A better summary: AU. Destiel. Dean and Sam have stopped hunting. Not because they aren't driven to protect people from monsters. There is no way out of the family business. They need time to heal and time to remember why they do what they do. They have moved to Sioux Falls to become Keepers. Keepers are the suppliers and coordinators that Hunters need. All Hunters know where to go to get the specific weapons, ingredients and lore they need. Bobby has relegated Dean and Sam to become shop keepers to help fight the good fight from behind the lines. It's a bitter post for Dean to handle, but maybe one year off won't kill him. Then a rival Hunter faction, radicals known as the Angels, unwittingly loses one of their own. Castiel is unknowingly brought into the most sacred spot the Hunters have. Keeper's Cross.
In this AU, there are no angels from Heaven on Earth. Strictly man vs. monster/demon.
Chapter 1. Just Another Thursday
Fun fact- The location of Keeper's Cross is a real location in Sioux Falls, South Dakota.
By real, I mean the streets are really there. I'm sure whoever's farm is there would love what I've done with the place! LOL! :D
Dean squinted at the music sheet again. He adjusted his left fingering on the strings of his guitar and strummed. He started from the beginning again and made the adjustment this time.
"Yeah, baby, that's it!" Dean laughed out loud, nodding and playing it through again. He was re-teaching himself how to play guitar. He had to admit, it was a lot of fun.
Proud of his accomplishment, he sat the guitar in it's stand and hit 'play' on his phone, which was connected to the store's surround sound. 'Freebird' filled the store and Dean could visualize the chords now as he walked from the back of the store where he had a small playing area set up and sat behind the counter at the front.
He sighed, looking at the lonely front door with the 'OPEN' sign still lit. It was 11:45 on a Thursday night. Dean's night to be open all night in case a Hunter stumbled into town and needed refuge. He leaned onto one elbow, eyes lost outside the large shop windows. Lyrics drifted into his wandering thoughts, pulling his memories out onto the road.
'Please don't take this so badly, most of all know I'm to blame, if I stay here with you girl, things just couldn't be the same, cause I'm as free as bird now, and this bird you can not change..'
Moments like this, Dean felt chained to his desk, barred in by the glass windows and doors. He needed the road. The hunt. The freedom. He had been a Hunter since he was little. His dad's back-up, his own man, until he and Sammy fucked it all up. One run-in with an apocalypse will do that. He and Sam had defeated Azazel, a top shelf demon. Good job, right? Turned out they were so hunted and burned by the demon community that Sam and Dean couldn't move 2 miles without being targeted. They had damn near died every day from Azazel's demise until they finally managed to bury themselves so far away from everything that the rumors of their deaths surfaced. So much for being great Hunters.
They had laid low for over a month, barely eating, barely surviving. They managed to sneak their way back to Bobby's. That was when Bobby pulled rank and sat the brothers down for a 'you idjits!' conversation. Sam was safe and the world was saved from the maniacal plans of Yellow-eyes. But their faces were known. They were wanted in two states for run-of-the-mill hunting snags. Bobby put them on lock-down. Said they were gonna blow everyone's covers, expose Hunters and Keepers alike. Sam was so burnt out, he had more of an issue not going back to college. But Bobby said no. No college. No road. No hunting. Their asses were his for one year. They had one year to do their parts as Keepers. Dean fought it harder. He wanted back out there. But the risk was too high. And Bobby's word was law among Hunters and Keepers alike. Not to mention Bobby was more of a father figure for him and Sam than their dad had turned out to be. So, one year. Like a jail sentence. Dean put his baby in storage. He burned his old ID's and actually moved into an apartment. Freakin' weird.
Bobby Singer was the boss. Dean knew he couldn't make it out there alone without Hunter/Keeper back-up, and so, here he sat. Their dad had been dead for over two years now. And Bobby was the closest thing to family Sam and Dean had. And they loved the surly pain in the ass.
So Dean gave up hunting. He was no longer a Hunter. He was a Keeper.
Keepers had been around since the West was wild. Bobby inherited his land from his father, one of a long line of Keepers. The Keepers kept things. Bodies, demons locked in relics, weapons, potions, ingredients, information, cursed items, you need it, you can't ditch it, Keepers keep it.
