Righteous Man-Chapter One- Life in the Dreamhouse

Disclaimer: If I owned Supernatural, destiel would be canon and Charlie, Kevin, and Bobby would still be regular characters. Obviously I don't own it.

Wow guys I not only finished Good Little Soldier, but it now has a sequel. I actually can't believe this. Thank you all for loving the original enough to constitute a second episode, like seriously. Also, shoutout to my gf, because 1 she is awesome, and 2 she is obsessed with Barbie Life in the Dreamhouse because I'm pretty sure she is secretly a seven year old posing as a fourteen year old.

Anyway, I'm not going to post trigger warnings at the beginnings of chapters anymore, because basically all the same ones apply to all the chapters. So, if you read Good Little Soldier, it's exactly the same with more cussing. If you're new, there's a lot of child abuse and a little self-harm and the occasional suicide. Basically it's every abusive John Winchester fanfic ever. Enjoy.

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Twelve years ago:

It was three in the morning when the phone rang. And that was nothing new; I'd been up all night answering the wall of landlines in the kitchen. You get to be a pretty good voice actor when you have to go from FBI supervisor to chief of police to concerned parent in the space of ten minutes. And it's a good way to spend a night. Better than sleeping, anyhow. Bobby and I trade off. So when the phone rang, it was probably just another hunter.

"Homeland security," I'd said gruffly into the receiver.

"Dean." The voice on the other end was deeper than I remembered it.

"Sammy! How's college?"

I'd heard a muffled sigh, and the sounds of a car being pulled over. "My dorm burned down," he'd mumbled.

"Not good, then. What happened? Is your stuff okay?" I looked around for something loud enough to wake Bobby up.

"No, you don't get it. I…"

"Sammy, are you crying?"

"My dorm burned down because of the thing that killed Mom."

I knock over a chair and kick it across the room. "What the fuck? How do you know?"

"Because Jess was on the ceiling."

"Jesus christ."

"I'm half an hour away."

Bobby walks in and glares at me. I barely notice. "What are you going to do? You've gotta go back to Stanford at some point."

"No, I don't. I've gotta find this thing and kill it."

My heart skips a beat. And then another. "Sam. No." I'm not dealing with another Dad. I can't deal with another Dad. Sam. No.

"I'm half an hour away."

"You said that already."

"She's fucking dead, Dean. And it's Yellow-Eyes' fault."

I bite my lip and stare at the floor between Bobby and me. "Sam… look, I'm sorry about Jess. But getting back into hunting because she's gone? How insane do you have to be?"

"Actually I feel a lot more sane than I have in a while."

The line goes dead.

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Present Day:

I'm pretty sure Cas, who is the only one who doesn't need sleep, is the only one with a regular sleeping schedule in the bunker. Because I know Sam almost never sleeps, and when I wake up at noon Cas' side of the bed is always made. He always does that, and then if I don't make my side he always comes in at some point during the day and fixes it. I look over at his perfectly made side of the bed, then past it to the trench coat thrown over the chair in the corner.

Sometimes I try and remember when this happened. When I started thinking of that side of the bed as Cas' side of the bed, when he started wearing my t-shirts to bed and I stopped being able to sleep without his fingers twisted around mine. It's kind of like that, how seamlessly our lives have intertwined, like holding hands. I smile a little and run my hand over the smooth sheets on his side. A lot of shit's happened to me, to both of us, and it's too damn hard to believe it was all worth it sometimes. Right now it doesn't seem very hard.

If anyone made breakfast they either ate it all or gave up and threw it out, because the kitchen is basically empty. And obviously no one's gone grocery shopping in a while. I stare at the almost-bare shelves of the fridge for a few minutes, reminding myself that it's fine, we can just go out and get some stuff today, before pouring myself a cup of coffee and walking out into the library. Sam is hunched over his laptop, probably looking for a case. I sit down next to him and look over his shoulder.

"What'd you find?" I ask, scanning over the police report he has pulled up.

"Three vics in the last week, locked rooms, no sign of forced entry. And these-" he enlarges a picture of a sigil written on a bedroom wall in blood "- were in all the houses."

"So… witchcraft? Angels? What are we looking at?"

"That's what we're gonna find out. It's a two hour drive."

"Alright. I'll pack. Where's Cas, by the way?"

Sam just shrugs and closes the laptop. "He must have left while I was still asleep."

