Actions

Work Header

Angels and Demons

Chapter Text

“Daddy? Are there good monsters?” The little boy with the wide emerald eyes asks from the backseat of the black impala. He clutches his baby brother to his chest which was a feat in itself since the baby was nearly as big as the five year old. His grip was tight after all Daddy had forgotten the car seat and he doesn’t want his Sammy getting hurt since the seat belt was too big for the baby.
“What did I tell you boy?” growled the man in the driver seat pressing down harder on the gas. John cold dark eyes refusing to glance into the review mirror to meet those green eyes that were the exact duplicates of his beloved wife, murdered wife. They would only increase his pain and even thinking about it caused the accelerator to climb to ninety.
“Da-Sir, Are there good monsters?” Dean asked again shivering slightly at the chilly night air in the old classic car and hugging his brother closer.
“No,” snapped John. It had been a long night he was hungry but had spent the last of the cash on gas and beer. Hunting he had quickly discovered was not a profitable business especially when he had to lug around two useless kids. The only thing they would be good for in the business was monster bait at this point. Only Mary’s scowling face in his memory had stopped him quickly along that line of thought. That didn’t mean the brats weren’t going to be letting him to all the work. He would train them. After all it was there mother who had died. It was their quest as a family to bring the SOB, who had done this to his beautiful Mary, to justice, preferably with a chainsaw That thought brought a half smile to the grizzled man’s face.
“But what about Easter Bunny and Santa? Sir.” Dean continued. Apparently the boy had not gotten the hint to drop the topic. Why was this so important to the boy? Monsters were monsters. There was human and then there was monsters. Black and white. They were the things that ended his life and happiness. All that was left was revenge.
“They don’t exist. You’re too old to believe in such things.” John finally glanced back expecting to see the brat eyes welling with tears. He had made the boy soft by babying him too long. However there was no tears when John glanced back. Surprised he thought that maybe the boy had finally grown a spine. But his good mood was short lived as the questions continued. Where in the world was the boy going with this? The year after … the boy hadn’t spoken at all. It wasn’t until recently the boy had started speaking again and this was the most chatty the kid had been since that time John had been so drunk he had forgotten Sam in the motel. That had made the boy squawk.
“How about Angels?” The boy glanced down not looking at John whispering “Mommy said they protect me and Sammy. They good? Sir?” The little boy’s fingers twisted nervously in Sammy’s food stained shirt.
“If angels exist they didn’t protect your mother did they? You better get it through your thick skull boy. If it non-human it’s a monster,” glared John finger tightening on the steering wheel. Knuckles white. It was too late for this crap. “And what do we do with monster’s boy?”
“Hunt them sir,” Dean answered. He didn’t want daddy to start yelling again. It always made him scared and Sammy started yelling. Sometimes daddy would then grab his arm too hard and he would get a boo-boo and he would start crying and daddy would call him a baby too. Dean didn’t want to be a baby. He was scared though if all monsters were bad and Dad had to hunt them that made him want to cry. But he wasn’t a baby. He was a little monster and he was scared so he tucked his little wings closer to his back.

Chapter Text

Dean didn’t know why he had soft feathers rustling against his back. He tried to be a good monster. Thinking if he did everything his father told him maybe he could be good. He was a big boy now at eight he took care of Sammy and food when his father wasn’t home. His father had even started training him to start hunting. He had learned how to do a “sit up” and “push –up” and he knew salt should go in the door and lot of other big boy stuff. Mommy had known about the feathers. He had thought Daddy had too but now he wasn’t so sure. He was scared his father would not love him anymore if he saw. So he made sure to change in the bathroom and wear extra big shirts. When he had felt brave enough to peek at them in the mirror one time, he had discovered that they were attached to the length of his shoulder blade. They were small which made them easy to hide. Much too small to fly. If he had been older, he would have noticed that flight would be impossible at the moment even if they were larger since they were made up of soft downy puffs and the necessary primary flight feathers had not yet grown in. His wings were pearly white with electric blue ridges as if the feather tips had been dipped in lightning. Dean would have been mortified if he understood why his mommy use to call him her cute chubby cherub. He was just pulling his socks on in the motel room bed he shared with Sammy so he could pad across the cold floor to the bathroom when Sammy went crazy throwing the covers back wildly and yelling nonsense. The four year had been sleeping peacefully only seconds ago and the sudden explosion nearly closed Dean to wobble off the side of the bed.
“Sammy, it just a dream,” Dean pointed out trying to calm his little brother. “See you ‘re awake now.” He poked Sam in the chest with one finger to prove his point. Normally this would start a tussle between the two brothers but instead brown puppy eyes locked on Dean.
“I don’t want to train outside today, it’s cold” pouted Sammy. Dean rolled his eyes sliding off the bed and headed toward the bathroom before Sammy could claim it.
“It’s been sunny all week and hot. Besides you know when Dad not here we have to train inside the motel room anyway,” Dean pointed out.
For breakfast the food was almost gone John had left the boys almost no money and less food. He had left Friday. It was now Sunday. Dean had rationed as best he could for an eight year old. He stared sadly at the small box of Lucky Charms that was the last item in the cabinets. He hoped Dad would be back before dinner or he would have to adventure outside to look through the trash again or try to steal some retables from the neibor garden and Dad would be really mad if he left the motel especially if he left Sammy alone. His stomach growled.
“I’m hungery,” Sammy called form the table head support by his hand’s elbows on the table puppy eyes locked on the box in Dean hand. Signing Dean poured the cereal into a bowl for Sammy. There was barely enough for one person much less two and Dean was trying to be good. Besides he hated when Sammy was sad. “Dean no eat?” question Sammy cheeks full of cereal.
“Lucky charms are for little kids,” huffed Dean sticking out his chest to show Sammy that he was a big boy.
The room rattled as the door slammed open. Dean finger loosened on the cool metal of the shotgun when he realized it was there father. Maybe he would have brought more food?
“Boys time to get off your lazy asses and train,” snapped John. Dean could smell the alcohol as it wafted from the door.
“De, I don’t want to go outside,” Sammy whispers in Dean ear in the back seat of the Impala as the car bumps roughly over another pot hole.
“Shhh Sammy,” hisses Dean. He was trying to memorize the street signs as they zoom by. Dad had left a duffle at the motel meaning he was planning to return. Left, left right passed the little stream another left…. Unfortunately Sammy was still getting the hang of whispering.
“Winchesters are tough. If you boys are going to be living under my roof you are going to need to learn how to hunt and the first step was to be able to survive.” The car had entered a dirt path that didn’t do the classic car suspension any favors. Thickening trees started to block out the sky until the car had entered into deep woods. A few minutes later the car came to a sudden halt.
“Get out,” snarled John. The boys quickly obeyed. John grabbed two pieces of black fabric from the passenger seat and a small shot gun. “Come here.” Dean approached nervously followed slowly by Sam. A large hand engulfed Dean’s small shoulder dragging him the last few steps to stand in front of this father. He hoped Dad would not feel the bulges on his back. John gave no sign he did he just tied the fabric roughly over Deans eyes. “now don’t take the bind fold off, boy.” Dean didn’t dare try to take it off but he was very careful to count his steps and remember the changes in direction as Dad marched them into the woods by their arms. The march came to a sudden halt an hour later or so. Dean eye flew open as the blind fold was roughly removed but the quickly shut when his eyes couldn’t stand the sudden intake in light. John shoved the shot gun into Dean’s arms. Then he turned his back on his sons and started marching away calling over his shoulder as he went “you wait till I’m out of sight then find your way back to the car. You better be back before the sun goes down or I’m heading back to the motel and you’ll have to walk there too. And I’ll beat your ass if you try to follow me back.”
Dad was abandoning him? And Sammy? How… how could he do that? First mom left him now dad was leaving him. Dean’s heart squeezed in his chest and he blinked harder as his vision grew burry. No Dad wasn’t leaving him he just wanted Dean and Sammy to be strong. Dean was a big boy he would find his way back. He would be the best hunter and dad would still love him and not leave him again. Dean waited until his father was out of sight than hurried in the direction he remembered walking in retracing his blindfolded steps. Sammy’s little hand curled around Dean. Under normal circumstances Dean would have told him to let go Sammy was giving him baby coodies but at the moment he was grateful for the contact. It allowed him to keep track of Sammy while keeping most of his attention on trying to remember his steps. He glanced up at the sky notice the position of the sun in the sky. They passed a stream but it was down a rather steep incline and lots and lots of trees. After 30 minutes of walking Dean’s little 8-year-old legs were tired and the shot gun felt like a ton of concreate in his fist. Sammy had had enough,
“I’m tired,” whined Sam. So was Dean but it was getting dark and Sammy’s legs were much shorter than his big brother’s. The air was growing murky as dust set in and while there was still plenty of light to see by it wouldn’t last long.
“Don’t be a girl. We have to keep going,” This apparently wasn’t the right approach because little Sammy had had enough. Crossing his pudgy fists across his chest he plopped down on the dirt a pout like an oncoming train combined with puppy eyes. Dean was doomed.
“No! I no walk no more.” Dean placed the shotgun on the ground. Dad would be furious but it was making his arm go numb and if he had to carry one thing back to the motel it was going to be his brother.
“Sam, we have to get back to Dad,” argued Dean kneeling in front of Sammy. It felt so good to sit down for a moment.
“NO!” yelled Sammy puppy eyes turning into a glare “Daddy mean. I don’t want to go back!” Dean glared back at Sammy this time. How could Sammy say something like that about their Dad?
“Sammy dad loves you. We have to go back. We’re family we have to stay together.” Dean sat in front of Sam pulling his arms around his neck. Doing his best to give Sam a piggy back ride. Sam was just too small to understand. When he was older he would get it. Family was supposed to stay together.
Normally, Dean would have freak out if Sammy touched his back. What if he felt the inhuman lumps beneath his shirt? Luckily Sam was too exhausted to do anything but lock his little hands around Dean’s neck. Besides Dean’s jacket two sizes too big and bunched weirdly on its own. Dean glanced one last time at the shot gun as he started walking but as it was, he could barely carry the four-year-old. A sharp tug on Dean’s ear stopped the trudge a few minutes later.
“Not that way,” Sam ordered. Dean frowned, hefting Sammy up again his legs hurt from walking and Sammy’s weight was crushing his wings. It was nearly completely dark and he could barely see anything at all. Please don’t leave us daddy.
“Sam that’s the way back,” Dean stated continuing forward as best as he could.
“We were here before,” argued Sam. Dean has a moment of panic. Has he been walking in a circle? But no there was an odd-looking rock formation that looks like a frog he would have remembered that.
“No, we haven’t.” Dean glances over his shoulder to glare at his brother to show him whose knows best and winds up nearly dropping him instead. For a moment, just a moment Dean might have sworn hazel eyes are highlighted with ruby red that reflex like those of a cat’s in the dim light but then he blinks and hazel eyes blink back. No. Dean’s the freak. Not Sam. Never Sammy.
Dean took another heavy step; leaves crunching under his small sneakers. The warm summer air decided to take a noise dive following the sun below the horizon. A small cloud puffed out in front of Dean’s face as Sam exhaled on Dean’s shoulder.
“Cold De,” whimpered Sammy “Just like my dream.” The little arms around his neck as Sam fought to be let down. Sam managed to get both feet on the ground and both his little hands wrapped around Dean’s. Sam leaned at a 45 degree angle trying to pull the larger boy in the opposite direction.
An inky shadow slipped between the underbrush toward the children unnoticed. The soft pad of paws on the hard earth was but a whisper. The midnight fur was only broken by two yellow stars that are the beast’s eyes and they are fix intently on its prey. It snuffles as the cool night breeze blows the boys scents closer. One reminds him of home, he smells of raw power, fire and blood. The second scent his less pleasant to the beast he smells of rainstorms, open skies and small fluttering things. Pointed ears swivel back and lips pull back revealing yellow canines and a low growl resonates. His prey freezes. Searching the darkness for it. The small one eyes gleam with reflexed fire and he points. The hound has lost the element of surprise but it was no matter. The children turn to run and it lunges. He keeps up at a lazy trot teasingly snapping at their heels enjoying their fear. Playing with its food was such fun. They near the edge of his territory, bordered by a midsized ravine and it knows the hunt has come to an end. Jaws lunge for the small one’s throat but close around the large one’s upper arm.
Salt tears run down Sam cheek as he screams as the wolf latches on to Dean’s arm. The huge rectangular head shakes the boy side to side. Dean had spun Sam out of the jaws path but had got bitten in the process. The four-year-old balls his tiny fists and does the only thing a four-year-old knows how to do in the face of danger. He screams.
“Let De go!” Hazel bleeds to ruby. The effect was immediate. The dog whines as if it had been struck and drops Dean as if he had just been scolded for chewing on a favorite shoe. But the black dog recovers quickly its hatred turning to the four-year-old. It steps forward pushing little Sam closer and closer to the rock cliff behind the child. Sam was trapped and the dog knows it. It snarls drool and blood drip from it muzzle. Sam’s heels cause rocks to tumble over the drop. He can see tops of trees below him. It was a long, long way down.
Dean’s arm felt like it was on fire. A terrified scream ripped through the air and then all Dean knew was the dog was leaping toward Sammy. Dean didn’t think. Ripping off his coat he threw it at the dog and then tackled Sammy off the side of the cliff. Wings spreading for the first time desperately scooping air. The dog missed Sam jaws snapping closed with a mouthful of feathers. A gun shot sounded. Dean barely heard the explosion of sound or the pain of the plucked feathers. Whether it was because his wings were too small or the loss of feathers or simply the strain of carrying two people it was too much. His wings flapped uselessly as the boys plummeted.
Dean’s killed Sammy. The older boy clutches his younger brother to his chest wrapping his body around the younger boy to try and protect him as they drop. It not going to make the difference. Even using his body as a cushion, they are too high. He thought he could fly. Thought he could save Sammy. He was wrong. He still has his wings out but they are made of baby down not flight feather and the wind whips at them ripping feathers out and causing the boys to tumble wildly. Sorry Sammy. Dean squeezes his eyes closed hugging Sammy tight. A sharp pressure grasps Dean on the upper arm halting the free fall. Green eyes snap open to a flurry of massive raven feathers that block out the stars. Royal blue eyes bore into the boy’s soul as the children are pulled to the safety of the man’s arms; cradled against his chest. Sam’s eyes are still shut tight not opening from the moment the wolf lunged for him.
“Are you going to take us to Mommy?” asked Dean. Dying hurt less than he thought. The angel tilted it head to the side slightly as if puzzled.
“No, Heaven has work for you, Dean Winchester.” Placing to fingers on the boys forehead Castiel sent the boy to a peaceful sleep. Even in sleep Dean’s arms wrapped protectively around his little brother. Great midnight wings flex effortlessly downward sending the trio towards the stars. He sours soundlessly over the tree tops until he spots the Impala. A car that he has watched from a distance for years. Tucking his wings slightly he flutters down gently phasing through the cars roof. He lays the boys softly on the back seat. A small smile graces the angel’s face as he pulls a worn blanket over the brothers to keep them warm. He has watched over the brothers since before they were born but this was the first time he had interacted with them or for that matter the humans in thousands of years. And while Heaven may have plans for Dean Winchester he was just a child. At the moment, not a weapon to be wielded, but an innocent soul to be protected. His gaze fell on the smaller child. He frowns. The aura coming from the younger brother made his grace shiver. John Winchester soul was growing closer and Castiel took this as his cue to depart. The Winchesters were once again a lone in the dark.