Hunters hunt. Keepers keep. Watchers are people who have had run-ins with a monster of some sort, know the supernatural world is out there, but are not a part of it. They watch though. They watch and call a Hunter. The Clouds are all the other Joe-Schmoes who have never crossed paths with supernatural and do not believe in it or are totally unaware of it. They live the easy life, head in the clouds. They go on about day to day business making the world out there turn, while behind their cloud-covered backs, Hunters keep them safe. Being born into a Hunter family made Dean and Sam Hunters by blood rite. Those kinds of things used to matter. Hunters were bloodlines of families. The chosen. The cursed. But those ideals are ancient history, for most. You are who you are. But you better know someone, or you will never find the Keepers and never have the support you need. Rogue hunters usually died young or ended up in jail. Or both.
There was one faction of Hunters that were fanatics. They were obsessed with bloodlines. They called themselves Angels. They operated like an army, only attacking when they deemed the Cloud worth saving or the situation likely to blow the cover off supernatural existence. They focused on demons, usually leaving ghosts, vampires, werewolves, wendigos, etc. for the lowly Hunters to clean up. Their paths crossed often enough, but Hunters and Angels were enemies. They both hunted, but Angels believed themselves to be far superior. Dean and Sam had never encountered one, but their battle with Azazel had alerted the Angels of a bunch of 'monkeys meddling with things they ought not meddle in'.
Angels had resources to search them out. It was another reason Sam and Dean had been kept at Keeper's Cross.
Why Sioux Falls, South Dakota? Why not? Back in the wild west days, it was barren. No one for miles and miles. So the first American Keeper bought a huge plot of land and put down roots.
While monsters infiltrated society and spread out, Hunters chased them. Keepers kept the Hunters alive and hidden. Sioux Falls grew up and spread out and Bobby's dad had to put up fences. He built a Salvage yard to deter people. In the 80's, when 'progress' caught up with them again, His dad had several businesses built to front the property. The infamous Keeper plot took over a crossroad. Powder House Road (running north to south), which ran from the outskirts of town up to Bobby's salvage yard. The road crossing it (west to east) is Madison Street. The Roadhouse went up first, on the northwest corner of Madison and Powder House. Family friends and fellow Keepers, the Harvelle's, ran the bar. The small strip of stores cropped up along Madison, the northeast corner, to keep the Clouds out.
Bobby opened a garage on the southwest corner, across from the Roadhouse, Bobby's Garage. It supplemented the salvage yard and brought in more money. Across the street, Powder House Road, the six stores were built and staffed with Keepers. Since they only had to pay utilities and taxes, they stayed open as long as Bobby had a Keeper to run it. Dean's was the first store, Black Dog. He sold records, CD's and other music paraphernalia. In the basement, he sold weapons and ammo. Sam was running the next store, The Bookkeeper. It was the oldest store there and the largest. He sold books, obviously. And Sam, the bookworm that he was, was a natural at it. In the basement, they sold books on lore and spell books. More than selling, it was used as a reference room. Charlie and Ash ran the next store over, an electronics shop called Frank's Electronics. The name was left over from a Keeper that ran it years ago, who only Bobby knew the whereabouts of. In the basement, they were information gatherers and could create any and all kinds of ID's the good Hunter would need. Next was Wayward Things, run by Chuck. It was a thrift shop for Clouds and a one-stop supply shop for Hunters. The business on the end had been a bistro until the Keeper running it turned Hunter and left. It stood vacant for now. Behind the strip of shops, further back Powder House Road, was a long block of apartments. Keepers, Watchers and one very dense elderly Cloud (Mrs. Stolfitz with her five cats) lived there. There were 1-2 empty apartments for the needing Hunter to crash.
The intersection, or crossroads, was a secret well kept. If you were in the know, Hunters always had a home at 'Madison's Powder House' or 'Keeper's Cross'.
While Dean had some good, yet patchy, memories of spending time at Bobby's, he could not believe he was saddled with a store here. Well, better here than hiding in the woods starving to death with Sam.
Dean's wandering thoughts were snagged by a set of headlights going by. He blinked away the memories and pulled a copy of Rolling Stone from the rack beside the register, flipping to an article he had started earlier that day. His cell phone rang and his eyes rolled upward in annoyance.
"Hey, Jo."
"Dean, you need me to work tomorrow night!" Dean recognized the mix of excitement and annoyance that always prevailed when Jo wanted to go out and her mother would not let her.
"I don't need you, Jo."
"You do! I promise I will make it worth your while!"
"Now I know you're lying, blondie."
"Dean!"