I stare at him for a few moments, trying to figure out if he's telling the truth or not. There's two things we're both equally good at: not sleeping and lying about not sleeping. Finally I decide to give him the benefit of the doubt. Lucifer happened almost five years ago; he's had time to recover, right? I think about the notebook Bobby gave me when I was fourteen, still sitting under my mattress like an ex's phone number next to a loaded gun. I wonder if Bobby gave him one, after hell.

I didn't think I was ever gonna get better. Sometimes I think maybe I didn't. But hey, I think, still staring at Sammy. Scars heal. Especially when you've got an angel who can heal them instantly.

"Dean?" Sam prompts. "You okay? You haven't blinked in, like, a minute."

I shake my head a little to clear it. "Yeah. I'm fine." I stand up and walk into the kitchen, abandoning my coffee on the table in the library.

Cas is in the kitchen, a few brown paper bags sitting on the counter next to him. His back is to me, and his hair is still sticking out in all directions after sleeping on it. I walk up behind him and wrap my arms around his waist.

"Good morning," I say, leaning my head on his shoulder.

"Technically it's good afternoon."

"Good afternoon."

He turns his head to kiss me. I might not be able to pinpoint the exact moment we became so inseparable, but I remember when this started. Mostly. It was a little after Metatron offed Naomi (and I'm constantly trying to decide which one of them was worse. Because Metatron was an ass, but he killed Naomi.). And Sam was gone. And Cas just walked into the library and told me he loved me, and I got mad because I'm an asshole, and then somehow we ended up a few inches away from each other and his eyes are really fucking blue and then it just… happened. I guess I'm just living a charmed life over here.

"Sam found a case two hours away," I say, pulling back. "You coming with us?"

He nods. "I'm going to put these away first. I went grocery shopping."

"I see that." I smile again. He always gets so proud of himself when he does normal, boring human shit like that. "I have to change," I say, walking towards my room. "Love you."

"I love you, too," Cas replies.

That never gets old.

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I shove a can of salt into my duffel bag and zip it closed. A door slams down the hall; Sam must be ready, too. As I walk towards the car I double check my FBI badge and put it in my pocket. Cas follows me a few seconds later, stuffing his own badge into his trench coat pocket.

"What's your name this time? Agent Bieber?" I ask with a grin.

He looks down. "Of course not…"

"This is why I'm making your fake IDs from now on."

"You use popular singer names-"

"Justin Bieber is not a singer. Trust me."

We head into the garage, where Sam is already throwing his bags into the Impala's trunk. "I call shotgun," he says loudly.

"What are you, twelve?" I reply.

"No, I'm six-foot-four and really fucking sick of cramming myself into the backseat."

"Fine. Whatever. Cas, you're in back."

"Why are you the only one who drives?"

"I don't know. Let's see: who's taken the best care of Baby?"

"Me," Sam says from the passenger seat. "You crashed this thing like fifty times. Also you basically destroyed it with a hammer once."

"She is not an it, Sammy. Maybe if you had some more respect I'd let you drive."

"By that logic, the laptop should be completely off-limits to you."

"The spaghetti was one time…"

"Did you pack the charger? Like I asked you to?"

"You never- I'll go get it," I groan, tossing my keys into the front seat and jogging back into the house. I have no idea where the charger is, and with all the lights off the bunker looks like a haunted house. And not like the shitty Halloween ones. Like an actual haunted house.

I finally find the charger next to one of the shelves in the library, and I'm turning around to leave when I hear something.

A doorbell.

I didn't know the bunker even had a doorbell. I didn't know anyone besides me, Sam, Cas, and a shit-ton of dead people even knew it existed. I freeze, my hand going to the gun tucked into my waistband. This can't be good.

I walk up the stairs, trying not to make too much noise on the metal steps. Nothing good has ever come from answering a doorbell. Except for a pizza delivery guy. But that is the only exception.

It rings again. I flinch, then relax a little. It's gotta be human, or at least something closer to it than a demon or, god forbid, angel. They would just zap themselves into the library. Taking a deep breath, I open the door.

Freeze. No. Bad idea. No. Not real. Can't be real. No. Not happening. Not. Real. Wake. Up. No. Stop. Wakeupwakeupwakeup. Cas!

I blink a few times. It's all I can manage to do. Then I blink a few more times. Then finally I manage to push past the rising bile and lump in my throat, and calm my breathing down enough to form words.

"D-Dad?"

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Only the first chapter and I've already reverted back to my evil ways. Marvelous.

Please review and stuff! Sorry this was later than promised- I'll post chapter 2 before Thanksgiving, I promise.