Chapter Text

Castiel returned to Heaven to pray and mediate for guidance. It had been along time since he had heard his Father’s voice and he hoped to receive his word. Angels are not like humans in the fundamental sense. The difference is an angel’s grace. The angel’s grace can possess a human if given permission and then it manifests itself as wings due to human perception of what an angel should look like. The wings are unique to the angel. Castiel are the glossy black of a raven. It is a lose rule that angel wings correspond to those of natural birds and their power and importance is often mimicked in their feather equivalents. For example less powerful angels like cupids, angels whose only job is to bring together true love have song bird wings. Warrior angels tended to have wings that matched birds of prey, hawks, owls, and falcons with their commanders sporting eagle wings. Anna wings are those of a red-tailed hawk. Like the English language there are more exceptions than examples that obey. Archangels for one don’t have natural wings. They are after all the embodiment of power. The distance memories of archangels remind Cas of Lucifer’s crimson feathers, Gabriel’s golden ones, and Michael’s snow white wings. In every case Castiel had ever seen the vessels wings matched those of the possessing angel. The Micheal sword’s wings had blue streaks edging the feathers. This puzzled Castiel. It didn’t match the picture of the big plan that he had been told since the beginning. It was not as it had been fated. While it was true archangel required special vessels, powerful non-human vessels could this cause the difference? Afterall the boy had a touch of his own grace. After all normal vessels didn’t have wings until after they were possessed. A human soul, a small nuclear reactor linked directly to angel grace, left without Michael the boy could grow very powerful. Perhaps even more powerful then the archangels themselves. With Michael there would be no question of Heaven’s victory. Angels were unlike humans in another way as well. From the moment they are create they know their purpose. It is a mission that is woven into their grace. It is the equivalent to a human’s career in that the angels most of their time learning and accomplishing the task but it more than that since it is linked to the angels happiness. For Michael it is to lead the heaven’s legions as an archangel. Anna is a warrior angel ready and willing to smite evil. Castiel is a guardian angel whose purpose is to protect his charge. He is not special in being a guardian angel however he had been given a rather rough case protecting a Nephilim had proved to tougher than expected. It was almost like the Winchester name was cursed. Other Guardian angels had to deal with sickness, car accidents, and dark alleys. Castiel had to deal with hell hounds and demons. Not that he begrudged his task. If angels could have emotions, he might even claim he had become quite fond of his charge.
He stood in a memory at the moment. A memory he had viewed many times because it had greatly affected the destiny of his charge. His tan trench coat and black primary feathers brushed the long grass at the road side. The same car he had just left moments ago sits on the curb. It is the same shade as his feathers. A blond woman clutches a much younger John Winchester to her chest. His heart no longer beats. Tears stream down Mary Winchester face as she holds the body of her beloved. She will do anything to save him and the demon Azazel knows it.
“I can bring him back. All I need is permission that in a few years I can come into your house with your child for a few minutes and not be interrupted. It’s a good deal. No one will die or hurt as long as I’m left alone. What do you say? You’ll have everything you ever waited. Leave the hunting life, have John and a family? Or say no and be left completely alone.”
At the time Castiel had wanted to interfere. To heal John Winchester himself to save the small family from pain but his superior had order him against it since it was fated for Mary to deal with the demon. It left a bad taste in Castiel mouth but who was he to question Heaven’s plans?
The memory shifts and this time he is in a warehouse it is covered in angel summoning symbols but they aren’t meant for him. They are meant for someone much more powerful. Mary isn’t ready to roll over and let a demon do his will with her future children. She wants a family but she wants to ensure their safety before having them like any good Mother. So she makes another deal. A balding overweight man with a pinched face in a gray suit smiles at Mary looking like he had just sold the deal of the century. Zachariah’s turkey tail fans out with pride. However, he is not the angel the warding is for either.
“So is that a yes?”
Mary clenches her fist. There is a determination in her green eyes that suddenly reminds Castiel of her son.
“Will my child be safe from the demons influence?”
“Of course. Once Michael possesses you your child will be born a Nephilim he will be strong enough to burn any demon taint from his blood. You don’t even have to be a vessel for very long. Good thing too as your weak shell would melt within days. And as a signing bonus we will throw in a full-time guardian angel.”
Castiel frowned at Zachariah’s lie. It was unseemly for one of the host. Castiel had been created at the beginning of time to protect Mary’s first born whether or not she made the deal.
Mary shallowed hard. “then yes.”
It had all gone according to Heaven plan not so much for Mary’s. Michael had sired a Nephilim capable of being a powerful vessel for him. What Mary had not known was the angels still needed a vessel for Lucifer. A child tainted with demon blood was still needed. Mary may have saved her first born but the angel left Mary before her second child came to be. Allowing Azazel to stake his claim. The knight of hell was not pleased about loosing out on Winchester’s first born but he still got what bargained for in the end.
A flutter of wings to announce another visitor to the memory. Castiel doesn’t bother to turn his head to look he just continues to observe the scene before him.
“Anna, it still doesn’t feel right. How can we have allowed an innocent soul to be contaminated with demon darkness?”
Anna places a calming hand on her brother’s shoulder. She had heard his arguments before and she always replied in the same manner. “It was our orders. Come on Castiel you have spent enough time in these memories, in the guilt. It was necessary if Lucifer is to have a vessel.”
“But why start the armageddon? Why release him from his cage? Millions will die. The earth will burn.”
Anna gives him a sharp look. “Careful, it is not your place to question Heaven’s will. Just obey it.”
But blue eyes don’t waver at the challenge, “Was it not also our order to protect life? To protect the earth and to save people?”
Anna could not refute his logic. But Heaven’s host had no room for free will and Castiel pointing out contradiction could be dangerous. So she replies “mysterious ways…” her wings shift up then drop in a mimic of her shrug. She was expecting an argument but what happens next was so much worse. Castiel wings spasm out ward nearly knocking her aside before snapping protectively around the angel. Castiel doubles over in pain. It feels like his grace is being ripped in half. The next thing he knows long red hair curtains Anna’s worried face above him. He is on the ground wings pined at an awkward angle beneath him. The pain is gone replaced a sick thought. He tries to surge to his feet but Anna places a palm on his chest stopping him.
“Are you ok? What happened?” Castiel forces himself up past her hand. He has to go…now…
“I’m fine.”
“That not what it looked like,” snapped Anna in concern grabbing his forearm to stop him from walking away.
“It wasn’t me. It wasn’t my pain.” Growled Castiel. Fist clenching, wings spreading like a black cloud. Anna eyes go wide at his words face going pale.
“Is he alive?” she asks. Her thought reeling. If he dies thousands of years of planning will be lost.
Castiel closes his eyes concentrating. Like all guardian angels he shares a profound connection with his charge. Normally he can sense emotions, pain and on occasion thoughts from Michael’s vessel. Now all he can feel is fear. The worst part is that its not from the connection. It’s his own.
“I don’t know. I can’t feel him.”

Chapter Text

Leaves crutched under John’s combat boats as he trudges toward his car. Dumb kids, couldn’t even be proper bait for a black dog. Now, he has to waste his night in the wood searching for the little ungrateful brats. He yanks the door to the Impala with unnecessary force causing the door to let out a screech. It only takes a second for John to notice the heads pop up in the backseat. Rule 1: cardio. Rule 2: always check the backseat. Dean pulled the heavy wool blank closer around his shoulders; Sam pulled tightly to his bare chest. He watched his father’s eyes widen in brief shock, migrated to what might have been pride that his sons had accomplished the tasked he had set for them for a split second.
“Huh. So, you survived. Congratulation boys you’re hunters.” The drive back to the hotel was made in silence. At one-point Sam at warmed up enough to wiggle out from under the heavy blanket but the usually chatty boy was silent just glaring daggers at the back of their father seat as through if he stared at it long enough it would burst into flame. Dean imagination had him convinced he could almost smell a hint of something burning. Dean was sweating and the wool blanket was scratchy against his bare skin but he didn’t dare remove it and now that the adrenaline of nearly dying was over he could feel the blood running down his arm from where the dog had bitten him and his shoulder burned from where the angel had grabbed him. His eyes drooped heavily. Had to stay awake …. Had to walk in get changed by himself. Dean’s eyes flew open as something touched his hand gently. Heart rate slowed as he saw it was only Sammy and not their father. Sammy touched Dean’s hand gentle to get his brother’s attention. Hazel eye wide asking permission for something without speaking a word. Dean tensed but it was Sammy so when his brother carefully snuck back under the blanket Dean didn’t move not even when he felt small warm fingers brush his back leaving goose bumps. Or when they finally found their goal the fluffy feathers. Dean closed his eyes. Sammy new he was a monster. His eyes watered. He blinked rapidly. Now, Sammy wouldn’t love him either. But Sam didn’t push himself away. Didn’t scream for their Dad to gank the monster. Warm fingers brush gently over the soft downy feathers. There is a soft tug on the left wing. Curious Dean ducks under the blanket to see what Sam is doing. The 4-year-old is pressed against Dean side cubby fingers have pulled Deans wing around him like a mini blanket. Sam sees his De confused expression and gives him his biggest smile. Now Dean is blinking back tears of a totally different kind. Sammy loves him despite the wing. No, he loves him wings and all.
He almost made it to the bathroom in the motel blanket wrapped safely around his shoulder.
“Boy, you’re staining the carpet,” snapped his father. Heart pounding against his ribs Dean glanced down to see he had indeed left a trail of red drops on the yellowing motel carpet.
“Sorry, sir I’ll clean it up I just need to…” he tried to finish his retreat to the safety of the bathroom. A large hand engulfed the eight-year-olds injured forearm dragging him back.
“You’ll do it now before it dries and I get billed for the damages. And put this back in the car where it belongs.” Before the Dean knew what was happening the blanket was ripped from his body revealing his too skinny bare chest, the bite marks in his left arm and the two extra appendages which curled instinctively closer to the boy’s back.
For a moment John just stood there mouth slightly open blanket hanging from his fingers.
Head snapping around as his father back handed him across the face in fury. Dean was sent sparling to the floor. Distantly Dean could hear Sammy screaming. On his hands and knees Dean tried to scramble away but John’s boot landed heavily on his lower back flatting him to the floor.
“Frigging Monster!” Bellowed John. “It wasn’t enough that the universe had to take Mary but they gave me a frigging fugly for a son.”
“Please daddy don’t…I’ll be good!” struggled Dean sobbing freely trying desperately to wiggle away but John was just too heavy. The floor left like it was crushing his chest and he was having trouble breathing. Dean braved a quick glance over his shoulder at his father just in time to catch the gleam of silver as John pulled his hunting knife from his boot.
“Daddy! Don’t hurt De!” order Sam plowing with all his four-year-old strength into his fathers’ leg. John’s leg did move but only to snap out a quick kick that connected with a thud to Sammy’s head. It was a glancing blow but it overbalanced the child causing Sammy head to collide sharply with the corner of the end table.
“Nooo! Sammy!” screamed Dean changing from trying to get away to kicking out at John in a vain attempt to fight back and get to his brother. Sam didn’t respond to the shout, his eyes remained closed and Dean couldn’t tell if he was breathing.
Some of John’s fury abated as he looked at his youngest. He new Sam was the only good thing left in his life, only untainted thing in his life. Sam would never forgiven him if he killed the monster that looked like his brother.
“You better do everything your told too fugly. It a good thing your brother like you and I’m too soft to put you out for good.”
Silent tears blurred Dean vison of Sam from his position on the carpet. The weight on his back lifted and Dean scrambled toward Sam only for the boot to be replaced with a knee and his father crushed him into the carpet. Dean tried to turn over to do anything but he was trapped.
“No monster is living in my house. If you want to live. You will act human.” Something thin and cold trailed over his shoulder blade to the small stretch of bone and muscle that connected his wings to his back. A hand fisted with crushing pressure around the delicate bone. The wing struggled the free one flapping wildly. Feathers twisted and snapping. John pulled the wing taunt. Dean gasped it felt like his wing had been dislocated. A sickening thwack filled the room as the knife bit into the bone. John jerked it free the blow had not been powerful enough to sever the wing the first time all the way through. Dean screaked in pain. Where was he? What was happening? Mommy please it hurts. With the second swing the wing dropped lifeless to the floor leaving a nub of white bone and a five inch gash across Dean’s young back. The moment the feather touched the floor they ignited burning to ash. By the time John was through with the second wing Dean had gone into shock. The boy stared blankly into the middle-distance breaths coming in shallow hyperventilating gasps and his skin had gone a milk white. John finished up his handy work with angel warding carved into the shoulder blade.
Somewhere high above an angel cried unbeknownst to the Winchesters.
John sat back breathing hard. His son’s blood spattering his forearms and face. John made sure Sammy was still breathing lifting him up onto the bed nearest the door before collapsing in the opposite bed himself.

Chapter Text

The next morning Dean jolted up right with a gasp.
“Sam,” the word was weak as he scrambled clumsily to his feet, wings flapping to try and keep him balanced. He all but collapsed next the form of his sleeping brother. A large bruise spread from his eye up to his hairline. He was breathing. It was only after this discovery that Dean’s brain could focus on other oddities. Like the fact that John was not in the room. Reaching back, he ran his fingertips over the soft feathers. Had it been a nightmare? An image of hacking and blinding pain. Dean unfisted his hands from the bed covers. No. Not a dream. But his wings had grown back? He wasn’t in any pain? He glanced down at his arm where the dog had bitten him. Smooth unmark skin stretched over the skinny arm. Well, he wasn’t entirely free of pain. His shoulder burned right above his wing. But compared to the agony of last night it was nothing. Tiny feet pounded across the floor toward the bathroom mirror. The rush was halted abruptly as the boy noticed the new pattern he had created in the carpet. There was a splattering of blood but it was the scorch marks which had melted the cheap carpet and the floor in the pattern of fallen feathers. Running the rest of the way to the toilet Dean vomited. Or at least he tried too. He guessed there were perks to giving Sammy all the Lucky Charms because he would have just wasted them. His shoulder was really burning now. Pulling himself up by the lip of the sink he twisted to see his back in the bathroom’s grimy mirror. It was awkward looking over his shoulder but he could see with dread that the wings had grown back. The white feathers curled closer to his shoulder blades in shame. He wished they would just disappear. What would Dad do if he saw them?
Dean’s eyes travel to his left shoulder where a handprint has been burned into his skin. It’s from the angel. He knows this for certain but its his right shoulder that is burning. His eyes travel to the sigil that has been carved into his flesh. He has never seen this one before it is not the same as the devils traps his father normal has him draw. It hurts. The feathers closest to it on the base of his right wing have blackened as if they are singed.
Bang! Dean nearly falls over in fright as the motel door slams open. Footstep like thunder crash through into the sleeping area but the youngest Winchester doesn’t stir. Not even when a very unWinchester like whimper escapes from his brother’s lips. A fire lights in John’s eyes as they alight on the parasites that have regrown from his son’s back. The beer drops from the hunter’s fingers as he grabs for his duffel. Dean did what any eight-year-old would do. He slammed the bathroom door fat tears rolling down his face.
“Brat you open this door now!”
“No!”
“I will kick it down!” There was a pause. Dean backed into the tub away from the door. “You want to be part of this family or not?”
“Family!” sobs Dean arms wrapped around himself. The door grows blurry as tears swim.
“Than open this door now!”
“Please don’t. It hurts so much.,” hiccups the boy.
“Last chance open the door now or…I take Sam and leave you here all by yourself.” There is a moment of silence then a soft click as the lock open and the door swings inward. That is the last quiet moment for a while for the next forty minutes as John Winchester takes a pair of wire cutters to his oldest.
When Dean wakes up in the Impala next to Sam hours later, he doesn’t think his life could get any worse. The universe laughs at the silly Winchester child. For this is only the beginning of the Winchester chronicles. She corrects him right away when Sammy wakes, for the first time since the nightmare.
“De, can I have the Lucky Charms?”
“No, Sammy you ate them yesterday,” whispers Dean glancing nervously at the front seat where is father is driving but the classic rock is so loud that the children’s whispers are easily swallowed. Sammy frowns at Dean like he gone crazy.
“I don’t remember eating them. When did dad get back De?”