Dean herd a beep and looked at his phone. Ellen. Shocker.
"Is that my mother calling?" Jo panicked.
"It might be," Dean grinned, "Hold on."
Dean laughed at Jo's squawking as he switched over.
"Hey, Ellen."
"Evening, Dean. I have a question for you."
"Shoot."
"Do you need Jo to work tomorrow night?"
Hmm. Jo or Ellen? Enduring the wrath of either would be painful.
"I could use the help," he went with.
Ellen sighed. "Alright. Night, Dean."
"Night, Ellen." He switched calls. "Guess who's working tomorrow night."
"Me? You're the best, Dean!"
Dean had run this little game for her before. She would say she was working, instead, Dean worked and she ran out with friends. Harmless really. Dean figured if he didn't help her blow off a little steam, she wouldn't explode from being under her mother's constant eye. Dean opened his mouth for a witty retort, but the line went dead. "Yeah, you're welcome."
He sat his phone down and went back to his article. He had already read the first paragraph twice, but started from the beginning again.
Seconds later, his phone rang again.
"Jeez," Dean dropped the magazine and picked up his phone.
"Yeah, Bobby," Dean answered.
"You got a mess comin' yer way-"
Dean looked up as a man shoved his way through the front door, bell clanging violently, with a large, heavy bundle over his shoulder and a young teen scurrying around him to clear a path.
"That them?" Bobby barked.
"Hope so, or it's really gonna be a long night," Dean answered, heading toward the back door, the man following.
"Be down in a sec," Bobby said, Dean ending the call.
"Well how've you been, Lee?" Dean asked, unlocking the back door and leading them down the steps to the basement.
"Just great."
His daughter, Krissy, looked pale and nervous.
"Krissy, go watch the desk," Dean said.
"No!" She said, eyes wide.
"Krissy, go," her father snapped. She glared at Dean and stomped up the steps.
Dean pushed the fortified, locked door open and flipped the lights on to the weapons room.
"Bobby's coming," Dean said, grabbing one end of the rolled up tarp. "Is this a-"
"Person?" Lee huffed, dropping his end to a large table in the center of the room that Dean used for cleaning and showing guns and weapons. "Yes."
"What the hell, Lee!" Dean grabbed the edge of the tarp and began unwinding the body inside. He paused, hands frozen on the hard plastic. "Is it dead?"
"It wasn't forty miles ago," Lee said, wiping sweat off his forehead and proceeding to unwrap the body.
"Why didn't you take it straight to Bobby's?"
"You were open!" Lee bit back.
Freaking Thursdays. Why did shit always happen on Thursdays?
A man trickled out of the engulfing plastic, limb by limb dropping onto the table.
Dean took in his appearance. Adult, male, suit. "Is this a Fed?"
"No," Lee scoffed.
Dean looked over the slack face, his eyes finding the bloody hole in his side. "Super model?" Dean guessed again.
"What?" Lee pulled the tarp completely away and Bobby walked into the room.
"Lee."
"Bobby."
"S he dead?"
Dean's, fingers were on the man's neck and felt a faint pulse. "No."
"What happened?" Bobby asked, stepping toward the table as Dean unbuttoned the man's shirt to get a better look at the wound.
"He got in the way," Lee stated simply.
"Of what?" Dean asked, seeing bruises down his torso on one side, two deep scratches on his left forearm, and a hastily bandaged and bleeding bullet wound.
"My bullet," Lee shrugged.
"And you brought him here why?" Bobby squinted back.
"He's a Hunter. I don't know him, but he was trying to kill the same werewolf I was after. He's a stealthy little bastard, I never even saw him until it was too late."
"What's his name?" Dean asked, cutting the white dress shirt away. Dean worked quickly, cutting up one sleeve and moving to the next. As he leaned over the body, struggling to get through the seam at the shoulder, he felt a puff of air hit his cheek. Dean looked down and jumped back when two startlingly blue eyes looked back at him.
"Jesus!" Dean all but yelped. "Your Hunter is awake."
Lee and Bobby leaned into the table.
Dean, having jumped away before finishing his cut, was still staring at the man's eyes.
The man blinked several rapid blinks, then a look of pain engulfed his face, his mouth gaping in a silent cry.
"Get him some Morphine!" Dean demanded at Bobby, who snapped into action.
Eyes squinted shut in pain now, the man's jaw gritted shut and he heaved a breath.
