A/N: Hello, everyone! Here comes my next long fic! I have several in the pipeline but this one has been bugging me for a while so I'm determined to finally get it finished. I have a few chapters written but I'm spacing out the uploads so I have time to work on it. It's going to be very long, I warn you. I'm hoping for weekly updates :)
Thank you all for your amazing comments on my other fics! I hope you enjoy this one ^^
On Broken Wings
Chapter One
"Angels are watching over you," his mother whispered to him. He liked to believe they were. He liked to think that the man in his dreams was an angel in disguise. He was really nothing like an angel, with his coat that was too big for him and the frown set across his face. Yet Dean always wanted to go to him, to cross the street and say hello. Dean felt compelled to meet him. The man never stayed around long, gone when a bus passed or someone bumped into Dean or Dean let his eyes drift away just for a moment. Dean had never seen the man before in his life, but he was not scared. The man meant him no harm. "Sleep tight." He felt a soft kiss against his head but he was already drifting off into sleep. He was soon chasing a flash of tan coat in a forest somewhere, the usual game of hide and seek he played with the man. Sometimes he would even catch the glimpse of a smile, the flash of mischievous blue, over the man's shoulder. Sometimes the man completely disappeared, but Dean still knew he was there.
He was always there.
Dean watched the birds sailing through the clear blue sky, riding on the heat of the summer afternoon. From his place on the ground, the grass tickling his arms and the back of his neck, he could watch them soar freely above him. He wondered briefly if birds knew how free they were, and what such freedom felt like. What did it feel like to have no boundaries? The crickets chirped merrily around him and the breeze rustled in the nearby trees, but Dean kept his eyes on the birds overhead. He heard approaching footsteps, light and hurried and a bit erratic, and knew that Sammy was running over to him.
He turned his head to catch his six year old brother sprinting as best he could with rapidly growing limbs and floppy hair. "Dad says it's time to go," Sammy panted, and he was sweaty and dirty from helping their dad pack up the house. Dean nodded and slowly pushed himself up from the ground. He had liked this house, as well. It had a large back yard and nice neighbours, it was set in a quiet neighbourhood with pleasant kids and Dean wished they could have stayed longer. He knew it was hard, however. Ever since their mother died, their father had never really settled. He moved from place to place, never finding the comfort he had once been so familiar with. Of course that meant Dean and Sam had to go with him, trailed across every state, a different school every year.
Friends were hard to come by and it was rare that the neighbours were actually nice, and so Dean would miss this town, miss his friends, the neighbour's dog and the sweet old lady across the road. Yet their dad was unemployed once more, and so that meant they had to move on again. Sam tottered along at his side, hair flopping into his eyes as usual. Dean reached out absent-mindedly to brush the hair away, throwing in a small ruffle on the top of his brother's head for good measure, just in case it looked like he was being soft. "Did you say bye to everyone?" he asked quietly as they made their way up the back steps into the house. Sam nodded but seemed sad. He never seemed to make friends easily, but he seemed to get along well with the kids around there.
"They all said they'd miss us," Sam said with a small pout. Dean would miss them too. He had said his goodbyes to his own friends, the few that he had managed to make, and it had been tough, as usual. They traipsed through the empty house with slightly heavy hearts, and Dean would miss the smooth lines of the building, the plush carpet and the brightness of it. Their dad was waiting outside, ready to lock up. They had sent their furniture ahead in removal trucks, and the old Chevrolet Impala was packed tight in the trunk with the clothes they would need on the road and a few other supplies. Sam climbed into the back of the car and Dean slipped into the front passenger seat, watching through the windshield as their dad went into the house to lock the back door and check the windows.
"What do you think the new place will be like?" Sam asked in a hushed voice. Dean looked back to see wide eyes staring at him through a mess of hair, and he forced a smile. He really had no idea.
"I'm sure it'll be great. Big garden again, nice people, just right for us." The truth was, nowhere had been just right for them since the house they had been brought up in, the house that had burned down with their mother inside. Nowhere felt like home.
"Do you think we'll stay there?" Of course not.
"Sure, I bet this is the right one," Dean said smoothly, and for a ten year old he could lie like a professional. Sam nodded and pursed his lips as their dad returned to the car and climbed into the driver's seat.
"Ready?" He seemed too bright and cheerful for a man who was dragging his kids across the country again. Dean nodded and Sam chirped his agreement from the backseat. The Impala roared into life, the familiar growl and rumble that set Dean at ease and made him sink down in his seat and settle down. The only place that felt like home was the Impala.