Chapter Text

For the next eight years the Winchester’s trio built a reputation. The name Winchester was what monsters feared lurked in the dark. The Winchester men were the best in the business. Like most families the tight knit family unit showed to the world had its hidden flaws. For the Winchesters the flaws were more like black holes sucking in all hope. Dean had gotten used to the constant loneliness in his chest and his father daily routine of making him into a broken winged bird. The fights with his father had gotten farther between as he learned to just take the punishment without the backtalk or taking on the majority of the work for chores and during hunts. The fights with Sammy about why Dean had to sleep on the floor? Why was Dean being the monster bait? Why was Dean missing school for a week to do research for the hunt? Why did Sam have to miss school? Why couldn’t Sam go play with his friends? Were growing more frequent. The hormonal preteen often didn’t know when to quite and was often making it worse. It was the only time Dean every stood up to his father. Last week Sam had thrown a fit that his father made Dean sleep on the floor when he could share the double bed with Sam. His father had tried to reach out to slap Sam across the face for the backtalk. Dean who now stood eye to eye with their father at just fifteen and with the rough training regiment nearly has broad across the shoulders had caught the hand stopping it dead a dangerous glint in his green eyes normally only seen on the teen when facing up against monsters. It was the glint of a hunter, a predator, not prey. It was gone almost as quickly as soon as the anger had switched from Sammy to him. He had gotten the beat down of the month but Sammy had emerged without a bruise.
Something landed with a trunk by his head. Dean hand had slipped under the warm fabric of his pillow fisting around the hilt of his knife before his eyes even popped open.
“Gezz, it me!” Sam quickly takes a step back from the point while his brother processes the wake-up call. Dean blinks eyes darting around the motel room in the dim morning light. John was not in sight. He gives Sam a shit-eating-grin. That should come with a warning, Sam thinks absently, in annoyance: Do not stare directly at. May cause fainting in some women.
“Aww a moose! I think it need a haircut to see if my brother is in there.” Sam doesn’t stand a chance. Dean tackles him to the ground.
“Not, my hair! Stop noo, get off.” Sam wiggles. Then notices that the knife is safely out of the brotherly roughhousing on the nearby table and the thing Dean is holding over his head is a pillow. Wack. Dean laughs as Sam retaliates with a pillow from the nearby chair. The pillow fight continues as a rare moment of joy in the Winchester household until Sam accidently lands a blow on Dean’s back. The affect is immediate. Dean looses two shades of color and is eyes press closed. Sam drops his pillow reaching out to grip Dean around the forearm to stabilize him. Dean roughly jerks his arm free eyes snapping open. The moment is over.
“I’m sorry. Did Dad do something to… I can get the first aid kit,” spluttered Sam. Guilt swirl in his stomach. Sam not stupid. If his teachers are to be believed; he is actually a young genius. He has only witnessed a handful of the beating his brother has received but he knows that his just the tip of the ice berg. He’s pleaded with their father, argued with him. Tried to get Dean to run away with him but Dean just says…
“I’m fine,” Dean grouches out. The worst part for Dean is that this time it not an injury. Sam pillow had just caught at an angle that crushed his newly grown feathers. No not an injury. Just his freaky nature. No for the first time Dean wonders if he told Sam. If he would accept him once more. But things are different now Sam not an innocent naïve child. Sam has seen the shadows the monsters cast in the night. Dean different too he a hunter; a killer with more blood on his hands than most adult hunters. If Sam ran away if he left Dean. Dean would… Honesty he couldn’t fathom what he would do without Sam.
“Happy Birthday Dean,” Dean snapped out of his thoughts to see Sam holding out two small packages wrapped in old newspaper. “Hows it feel to be 16? You’re ancient man,” grinned Sam hair flopping in his face.
“I’ll finally get to drive the Impala in the daylight,” Dean smiled at the thought. He had been driving since he was 13 after all when John was too drunk to safely drive but it would finally be legal for him to cruise along in the day. Taring the paper from the smaller package he lets the object fall into his palm.
“That’s from me. The bigger package is from Dad. Uhhm I hope you like it. It is supposed to be for protection.”
Dean’s shallowed hard as he clasps the necklace over his head. He rolls the little golden sword between his fingers. “I love it Sammy.” He steps forward and hugs his brother arms wrapping over his shoulder in a manly hug as he can manage. Not worrying for once about his brother touching his back.
Sam is surprised but pleased about the gesture. For the first time Sam notice how tall he has gotten. He barely an inch shorter than his four-year older brother. Moments later curiosity has gotten the better him and Dean opens the package from his father. His father hasn’t given him a birthday present since he was 4 so the spark of hope that maybe he has finally proven himself is worthy to be part of the family is strong. But the things that fall out onto the red blanket throws him into icy water. A pair of familiar wire cutters and a note have Dean world spinning.
“You’re old enough to do what needs to be done,” Sam reads brow scrunched up. “What does…Dean!?” But Dean has snatched up the items and slammed the bathroom door behind him. So Dad expect for him to mutilated himself? He feels light headed heart stuttering against his chest he leans against the door for support. He fists the charm Sam has given for comfort.
Sam pounds his fist against the bathroom door that bars him from his brother.
“Dean, your freaking me out man! What does he want you to do with those?” There is no answer from the other side of the door. Dean wouldn’t hurt himself, right? Sam discounts it after all it is too horrible to consider. He considers kicking the door but he is not quite big enough. He glances over at his father bag where the lock picks are kept, he need practice but he has the basic principles. “Come on Dean come outs lets head to school before Dad gets back.”
Dean doesn’t know why this is freaking him out so badly. While he could never get use to the pain the process had become a daily ritual every morning. His Dad slicing the growths from his back while Dean tried to stop the tears. At first he had struggled and sobbed but as he grew older he had trained himself to hold it in. Why was this so much different? Dean shrugged out of his shirt. Cupid fluff they were not. Snow white and electric blue they arched behind his back, long flight feathers, sleek, so long they couldn’t even fully extend in the cramped bathroom. Dean reached back brushing his finger tips along the soft feathers until he felt the ridge where the connected. Doing it to himself was so much worse. Setting his jaw. For Sam. He squeezed the handle of the clippers. No noise escaped but a single tear rolled down. The weight of the severed wing disappeared moment after leaving nothing but ash in the wind. It took less time than shaving and left less mess but while Dean had lost ten pounds when he walked out to meet Sam his soul had gained 10 years. Giving his brother the once over. Sam could see no visible signs of harm and relaxed.
“My eyes are up here Samantha.”
“Jerk,” Sam resist the urge to roll his eyes at the comment and grabs his backpack; stuffing his finished paper and his math book in before grabbing Dean homework and tossing it at him. The papers drift to the floor like huge snowflakes as Dean flops on to his bed lying on his stomach.
“Sammy you go. There no point for someone like me to learn all that stuff. You’re the nerd. All I’ll ever be is a hunter.”
Sam glances nervously at the door and back at his brother he was hoping to get out of here before his father returned. Stooping Sam scooped up the discarded pages on the inner working of classic cars. Students choice of topic. Despite this Dean had complained constantly about the paper and even after nearly four hours the paper had been full of so many spelling error and grammar mistakes it would have given any respectable teacher heart failure. Not for the first time Sam had wondered if his brother was dyslexic like Alex another kid in this class who got extra help for writing and reading but Sam didn’t dare mention the problem to his father or brother. Later when Dean had been out running laps Sam had stolen the paper and carefully edited the mistakes in pencil. Dean hadn’t said anything but when Sam had checked later the edits had been corrected in the paper and he had found a piece of candy under his pillow.
“You already did your work you might as well hand it in.” reasoned Sam.
“What the point? We both know you had to help me with it and you’re four years younger. I’m not smart enough for college and it will be a miracle if Dad let me attend enough high school to graduate.” Dean voice was muffled as he buried his head in his pillow. It was a rare sight to see Dean this depressed normally it was all stoic hot shot when Sam was around. As Dean so eloquently put it sharing emotions were for girls and would Samantha like him to braid his hair too?
“You not dumb you just miss a lot of school but missing more won’t help. I might have helped with your grammar but you help me in math on a regular basis. Everyone has their strong suit.”
Dean’s response to Sam logic was to give a noncommittal grunt. Dean as a Winchester male was stubborn like a German sharpened with a bone. But anyone who truly knew the Winchester new that Sam was like an on coming train when he wanted something. If logic failed there was always blackmail.
“Fine,” Sam slipped his feet into his sneakers pulling the heavy backpack higher on to his shoulder. “But for every day you skip school I skip training.” As predicted Dean head shot up to glare at Sam.
“You can’t. Dad would beat the shit out of you.” Sam lifted his eyebrows and shrugged.
“I guess you better get ready for school then.” Dean made a rude gesture but rolled to his feet to follow Sam. Sam always had a knack for winning arguments. Maybe he could be a lawyer.

Chapter Text

The skies over Mansfield Colorado raged. Gales slashed out with black dust and debris. More than one car had experienced a momentary flight. The local government had declared a state of emergency. Black wings of death hovered blotting out the sun. With every flap gusts stronger than a hurricane torn destruction through the town. The figure hovered over the remains of what had once been The Hrady Motel which now had more in common with a box of match sticks. The owner gurgled for breath as his life was strangled out of him by the fist clasped around his throat his toes barely brushing the ground. The dark angel’s black trenchcoat billowed around him making him look twice as large.
“Abomination,” A man and a woman stood seemingly unaffected by the oncoming storm. “Submit. You do not have the power to resist destiny.” The bald man in the suit allowed his eyes to glow briefly in a show of power. Anna flexed her wings behind her beside Zariah allowing them to spread unbothered by the whipping wind.
“I do not. But I won’t …I won’t…disobey my mission.” Castiel’s blue eyes seemed to glow in the shadow cast by his wings.
“A bit late don’t you think?” sighed Zariah swirling his finger around his temple to indicate how choo choo he though the other angel had gone. “I’m mean you already committed the number one unforgiveable. You disobeyed your orders. Failed your mission to start the apocalypse when you let the Michael Sword die. Now we have to settle for the knock off half-brother instead of the designer model. You fell surely you understand destroying you isn’t personal. It’s a matter of law.”
Castiel wasn’t listening his soul piecing gaze fixed on the monster he had by the throat. The thing made him feel sick. It nashed its blood sucking teeth at the fallen angel.
“Where? How many?” Castiel growled again.
“Fine. The Winchester hunters passed through wiped half the werewolves pack off the face of the map and headed east now let me down. I didn’t touch them. I mind my own business. I know Winchesters are bad news. I only saw two of them but that was more than enough…” The wolf didn’t get to finish his sentence as his thought and insides where spontaneously cremated with Castiel power. Two? He had only seen two Winchesters? Which two? The body hit the ground with a splatter. Castiel raised his eyes to Zariah and for a moment Castiel eyes glowed blue in challenge.
“Zariah, you are right. I have failed I have failed my mission to protect Dean Winchester Michael’s vessel. But starting the apocalypse was your mission and your failure. You are the one who decreed to allow the brother to be infected with demon blood. And what else but a demonic prince could sever the connection between the child and it guardian? A feat not even accomplished my death?”
“If the vessel had been a human that might be true Castiel. You could have been called to his heaven or seen his dissent into hell but we don’t know where a Nephilim’s soul goes when they die Castiel,” Anna states voice soft.
“Dean Winchester is alive and I will find him. Then I will smite the evil that dared harmed him. I would suggest that you stand aside,” growls the dark angel. There is a blinding flash of light. When it clears the wind stops. Castiel is gone.

Chapter Text

Tugging the zipper open on his backpack Sam tugs out his history assignment setting the essay on the teacher desk with a sigh. It been a month since Dean’s birthday and while his brother had been putting an effort to make it to school their Dad had been taking him out to go on more and more hunts. Sam had taken upon himself to study extra hard and collect Dean’s assignments using the internet and books to first learn than tutor Dean in the early hours to give Dean a fighting chance. But even so, Dean was still on academic probation . The extra work had taken a toll on both brothers. Dean was earning scars at an alarming rate. He tried to play it off as a bonus with the ladies but every time Dean left with their Dad Sam wondered if that would be the last time. Dark half circles ringed the hazel and green. Sam had taken to sleeping in classes which were now extremely too easy for him.
Sam dropped his gaze to the floor and found his way to the last row of desks before sitting and dropping his forehead to the cool plastic of the desk. His nap didn’t last long. Something bounced off the back of his skull. It hurt but not bad enough to actually do any lasting damage.
“Leave him alone Mark.” Sarah a girl in Sam’s class pulled at the bully’s arm but being popular she barely had the weight to move Mark. Sam rolled his eyes up to meet Mark’s but didn’t bother to move from his slouch on the desk. Mark was larger than Sam since Sam was in advanced placement but not by much. This was not the reaction Mark had been hoping for so he moved to whack Sam again. Sam signed bored. Catching the book easily and tossing it onto the other boy’s desk. After facing off with werewolves, wendigos and Winchesters, school bullies didn’t registrar on the threat bar. Mark glared daggers but Mr. Shepard had walked in and started scrawling notes across the blackboard and thus physical abuse was off the table unless Mark wanted detection. Verbal abuse however was not. Leaning forward the git whispered in Sam ear and wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.
“Your brother is real pretty. Is that why you’re so tired? He been keeping you up late?” Sam literally had to bite his tongue, the copper taste coating his mouth, to keep from taking a swing at the creep and his bottom feeder thoughts. Seeing that he finally got a rise out of Sam, Mark grinned, mission accomplished he made his way over to his desk. Kicking his feet up on the pile of papers on the desk. Sam glared. If only glares could kill. It was one thing for bullies to insult Sam, he could shrug that off. After all, it helped him fly under the radar like Clark Kent. Mom jokes weren’t funny but Sam didn’t remember his mom so they were not personal to him. Slights on his father, well, Sam was more likely to insult his father than anyone else. But insulting Dean the brother who had raised and protected him was to Sam; an unforgivable crime.
So, Sam was more shocked than concerned when the papers beneath Mark’s feet spontaneously combusted scorching Mark’s jeans. Mark screaked like a cat forced into a tub of water and for the next three minutes the classroom obeyed the laws of entropy and descended into chaos. Finally, Mr. Shephard found the fire extinguisher and Mark was sent to the nurses office even though he insisted that he was fine.
“So, we were discussing that people in concentration camps usually lack basic necessities like food, water, and treated worse than animals and were killed when they were too sick to work,” started Mr. Shephard looking slightly frazzled with white ashy sodium carbonate from the fire extinguisher stinking in his black hair. The teacher yanked down on the projector screen covering up the blackboard. A picture of three women in black and white was projected. “After reading so much about these peoples lives, I thought it would be nice for you to see a picture of these brave women who survived such awful conditions.”
“Eww,” piped up Mark’s girlfriend Brianna “They need to go on a diet.” The women in the photo were extremely overweight but that not something that should be pointed out about any women especial war survivors. Mr. Sherpard had turned scarlet in anger and was taking deep calming breaths before replying,
“Now if you had starved most of your life and then found yourself in a place where food was plentiful don’t you think that those poor souls would eat as much as they could while food was available?” Sam had listened to the comment but hadn’t really understood it until a week later when the cost became apparent. After all thanks to Dean, Sam had gone hungry a few nights but never truly starved.

