Turn the Page Chapter 1: On a Long and Lonesome Highway, a supernatural fanfic

A/N: Here it is! Something I have been working on for soooooo long. Hopefully I can keep up with it, but no promises. This doesn't co-inside with Night Moves, but don't fret, that story isn't over yet either.

"Well, are the rumors true? Is the album about your hardships with alcoholism?" She asked, which made Dean take in a big breath. He never liked to admit what he was. He never wanted to say he was an alcoholic, but when you let yourself be in a drunken haze for nearly seven years what are you?

"Not all of it," Dean said honestly. "Some of it is stuff I had written when I was with Alistair, but there are a few songs about that. Honestly I'm not scared about telling people I'm a recovering alcoholic. I'm more scared that because I don't have the booze people won't like me anymore." Charlie nodded, making note of that on her note pad. Dean let out a held in breath, trying not to let his nerves get to him.

"Well I would find that hard to believe. You're Dean Winchester," Charlie said with a genuine smile, making Dean relax a little. "And if this is a new beginning, then so be it. I don't think hotel owners would be against your decision to be sober." That made Dean chuckle. It was a full laugh, ones he really only got with Sam now. He smirked and huffed another laugh.

"Yeah, the name of the album is going to be called Turn the Page."

On a long and lonesome highway, east of Omaha

You can listen to the engine moanin' out its one note song

You can think about the woman, or the girl you knew the night before

1973. Omaha, Nebraska

Dean clears his throat, the tour bus is blazing with the summer heat, and he wished for one moment that he had a god damn drink. The kind of drink that made him get a little mean, and even a little depressed sometimes. A drink that made him forget about everything that had gone wrong in his life, or his entire life if he wanted to be serious. Dean stopped his thoughts though when he flicked his gaze to see Sam fanning himself with a stray paper plate, a book in his hands. The older brother smirked a little before going to look back out the window. He was tense, it had been so long since he had been on a stage, out in front of people, singing. Dean was scared that no one would like him, would like the new and 'improved' Dean Winchester. What if they liked the singer that trashed hotel rooms, slept with whoever he pleased, and cussed out paparazzi every time they came around? What would he do then? Probably go back to a bottle, though Sam kept assuring him that he still had fans. That he had people who would love him no matter how he acted.

Dean could believe that he guessed. If people didn't want to see him then he wouldn't have had a sold out show in the biggest arena in Nebraska. People had to at least care enough to spend twenty bucks for lawn seats. He sighed, his throat dry. Dean turned to Sam again and clicked his tongue. "We got anything cold on this thing?" He asked and Sam's gaze flicked to look at Dean.

"Depends on what you're referring to. I'm sure that we've got Coca-Cola," he said raising a brow. Dean rolled his eyes. He hated when his brother just assumed that he meant alcohol. He was nine months sober, he wasn't just going to through that away when the bus got hot.

"I'm thirsty Sam. Not sure if you noticed or not, but it's like ninety degrees in here," he said, grunting a little as he stood up and walked to the cooler they kept by the fold out table. He pulled off the lid, looking down at the iced beverages. Dean pulled out a Coca-Cola, popping the cap off on the table. He looked down at it, taking a sip as he walked back to his chair. Damn, not matter how hard he tried not to think about the alcohol he always ended up doing it. He let out a sigh and took another sip before speaking up again. "No matter how hard I try, I think I'm always going to taste Jack Daniel's."

Sam sat his book down, looking over to Dean. "I'm sure you will, but as long as there isn't any actual whiskey in it I'm sure you'll be fine," he said and Dean's brows raised for a moment before he smirked.

"I guess a phantom taste is better than the real thing. Health wise," he said as he let out a slight chuckle, shaking his head as his brother narrowed his eyes. "Come on Sam, if I can never joke about it then I might as well be dead already." Sam let out a long sigh and Dean smiled, resting back into his seat and trying not to think about the sweat that was starting to layer on his skin.

"That's the thing with you Dean, you're almost thirty five, joking about your life isn't funny when you've got a liver that looks like a raisin," Sam said and Dean let out a groan.

"Dammit Sam I might just leave you in Omaha if you keep talking about my health. You're my kid brother, not my doctor," he said, sipping his soda. "If I wanted to be reminded of my health I would have brought along Dr. Devereaux, because he is such a big ball of sunshine." Which was a complete lie. Devereaux did his job, but he liked to insult Dean as he did it. It wasn't a problem, he got Dean to drop the bottle, and he made him stay away from it. So Dean thanks him for that, he just wished he had better bedside manner.