It was a two day drive to Wichita, Kansas. They were almost returning home, to Lawrence, but not quite. Dean guessed it was close enough, as their dad seemed to have a thing about going within a ten mile radius of Lawrence. They would have to stop off halfway, in one of the horrid motel rooms they often stayed in when they moved home. Dean hated them. They had the horrid smell of stale sweat, and other things Dean did not want to think about, lingering in the air and on the sheets. Still, by the time it got to nine thirty, he hardly cared if he ended up sleeping on the floor. Car journeys were tiring, and the hours they had spent in the Impala had clearly taken their toll on Sam. The younger brother was laid out on the backseat, limbs going in all directions and eyes fluttering rapidly beneath his eyelids. Dean watched his brother for the few minutes it took their dad to go get them a room, his eyes following the gentle rise and fall of his chest, the way his hair was ruffled and would be sticking up in all directions in the morning, the way his small hands twitched as he dreamed.
It was at times like this, when Dean could watch Sam sleep peacefully without a care in the world, that Dean was glad. They were lucky that Sam was still alive, and Dean remembered clear as day the night he carried his brother from their burning home. Now he was older, he could not imagine a world without Sam. Now he was older, he respected just how important it was that Sam was still alive. He jolted as his dad ripped open the back door and leaned in to slowly peel Sam away from the seat. "Here's the key, Dean, grab the overnight bag and get the door, room 3A," he ordered gruffly, reaching over the back of the seat and shoving the key in Dean's hand. Dean took the order easily, as he always did, and hopped out of the car to run around to the trunk and get their bag.
Sam was lifted out of the car, draped in his dad's arms, as Dean hurried ahead to get the motel door unlocked. The room was as dismal as usual. Faded blue wallpaper peeled in various places, and the dim bulb in the middle of the room flickered now and then. He moved out of the way and dragged the bag between the two beds in the room. It looked like he was sharing with Sam, once again. He kicked off his shoes as his dad lay Sam down on the bed carefully, and then he climbed up next to his brother, pulling the sheets up over both of them. He was too tired to change, or even bother with much else, and his dad seemed to get the message as he pushed off his own boots and took off a few layers before flicking the light out.
Dean heard the other bed creak as his dad settled down for the night. He instinctively curled up towards the heat of his sleeping brother, closing his eyes and throwing an arm under the pillow. He knew he would wake up with Sam curled around him, but he hardly minded. It was just another nice reminder that he still had a brother.
His dreams were quiet as usual. They had been quiet for a long time. He faintly remembered a tan coat and blue eyes, but he had not seen them for months, maybe even years. Sometimes he did dream of them, but it was not the same. It as if he was dreaming of a memory, whereas it had once felt like the man walked in his very dreams. Dean sat in the middle of the forest and hugged his knees to his chest, waiting for the inevitable flames that would soon engulf the trees and then him. There was no escaping the fire. At first the man had helped him, leading him through the trees, a beacon of light and hope, but then one day he had disappeared. Dean had panicked. He was now so used to the idea of the fire, the scorching heat and the choking smoke, that he simply accepted it.
It would never stop him waking up a cold sweat several times a night.
The new house was a far cry from their old one. The old place had been a new build, with clean lines and a smart garden, like it was something out of a magazine. The building they pulled up in front of was nothing like that. It was huge, but ramshackle. Storm shutters hung from their hinges and the paint peeled from the window frames. The front door was also peeling, at least as far as Dean could tell through the jungle that was growing in the front yard. "Dad, what is this place?" Dean asked, mortified. His dad twisted in his seat to look at him, a grin on his face.
"It's great, isn't it? It was going cheaper than it should have, so I snapped it up," he said brightly before getting out of the car.
"Maybe it was cheaper for a reason," Dean mumbled. Sam shot him a concerned look from the back seat before he clambered out of the car, and Dean took a moment to look around at the street, with the large, impressive houses spread apart from each other, before sliding out into the heat of the summer afternoon.
The house was rotting. Dean could smell the mould and the damp, the stench only worsened by the heat of the day. The house also didn't have air con. The wallpaper was peeling worse than the crappy motel they had stayed at and there weren't even any carpets. Dean and Sam wandered through the house as their dad got onto the phone to the removal men to find out when they would turn up. Dean had to admit the building was impressive. It had two floors, the ground and the first, and then a converted attic right at the top. He guessed it was meant to be converted, at least, because there was a bed up there but the room hardly looked suitable for living in.
Dean coughed at the dust as he slowly climbed back down the ladder from the attic. "I want that one," he wheezed, brushing the dirt from his hair. Sam frowned at him, that adorable little creasing of the brow that made him look a few years older.