"Relax, man," Dean coached, finishing the cut and pulling the fragments of shirt away. "We're gonna help. You're gonna be okay."
Lee and Bobby had a Morphine drip running within minutes.
Dean ripped the bandage away and went quickly to work. Bobby usually took charge of these type of situations, but Dean felt oddly protective of the man.
"I don't know him," Bobby said in a low voice, suspicion thick as tar.
"Yeah, me neither," Dean gritted, pushing the man over slightly to see the exit wound. "No exit? Did you get the bullet out already?"
"No time," Lee said. "We had to get outta there."
Bobby's hand suddenly darted forward, pushing the man a bit further, revealing more of his back.
"Oh shit," Bobby and Dean huffed.
"What?" Lee leaned in, looking.
Bobby's glare at Lee was palpable. Dean laid the man back flat, seeing a dazed look clouding the blue eyes. "Did ya see that tattoo dumbass?" Dean growled.
"Yeah," Lee shrugged.
"You brought a God damned Angel here. Here!" Bobby hissed.
"What?" Lee snapped, stepping back as if he could catch fire just by looking at the crumpled man.
"You dumbshit," Dean shook his head, going back to the wound with a pair of pliers. "What do we do with him, Bobby?"
Bobby paced across the room and back. "Well, he's human. We're going to have to fix him."
The man on the table grinned weakly, his eyes drifting shut. Dean could swear a smirk was tugging at one corner of his mouth.
"Yeah," Dean muttered. "But he's a friggin' Angel. Let's patch him up and drop him off somewhere."
"Ya coulda left him at a hospital," Bobby grumbled, taking the bloody mess of rags Dean handed him.
"He's a Hunter!" Lee defended, voice raising and hands balling into fists. "I shot him! How was I supposed to know he was an Angel!"
"Were you followed?" Bobby asked with obvious disgust.
"Of course not. Jesus, Bobby."
Dean tuned the bickering pair out. Shit happened on a hunt. Mistakes were made. What Dean needed most was the slippery bullet he currently had one fingertip on. Three knuckles deep into the wound, he snagged the bullet and pulled it free, blood spurting like a damn fountain. "Shut up and help me," Dean snapped.
Lee jumped in, letting Dean re-group and go back in to cauterize with gunpowder and his trusty zippo. The wound flared, the room filling with the smell of burnt flesh, and the blue eyes were open again, hands flailing and legs kicking.
"Hold him down!" Bobby jumped back in applying pressure while Dean pinned his upper body.
The man's eyes were wild and he was much stronger than he had any right to be.
"It's okay!" Dean called out, pressing him back into the table with all he had. "Relax before you rip open what I just fixed!"
Dean locked eyes with him. "Breathe! And relax, damn it!" Their faces were mere inches apart and Dean licked his lips. "Come on man, relax," Dean coaxed. He felt the muscles relax, tremors running fitfully through him.
The blue eyes focused and blinked slower. "You're killing me!" Came a deep rumbling, broken voice, lower than Dean had expected.
"We're not killing you." Dean relaxed his grip while Bobby and Lee worked madly behind him to finish stitching.
"That fucking hurts," he growled, his eyes hardening to a glare.
"Aw, come on, you never been shot before?" Dean smirked.
"No." The man panted, fighting not to writhe under the continued pain.
"Hurry up, Bobby," Dean said quietly, his eyes still locked onto the crystal blue death rays piercing into him. "What's your name?"
The man huffed. "Fuck you."
"Fuck you?" Dean said, shock coloring his voice and he fought not to laugh. "You bleed all over my shit, I save your life, and you get hostile?"
The man's chin tipped up, eyes going cold and his lips pressed into a flat, firm line.
"Freakin' Angels," Dean muttered. He had never actually met one. But this guy was living up to all the hype.
"If you're going to kill me, you might as well do it and quit sticking me with that needle."
Dean looked over his shoulder at Bobby, who was tying off the last stitch. "He thinks we're going to kill him," Dean whispered.
"By all rights, we should." Bobby's voice disappeared, but his lips read, "He can't be here!"
Dean rolled his eyes. "Nobody's killing any Hunters."
The blue eyes softened and he took a huff of a big breath. "Please," his hand grasped painfully tight to Dean's upper arm. "Please don't take me back." Fear flitted across the stubborn face, then his mouth pressed back into that stubborn, firm line.
"Take you back where?" Dean asked quietly. "You won't be going anywhere for a day or two anyway. Look man, just breathe and relax."