Chapter Text

Dean leaned up against his locker pulling his calculus textbook free. The book had much the resemblance of a brick, rusty red, rectangular and heavy but it was the only one that he enjoyed reading. Scratch that it was the only one of his textbooks that he wouldn’t go out back and use for target practice given half a chance. He smirked as the thought of using his 22 on the copy of Shakespeare’s greatest hits in his locker. Now that would be a good time. A gentle touch trailed along his forearm. He resisted the urge to flinch away when he saw the flick of long red hair. Red head score!
“So Dean I was wondering if you…” Dean shifted to look at the girl one brow lifted half smirk showing off perfect teeth and long dark lashes fluttering just enough, wide green eyes all but innocent. Well-muscled forearm resting smoothly against the locker slightly above her shoulder. The girl goggled mouth a gape, words lost in a rush of blood to her face. Was Dean aware of the effect he had on 99% of the female population? Absolutely, and he did feel bad about using to get what he wanted sometimes but despite his reputation as the teenage dream bad boy. He had never done the deed as some might call it. In fact, with the exception of some exotic mouth to mouth the stories were just that; stories. There were good reasons for this; Dean was up for a little fun if a girl was but he knew his family never stayed long in one place and he had seen his Dad’s relationship and didn’t want to hurt the girls especially if they were his friends. Secondly, the massive scars that hid under his clothes were hard to explain.
“You were saying? Ally…” prompted Dean gently.
“Umm,” stuttered the girl intelligently. The bell saved the star struck girl. Dean gave her a gentle pat on the shoulder and a wink that made her heart skip a beat as he pushed passed her from his position on the lockers.
That was a mistake. The sudden change in elevation made the room spin wildly. It was like the teacup ride he had snuck Sam onto when they were little except faster and less fun. Ally was standing in front of him again mouth moving forming what he would guess was his name but once again no sound escaped. But this time when he replied no sound escaped his mouth either. Frowning he blinked rapidly reaching out to grasp Ally shoulder to keep her from doing any more acrobatics. But his hand slipped lower on accident to a place where he was sure to get a slap but no slap was forthcoming. Instead Ally turned horizontal as Dean listed sideways. His last thought before he completely blacked out was of embarrassment because normally in this situation it was the ladies who fainted.
Dean woke to soft hands roaming his body in places they shouldn’t. Get your mind out of the gutter people; he meant his back. The wings had already been snipped that morning but the scars remained. Green eyes snapped opened as he scrambled backwards on the thing he was laying on and snatched the wrist of the wondering hand, breathing hard.
“Mr. Winchester, Dean, how are you feeling?” Mrs. Hudson the stern but kindly school nurse raised a painted brown eyebrow; until Dean released his grip on the skeletal wrist. He wasn’t going to be the kind of monster that hurt women. Especially old ladies.
“Fine,” answered Dean swinging his legs over the side of the papered examine table. The paper crinkled and bunched as he moved.
“Dean,” warned the older woman resting a gentle but restraining hand on his forearm.
“Fine, Madam,” corrected Dean but apparently that wasn’t what the nurse had been expecting as an answer because he brow.
“Dean, you passed out and were unresponsive for ten minutes. That is not normal for someone your age. I tried calling your father but he didn’t seem to want to talk.” Dean shallowed hard. If he had to guess he would assume that the nurse was giving him the PG version of her phone call. The lines in the nurse face softened as she spoke. “Has this happened before?”
“No, madam.” Dean shook his head firmly. Why had the lady bothered his dad? Now there would be hell to pay at home.
Mrs. Hudson signed. She had seen cases like this boy before but never this bad. The boy looked half starved when she had checked his back she had felt what she hoped were ribs and not signs of abuse but she would not bet her license on it. Other worrying signs were abundant including the brief uncaring and rude confrontation she had had with the father, the way the boy kept glancing at the door and how he was unnatural polite for a rebellious teenager. As a school nurse she had little power to help the child but she resolved to do what she could. After all good things do happen; when people choose to do what is right not what is easy. One step at a time should could solve today’s problem at least. “When was the last time you ate?” It was no secret that teenager need a lot of calories especial tall teenage boys.
“This morning. Madam.” She tutted adding liar to the long list of expected traits. The boy was trying to suppress the tremors that raked his body.
“Do you want to try that question again or do you want me to call your brother in here to answer the question?” She didn’t! Green eyes narrowed but when he spoke it was the truth-ish.
“Two days ago madam,” Dean dropped his gaze. And it had only been a poptart but he had said enough already. But Sammy needed the food to fuel his freakishly tall growth spurt and there wasn’t much money or food to go around in the first place. The nurse pinched the bridge of her nose in frustration thinking.
“Can I go now? I feel fine really. Madam,” Dean appeased. The woman’s smile had fainted replaced with a sad tired look.
“Wait one moment,” she replied walking across to her desk to grab something. Dean tensed preying she wasn’t going to call the cops or child protective services on him. But she snatched up and forced something round and red into his hands. An apple.
“Eat,” she ordered firmly. “ Then you can go.”

Chapter Text

Once Dean had finished the apple and scampered to freedom, she had called his brother Sam into her office. The kid was freakishly skinny but the kind of skinny that came with a sudden growth spurt and Sam was nothing if not tall. Which worried her. If Dean was the older sibling and possible had already reached his full height it would make logical sense if he was the taller one. While once again possible it was likely if he hadn’t been getting enough to eat on a regular bases it might have stunted his growth. The boy nervously brushed long shaggy bangs out of his hazel eyes. His hands subconsciously picking at the scab hidden in his thick hair.
“Am I in trouble?” Sam asked. His mind racing to identified what he could have possible done in the four months they had been at this school to be called out. He wasn’t a trouble maker like Dean. To be fair Dean was on his best behavior at this new school and had only send two boys who had picked on Sam to the nurse. And they had been so terrified of his brother they hadn’t ratted him out. Did they find the blood splatter on the Martin Luther King Biography he had taken out of the library? But it had only been one page and why would he be called to the nurse not the librarian?
“No you’re not in trouble. I just have a few questions. Sam.”
Warning lights started flashing in Sam brain. Questions were never a good thing in the Winchester’s line of work unless you were the one asking them. The woman was stacking a bunch of what looked like cans into a plastic bag as she spoke and Sam fidgeted nervously. Was she on to them? Were they going to have to switch school again? He was expecting a question like: what does your father do for a living. Or did you know the last payment to the school was alerted as credit card fraud? So her actual question surprised him and he answered it without thinking.
“When was the last time you ate Sam?”
“I had a sandwich at lunch,” answer Sam confused. He wasn’t going to mention it was a peanut butter and jelly sandwich without the jelly that had barely filled him and made him feel like he was five not an earlier placement high schooler. The nurse nodded to herself at his answer. Her respect for the older brother growing along with her dislike of the father. With a difficulty that spoke of painful joints the woman sat herself on the edge of her desk grocery bag sitting next to her.
“Sam your brother passed out today,” She held out a hand to stop Sam sudden heart attack eyes wide, mouth open to ask; where? How? Is he ok? “He’s fine. He went back to class and doesn’t know I am telling you this.” Sam heart felt like it had just experienced bungee jumping. “Now Sam, this is really important so I need you to listen Dean’s condition is not your fault but you can help him.”
“I thought you said he was fine?” accused Sam shallowing hard.
“He is now. But he passed out because of low blood sugar and he told me he hadn’t eaten in two days,” suddenly the sandwich sitting in Sam gut felt like an anchor. “I tried taking to your father but…let just say it wasn’t a long conversation. Now Sam the right thing to do according to the law in this kind of situation I to contact people who could take care of you.” She held up her hand to stop the protest Sam was readying in argument. “Sam I’m going to give your family one last chance to stay together. Because when I was little I was separated from my sibling and I don’t want that to happen to anyone else because of me.”
Sam meant her challenge unblinking. “What do I have to do?” She smiled at the twelve-year-old and didn’t doubt it. She had heard the stories of the brilliance of the twelve year old from the other teachers. But it was one thing to be smart ahead of your years and another to understand responsibility at such a young age. Arm shaking from the weight of the bag with the heavy cans she passed the bag of food she had bought from the convenience store to the youth. Sam took it but his eyes dropped.
“Thank you but … I have no way to pay for all this,” Her smiled reached her eyes this time not just smart and responsible but hardworking.
“I heard your pretty smart. And spend most of your free time in the library. You think you could tutor my son in Alec he could pay for the lessons in food? Just make sure your brother eats Sam.”
Apparently, she had come up with the correct solution because Sam was smiling so hard he looked like a shark.

Things got slightly better that next year at least food wise. The brothers were allowed to stay at the same high school in those months because the surrounding counties were infested with vampires. Sam had tutored and been paid in food. With so much extra food in the house the boys hadn’t skipped a meal in weeks. Sam had gone from stick figure wirily and Dean from reedy to broad shouldered and according to the cheerleaders ‘angelic’. Sam watched in fascination as Dean chugged a can of bake beans one part horrified, two part disgusted and one part awe the normal reaction of a thirteen-year-old.
“But we just ate breakfast an hour ago…” Sam protested weakly.
“I know a whole hour!” Replied Dean through a mouth full of beans. He offered the can to his not so little brother with a smirk that showed more beans than teeth. Sam made a fake retching sound in response but couldn’t suppress his own grin completely. Dean was in a fine mood this morning as he drove the Impala one handed down the clear sunny roads. He was full. Dad had entrusted him with his own small hunt this weekend after a series of very successful hunts where Dad had allowed Dean to take point. Sam was in the passenger seat reading a textbook as big as the kid’s head and attempting to quiz Dean. Sam was less than pleased that he had been sent with Dean to take care of a standard salt and burn when he wanted to studying for the SAT like the other students this weekend. But he had known better than to mention that to their father. Dean was happy. After all he had everything he loved right next to him; Sammy, the Impala, and food and he was monster hunting. Had Christmas come early? The Impala rolled liked some great black panther through the cute little main street like some deadly predator through the herd of minivans and sedans. Slowing in front of a library with yellowing pillars that gave it an air of ancient wisdom with just a hint of mold.
“Dean I thought the ghost was in an abandoned house?” frowned Sam as the Impala pulled to a halt in front of the library. Did his brother want to do more research? Dad had already finished the research and clearly told them it was a simple case of a salt and burn.
“Yep, It right down the street. But you nerd, are staying here in your natural habitat,” ordered Dean reaching across Sam to push the passenger side door open. He may enjoy the adrenaline and the feeling of saving people but hunts were dangerous. That was the biggest difference between John and Dean Winchester. It wasn’t the wings. No, they both loved hunting in a way Sam could never relate too. It was the reason they hunted that made them different. For instance, if they ever caught the demon that killed Mary Winchester. John might have given up the trade. However, Dean would go on. Since Dean wasn’t an avenger, he was a hero. Hunting was about saving people for Dean not avenging the death of his mom. While Dean was willing to risk his own life to save innocent. He was too selfish to risk his brother’s.
“Dad said…” Dean raised open eyebrow calling Sam baloney.
“So, you have suddenly started to listen to Dad?” Sam rolled his eyes.
“But you shouldn’t hunt alone,” Sam protested weakly eyeing the over brimming bookbag. After all it was a simple salt and burn in the day time. Dean had gone on more of these than years Sam had been alive.
He let himself be talked out of the Impala onto the side walk which was a mistake. He realized this the moment the car rolled away. So, he turned his back on the library and started chasing the impala. How many ancient mansions could there be in the mall town? Sam hoped not many.
Well it would have all gone smoothly if had only been a ghost. Dean trekked up the paving stone path to the old mansion. He adjusted the strap of his duffel on his shoulder so it would not dig in so much while he hefted the salt loaded shot gun in his right hand. He loved these old houses. They came in little neat packages with their own little cemeteries. He didn’t need to go searching all around the town and there would be no visitors to the graves. The house was a rotting shell long abandoned. The rot iron gate creaked as he pushed into the little weed infested cemetery. The iron circling the cemetery should have been his first clue that his father research had been as full off holes as swiss cheese.
Unzipping the duffel Dean pulled the shovel out and set to work. It wasn’t when the temperature dropped and his breath became visible or when he heard the low angry hiss behind him that he knew he was in deep. No, it was when he spun the iron shovel around to smack the angary spirit into the next world and the shovel imbedded itself with a solid thunk in the forearm of the ‘spirit’. The ‘ghost’ didn’t look much like the original pilgrim thought to have haunted the place. Unless pilgrims liked skinny jeans and biker jackets and were twenty-year-old chicks with chemical bleached hair. Oh and had fangs.
The vampire’s fist came up catching Dean by surprised hurling him across the dinky graveyard. His short flight came to an abrupt halt as his back connected with a grave stone. Dean scrambled to get his feet under him into a fighting position. The vampire reached a hand for this throat but Dean was faster this time grapping a fist full of her curls and introducing her face to his knee. Vampire what the heck? This was supposed to be a salt and burn. The moment he thought it, he wished he had not challenged the universe. A ghost looking much more like a pilgrim; a hangered old man with two tale tail pin pricks at his neck phased into being and stuck his fist into Dean’s chest. It felt like falling into ice water. Dean gasped but his lungs did not respond by expanding. He fell to his knees blinking hard to try and stay conscious. The vamp pinched her bleeding nose and grinned at Dean as she slid her delicate finger to caress his cheek other hand running through his short spiking hair.
“I hope you taste as good as you look,” she purred as she used her grip in his hair to yank his head back exposing his neck. Her lips brushing over his pulse. He tried to struggle but the ghost was draining the energy out of him. All he was left with, his last defense, was an obnoxious comment.
“Fugly, I hope you can hold your liquor because my blood alcohol got to be like 95%.”
Needle like teeth pierced soft flesh. Dean gritted his own teeth in pain at the horrible sensation of being drained.
“DEAN!” was the last thing he hurt before he passed out.

Chapter Text

Sam hurtled the rot iron fence as Dean went limp in death’s embrace. Hurtled was a strong word. The action was more of a step with his long legs. It had taken Sam about twenty minutes to spot the house but that was plenty of time for Dean not to find just one monster but two. Forget chick magnetic more like trouble magnetic.
Sam snatched Dean discarded duffel. Digging through it franticly as he tackled the vampire away from his sibling. His fingers closed around the small metal square of the lighter. The vampire staggered away as if drunk and Sam dove for the uncovered grave. He could smell the fresh earth mixed with propane. All it needed was a spark. Feeling the threat to its exitance the lighter was ripped out of his fingers and Sam was tossed into the open grave. Dirt spilled on top of him as he tumbled against the sides of six-foot hole. Sam scrambled around in the dirt touching something smooth and long that he rather not think to hard about but no lighter. Come on he just needed a flame.
Wooosh. HOT. HOT. HOT. Sam scrambled frantically out of the grave. The splintered wood of the ancient coffin had caught fire spreading from beneath his palms roaring to life in a hellish blaze. The flames licked hungerly at the bones.
A few feet from the gory bonfire the vampire clutched at her throat. Hunched over she dry-heaved trying to rid herself of the acid that was liquefying her guts. She let out one gargled screech before crumpling to the ground her eyes burnt out of her skull, leaving only chard holes.
Dean blinked at a grey rectangular…gravestone. The past few minutes came flooding back with the smell of burning wood.
“Sam!” Panic made his heart faster than his feet as he raced to the grave dropping to his knees in the fresh dirt. He was supposed to protect Sam from the fire! The smoke made his eyes sting and it a challenge to spot Sam. What had Sam used to start the fire? The flames were huge and roaring. He wasn’t sure he had any eyebrows left. It felt like brushing his arm against the insides of an oven but he managed to get a grip on what turned out to be Sam’s forearm. Leaning back Dean heaved his gigantor brother out of the pit. The back of Dean’s head dropped to the dirt behind him. He had to check on Sam there didn’t seem to be enough air and his arm felt like it had taken a swim in lava. Had he gotten out of the house in time? Did the baby breath too much smoke? There was a shadow blocking out the sun and mouthing something that didn’t reach his ears.
Sam heaved out a laugh as Dean dragged him to safety. Making a crack about “I’m here to rescue you.” A Star Wars joke that Dean would appreciate. Glancing over at his brother the mirth of escaping a fire unscathed lost. Dean wasn’t looking at Sam he was staring unseeing at the flames a dazed expression on his face. A wheezing sound accompanied the rapidly expanding and falling of his brother’s chest. Crawling over to his brother Sam took in Dean’s pasty complexion. The only obvious injury was his right hand which was red and had nasty looking welts, that was going to make writing and firing his gun fun. Was Dean in shock? But Dean’s not afraid of anything. Sam followed his brother gaze to the dancing flames. Sam knew their house had burned down when Dean was 4 but Sam had no memory of the event and Dean had burned hundreds of bones since then why would this bother him now? What was different? Sam positioned himself between Dean and the fire blocking his brother’s view of the flames.
“Sammy?” Green eyes blinked slowly at Sam. Sam ignored the question and pulled his brother into a quick hug. An ‘ok’ Dean would have told him to stop being girlly but the words that Dean spoke were not from an ‘ok’ Dean. “I got you out? Sammy’s not burnt?” The voice was so wrong. It wasn’t the deep drawl that joked and shouted commands it was a much younger.
“You saved me, Dean. You always save me.” Sam glanced from his brother’s broad shoulders to the gravel trek back to the Impala. While Sam was nearly the same size he doubted that he would be about to carry his brother all the way.
In the end it didn’t matter. “Get off, Samantha.” Dean brushed Sam off climbing to his feet as if the breakdown had never happened. Dealing with the melt down in typical Winchester fashion. Repress and move on. As a thirteen-year-old Sam was just glad to have his invincible brother back, the one constant in his life even if that image was starting to show scorch marks around the edges.