"Why?" Dean shrugged, because really he did not know. He just liked the room.
"Just want it," he muttered. "Which one are you taking?" They had more bedrooms than was really necessary. Sam looked around for a moment at the landing they were stood on.
"That one," he said, pointing to the one that faced out to the front of the house. Dean remembered it was large and had a huge window, along with a built in bookcase. Of course he would choose that one.
"Sure. Go see if dad needs any help with anything," Dean ordered lightly. Sam nodded and scurried off, small feet thundering on the creaking wood of the landing. He watched his little brother go before looking at the ladder again. He drew in a deep breath before climbing back up, poking his head up into the shadowy, dusty room. He hauled himself up onto the dirty floor and then stood, rubbing his hands down on his jeans and casting his gaze around. There was a single window overlooking the back yard and low hanging beams, but Dean was sure he could make it into the perfect little hideout given some time. He trailed a hand over one of the beams, feeling the rough wood beneath his fingers, as he moved over towards the window.
The glass was dirty and dusty, just like the rest of the house, and Dean wiped away some of the grime so he could get a better look. The back yard was just as overgrown as the front, Dean could see it beyond the slope of the roof. Trees lined the back fence, their branches overhanging the garden, leaves full and green and healthy. There were various flowers bobbing in the breeze amongst the long grass, and at the back, in the shadow of the trees, Dean could just make out a small, rickety structure. It was overtaken with shrugs and grass, but it appeared to be a shed of some description, built from metal that had rusted until the little structure had holes in it all over where the plants could creep through.
Dean stared at the shed for a long moment, breathing in the dust of the attic room as he stood, thinking. The attic would make a fine hideout just for him, but the shed? That would be the best place for him to hide out with Sam. He heard his dad call out for him and hurried back down the ladder before winding his way through the maze that was their new home to find his dad and Sam stood in the kitchen. It was in a state like the rest of the house, but at least it had an oven. "Dean, I need you two out of the way when they get here with the stuff. They'll be here in an hour, take Sammy out for a walk, get to know the place," their dad said, his voice gruff with tiredness, a rather prominent beard on his face to further highlight his exhaustion.
All Dean could do was nod before he was roped into helping unload what was in the Impala. There was some food and various other things such as pots and pans so they could get by if anything had gone wrong with the removal van. They had also shoved most of their clothing in there, which was not a lot but it still took a few trips to get everything inside.
By the time the Impala was unloaded the sun was starting to sink down in the sky, beginning its descent to the horizon. Dean was sweating and grateful of the glass of lemonade his dad brought out to him. It was warm, having been shoved in the Impala's trunk all day, but it was liquid and it was just what he needed. His dad joined him on the steps of the porch, resting his forearms on his knees and looking around at the overgrown front garden. "What do you think, son?" It was a genuine question, and Dean hardly had the heart to say what he really thought. It was falling apart and rotting, and the bath looked like it had not been cleaned in years. The yard was like a small jungle and Dean was sure something had died beneath the floorboards in the dining room. Yet his dad had tried, Dean knew that much.
"It's great," he lied smoothly, taking a sip of his lemonade and relishing the way it soothed his dry throat.
"Glad you like it. I thought we could stay here a little longer, maybe do the place up." Dean ignored those words. They would never stay longer. All they ever did was move around. However much he disliked the house, however, he certainly hoped they did settle down, if only for a little while.
When the truck rolled up, Dean found Sam reading on the floor of his bedroom. "Come on, short stuff, let's get out of the way," Dean called from the door to his room. His little brother looked up at him before placing the book down on the floor, pages facing down, and moving towards Dean. "It'll get dirty like that." Sam shrugged.
"It got dirty anyway, when I took it to the park that time." Sam had a limited selection of books, some a bit too advanced for his age and others a bit too simple, but he read them all. He also took them everywhere. It was not uncommon for the books to end up in a puddle or up a tree somehow.
"We'll get you some new books soon," Dean offered, and his brother grinned and nodded. Dean enjoyed encouraging him. Sam was the smart one, way more advanced than Dean had ever been at that age. He would have been lucky to get through a picture book.
They headed out onto the street just as the men started unloading the furniture, and Dean hastily dragged Sam out of the way and up the sidewalk. The sun was setting and casting the world into a pallet of rich orange and yellow, gold lining the trees and purple streaking through the sky. The air had cooled, and Dean took in the fresh air as they strolled along side by side. The neighbourhood seemed nice enough. It was quiet, Dean noticed, with no children in the yards and no dogs barking. Somewhere he heard a lawn mower going, and the faint smell of barbeque reached his nose. He wondered if they would get invited to one this year.