The iron grip on his upper arm relaxed, his hand dropping to the table and his eyes rolled shut, mouth going slack.
Dean looked over his shoulder again, seeing Lee pull a needle out of the hastily erected IV.
Eyes back to the sleeping face, Dean could see that the man was strikingly handsome. Bet he always got away with the FBI gigs. His hair was matted and stuck to his head with sweat. Even so, he was attractive.
"You can let go, Dean," Bobby chided, "He ain't goin' anywhere."
Dean jumped back, hands sticky with drying blood.
He joined Lee at the sink, scrubbing his hands clean.
"He'll be out the rest of the night," Lee muttered. "Should I have just let the guy bleed out? He knew what he was doing. He was obviously a Hunter. I figured he was one of us. How was I supposed to know he was a damn Angel?"
"You shoulda stopped at a damn motel like every other Hunter, sewn him up and left him," Bobby growled, slamming a soggy pile of bloody rags on the counter with a squelch.
"Gross, Bobby," Dean barked, pulling big yellow gloves on to start handling the clean up. "Where ya puttin' him? He can't hang out here in the weapons room."
"You get Sam, Dean. Take him to apartment C, keep the curtains closed. Have Sam sit with him, you have a shop to run. Lee, you clean up."
Dean smirked and Lee rolled his eyes. Dean peeled off the gloves and tossed them at Lee.
Dean banged on Sam's apartment door. It was a small two bedroom with a full kitchen. It was above the bookshop and came with the job of bookkeeper. Dean banged again. "I'm comin'," Sam's muffled voice pierced the quiet of the old building. The door whipped open and Sam was pulling on boots. "What?"
"Lee Chambers and his kid rolled into town an hour ago and brought us a wounded Hunter."
"Who's the Hunter?" Sam asked, pulling his jacket on and the door shut as they jogged down the narrow stairwell.
Dean stopped at the door at the foot of the steps before going out the back door to the back of the building. "He accidentally got friendly fire from Lee. They didn't know they were taggin' the same werewolf."
"So," Sam shrugged, "Who is it?"
Dean hesitated but rushed on. "Keep it just between us, but he's an Angel."
Sam stared at him wide eyed. "For real? Lee brought an Angel here?"
"Didn't know until we were sewing his bullet wound shut. Bobby wants you to sit with him through the night in Apartment C."
"Me? I'm the only Hunter the Angels have a target on, Dean!"
"And you're probably the only Hunter here who won't just kill him for being an Angel."
"Oh, come on! That's bullshit!"
Dean shrugged. "Bobby's orders."
Sam rolled his eyes and swung his hair in annoyance. "Whatever."
Dean led the way to the weapons room and the scene of carnage. After much shuffling and debating, they got the Hunter onto a sheet and tandem carried him across the alley to the apartment building, where Bobby waited with the key.
"When he wakes up, you tell him NOTHING," Bobby warned.
Sam nodded and they gently lowered him onto a bed.
"Cuffs. And let me know when he's awake," Bobby sighed.
"Alright," Sam said.
"I'll be at the shop if ya need anything," Dean added as they left Sam with the Angel.
Dean walked into his record store through the back door and found Krissy asleep at the counter. He nudged her, getting the reaction he expected as she jolted upward, eyes wide and a knife suddenly in her hand.
"Easy, Thunder," Dean chuckled, handing her a key. "Apartment D. Go to bed."
"Where's the Hunter?" She asked, scanning the empty store.
"Resting. And your dad is cleaning up downstairs. Go sleep while ya can."
She nodded and left through the back door. Krissy was a real piece of work. Much like her dad. Dean had met her when she called and asked for help when her dad went missing on a hunt. Dean and Sam had saved the pair of them, but not before she and Dean had formed a love/hate relationship. He knew deep down she had a soft spot for him, like he did for her. Any kid growing up on the road with a Hunter dad automatically got a pass with Dean. Not that he would tell her that. Smart-ass teenager that she was.
Dean took his seat behind the counter. He sighed, rubbing his face with both hands. He could not stop seeing those blue eyes. He wanted to know more about the Angel. He was everything he expected from meeting one and at the same time, nothing at all.
By 9:00am, Jo was in the shop to relieve Dean from his all-nighter. He trudged across the alley to the apartment building, used his key to unlock the front door and climbed the steps to apartment C.
