shit?’
“Oh yeah, Winchester? You standing up for your boyfriend?” Dirk and his cronies laughed.
“He’s my friend,” Sam could only feel his anger building with every laugh. He started walking up to the center line to meet Dirk where he stood. “You’re cheating and you know it.”
“And what are you gonna do about it, shrimp?” Dirk had turned back for his friends’ middle-school validation when Sam’s fist caught him right in the eye. Dirk’s head snapped to the side.
“You’re just a jerk,” Sam’s vision was blurring around the edges, his world zooming into one fluorescent confrontation. “Dirk the jerk,” Sam heard the rest of the losers laugh at their bully, who by now had blushed bright red.
Dirk turned back to face Sam. There was a red mark already forming on his cheek. He looked over Sam’s shoulder at the gym teachers rushing across the gym to break them up. Dirk had just enough time to reel both arms back and push Sam firmly in the chest, knocking him to the ground.
Sam put his arms out to catch the fall. His right arm made contact with the ground first and he felt something sharp break inside. His mind flashed back to his father all those months ago, wrenching him up and into the Impala, snapping his arm in the process. He’d never gone to the hospital for it. Pain rippled up his arm and across his shoulders.
His hands buckled and he fell flat on his back. His arm throbbed, indicative of something deeply wrong. Sam let a ragged breath escape his mouth as he pulled himself up into a fetal position sitting on the ground, his limp arm cradled between his legs and chest.
“Fuck you, Winchester. You’re fucking dead,” the gym teacher had reached Dirk and pulled him back. Sam felt his mind start to slip back into comfortable nothing. He grasped at the edges of his consciousness, panic quickly setting in. Barry and the student teacher knelt by his side.
“I gotta go to the nurse,” it was all Sam could get himself to say before the tide of numbness swept him away into peaceful nothingness.
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KingSimin on Chapter 1 Tue 02 Feb 2021 01:11AM UTC
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nameless_faceless on Chapter 1 Tue 02 Feb 2021 04:28PM UTC
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KingSimin on Chapter 1 Wed 03 Feb 2021 12:27AM UTC
Last Edited Wed 03 Feb 2021 12:28AM UTC
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palant1r on Chapter 1 Thu 17 Nov 2022 03:23AM UTC
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GrievingDeanWinchester on Chapter 1 Tue 13 Jun 2023 08:36PM UTC
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GrievingDeanWinchester on Chapter 1 Sat 14 Oct 2023 05:26PM UTC
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GrievingDeanWinchester on Chapter 1 Fri 15 Mar 2024 08:30PM UTC
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V85Winchester85 on Chapter 4 Thu 24 Jun 2021 11:09PM UTC
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Winter_maid on Chapter 4 Sat 13 Sep 2025 01:46PM UTC
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sammy3 on Chapter 6 Sat 06 Mar 2021 07:14PM UTC
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MusingPal4474 on Chapter 6 Wed 17 Mar 2021 06:56PM UTC
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MusingPal4474 on Chapter 8 Sun 13 Jun 2021 02:35AM UTC
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Lost_Under_A_Willow_Tree on Chapter 8 Sun 13 Jun 2021 04:32PM UTC
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sammy3 on Chapter 8 Mon 14 Jun 2021 04:21AM UTC
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V85Winchester85 on Chapter 8 Thu 24 Jun 2021 11:18PM UTC
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Winter_maid on Chapter 8 Sat 13 Sep 2025 03:03PM UTC
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