They had been walking about ten minutes when Sam finally spoke. "I like this house," he said quietly. Dean looked to him and raised an eyebrow lightly.
"You like it? It's a pile of crap," he scoffed. Sam looked at him, wide-eyed.
"Dad says you can't use that word."
"Dad can fuck off." That only made Sam's jaw drop, and Dean smirked in success. Maybe if his dad did not swear so much, he would not have picked up the habit. Still, he kept his mouth shut around their father, otherwise the belt would be off in a snap. "What do you like about it, anyway?" Sam shrugged and fiddled with the hem of his shirt. His clothes were all too big for him. He had grown so fast in the last few years, their dad had given up buying clothes so often, instead buying him things he would eventually grow into. As a result, Sam possibly only ever had a few months every few years where things fitted him as they should.
"It's old. I like old things," Sam said simply. Dean left it at that. He could hardly see the attraction of the house. "I hope we stay here," he said hopefully after a few minutes of silence.
"Me too, Sammy," Dean muttered.
Dinner consisted of beans heated up on the death trap that was the stove and served alongside what was presumably toast. Dean ate it for the sake of eating before taking Sam up to bed. The house was littered with furniture and boxes, but Dean knew it would not be long before their dad fished out the alcohol and started to put himself to sleep in his own way. He tucked his sleepy little brother into bed, glad that he had asked for their bedding to be unpacked so they actually had something to sleep under. The house was apparently cold at night.
Sam yawned as he curled up beneath the blankets, small hands grasping at the fabric as he buried his face against the pillow. "Goodnight, Sammy," Dean whispered, smoothing out his brother's hair with one hand. "Angels are watching over you." He retreated to the door and flicked off the light. Leaving the door open a crack to let in a thin stream of light, Dean headed towards the ladder that led up to his room.
The rickety old bed was still up there because the bed they had brought with them needed to be taken apart before it could be fed up through the narrow hatch and then rebuilt. Dean was glad his dad had decided to do it, but for a while he would be sleeping on the dusty old mattress. He had thrown blankets on it to make it more comfortable, but it still creaked and groaned as he moved. The dust caught in his throat and he could smell damp, but he soon settled down under the blankets. He had no idea why he liked it up there. He liked to think of it as his lookout, high above the yard, sitting on top of the rest of the house. It was his space, all his. It was about time he had space.
He closed his eyes and willed sleep to take over him. It came surprisingly fast, and held an even more surprising dream.
A flash of tan and Dean knew he was there. He could feel him. For a few years now he had simply dreamed of a memory, imagining the man who had watched his dreams from the day he was born. Now he knew for sure that the man in the coat was there. "I know you're here," Dean called out into the silence of the forest. A noise reached his ears, hushed and gentle, caressing his whole being like tendrils of warmth and light. It was like singing, but also like water cascading down rocks, the whisper of a breeze through the leaves, a choir singing softly. It faded and swelled around him, filling up the vibrating air and piercing through into his mind. Dean was not scared. It was all so new, so unfamiliar, so real but he was not scared. He did not fear it.
He span to look around, light seeping through the leaves above him, creeping in through the thick trunks around him. "Who are you?" The singing suddenly stopped and the light vanished. Dean was alone, and yet he was not alone. This time his heart lurched up into his throat, the blood rushing to his head as he smelt smoke. He gasped out, eyes darting around to spot flames dancing towards him. He closed his eyes tight and sank to the ground, hugging his knees to his chest again. He trembled and shook, a prayer slipping through his lips, hushed and broken with tears.
"Dean," the voice was close, right in front of him, and a deep rasp that felt so powerful. Dean's eyes flew open, and he was staring into the sharp blue that had haunted him since he was a child. Wild dark hair, a long, tan coat and a blue tie to match his eyes. Dean could believe this man was one of the angels his mother used to talk of. This was the first time Dean had looked him in the eye, the first time he had seen more than a fleeting glance. He was face to face with him at last. "You're okay," the man said calmly, a soft smile spreading onto his face.
"Who are you?" Dean whispered, entranced by the calming blue that drenched the flames around them. The man's smile faded and he pressed a hand to Dean's cheek soothingly.
"I am just a figment of your imagination," he muttered. "Wake up, now." He pressed a warm palm to Dean's forehead, and before Dean had chance to bat him away and cling onto the dream, he was sat bolt upright in bed, shirt clinging to the sweat on his body. His breathing came out in sharp bursts and his heart was racing as he looked around at the room wildly. It was just a dream of a memory. That was all it was. It had to be.