Chapter Text

When the famous monster slayer John Winchester had called in a favor with Bobby Singer the living monster encyclopedia. Bobby had been prepared to hand more situations than most. Needed information on how to kill a goal he’s got that. Wanted a heart of a dragon that had been slayed by a knight he’s got contacts. Professional FBI impersonator he your boss. Need a body to disappear? He’s got a wood chipper. But babysitter was not on his resume, which he had clearly explained to John Winchester in a non-PG phone call that would defiantly disqualify him as a babysitter to most sensible parents. Unfortunately for Bobby, John was anything but a sensible parent. So that was how he wound up dragging on his rottweiler’s leash in one hand and a shot gun in the other as the Impala fish-tailed away leaving two very lost boys amongst the Junkers in the Singer Salvage yard. Bobby eyed the two boys. They were both tall pushing 6 foot but incredibly skinny marking a sudden growth spurt. The older of the two boys had shorter hair and forest green eyes he stood bodily in front of the second boy who sported long shaggy locks and hazel eyes. If Bobby hadn’t known that they were John’s children he would have classified them as pretty boys that wouldn’t know which end of a gun to hold. Sighing Bobby lower the barrel of his gun. He might not be pleased about spending his weekend looking after the two kids but that anger was for their daddy not these lost boys that had been abandoned on a total stranger’s door step.
“Let’s get you settled in and then grab something to eat. But I want to make it clear that this is not some free loader hotel. You’re expected to earn your keep. See those buckets of bolts. They’re not going to fixed themselves so I hope you know your mechanics.”
Bobby turned back to the house gesturing for the two to follow but he caught the motion in his peripheral as the younger tired to step out from behind to follow. The younger boy was quickly stopped by an out stretched arm of the other boy who made to walk in front of him however the broad shoulder of the young man lowered slightly.
“You two boys can call me Bobby. Your daddy gives you names?” grouched out Bobby not turning around as he opened the door to the house. The lads followed him in their stuff in two duffels over each of their shoulders.
“I’m Sam this is Dean,” Dean gave Sam the stink eye but Sam ignored it relaxing as the dog stuck his nose into his leg tail wagging furiously.
Bobby showed the boys the two guest rooms so they could drop their stuff off. The guest rooms were not much to see. Each had a small cot and a dresser for clothes but nothing else. Bobby had been prepared to gruffly shut down any fights about who got the room with the window, the only main difference between the two room, after showing the boys the second room. Sam tossed his bag on the bed with a grin. Bobby turned to Dean to see if the older boy was going to raise a fuss about the younger claiming the window room but stopped. Dean was digging in his pack which he had tossed on the floor pulling out a small sleeping bag and unrolling in under the window.
“Boy what do you think you are doing?” The kid tensed head shooting up to meet Bobby’s gaze confusion written across his face.
“Sir?” Bobby frowned at the formality. Did this kid think he had to sleep on the floor? To protect his younger brother? Was he too scared to ask for the other cot? Bobby opened his month but Sam had just seen what his brother was doing.
“We can each have our own room!” said Sam all but bouncing on the bed in glee. He did however grab Dean’s sleeping material and march to the door.
“But…” Dean protested his face going slack mouth dropping open. His need to be the invincible big brother waring with his fear of being alone and part from Sam. “what if something happens.” He finished quietly
“But Dean I’ve never had my own!” Sam grinned “I’ll…be careful,” he paused as he glanced at Bobby. Probably thinking better than to mention what careful meant( more like salt, hunting knives and possibly a gun of his own). The devastation was so pronounced on Dean face when Sam dropped Dean’s stuff on the other cot that Bobby felt a little pang in his old frozen heart. Uh oh, thought the old hunter if he was not careful these boys would worm their way in to the grizzled hunter’s life in more ways than just a temporary babysitter.

After the first two days Sam had taken over the house and reorganized Bobby’s library. The kid just wouldn’t stop reading. Even the driest most boring volumes were gobbled up as if they were juicy adventure novels. Bobby leaned against the doorframe he had just come back from a supply run and decided to peak at the boys. They had taken up what had come to be their normal positions; Sam on his belly on the floor surrounded with enough book that if they were to fall, he would surely be crushed. Reading one so intensely you would think his life depended on finishing within the hour. Dean sat between Sam and the door boredly bouncing a tennis ball that had seen better day before it had been introduced to the dog. The moment Bobby had appeared green eyes had met his then went back to bouncing, but the tension in the young shoulders had not vanished. An idea had been bugging Bobby for the last two days.
“Boys, it’s times to earn your keep. Come-on we gonna fix some cars.” Sam gave Bobby a very teenage glare and deep sigh but followed without further complaint. Dean just gave a stiff nod.
“Yes, sir” following Bobby outside into the junkyard. Balls, thought Bobby what had John done to his oldest? He was like a little soldier. He would have expected this attituded from a young marine fresh back to the states not a kid barely out of highschool? Had he even graduated? Bobby would have to make a point to ask but he would have to wait until the kid looked less likely to jump out of his skin or throw a punch. Dean stayed between Sam and Bobby all the way out to the car Bobby wanted them to work on which wasn’t a difficult task because Sam lagged behind asking more than once if Bobby would let him organize his library some more instead of working on the car. Bobby would have said yes in most cases the book needed organizing, looking more like a fire hazard than a library, and the kid clearly enjoyed the task but he knew that if he sent Sam back Dean would go too despite a lack of interest. There would be time for books later. Bobby smiled proudly at the look of slack jawed awe the older Winchester sported at the sight of the car. It wasn’t a classic unfortunately which had been Bobby first choice but what teenage boy wouldn’t love a sleek sports ferri even one that had a massive spray of bullet holes in the driver side. Unthinking Dean stepped forward opening the driver door and popping the hood to see the engine. In doing so he had unconsciously allowed Bobby to move between him and Sam. Green eyes flicked between Sam and Bobby when this realization hit. Bobby feeling as if he was between a wounded animal and escape took a very small step toward Dean and away from Sam. Dean gaze flicked back to the car. It was nothing but it was everything for Dean. It was the first signs of trust and a huge step forward.
Two hours later the car engine could start even if the ventilation in the driver door was a horror show. Dean brushed the back of his hand across his forehead trying to get the sweat out of his eyes leaving a smear of dark grease over his eyebrow into his hair. It was the dirtiest Bobby had seen the kid but it was also the happiest. A smile tugged the corners of his lips.
“Uggh,” groaned Sam “Dean it doesn’t fit! Are you sure it a part of the engine?” Dean leaned over snatching the piece of tubing out of Sam hand and flipping it over and handing it back with a shit eating grin.
“It does if you put it in right-side up.” Sam gave Dean a bitch face but proceeded to connect the part.
The next day Bobby asked Dean to help him with an old pick-up truck but allowed Sam to do research on women in white on the seat of a nearby mini-van while they worked on the truck. The following day Sam was given another assignment in the house and Dean followed Bobby out to the junkyard alone. They finished the truck. The boy had been twitchy the entire time watching the house and Bobby when he thought Bobby wasn’t looking. But the patience was paying off. Sam was acting like a normal teenage kid. Bratty and a smart alec.
Over the months with no word from their dead-beat dad, Bobby had done the thing he had sworn not too. He had lost his wife and son. While the boys could never replace what he had lost they had found there own place in his heart. They were two halves of a broken family. A father without his children and kids without parents to protect and love them. So Bobby watched Sam read and study on his own. One day Sam woke to brochures on the foot of his cot. They were brochures to Yale, Harvard and Princeton. Bobby hadn’t said anything but when sealed envelopes had appeared on the kitchen counter addressed to the Ivy league schools. He had just placed them in the mail box. Dean was acting less like PTSD solider and more like a young man who loved Bobby’s old sports cars. He had also become more comfortable with being independent from Sam spending long hours in the yard with Bobby and even leaving Sam and Bobby alone while he took the old cars out for test drives. Bobby had also achieved what Sam had labeled impossible. He had convinced Dean to take the test for the GED, which to Dean great surprise and Sam and Bobby unsurprised he passed with flying colors.
It had been the first day that Dean hadn’t check the front window for the sight of a familiar black car first thing in the morning that things went south. Dean was lying on his stomach on the coach watching ghost busters only paying the slight attention to Bobby and Sam who stood next to the book shelf discussing the various knickknack on the selves that would have to be moved to get to the books beneath.
“What is this?” Sam asked reaching for an ornate wooden box inlay with gem stones and craved crucifixes.
“Don’t,” Bobby warned hand darting out to clap around Sam’s wrist.
“mrrggg,” hissed Sam in pain as his hand connected with the edge of the container. Bobby’s hand never landed. Instead his bottom collided with the carpet and pain exploded in Bobby face. The jeweled box bounced to the carpet next to the older man. Raising his own fist to protect himself; Bobby struck out blindly connecting with whatever had brought him to the ground and hopefully getting its attention away from Sam. Next thing Bobby knew his attacker had him in an iron head lock one forearm around his throat and the other on the back of his head.
“Sam run!” order Dean from right beside Bobby’s ear. Balls thought Bobby. Dean had thought he had laid a hand on Sam. Now how to explain he hadn’t before he blacked out? The boy was unnaturally strong or was Bobby just getting old?

Chapter Text

A moment later the noose around Bobby neck loosen allowing him to gain sweet air.
“Boy, I wasn’t…” snapped Bobby trying to explain that he had also been trying to protect the young brat but Dean cut him off. Dean spoke with his head lower and gaze averted, shoulders slumped but Bobby was detailed orientated enough to notice he had moved between the older man and pursuit of Sam. But it was Dean’s words that stopped Bobby cold.
“Where is your spare belt sir? I’ll get it but can I leave my t-shirt on please? It’s rather thin anyway?”
Bobby was at a loss for words. He blinked back the burn in his eyes. He had known that John hadn’t been the best father. He was a hunter taking his boys into dangerous environments Bobby didn’t agree with that but he could excuse it. The world was a dangerous place. His own child hadn’t known of the danger that lurked in the dark and he had wound up just as dead. The neglect was harder to forgive; the way Sam clothes barely reach his wrist and ankles and how Dean was too skinny for a growing boy. But abuse? No wonder Dean had attacked him when he had reached for Sam. He couldn’t believe John was capable of doing such a thing to his own son.
“Take off your shirt,” voice deep with emotion. He knew the boy would take it the wrong way but he needed to see the extent of the damage. Dean swallowed hard shrugging out of his tee kneeling in front of Bobby. There wasn’t an ounce of fat to hide the well-developed muscles but jagged scars marred nearly every inch of skin. A clear bite mark from some kind of animal arose half hidden over his hip and onto his abs. A stab mark and a perfect round hole marred his left pec but those were the unfortunately normal marks of a hunter in his prime. It was Dean’s back that told of the horrors of the lack of a childhood. Long thin slices cut across this back that could only come from a belting. Someone had burned a hand print onto his shoulder and on the oppose shoulder blade someone had carved a rune into his flesh. But the icing on the cake was the two huge scars nearly an inch wide in thick white tissue that ran down the edges of Dean shoulder blades near the middle of his back.
Dean flinched as Bobby cool hand meant the bare flesh of his shoulder. Bobby had numbly covered the handprint with his own hand as he knelt in front of Dean so that they would both be at eye level. Making the same promise that the angel had.
“Son, I would never hurt you and I will never let anyone else hurt you again,” promised Bobby pulling Dean into a hug arms over his shoulders one hand rubbing comfortingly on the back of Dean’s neck. The tension eased out of Dean and was replaced with silenced sobs and quiet tears escaped their green pools.
“Don’t tell Sammy,” begged Dean.
“You’re going to be ok son, shh, it’s going to be ok.”

Chapter Text

Bobby was right Sam hadn’t gone fair. Actually, he had never left the house despite slamming the front door to make it look like he had. He was having his own little panic attack hiding in the dark closet with the door closed. Ear pressed up against the wood listening carefully for any sounds that Dean was in trouble. The war between obeying Dean orders and protecting his brother made the blood pound so hard in his ears he doubted he would actually be able to hear anything. Running his hands through his hair in distress Sam frowned he felt two nubs of smooth lumps between the brown locks. They were no thicker around then Sam thumb less than a quarter inch tall. They weren’t painful just weird and if he hadn’t been so freak out about what had just happened he would have rushed to a the bathroom mirror to examine them. Twenty minutes later he had finally collected the courage to venture out of the closet. Trying to wipe the tear tracks off his cheeks he reached up to grasp the door knob to creep out of the dark. However he never got the chance. The door swung outward and someone grabbed Sam forearm firmly and pulling him to his feet and into the light.
“Heya Sammy, I think I might have overreacted.” Dean smiled his eyes a little shiny and shirt a little rumpled but no obvious injuries.
“Jerk,” Sam said in relief.

Chapter Text

Two weeks later, two of the best weeks of the boys lives, Dean woke in his little cot to a hand over his mouth. The hand was calloused and rough held tight against Dean’s lips.
“Relax boy, you been here long enough. It’s making you soft,” the gravelly voice made Dean’s wings curl in closer to his back as if that would protect them. Dean stopped struggling when he recognized the voice but he was as tense as a bow string. John Winchester released his grip on his oldest’ s mouth when he knew he wouldn’t yell. “It time to go. Grab your bag.”
Dean didn’t respond right away which caused John to raise a questioning brow and to study his son. In the months since he had seen him his oldest had grown both in height and muscle mass. John was no fool he knew there was a difference between a man who started training in the prime of his life to be in great shape and a scrappy fighter and he also knew they could never hope to gain the skills of the children trained from a young age to be the deadliest predators on the planet. His children were what hunted the things in the dark. Then there was Dean who wasn’t even a human. John was no fool he knew in a straight fight he would lose now. Dean was no child. Unfortunately for Dean, John didn’t fight fair. He knew Dean ultimate weakness. It wasn’t even a battle. Gaze down Dean spoke.
“I like it here. Bobby’s nice.”
John fisted the front of Dean pajama shirt forcing them face to face.
“Listen boy you’re a supernatural freak. Not a child. Do you really believe a man like Bobby wants to spend his hard-earned cash on some monster? He would toss you out the minute he realized what you are. Bobby been in this game longer than even I and he knows how to put down the inhuman.” John smiled as he watched the small spark of defiance fade in his son eyes. “Besides there is a dark cloud hunting you. It has visited the last four towns you were in and scorched your name into the town squares. Everyone who as witnessed the evil had their eyes burned out of their scull. Do you want that to happen to Bobby?”
“No,” answered Dean.
“No what?” growled John with a vicious shake that made Dean head snap around uncomfortably.
“No sir,” Dean whispered.
John let go and stood walking toward the door and a life Dean he could not escape. Yet Dean still hadn’t moved. So John used his failsafe.
“Sam’s already in the car. I’m leaving in five minutes.”

Chapter Text

Dean was immediately on his feet and obeying John. It was much easier to get Dean in the car than it had been to get Sam in the car. John thought as he climbed into the impala rubbing at the red angry bite mark Sam had given him.
“JOHN WINCHESTER! You !%$&!!” Bobby came running out of his house to ward the impala. “you let those boys go right now!” He cocked his shotgun as he dashed toward the car but John had stepped on the gas and the Impala fishtailed around and out of the Junkyard to fast for Bobby to follow.
“If I seen you again John, I am going to shoot you!” bellowed Bobby giving the promise as a parting gift to the monster.