Sam huffed, but rather than retort, he just went back to his book. Dean watched as his brother leaned back into the couch, crossing one leg over the other. After a few quiet moments Dean closed his eyes, leaning back into the chair he was sitting on and sipped his coke. It wasn't long before there was a rhythm in his head, fingers tapping along to a slower beat. The singer opened his eyes, and a moment later and he was walking to the back room.

It was where his bed was, along with little trinkets that you would normally find in a room. His guitar was there, still on the bed where he had left it. Dean climbed onto the musty old mattress, placing the coke on a little shelf that was by his pillows. As he moved he heard his brother walk to pull the screen to shield anyone from looking into the bedroom. Sam knew what Dean was about to do, and Dean was even surprised that he was doing it.

Dean grabbed his guitar, palm sliding up the neck, fingers gliding past frets. His thumb struck a few strings, a smile widening. Almost perfectly tuned. Dean played a few more notes, turning the tuner mechanisms till it was in key. He hadn't expected this, he hadn't realized that he could even think of new notes and rhythms without some type of liquor in his body. Here he was though, and he was writing a song. He played a few notes, humming along as the words weren't yet to him. But the music was there, and without much longer Dean was singing a few cords, working his fingers along the fret. After while of just playing, Dean started to hear the words. He grabbed his old leather note book that used to belong to his father, and he jotted down a few lyrics.

It had been years since Dean had actually written a song about his hardships. About his life. When he was with his old manager it was always those songs that sounded like all the other guys. Dean never wanted to be like that, but whenever he actually sat down to write nothing would come to him. And once he got Jack and Jim to help him, well, then it was usually just gibberish. At least, to his manager it was. So Dean sang what they gave him, and his fingers would play the notes, but when the lights would go down, and Dean would see that he was just a person that could probably be copy and pasted. That was when his drinking got bad.

Dean coughed, clearing his throat, and he called out to his brother. His fingers still worked along the neck of the guitar as he spoke. "Sammy! How much longer?" He called, back resting into the pillows and legs crossed at the ankles.

"We got about another hour," Sam called, obviously engrossed in his book by his tone. Dean nodded, even though his brother couldn't see him, and he started up again. It was a song, an actual good and emotional song. It was a song with meaning and life, and Dean actually wrote it. He continued to play and write, anxiously waiting for them to arrive at the stadium. Maybe this was the song he was missing. Maybe this was the one piece in his new album that he needed. Dean played his noted, and he sang a little on the bus, smiling. He poked his head out of his room and looked to Sam.

"Are we taping the show tonight?" He asked, raising a brow. Sam raised a brow, but he nodded.

"Of course, it's your debut back. Why wouldn't we?" Sam said in return, and Dean just smiled wider.

"I think the album for this is going to have a bonus track." Dean walked out with the paper, showing it to Sam. "If I talk to the guys before the show I could do an acoustic of this. Just myself and the guitar. What do you think?" Sam looked at the paper, and he let out a small smile.

"This is really good, and I like the name. I thought you were just doing that as an album name." Dean shook his head.

"I couldn't think of the words till now."

"Check," Dean spoke softly into the microphone, his eyes on the sound guy up a few rows from him in the stands. His eyes squinted as he watched the guy, turning a few knobs, flicking a few switches. "Check, check." Suddenly his voice was ringing out through the arena, and Dean felt his stomach drop. This was happening, Dean was actually going to sing in front of an overcrowded arena again. He swallowed thickly and he closed his eyes. His hands were shaking and he cursed a little under his breath. In return it reverberated throughout the empty seats and Dean sighed. Yeah. A nice tall bottle of bourbon would be nice right about now.

No, Dean didn't need alcohol to be a good musician. All he needed was the confidence to do what he wanted. Next he strummed his guitar listening to the notes echo throughout the stadium. The sound technician gave a thumbs up and Dean nodded to pull his guitar off of him. Just a few more hours and he'd be singing in front of a packed stadium. His stomach felt queasy, but at the same time he knew he was hungry as he headed back stage. "Sammy," Dean called seeing his brother walked around a corner and into view. Sam raised a brow.

"Yeah?" He asked, looking at his brother as he approached closer. Dean smiled a bit and rubbed the back of his neck nervously. The motion always made Sam narrow his eyes suspiciously. "What?"

"Any way we can get food?" He asked and Sam groaned, rolling his eyes.

"I told you to eat on the bus!" He exclaimed, throwing his hands up. His brother sighed as well, looking down.

"I want a burger, we can't get burgers on the bus," Dean said and Sam huffed, already moving to grab his jacket that was laid beside Dean and his acoustic guitar. Dean followed along with a warm smile.