He let himself in, heading back the short hall to the bedroom to check on Sam.
"Nice," Dean muttered at the scene before him. Sam sat in a chair at the foot of the bed, legs stretched out and head slumped onto his chest fast asleep. The Angel had stopped moving, but Dean could see he had one of the zip ties around his wrist almost worn through. Those blue eyes shined out at Dean with a look of worry, annoyance, and defeat.
"Goin' somewhere, Sunshine?"
No answer from the bound man. Dean snagged a zip tie from the dresser and approached the bed. "You can't get out of here. But if you play your cards right, you will eventually get out of here alive."
Dean pulled a knife out of his pocket, flipping it open. The Hunter's eyes were steady and he had to give him credit for not flinching a bit. He cut the worn zip tie, letting the arm free while he watched him closely.
The man pulled his arm in, flexing his elbow and wrist several times. His hand scratched at his hair where it looked like dried blood was matting it down.
"Please, I need a shower. And to use the bathroom."
Dean smirked. "Think I was born yesterday, Angel?"
The guy's eyes closed in frustration, his hand gingerly feeling at the clean bandages.
Dean debated with himself. The guy really did need cleaned up. But he didn't trust him for a second. He glanced over at Sam's sleeping form. It would serve him right to wake up and find an empty bed. He chuckled softly at the thought of Sam freaking out.
"Alright. Bathroom break. But I will kill you if you try anything."
The man's eyes opened, a small look of relief tinging the handsome features.
Dean cut the other three zip ties and put the unused one back on the dresser. The man rolled painfully to his good side and struggled to sit upright. Dean had to steady him with a hand on his shoulder. He helped him up, wishing the guy had a shirt on so he could stop touching all that bare skin. He really needed to get out more. If a man's naked torso was doing something for him, he really needed to get laid. By a chick. Because that's what he does. Chicks. Dean rolled his eyes at his own thoughts as he helped the guy walk the short trek to the bathroom. His weakness and pain could not be faked. The guy quivered in his arm at the exertion of walking even that little bit. Every change of position made him pale and break out into a sweat. He sat him on the toilet and stepped back.
"You gonna puke?"
The man whispered no.
"You gonna pass out?"
"No."
Dean stepped back, not willing to leave the bathroom, but turned his back and pulled his phone out. He slid down his contacts, selecting Chuck.
"Hey Chuck, I need a guys size medium t-shirt, socks, underwear and jeans size..."
He glanced back at the guy now sitting to pee. "26x32," he muttered, not looking at Dean.
"Jeans size 26x32. Bathroom kit and a coat. He glanced down at the guys shoes. Dress shoes to go with his dress pants and nice button-down shirt Dean had cut to hell.
"A pair of size... 12 shoes. Bring it to apartment C."
Chuck gave a quick affirmative and hung up.
"Shower?" Dean asked.
"Please."
Dean started the water and tried not to look and tried to touch him minimally as the guy stood part-way in the shower, avoiding getting his bandage wet. Dean handed him a washcloth and stepped back. Hearing a sudden thunk and scuffle from the bedroom, Dean laughed.
Sam ripped the door open to a face full of Dean.
"Shit!" Sam said, visibly deflating as he looked over Dean's shoulder, seeing his prisoner.
"Yeah. And he had one tie almost broken through ya dumbass."
Sam palmed his forehead, wincing. He walked away, Dean closing the door again.
Dean glanced over his shoulder, seeing the guys shaky hands lather the washcloth and start washing.
"What's your name?" Dean asked. "I mean last time I shared shower space with someone, I at least knew their name."
The guy paused in his scrubbing and answered flatly, "Jimmy."
Dean dialed Chuck again.
"Almost ready," Chuck answered.
"Bring some sweatpants too."
"Right."
Dean hung up. The guy was a mess. Jimmy. Yeah right. He knew when he was being lied to.
"So, Jimmy, where you from?"
No answer. Dean turned back to see 'Jimmy' slumping down the wall of the shower.
"Whoa, whoa, there," Dean soothed, catching him before he hit the floor. His face was impossibly pale and when his eyes fluttered open, the blue gems inside rolled. "Breathe, buddy."
Jimmy gasped a breath and strained to get his feet under him. Before Dean could think, he hugged the guy to him, taking his weak frame in his arms. The soap had him slippery, so Dean pushed a knee between the guys legs for added support.
His head lay heavy and soaking wet on his shoulder.