It was downhill from there but despite the dysfunctional family dynamic, the monsters, the nomadic life style and the financial problems, somehow Sam managed to graduate high school. His secret SAT scores shot him to the top of every universities list.
A bead of sweat rolled through the shaggy hair under the graduation cap. The hot May sun beat down on the stage as Sam resisted the urge to swipe the sweat away as he gazed out at the sea of mortarboards and tassels and their proud parents.
“This is an end of an era. A time to say good bye to teachers, friends and family. Most of you don’t know me. I was new to the school so I thank you for the lessons both academic and practical that you have given me. Thanks for teaching me; it doesn’t matter where you come from or what other people think of you. If you work hard you can achieve anything. Case in point a kid that had more schools than teachers could graduate valedictorian. I just want to thank you my fellow classmates for choosing me even though we are all so different. Never let anyone tell you people are all equal. We are different. Some will become doctors and lawyers’ others will be artists and chemists and much more. It is our differences that make the world wonderful. In the words of Einstein “ Everybody is a genius but if you judge a fish by its ability to climb a tree it'll live its whole life believing that it's stupid”. So while the teachers might tell you otherwise it is ok to take the road less traveled. Follow your heart just do it smart. Use what you know to support your dreams. They are your dreams and no one will give them to you. You must earn them but don’t let anyone tell you they are out of reach. If you want to be a scientist or a lawyer follow your dreams to college but if you enjoy cooking, coaching or hunting that ok too. It is your life. It is our future. Thanks and congratulation graduates.”
Sam stepped down from the podium and took his seat on the hot stage next to the principal. He blinked rapidly to try and contain the burn in the back of his throat. He had scanned the crowd but the one person who mattered hadn’t made it. He new dad wasn’t going to show. John knew Sam was graduating in the matter that his son didn’t have school next week and thus could go hunting with him but he simply hadn’t cared enough to even bother to ask if there was a graduation. Despite this fact, it was a statement to how messed up his family was, it was a relief not to have his dad show. Sam swore his blood pressure rose rapidly whenever his dad was around. But Dean knew how important this honor was to Sam. How could he not show up? Most family would be ecstatic to find out their son had graduated valedictorian and wanted to go to college. Oh no, his messed-up family couldn’t even be bothered to show up to his graduation. What was wrong with wanting to be normal? To have a good job? To help people but not be worrying about dying in the process? It not like he was asking the impossible. Sam watched as the crowd dispersed to be with their loved ones – leaving him alone. He took a deep breath. He would just have to listen to his own speech. It was his life. His responsibility. His dream. His future. His choice. He wasn’t going to let anyone hold him back. He was already alone. So he made his choice. Sam hand pull out his phone and wrote.
Dear Professor Burk
I would be honored to accept Stanford’s generous invitation.
Sincerely,
Sam Winchester
Sam’s thumb hesitated only a second over the send button but there was no one there to stop him.
The impala nearly took out a couple of graduates as it fishtailed into the highschool parking lot. Late. Late . Late! Growled Dean. Dean had been taking care of a rawhead in the next town over. He had been rushing to make it back in time for Sam graduation. Knowing that missing the graduation would be more dangerous than any monster he had ever faced. But haste makes a bloody mess. He had driven with one hand for the past 6 hours and the other pressed tightly across his ribs. Breathing deep was a dangerous blacking out experience. Dean clenched his teeth as he reached for the door handle with his right hand twisting his upper body so he would not have to remove his left arm from it position pressed up against his side. He still had ten minutes before the graduation walk started he could still make it if he fast hobbled. But the movement made his side catch fire and his vision to coal.
Dean blinked in a moment of utter confusion. He wiped the drool from the leather door. Why was he sleeping in the impala? The high-pitched laugh of a chick drew his gaze to the brick building in front of him. School. Sam. Graduation. 2min! He could still make it! His hand pulled at the door pushing it opening it a crack but a heavy weight on his shoulders over balanced him back into the car. The pain in his side was gone but his shirt felt too tight. The seams cut into his skin cutting off circulation and restricting breathing.
“Son of a *&%!” cursed Dean. He couldn’t go out there like this! Now fully grown they reached a span of six feet even. Tightly closed against his back the top of his wings arched over his shoulders and the primary feather peaked out of the bottom of his shirt. If he were standing they would nearly reach his knees. The days of t-shirts and flannels hiding their expanse were over. He thought wistfully of Dad’s too large leather jacket but it wasn’t currently in the impala. Why had he passed out? He knew better. The stupid things always grew back when he was out. Sam would forgive him for missing his graduation right?

Chapter Text

Sam stormed through the motel door that afternoon. He had taken the bus home not even bothering to check the parking lot for the Impala. His graduation gown was tossed in a dumpster outside the highschool. There was no point in keeping it. It would be impractical when packing. Besides he had plans to earn another in four years. The motel that they were staying at offered lodgings with separate rooms cheap enough for even the Winchester budget to afford because of the ugly neighborhood. Sam was the first one home so he marched to his ‘room’ and slammed the door. Angry tears threating to fall. He felt like hitting something. He didn’t understand why it bothered him so much that Dean had missed the graduation. It was just a stupid ceremony. But Dean couldn’t bother to be there for Sam once in his life? Sam grabbed his duffel from under his bed and started tossing everything he owned inside. It wasn’t much; a pile of plaid, a small stack of books, and an assortment of weapons. He paused hand on the sawed off shot gun. The purpose of his new life was to be normal so he removed the shot gun and handgun from the duffel. He was going to California on public transportation after all. He drew the line at leaving behind the hunting knife which he hid at the bottom of the duffel. He wanted to be normal not stupid. Two sharp knocks rattled the closed door behind Sam. It wasn’t the demanding heart stopping pounding of his father. So without thinking Sam walked over and placed his hand on the knob. He stop a moment before turning the cool metal. Dean hadn’t came to his graduation. And if he didn’t care enough to attend that, he certainty would never understand Sam going off to college. Instead Sam stood resting his forehead against the wood of the door.
“Heya Sam? Can I come in?” asks Dean placing his palm on the door. Hoping against hope that Sam wouldn’t be too angry. No answer came from within. Signing Dean continued.
“I’m sorry for missing your big day Sammy. There was this rawhead and I couldn’t get back in time.”
“Was she worth it? I hope this was hot. Don’t &%$! Lie to me Dean.” Sam’s voice cracked but the angry. His anger was white hot through the door that separated the brothers.
“I’m not lying!” Dean snapped back “I was on a hunt. Peoples lives were in danger. I was planning to make it but it but it got messy.”
The door flew inward but Dean didn’t have time to be grateful. Sam hit him like an oncoming moose slamming the smaller brother into the wall across from his door by his fisted shirt front.
“I tracked your phone Dean when it was getting close to time to start the ceremony.”
Awww %$@#! Dean could see were his conservation was going and it was not in his favor. Sam lips were pulled back in a sneer and the way he held Dean up against the wall rubbed against the fresh lacerations on his back.
“You were in the school parking lot for a good ten minutes before the ceremony. What was the raw head magically transported from Middletown to the high school parking lot or did some hot chick walked by and you got distracted?”
Sam slam Dean against the wall one more time before turning his back on his brother and striding back into his room.
“This isn’t a family this is a military camp and if it isn’t disbanded its going to get us killed.”
Dean slide to the floor after Sam slammed the door trying to get enough air into his lungs to get his watery vision to clear.

Chapter Text

A week later Sam hurried through the kitchen to the entrance way. He had opened the door to freedom one foot over the threshold and a heavy duffel over his shoulder when a voice called his name.
“Where to you think you are going boy.” Sam had half hoped he would be stopped. Just not by his father. Dean might have the slim chance in convincing Sam to stay. John made his hackles rise. Shoulders square Sam half turned back. Muscles taught, fist balled, weight centered Sam stood his ground.
“Leaving. Don’t try and stop me.” Sam was now taller than his father by several inches. John sported the muscle mass that came with age but a fight would not end with a clear winner.
“Ungrateful brat. Your Mom gave everything for you boys and what? You just gonna let her killer walk?” John growled taking a step toward Sam. Sam didn’t budge.
“Mom’s dead. Killing whatever monster that murdered her will not bring her back. And besides do you think she would want this life for us? Some backwoods uneducated criminals-killing machines?” A stride forward and he was glaring down at his father. “You know this isn’t going to end with the monster that killed Mom. It going to end with someone six feet deep. I’m not planning to leave hunting in a body bag. I’m gone. You try and stop me. I win. I’m gone. You win I get the shit beaten out of me. I sneak out the first time you turn your back. I’m done with the family business and I’m done with this family.”
John jaw sets but then he did the unthinkable. He steps back. Sam after all is his pride and joy. His human son. He only wanted to make him strong and he has. Mission accomplished. He was a little miffed that Sam wanted out but not surprised. Sam had always loved his books. The big nerd was meant for theoretical mobo jumbo not the grunt work.
“If you walk out that door don’t come back.” Sam turned march out over the threshold.
“Don’t worry that won’t happen.”
“It going to destroy your brother.”
Sam swallowed hard. “Me staying won’t change that. At least both of us won’t waste our lives.” The youngest Winchester didn’t look back even when he heard the rumble of the returning Impala in fact he walked a bit faster.

Chapter Text

Dean jogs up the front steps a grin plastered lopsided across his face. Sammy was going to love this! Well maybe not as much as Dean but he was sure to get a kick out of Ghostbusters even if he pretended, he was too cool for the film. Dean slowed as he pushed the door in; movie clutched in his left hand. John met Dean’s gaze from the couch, bottle clutched in one fist. The smell of alcohol heavy in the motel. Dean averted his gaze and held the movie behind his thigh hoping to make his way to Sam room without attracting attention to himself.
“You’re too late,” spat John gesturing to Dean and the door with the bottle “He’s gone”
It felt like Dean had been shot.
He couldn’t get air into his lungs.
The world seemed to slow. Dad didn’t have to specify who the he was; Dean could feel the absence like a hole in his chest. Dean watched in detachment as John whipped the glass bottle at the door frame near his head. He wondered in disinterest if John had missed or if he had meant to hit the wall. A shard of glass caught Dean above the eye causing warm blood to dribble down into his vision, the rest exploded across the floor like permanent black ice.
“He wanted out. Says this life too dangerous would have gotten killed. And whose job was it to protect him? Whose job was it to watch his back? One job and you couldn’t even do that right.” John was on his feet and across the room. Before Dean knew what was happening John had slugged him in the face. Something in his nose made a crunching sound that echoed in his skull.
“This is your fault. Your brother is gone and its all your fault. You frugly freak.” Dean raised his arms to protect his head but John just grabbed his shoulder and shoved him down as he brought up his knee. Green eyes widened as something gave way in his chest.
Sam is gone.
Need to find Sam.
So Dean did what he had never dared dreamed about. He snapped out a front kick of his own. His boot collided with John midriffed. John had the same reaction as if he had been hit by a small car. His body went flying clean over the small coffee table and coming to sudden halt on the wall above the coach before dropping to the floor. A small crater in the plaster wall marking the original landing zone.
One arm rapped protective around his chest he wiped the blood out of his eyes with his forearm smearing crimson across his forehead. With a herculean effort he shoved the door open stumbling back into the motel parking lot.
Sam…. Which way… Where… would Sam go? School, college. !*&% why were there so many schools?
His hands were slick on the metal of the impala. Sam was smart. Right little genius nerd. Had to be ivy league. That narrowed it down. He could ask Sam’s teachers where he applied. Or hack Sam email account.
He was seated in the Impala keys in the ignition when he stopped. He wanted Sam. But did Sam want him? Sam wanted normal and safe. Dean was a freak that fit neither of those requirements. Sam was better off without him. Everyone was better off without him. Dean leaned back the pain not just physical anymore.
The drive side door flew open and John hand clamped around Dean ankle dragging him physical from the car on to the pavement. Dean didn’t try to stop his fall even when his head hit the side of his beloved car. He hadn’t protected Sam. This is what he deserved.
John boot collided with Dean abdomen again and again. Dean curled in to a fetal position. He just wanted it to stop. He wanted it all to stop.
“How dare you raise your hand to me boy. I *&^! Kill you! you monster.”
“Hey! Step back from the boy.” The shout came with the unmistakable sound of a shot gun cocking. “I will shoot you if you do not step back.”
John growled low in his throat. John might be abusive and a horrible human being but he wasn’t stupid. Stepping back he took in the new comer.
“Hands behind your head. Lay on the ground.” The cop grip on her gun was steady and face grim. John did as he was told. A shotgun in the hands of a professional could end his life just as easily as any monster. The officer raised a radio to her lips.
“Motel on 58th I need back up and an ambulance”
When Officer Tyler had secured the attacker in the back of her cop car she dropped beside the shadow of the young man on the pavement.
“Crap,” What was black and white and red all over? Well a newspaper, a penguin in a blender and this young man’s face. His skin was paper pale and covered in crimson. A nasty black bruise had already claimed his felt eye swelling it shut. Tyler rolled the young man onto his back after making sure his airway was clear. Ear hovering over the boy’s lips and two finger pressed lightly under his jaw she felt for signs of life. A thready beat pumped against her fingers but that was where the good news ended. Because no matter how close she got to those lips she could not feel the puff of air against her skin or see the rise and fall of the victim’s chest.
Crap, Crap, crap. She had first aid classes but like everyone she had hoped they would always be a waste of time. Where were the paramedics? This was their job. Please don’t die on me kid. You ‘re too young. Who would drive your sweet ride? Look at you, the ladies would totally miss you. The officer tilted the guys head back opening his air way. Taking a deep breath, she pressed her lips to his and exhaled. She continued. Praying for the EMTs to hurry up. Come on my first kiss wasn’t suppose to be a literally drop-dead gorgeous guy.

Chapter Text

Her whole body was trembling when the paramedic finally shoved her aside and took over. Somehow Tyler found herself alone in the abandon parking lot. The ambulance long gone on a race against time. She was about to head back to her car when she noticed the small rectangular black object on the classic car’s floor. Snatching the black cell up she flicked the screen; bring up the emergency ICE number. She was a professional she could hand this. But some how calling seemed even harder than the rescue itself. She would want someone to let her parents know if anything happened to her. The phone rang once before a gruff hello came over the line.
“Dean?” The voice asked.
“Sir, is Dean a boy in his twenty who owns a black impala?”
“Who is this? Why do you have Dean’s phone?”
“Sir, I need you to remain calm. I am Officer Jaina Tyler. I am calling you because you were the emergency contact number in this phone. A young man was attacked and badly injured next to this car.” There was a sharp inhale and the sound of something shattering on the other end of the phone.
“How bad is he?”
“He’s in the best hands. He is being rushed to Hope Central Hospital as we speak.”
“Balls. I’m on my way.”
She pocketed the phone after the connection died and headed back to her vehicle. It wasn’t until she was just a few feet away that she realized what was wrong. The back door to the squad car hung open. A pair of open cuffs glinted on the asphalt from the street light. Shit.