"Well, you can't always get what you want Dean," Sam said, smiling and looking at his brother as they slipped their jackets on.

"Did you just Stones me?" He asked, laughing a little. Sam nodded proudly and chuckled along with his brother. They laughed and walked out of the concert hall, Dean's unsettling stomach calming some just because he had his brother around. The singer was happy that he was able to fix his relationship with his brother. That Sam had been able to look past the rude comments and fights. Just as Dean was about to lit up a smoke he smiled to his brother. "Hey Sam?" His brother turned to look at him. "Thanks, for not leaving."

Sam's smile turned a tad sad, but he still patted his brother's back. "Of course," he said, dimples penetrating his cheeks in a happier smile. "We're family. Always will be." Dean nodded and took a long drag of his cigarette, feeling the smoke fill his longs. He let out a long breath, seeing the smoke float from his mouth. Just as they were about to leave the concert hall, Dean was suddenly running into someone. He grunted a tad, and looked down at the woman, frowning. Judging by her press badge Dean wasn't going to want to talk to her.

Just as he held up his hand to tell her to go away, the girl was holding up her ID. "Charlie Bradbury, Rolling Stone Magazine," she said, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose. Dean looked her over. Long red hair, thick rimmed glasses. He really didn't want to do an interview right now, and Dean had a feeling that was exactly what Miss Bradbury wanted. "I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions." Dean wanted to put up some resistance. He wanted to say no to the woman and tell her to fuck off, but he wasn't that person anymore. Dean could be civil with people, and he could sit down and do an interview. Especially if it was Rolling Stone.

Dean forced a smile and then looked at his brother. "We were about to get food, if you'd want to join us you're more than welcome to," he said, turning to face Charlie yet again. She was cute, but she wasn't Dean's type. Of course, Dean didn't really know what his type was anymore. He just knew that Charlie was in fact not it. She smiled greatly and nodded, slipping her little note pad into her back pocket. "I wouldn't put that away, we're going to walk and talk."

Charlie's eyes went wide for a moment, before she nodded frantically and grabbed her notepad, tape recorder at the ready as well. "Right," she said, and coughed to clear her throat. As they walked from the concert hall, Charlie spoke softly into her recorder. "Interview with Dean Winchester, today's date is July, the twenty sixth, 1973. Mr. Winchester has agreed to do an interview with me." She peeked over to Dean and he smirked.

"Any time you want doll," he said, and Charlie blushed a tad. She stuttered over her words a little, as if collecting her thoughts. Dean could tell though, he could tell she wasn't interested in him, she was just surprised to be actually talking to someone famous. "Just get the gig?" Charlie looked down as they walked, Sam opening the door for her to leave the arena. Charlie smiled, thanking him.

"Am I that obvious?" She asked with a little huff. Dean smirked all the same though, and he nodded.

"Yeah, but don't worry. I don't bite," he said walking behind her as started their journey to the diner. It was a little ways down the road, and Dean was happy they had the place blocked off. He really didn't want to deal with a bunch of fans. "Hard. At least, not anymore." Charlie turned to Dean and she nodded, letting him lead the way. They walked in quiet, Dean figured that the young girl was probably gathering her questions that she wanted to ask. She even stopped her tape recorder for the moment. He smiled and looked around a bit.

The area of the city was small, and he liked what all the little shops were decorated with. As they passed a music shop he smiled, seeing a poster for his concert tonight plastered all over the windows. "You're still big Dean," Sam reassured, and Charlie looked up from her note pad, looking at the interactions between the two siblings. She narrowed her eyes a tad before writing something down quickly. Dean paid her no mind and went to look at his brother. He pushed him roughly and rolled his eyes.

"Shut up," he grumbled, sticking his hands in his jean pockets.

As they entered the diner Sam held the door open for Charlie and Dean. The journalist however took a step back and let Dean lead the way to their table. He picked a booth, always a fan of them, and slid into a seat as she sat on the other side. Sam sat next to her and opened up a menu.

"Just pretend I'm not here," he said, already letting his eyes fall across the menu. Dean rolled his eyes a little bit.

"Start taking notes. He follows me around like a lost puppy to make sure I don't Irish my coffee," Dean said, earning him a kick to the shin. He hissed in pain and glared at Sam, which just resulted in the younger Winchester to snicker. Charlie nodded, flipping open a tiny little notebook and scribbled across it immediately. "You have the recorder, so why take notes?" Charlie stopped for a moment, knocking her pen across the linoleum table.