"I can't wash my hair," came the faintest, most pathetic voice. Dean grimaced at his own crumbling fortitude.
"I got you," he said quietly, reaching a hand into the mop of dark brown, spreading the shampoo and massaging it into his scalp. He felt the man sigh.
"M sorry," he muttered.
"Don't worry about it," Dean muttered back, tipping himself into the warm water and rinsing the best he could, his own t-shirt, jeans and left shoe soaked.
The guy sputtered slightly and wiped weakly at his face.
"Good enough?" Dean asked.
"Yes."
Dean shut the water off and grabbed a towel. He pinned the Angel to the wall again and pressed one hand to his chest to hold him upright. Knee between his legs again, Dean did his damnedest to ignore the balls brushing against his knee.
"I'm okay," Jimmy slurred.
"Yeah, you're friggin' He-man." Dean dried the guys abs, trying to keep the bandage dry, then scrubbed at his hair.
Color eased into his cheeks and he took a steadying breath, clamping a hand weakly onto Dean's shoulder.
"I'm okay. You can back up."
Dean inched away slowly, not letting go completely and helped the guy back to bed. Sam, being the girl he is, had changed the pillowcase on the bed. Dean helped him under the covers and took a deep breath when there was finally several layers of material between them.
Lying flat, Jimmy's color began returning much quicker. His eyes gained focus and he covered his forehead with one shaky hand. "Sorry," he whispered.
Dean smirked. "I bet. If ya wanted to get ta know me better, you coulda just invited me out ta dinner."
The blue eyes locked onto his in a kind of awed embarrassment.
"Chuck's here," Sam called from the living room. "You two decent?" Sam snickered.
Dean rolled his eyes and waved Chuck into the bedroom. "Whachya got?"
Chuck plopped a full bag onto the foot of the bed, eyeing the man lying there.
"Everything you asked for. Jeans might be a tad loose, but beggars can't be choosers."
Dean nodded. "Alright, thanks," he waved, shewing Chuck out of the room and shutting the door. He rifled through the bag and tossed boxers, sweatpants and a t-shirt onto the side of the bed.
Jimmy grabbed the boxers, pulling them under the covers to put them on. Dean helped him sit up and he pulled the sweatpants and t-shirt into place.
"Don't run off," Dean chuckled as he left the room for the bathroom to get two cups of water.
"Toothbrush," Dean offered. He watched as Jimmy brushed his teeth, spitting into one cup and drinking from the other. A quick swipe of deodorant and he ran his fingers through his hair.
"Feel better?" Dean asked after dumping the cups and bringing him fresh water to drink.
He guzzled the water and sat it on the nightstand. "So much. Thank you."
"Jimmy," Dean said softly, watching the guy lay back and settle into the covers.
"Yeah?"
"When you're ready to tell me your real name, then we can really talk."
Blue eyes gave him a slightly pleading look, but he nodded.
"Goodnight, Dean," the Angel murmured, exhaustion sweeping him away.
Dean huffed a soft laugh. He gathered the towel and took his sopping wet self out to the living room.
Chuck was gone and Sam sat at the small kitchen table. "What was all that about, Dean?"
"All what?" Dean snapped defensively.
Sam raised a hand, gesturing at his state of wet clothing.
"The guy stunk! He needed a shower! You wanna start some shit, Sam?"
Sam raised both hands defensively in surrender.
The door opened and Bobby walked in.
"How's the Angel? And what the hell happened to you?"
Dean grit his teeth slightly. "The Angel is sleeping. Got him to the bathroom and showered and now he's out. It was a pretty rough go. I didn't cuff him because he's too weak to go anywhere."
"Uh-huh," Bobby said, much more meaning behind the tiny phrase. "Well, let's see what he has to say for himself."
"Whoa!" Dean snapped as he stepped in front of Bobby, blocking his way. "Let him alone for now. He did all he could do to get cleaned up and now he's out like a light. Let him be, Bobby."
Bobby squinted, summing something up in Dean's face. "Alright, hoss, your Angel can get his beauty sleep for now."
Dean rolled his eyes and left the apartment. He crossed the alley and into the back door of his shop. He went up the narrow steps to his own above-store apartment. He stripped out of his wet clothes and took a quick shower. Blue eyes, soft brown hair and that low voice saying his name filled his sleep deprived mind. Finally hitting the softness of his own mattress, he fell asleep as quickly as the new stranger had.