Not going to pass out. Can’t pass out. Can’t… Wait what was he not supposed to be doing again? Why was everyone so tall? Oh he was on his back. The paramedic forced the oxygen mask over Dean’s face.
“Son, we got you. We are going to take good care of you.”
Dark lashes fluttered in confusion. His chest felt like it was being used to hold up bricks. The lights and med staff rushed around him pinching and prodding. He waved off the hovering strangers at least he attempted too his arm never made it high enough to enter his field of vision. The motion made him want to curl into his side.
“Don’t move cutie,” ordered the graying middle aged woman in the paramedic uniform. Taking his hand in hers and gently pushing it down. Her face was lined with worry and she was sure she had just lost any remaining color in her hair. “Why don’t you close those pretty eyes and get some beauty sleep?” Dean blinked hard trying to focus on the source of the voice but the faces around him continued to jump around like a scratched DVD. No sleep was the last thing Dean wanted to do… He couldn’t pass out… Bad idea, even if he would wake completely healed. No matter how bad he had been injured in the past he could sleep it off. Literally, broken bones righted themselves with a little nap. That begged the question could he die? The way things were going he would say yes. If he willed himself awake and his heart stopped would he die? Or was there simply a limit to his body’s unnatural ability to heal itself? His money was on yes but that wasn’t his major concern. No, the major concern was that his body had always healed all physical damaged in the past if he passed out. If he passed out he would wake with wings. Major problem. They would dissect him for science. And he liked having his internal organs inside. Why was the world so dark? Gentle fingers carded through his hair. The soft spikes sicky with sweat and blood were pushed out of his face. Oh. His eyes were closed. With colossal effort he forced his eyes open and the lady tutted.
She reached for a syringe and prepped it with a sedative. Tapping out the air bubbles with a flick she pressed it into the young man’s elbow depressing the plunger. The needle pinched his skin but it barely registrar with the rest of the pain. That‘s nice. Thought Dean as the numbness spread up and down his arm and across his chest to the rest of his body. The world narrowed to slits as his eyelids grew heavy.
“No,” hissed Dean through clenched teeth, shoving his hand into his damaged side. The dark exploded with stars and the pain pulled him back from unconsciousness.
The ambulance screeches to a halt in front of the hospital bay doors and the gurney was rushed to the ICU. The young man started the journey convulsing in pain to weakly rolling back and fourth in denial of rest. The rational part of his brain was having an out of body experience. His one clear thought was that both his father and brother were free and far away from each other and him. A single tear washed a way a small track of blood down his check.
“Why isn’t he under sedation? He’s going into do surgery.” Asked the doctor pulling alongside the cart white coat fluttering like wings behind the professional.
“He’s been given the maximum dosage. Any more and we could cause heart arrest.” Gloved fingers pressed lightly against his forehead as cold metal snip his shirt away from his body.
“Son, if you can hear me please pass out.”
“Doc, look at these scars.”
“Stop staring. Our job is to make sure he lives to sport the new ones.”

Chapter Text

The battered old pick up came to a traffic blocking halt in front of the hospital doors. The driver side door snapping out, nearly taking out a boy with a cast. The grizzled man threw an apology over his shoulder as he sprinted to the front desk. A few questions later and he was standing in front of Dean’s door a doctor in a white and red lab coat blocking his way. Bobby had never much cared for doctors. Too much paper work involved. However, he figured they were like politicians expect with a right to act pompous. But right now he just wanted the man to move.
“Mr. Singer I don’t know your relationship with the boy…”
“I’m his fa…” started Bobby ready to grab the fake ID in his jacket. The doctor raised a hand palm out.
“And frankly I don’t care as long as you are willing to take responsibility to help him. You are the only person who seems to care or know the boy is in the ER and you showed up so I will take that as proof.”
Bobby nodded his thanks and tried to move past the man to see how much damage was done. Where was John and more importantly where was Sam? The brothers were inseparable and he feared the worst.
“Wait, there are some things you should know about the boy’s condition,” sighed the Doctor rubbing a hand over his tired eyes. Bobby’s heart stuttered.
“The kid just went through surgery for a punctured lung caused by a fractured rib.”
A normal trophy for a hunter thought Bobby but the doctor wasn’t finished.
“The nurse pumped him full of enough drugs to knock out a horse but … the kid just refused to pass out. We were afraid anymore and we might stop his heart”
“wait, you’re saying he was awake for the whole thing?”
“Yes, we had to tie him down” the doctor stepped aside to let Bobby pass. “Also this is always hard to hear but keep the kid away from sharp objects. The kid was covered in scars and well some had the classic signs of being self-inflicted since there are no signs he was restrained when he received the injuries. After this. Any one would be depressed. Just make sure he doesn’t throw way they miracle he’s been given.”
Dean’s skin matched the hospital sheets which hid most of his chest and the bandages that were hidden underneath. Bobby sank into the ratty plastic chair next to the bed. He was getting too old for this. **&%!! Son, what did he do to you this time? Guilt, for never being able to track down the trio turned the old man’s stomach. He had searched for years but John was many things but easy to find he wasn’t. Bobby covered the pale icy hand with his narled blotchy one careful not to bother the tubes that fed into the vain on the wrist.
“Careful old man, people might think you are a softy,” the voice sounded more like someone gargling gravel than actual words but to Bobby it was like angel’s singing. Dark lashes blinked slowly contrasting greatly with the chalkiness of his skin.
“If you ever scare me like that again I will shoot you myself,” the words spoken out of the pent-up fear of the last few hours but as Dean flinched Bobby regretted them immediately. The boy thought he would do it too and it felt like Bobby had stabbed himself. “As it is, you’re underhouse arrest until you’re fifty.”
Dean’s brows drew together in confusion and it took a few minutes for him to express why. Obviously, the drugs were having some affects in slowing thought processing even if they hadn’t been able to achieve their intended propose of knocking the kid out. “But bobby I don’t have… a…ho…home.”
Bobby glared until he was sure he had Dean’s full attention. “Of course, you do idjet. It called Singer Salvage yard and we will be going there as soon as the doc give the ok.”
Dean’s grin could only be described as dopy or possibly as a commercial for whatever toothpaste the boy used. “Goooooing home,” bubbled Dean happily. The kid was clearly higher than a kite his gaze drifting over Bobby’s head seeing something only he could follow. “Hooome sweet hooome…” continued Dean in a childlike voice. In a slightly sing song tone he continued his tangent “Sweet home Alllabama.”
“More or less, will be there soon,” offered Bobby. Smile vanishing Dean demanded,
“Now. Home now.” He proceeded to try and sit up and pushed Bobby off him with surprising force.
“Wait no. You aren’t well enough! You just had surgery. Lay back down you idijot!” ordered Bobby. Mind looking franticly for a reason for Dean to want to stay. “Where is Sam? How will he find you if you leave.” It was the wrong thing to say. Any life in Dean’s eye dimed and he wouldn’t look at Bobby as he spoke, fixing on a spot on the ceiling.
“Sam left. He’s not coming back.”
Bobby shallowed hard. His first thought was good for Sam. He had gotten out. He had often hoped the boys would do it together. Bobby knew it had been an impossibly dream. Dean valued family above all else he would never leave unless forced. Which made being left by Sam the worst case scenario. Suddenly, the doctors last words held new weight. Bobby hated to ask it but he needed to know.
“Dean, where’s John? Where your father?”
“He’s mad. My fault Sam left. But Dad wouldn’t leave. He’s coming back,” answered Dean voice flat. That sealed it. They were leaving now.
The old pickup truck hightailed it out of there with one more passenger minutes later.

Chapter Text

Despite the silence in the car Dean eyes stayed stubbornly open for the 5-hour drive. His head lolled against the cool glass of the passenger window in exhaustion. At one-point Bobby had offered the kid a cup of water laced with sleeping pills but the boy had quirked an eye brow and refused. Going back to staring into the middle distance.
The gravel crunched and spit under the tires as they pulled up to the house. Bobby turned the key hopping out and dashed around to the passenger side door just in time to catch the lad under the armpits as his knees buckled under him. Despite his muscular appearance Dean was surprising light and Bobby was able to transfer him to the guest bedroom that had been his just a few year ago. A few minutes later he had gotten the kid tucked in and after a few drinks of the good stuff Bobby himself fell exhausted into a heavy slumber in the bed’s side chair.
Bobby groaned stretching in his bed. His head felt like a hippo had started tap lessons in his cranium but the covers were warm. When he woke again a few moments later from the uncomfortableness of wearing jeans to bed he wondered why he hadn’t changed into his sleeping clothes? What had he been doing yesterday? Obviously drinking. He had been working on the old convertible… the phone had rung… DEAN!
Snapping bolt upright he stumbled out of bed nearly knocking the full glass of water off the side table. He flew down the short all to the guestroom where he had left the kid. The covers were pulled back and the bed was empty. Bobby had a sudden deja vie of John stealing his boys away all those years ago. In a panic, he rushed to the front door grabbing his shot gun on his way.
“Want some bacon?” came a cheerful voice from the kitchen. Bobby spun month open.
“I just got out of the hospital mind pointing that somewhere else?” Dean said, nodding at the shotgun which Bobby quickly redirected to the ground. If Dean had been starting to resemble the ghost of Christmas future last night he look more like he had just walk off the pages of a kitchen magazine with the model pretending that it was their kitchen this morning. With one key difference: Dean knew how to cook.
“Better close your mouth before you catch a fly” Dean said turning back to his eggs turning them over with a spatula.
“Balls kid! How? You were looking like one of the things we hunt yesterday”
“Goodnight sleep and a little barrel of caffeine. Miracle cure.” Dean gestured with the mug he held in his left hand at Bobby before taking a gulp. Bobby was having trouble processing. The kid hadn’t been able to walk by himself yesterday. Dean strode confidently towards Bobby dropping a plate of eggs in front of the older man.
The proof that some sort supernatural deal had healed Dean was undeniable. For whatever cause the kid was better and while Bobby did plan to use a microscope on his gift horse. It was a gift none the less and Bobby was having a hard time thinking of things he won’t have done to pay the price. However, while the outer wounds might be gone. Bobby didn’t believe for a moment that there wasn’t a Sam shaped hole in Dean’s heart.
Bobby spent the next few weeks doing what he did best-poking and prodding for the supernatural that had healed Dean and trying and failing to take care of him. Dean spent the time doing what he did best-burying his emotions in work and alcohol. When he wasn’t in his room staring listlessly into the middle distance with a barely touched bottle within arms reach, he was rebuilding an all-terrain four wheeler and acting painfully happy. One of these times when Dean was out Bobby had combed every crossroad within driving distance. He had taken a shovel to the center of each. The fear that Dean had made a deal lessened with every empty hole. It was the twenty-third crossroads with the twenty-third hole when his shovel make a clinking sound as it connected with something buried in the earth. Sweat from more than just the backbreaking work appeared on Bobby’s forehead as he dusted off the little tin box and popped the lid. A drivers license was nested in the box with the other gory components of what could only be identified as a demon deal. Bobby snatched up the card it was dirty only showing the last name clearly- Winchester.

Chapter Text

A week earlier on the same crossroad in the dying rays of the sun a Winchester knelt in the dust. Scooping handfuls of dirt over the little box that contained his drivers license. He clambered to his feet making a half hearted attempt to brush off the dust that clung to his jeans. A dead heat hung in the air as if the breeze was afraid to cross the road. One might say the breeze had the right idea. The dusk was quiet no chirping crickets, not even the faint buzz of a mosquito. Only man was desperate or stupid enough to make a deal with a demon. The second man appeared between one blink and the next.
“I know what you are and I know what you can do,” growled the Winchester. The demon smiled stance wide and relaxed just a few feet in front of the summoner. The demon wore a fitted black suit complete with a black tie which was not marred by a speck of dust.
“Its so nice to be recognized these days. Humans have a nasty disrespect for their betters.” The demon’s eyes flashed red.
“I’m here to deal not chat.” Winchester spat getting in the demon’s personal space. The two men were nearly nose to nose but the demon looked less than impressed. Picking nonexistent lint from his jacket.
“So what will it be? Money? A girl? Talent? Fame? A pet hippo? I’ve heard it all. I mean it too. A roll of ducktape up your ex’s nose? Paying your phone bill on time? An extra season of your favorite show? Three inches on your…”
“I want the location on the yellow eyed demon and I’m not paying.” A sharp click accompanied the demand as the colt was cocked next to the demon’s head. The demon didn’t flinch but he studied the gun in interest.
“Now you have my attention. I think we can come to a much more lucrative contract.”
“I want the head of the demon that murdered my wife.”
“Well I want a scotch. We don’t always get what we want. I can’t promise a head but I can give a location for the right price.”
“Your life.”
“You really know how to barter don’t you. No, I’ll give a location for a location. Here’s the thing. I also know who and what you are John Winchester.”
“Not my soul?” Hissed John surprised but not lowering the gun. His suspicioning growing.
The demon scuffed his leather shoes in the sand with a shrug. “Souls are like personal nukes. They symbolize power and wealth but you need an awful lot to play in the big leagues. One more is not going to shift the power balance in my favor. I’m looking for a tactical advantage. Information. Let just say I want to be the one holding the ace and not the joker.”
There was another reason that the demon didn’t want the Winchester’s soul. While he had doubts about the purity, he didn’t want a righteous man in hell. He personally was not a fan of Azazel apocalypse plan. Bringing back Lucifer, would only make the path to the throne all but impossibly for someone of his power grade despite his cunning.
“What are you looking for?” asked John warily.
“Who. Am I looking for. I want the location of your children. As I am sure you have noticed by now one of your children is a bit of a demon child. Strange nonhuman abilities… It must have come as such a disappoint for a hunter such as yourself.” John face hardened but he didn’t protest. “What do you want with him.”
“You see ‘yellow eyes’ as you call him has plans for the demon brat. Want’s him to lead a demonic army. I would assume this would go against your strict moral code as a hunter. So I would be actually doing you a favor if I disposed of the child. Think about it. Saving thousand at the cost of one demon spawn child. And beside you would still have your little angel child. The good son.”
John was silent for a moment. “Here the deal. You tell me the location of the yellow eyed demon. I give you the location of Dean and you have to swear Sam won’t be harmed.”
“Dean the child with the demon powers?”
“Yes,” agreed John. He was doing the world a favor. Dean was unnatural made be the sacrifice would be enough to purify the nonhumanness of his son’s soul.
“Fine, to seal the deal; contract or kiss?” asked the demon raising both eyebrows suggestively.
“Contract.” Grunted john.
“Are you homophobic or racist? I can’t decide.” The demon let it go after Joh just glared in response to the comment and produced a parchment scroll out from under his coat. With an impossibly flick of the wrist a blood red quill appeared in his hand and with a flourish the demon signed across the bottom of the contract. The aged contract was passed into John rough hands where he signed with little fanfair beneath the elegant crimson swirls that spelled out Crowley, that would make any school girl envious.
The demon and the Winchester split ways without another word after locations were exchanged. But for Crowley the deal was far from done. He was a business demon after all and knew the best way to turn a profit was to haggle with more than one party.
With a snap of his fingers he appeared in the small orchard in Upstate new York. The air was thick with the sound of a thousand little wings humming as they worked but the sound quickly withdrew as the worker bees sensed evil in their garden. Crowley glanced to his right where a man in a tan trench coat stood like a statue watching the hive. The man hadn’t flinched at the demon’s sudden appearance not even turning to acknowledge him.
“I have something that might interest you,” spoke Crowley also watching the bees but he didn’t see what was so fascinating about watching the insects.
“I don’t deal with the likes of you.” Castiel replied wings shifting uncomfortably under the coat that hid them. Crowley rolled his eyes.
“How many times do I have to state that we are on the same bloody side! Yes, maybe our motives for not wanting the apocalypse are a little different. You want your pet human safe and I want a shorter line to the throne but the fact remains neither of us want Lucifer and Michel free. You have to face facts you are a little short one allies and I don’t have the current juice to take down Azazel. In fact, I’m not even offering you a deal I am GIVING you information for FREE! I am being positively angelic and it disgust me!” Crowley shouted at the angel in annoyance. Castiel tilted his head to the side to study the demon to indicate he was listening but not impressed.
“Your freaky feathered Winchester pet is in California at Stanford no less. Now you can go tame him etc. and in general just keep him away from Heaven and I have the location of the demon blood child.”
“You will destroy that abomination.” Castiel commanded.
“Of course. You can’t have a one -sided boss fight and unlike you I rather not have a more powerful creature live to their full potential.”
Castiel nodded once and with the flap of wings and the faint smell of sulfur the angel and demon vanished on their mission to bring an end to the end of times.