"I uh, I like having two different sources for my writing. I mean, sure, taping it is great, but at the same time I can put some things in my notes that the recording doesn't get," she said, which made Dean raise a brow. She knew that meant to continue with her explanation, so she showed him her note pad. Written across it in frantic writing was a few words. 'Dean Winchester is close with his brother Sam.' "The recording won't say that to me when I go back in for review. It won't tell me if you smile while you talk or if you're actually answering with some sincerity. So the notes help as well."

Dean sat back in his seat. "So you like to be thorough?" He asked, resulting in her to nod her head. Dean nodded back as well and crossed his arms over his chest. "Well, then get on with it Velma. I'm an open book." Charlie frantically nodded and flipped a few pages back on her notepad, adjusting her glasses.

"Well, first off," she started, clearing her throat and setting the tape deck on the table. "What made you come back?" Dean clenched his jaw. What did make him come back? He's been battling the bottle for over four years now, and just as he gets a handle on his life he's back to the stage. The place that lead him to the bottle in the first place.

"Honestly?" He asked, Charlie nodded. "I don't know Miss Bradbury." He leaned forward, crossing his arms over his chest. "I came back because I'm broke, and performing on that stage is the only thing I know what to do."

"So, if you weren't having financial issues you wouldn't have come back?" Dean took a second to think that out. He still thinks he would have come back. Dean enjoyed being on the stage, it was what it lead him to that freaked him out the most.

"Don't get me wrong, I live to sing on a stage with people screaming my name," he said, watching as a waiter was at a booth behind Charlie. The man hadn't so much as looked at him, and it was a little confusing. Almost everyone in the joint had given Dean a few stares, but this guy? Not a glance. "But the pressure it put on me to be at the top of my game every single time I performed? And to have the…. Persona of being the party guy? Well, that's what nearly killed me." He can remember crashing hotel rooms like it was yesterday. He can remember throwing a chair out a balcony window and being banned from any of the Marriotts in the entire United States. "My old manager didn't help with it either."

"That was another thing I wanted to touch on," Charlie was quick to say, but was interrupted by the waiter who had yet to look at Dean walked to the booth.

"What can I get for you guys this afternoon?" He asked, finally glancing at Dean. He didn't wear a name tag, but his voice was deep, almost raspy, and Dean was a little hooked on how it sounded. But something was off. They guy didn't widen his eyes, and he didn't say a single word to Dean. About anything.

"My brother will have a coffee and a bacon cheeseburger," Sam responded, which caused Dean to realize that he and the kid had been staring at each other for several moments.

"Yeah, yeah I do," he said, breaking the gaze. He looked down at his unopened menu and then watched as the kid, he looked about eighteen or nineteen, take the rest of the orders. Dean thought it was strange though, the kid didn't have a name tag. When Dean went to look at those green eyes again the guy was turning around and heading for the kitchen. Which yet again left Dean a little dumbfounded. "I…"

"That guy had no idea who you were," Charlie said, a little surprised herself. "Not at all." She blinked a few times with Dean, before she continued her question. Dean though, his mind was still on those emerald eyes, how they had no recognition in them at all. Dean thought he was internationally famous, and he at least figured he'd be big in the town he's performing in, but apparently not. "Regardless, you've previous Manager, Alistair." Dean swallowed thickly. He hated hearing that man's name. What was he supposed to do though? Everyone who knew Dean knew about the terrible things that Alistair did to him. "In an interview he did for Newsweek last month, and in that interview-"

"I read it, I know what he said," Dean snipped. He wanted to get the Alistair question over as soon as possible. "My past manager led me down the road I just got off of, and he can deny it all he wants, but he did. He made me sing cookie cutter rock music, and he bought me every drop of alcohol I consumed. He made sure I was drunk so I would sing his stupid god damn songs and I wouldn't sing mine."

"So your new album, the one you're releasing tonight?" She started, scribbling down her notes. Charlie didn't look at all offended by how Dean had been speaking to her. Maybe she would make it in this world after all. "It's all from your mind correct? You wrote every song?" Dean smiled, finally something he wouldn't mind talking about.

"Yeah, ever since I dropped Alistair I've been writing my stuff, what I wanted to sing," Dean said, feeling a little proud in the album that he created. Ever since Sam had taken over Dean had been able to do as he please. As long as it didn't involve Jack, Jim, or Jose. "So what I'll be singing on stage tonight will be available in the record stores tomorrow." Charlie smiled and she looked down, flipping through her pages again.

'Well, are the rumors true? Is the album about your hardships with alcoholism?" She asked, which made Dean take in a big breath. He never liked to admit what he was. He never wanted to say he was an alcoholic, but when you let yourself be in a drunken haze for nearly seven years what are you?

"Yeah, the name of the album is going to be called Turn the Page."