Chapter Text

Well, if John had sold his soul to save Dean it might have caused a paradox in Bobby’s opinion. It would have been the one thing that could possibly redeem John from the suffering he had caused but in so doing he would have doom himself to hell despite the final good deed. Bobby decided not to worry about it as long as Dean remained healthy and away from his father. Bobby had started giving Dean some space now that he was fairly certain that the boy himself hadn’t done anything drastic but he was still keeping a close eye on the depressed lad. Weary from a long day of dusty digging Bobby trudged up the short fight of stairs to the single shared bathroom in the old house. The last rays of the dying sun warmed the wooden rail and the closed door to the guest room where Dean had turned in early. Bobby let the warm water in the sink smear the dirt on his palms and wash it down the drain for a good minute just enjoying the soothing feeling of the water on his dry and gritty palms. He cursed as he reached for the soap and clumsily knocked the soap bar on to the floor where it slipped under the sink like a large slimy slug leaving a wet trail of goo. With a groan and his hands on his knees Bobby crouched down to grab the bar. The underside if the cabinet that held the sink was just plain white painted wood and the soap bar was easily found in the small space but a glint of reflected light from the setting sun caught something metal taped to the bottom of the cabinet. The object confused Bobby for a mere moment before it made him physically ill. It was a box cutter but the short metal blade’s edge looked like it had rusted. Bobby knew better the rest of the tool was too new and shiny to be rusting. It was dry blood that coated the edge of the blade. The doctor’s words about depression came flooding back and a very new fear for Dean took place in the old man’s heart. His first instinct was to kick Dean ass then yell at him then hug in that order. A deep breath later Bobby had peeled the tape away and pocketed the box cutter along with ever other sharp blade and edge on the second floor. Which was quite a feat in a hunter’s household. He had collected 4 razors, a hunting knife, a machete, and butcher’s blade. Then he took up his post in the old wooden chair at the base of the stairs into the kitchen where he could clearly see Dean’s door and the door to the bathroom. Then the old hunter did his job. He waited for his prey.

Dean was running. Feet pounding on packed dirt trail surrounded by dark misty forest. At the edge of his vision a brown mop of shaggy hair bounced away with the looping gate of ridiculously long legs.
“SAM! Wait!” Dean panted, muscles straining to push him faster. Open air met his feet as he stumbled over the cliff edge at a break neck speed. He tried desperately to back-up but his wings felt like anchors overbalancing him and pulling him down- down- down. The wind whipped passed his face, cruelly stealing his breath. White feathers billowed up around him, as he plummeted, as useful as an inverted parachute.
He jerked awake. Muscles spasming violently against the mattress instead of hard ground. Bobby’s house. Sam left. Dad’s gone. Dean just lay in bed for another hour watching the sun rise without any real emotion on the outside. He felt empty and pointless. A dead weight that Bobby was forced to deal with. He should just crawl under a rock somewhere so Bobby didn’t have to deal with him. It was nearly 6am when Dean finally dragged himself out of bed in the hope that the late sleeping Bobby would still be asleep while he dealt with the wings that had ruined his life. The things dragged behind him like a depressed cape. Cocooning himself in a red blanket and looking like an eskimo but feather safely hidden from view he exited his room; headed toward the bathroom. He felt like batman with his cape dragging along behind him. Though he did have a better jaw line than Christian Bale if he did say so himself. He would look awesome in a cowl. The whole no gun rule was ridiculous through. Monsters even human ones needed to be put down and whether it was via a knife or a gun dead was dead. He would be more of a gun slinging batman like Jason Todd. He would make an outstanding red hood.
He grunts good morning to Bobby as he catches his eye on his way to the restroom he pulls the blanket a little tighter over his shoulders. In one practice motion he the bathroom door is shut and locked. Releasing the blanket, it falls to the floor in a soft pile. He rolls out the tense muscles in his bare shoulder; wings flexing with the motion. Crouching down he blindly reaches searching for the box cutter under the sink. Finger tips finding nothing but smooth wood he frowns and awkwardly looks under the sink cabinet ear almost pressed to the floor but the tool is gone. A quick panicked search of the floor and the rest of the bathroom and it is clear the tool has been taken not fallen.
The blanket feels suffocating as he once again snatched it up and threw it over his shoulders and tosses open the bathroom door. He could grab his hunting knife it should still be in his bag. One step out of the bathroom and the trap was sprung.
“Morning. Lost something son,” growled Bobby. The older hunter stood arms crossed blocking Dean’s path and corning him with only the bathroom at his back.
“No. Let me pass.” Buffed Dean turning his shoulders sideways to try and edge passed Bobby and escape the hunter into his room. Willing the traitorous appendages to stick as close to his back as possible.
“Would you care to explain this?” Bobby displayed the gory box cutter in his palm and taking a step into Dean’s personal space. Keep calm; lie. He tried to school his features remain expressionless. For goodness sake he lied for a living. But his breath had hitched at the first sight of the blade. Besides he might be a professional liar but Bobby was the con artist.
“Dean, please tell me that…Son I know that you had it rough but you have to know that things can get better. You have people who care about you. I …. Please tell me you haven’t been cutting yourself.” Bobby was no better at expressing emotion than the Winchesters and his voice broke a few times as he spoke and Dean averted his eyes and swallowed hard. Which was not quelling any of Bobby’s fears.
“Bobby, I’m not.” Insisted Dean physically pushing passed Bobby to get to his room.
“Then prove it.” Bobby reached out before Dean could stop him and grabbed a fist full of the blanket and ripping it back off Dean’s arm and shoulder gaze sweeping up the well muscled forearm and bicep to look for the tell-tale sign of parallel scars. Dean’s fair skin was marked with every type of scar except the ones Bobby had expected. He was suddenly remined of incident a few years earlier where he had first seen many of these scars but more had been added to the extensive collection. He might have spent more time raging over the abuse marks if he hadn’t died and gone to heaven. There was an angel standing in front of him.
Dean made a desperate grab for the blanket but it was too late. His left wing tip had slipped out from its hiding place and Bobby eyes had zeroed in on the feathers. Heart in his throat Dean tried to flee but Bobby snatched his wrist twisting and putting pressure on his elbow forcing him to his knees and causing the rest of the blanket to collapse to the floor freeing feathers galore. White and blue shifting in a soft sea that hung a few inches form the bare muscles of Dean’s back. Bobby was a hunter. Dean was one of the things he hunted. He had been lucky with his Dad. His Dad had loved him too much to do what needed to be gone. Bobby was sure to finish the job. Might as well let him do it too. Dean went absolutely limp with the thought. He had nothing and no one now. Mom was dead. Dad was gone. Sam had left and now Bobby hated him too.
Ok. So this was not how Bobby had imagined his day going and his was not the conversation he had imagined himself having with the boy. So the boy had wings? Bobby was sure if the boy had wings yesterday, he would have noticed because there was no way the estimated 6 foot wing span could have been hidden beneath the white t-shirt Dean had been working in yesterday. He had placed the boy in an arm lock to keep him from escaping the conversation in typical Dean fashion wanting to deal with what ever curse or supernatural magic this was on his own. But he should have known better but finding out the Dean had wings had come as a shock of course but granted it wasn’t the strangest thing too happen in Singer life by far. No, that honor still belonged to the time traveling UFO that was shaped like a London police box but that was besides the point. No what mattered now was trying to calm the panicking boy down. Dean struggled to get enough air as he wheezed.
“Bobby…I know I am a monster. But I am trying to do good. I’ve hunted so many things saved so many people to make up for it. I can be useful. Please don’t…”
Bobby felt sick. He was going to gut John if he ever saw him again for telling his son he was a monster but that did beg the question about how long Dean had been sporting the wings.
“Son. You’re not a monster. And I’m not going to hurt you.” mutter bobby awkwardly releasing his grip on Dean’s elbow and wrapping his arm around Dean being careful not to literally ruffle any feathers in the attempted hug. The boy went absolutely limp in his arms.
“I can look normal. I cut them off myself after they regrow.” Offered Dean hopefully maybe Bobby would let him stay after all. Bobby dropped the boxcutter in disgust as if it burned him.
“*&^%!! absolutely not” Dean flinched away as if expecting a blow. Bobby shock his head in frustration. So the wings grew back? “There will be no more cutting.”
“But,”
“No buts, there will be plenty of research but no more cutting kid.”
When the shaking finally stopped and the tears tracks had dried. Dean let Bobby steer him to the down stair couch and shove a hot cup of coffee into his hand. He felt sort of numb. Like all emotion had poured out of him and the relief he felt towards Bobby’s calm acceptance towards him was overwhelming but still tinged with suspicion. Bobby hadn’t made a move at him besides eyeing his wings critically and talking at him constantly and he eventually started to relax. It was odd trying to sit on the couch with his wings. It was like trying to sit down with a backpack. They pushed him forward to the edge of the seat pressed up against the backrest. Eventually he relaxed enough to allow them to half open to either side so he could lean back into the couch.
“The sowing machine is in the attic…don’t look at me like that kid, sowing is an important skill..”
For the first time since in days a weak smile curled the edges of Dean lips. The smart-ass remark not quite making it out but definitely crossing his mind.
“I think if we cut slits in the back of your shirts, we can carefully get your wings through so you can spare the girls from fainting. I have an old leather trench coat for public but you will have to take it off to fly.”
Dean nearly snorted his coffee. Coughing on the hot liquid he managed.
“I can’t fly.”
Bobby just gave him a look like he was slow. “Dean, those aren’t paper weights attached to your back.” Bobby was now making a mental check list. It went something like this: 1) Keep Dean from mutilating himself, 2) fix Dean wardrobe, 3) research, 4) push the kid off a cliff and watch him fly.

 

Author's Note:
Jensen Ackles voiced the red hood in the animated Batman movie Under the red Hood. He also did a photoshoot in a full red hood costume and has said multiple times that he would like to play him in a DC movie. I hope he does. He would be perfect for the role.

Chapter Text

Sam fingers tapped madly on the well-worn keys of laptop. The essay was due tomorrow and he had only started it an hour ago. It was an argument essay meant to be on a controversial topic to practice writing and debate both important skills for a prelaw-student. The English professor had promised he would not grade on topic and only on logic and writing. So Sam decided to be truthful.
Guns are the great equalizers. Sam wrote. There are two main arguments against guns. The first is that if they are banned or heavily restricted crimes involving guns will decrease. The second is that that if they should be removed because they are too easy to use thus accidents with children are too likely. In the following evidence will be found to support the right of the people to bare-arms.
If you are concerned with the first case lets consider who obeys the laws. Yes, restricting guns would stop law abiding citizens from having as many guns. But murder is just as illegal as stealing a gun, so do you really believe that the same person who is willing to commit a crime is going to be concerned about new restriction on guns? No. Law that make it difficult to buy guns will only inhibit the law-abiding citizens. The people who would use their guns for good, not the ones who would cause pain and suffering. Thus increasing restrictions on gun use would actual increase crime rates as criminals will continue to have access to guns while law abiding citizen have a harder time buying necessary weapons to defend themselves. One might say that despite this logic that there is no proof this would actual be the result. However, there is proof. England can be taken as a case study. They heavily restricted firearms to the point that even their police do not carry. The result? England has much higher crime rates than America.
Now if your concern is about accidental shooting because of the ease of use of the gun let me remind you that more people accidentally die in car crashes and swimming pools then are accidentally shot. Cars are just as deadly weapons and kill far more people every year and are just as easy to access. Swimming pools rank way higher in accidental deaths especially for children. Pools aren’t being banned or restricted even through they are far less useful. It is just as easy for a child to accidentally take a lung full of water and drown than it is for a child to pull a trigger. Instead of stopping children from swimming and banning dangerous pools. Swim lessons are more popular than ever. Starting at just six months old some parent train their children to be safe in the dangerous environment with infant and toddler swim lessons. So maybe instead of keeping children away from guns they should be taught to use and respect them properly.
So far here guns have defeated illogical statements of reason they should be band but here is some proof that guns should be more wide spread. A person can’t be a true feminist and want gun restriction. By nature, women are physically on average weaker than men this is fact and can’t be argued. While there are of course exceptions to most rules the average male can still dead lift the world champion female record without too much difficulty. Thus if a woman is cornered by a male attacker. If the male attacker has no weapon, a knife, or a gun the result will almost always be the same. The male will most likely win in all cases. If the women has a knife the male may still be able to win given his physical strength. This is more of a toss up but the male still has by nature an advantage. But the gun is the great equalizer. If you give the either a gun they would win. If you given them each a gun it become fifty fifty and thus equal. A gun allows the weak to defend themselves. It prevents physical strength being the determining factor on who dominates and gives women a change to be equals. In fact, there are only three Olympic sports where men and women have competed as equals at one point and time. These are sailing, horseback riding and shooting. Shooting was once again split by gender in resent years but only because the women were starting to out compete the men and that was painful to the male ego.
In conclusion restricting or banning guns actually increases crime, teaching children about guns would reduce accidental shooting, and the gun is what has allowed women to truly be men’s equal.
Sam sighed he would have to cite the actual statistical data later if he wanted to be more convincing but he was feeling lazy for the moment. He had chosen the topic because he and his brother had grown up around guns and gun had more than once save their skins from much deadlier monsters that would have ripped their small family apart. It annoyed him when the young idealistic college students blamed guns as evil. Guns were simply objects and could be used for good or evil. People for some strange reason blame the gun for the evil dead in a shooting but people never blame the bomb but the bomber. A gun is a tool. People are the ones with the capacity for good and evil.
His dorm room door burst open without a knock and his roommate half fell into the room supported by an angel. The blond drop Randy unharmoniously onto the opposite bed with a huff of annoyance long bouncy air perfectly framing her heart shaped face and bright eyes.
“Thanks Jennifer,” slurred Randy into his pillow.
“Its Jessica, you dumbass and don’t call me again I don’t date dead beat drunks,” she whipped around noticing Sam for the first time siting at the desk on the opposite side of the double dorm room.
“Hi I’mm S-Sam,” stuttered Sam mouth gone suddenly dry. His brain felt like it was overheating this girl was way too hot to be looking at him for this long. This was the kind of girl that Dean got lucky with not Sam. Her lips curled in a smile all too aware of the effect she was having on Sam.
“Friday night,” she said fixing Sam with a curious gaze.
“huh,” Sam said intelligently. The excited screams of some drunk college students and too loud Maroon 5 floated through the open window.
“So what is a guy like you doing alone in his room, when everyone else is with friends partying it up?”
“Homework,” Sam answered truthfully. He had decided early that he had given up everything to go to school, he was going to make it count. He was going to be successful and have the normal apple pie life and hopeful help a few people along the way.
On instinct of year of researching the magical Sam snapped the laptop shut. At least he tried to snap the laptop shut a delicate manured hand slipped between the screen and keys keeping it from closing. Sam didn’t stop her from opening it and examining the open word document he was more concerned with proximity of her chest and was trying desperately to focus on her face but it was heard when she was leaning over him to look at the laptop.
“So you were telling the truth,” Jessica returned the laptop to Sam “Hardworker and honest. Now I can work with that,” Jessica winked at Sam before she grab Sam hand and a pen from his desk writing her phone number on his palm.
“Call me when you’ve done your homework.” Then she twirled and disappeared out the door leaving a slack jawed Sam.
The smell of burning plastic shocked Sam out of his daze. Sam glazed down when he felt a slight heat on his leg. His shorts were on fire-literally. Yelping. Sam panted out the fames racing to the bathroom pulling of the clothing and turning on the shower to hose the flames. Standing in the icey water Sam pinched his eye closed waiting for the shock to wear off and the pain from the burns to bring him to his knees. After a few minutes of nothing but slight discomfort at the cold Sam glanced at his bare legs. The skin was unmarked. What was happening to him? Sam ran his hand through his hair hand carefully avoiding the sharp tips of the two horns that curled beneath the mop of brown hair. They were getting bigger he would have to let his hair grow longer if he wanted to continue to hide them. He was going to continue to research what was happening to him but that doesn’t mean he was going to bemoan the problem and not enjoy the perks. His eyes flashed red as he glanced at the scented bathroom candle and with a snap of his fingers the candle spontaneously lit.