Hey guys! This is a story I did by request that is based off of the song Civil War by Guns N' Roses. I actually put a bit of research into it, facts and song meaning, and this is what I got. This is just a short intro into an about 6 chapter long fic! I'm sorry if not everything is historically accurate, I'm not perfect or a history buff.

Also, If you were reading my cockles fic that was taken down recently, it's on my tumblr page if you wish to continue reading, I will continue to update it. See my profile for the link.

Enjoy!

Chapter One

~August 1972~

"I think you're going to make a fine new member to the White House, Mr. Winchester." President Nixon stated with confidence, firmly shaking Dean's hand while smiling at the many cameras stationed around them.

Dean was simply awestruck. He's shaking President Nixon's hand. The president of the United States of America.

It was a lifelong dream of his.

"Thank you Mr. President. It's an honor to be serving you in such a time." Dean said, keeping as calmly as he could.

He was referring to the Vietnam War. Not only were they loosing thousands of men each day, the protests were getting unbearable.

Personally, Dean did not agree with the ways the White House was handling the war, but it really didn't matter. He was a United States Senate.

Anyway, the war wasn't going to last forever. He could continue his dream job as planned.

After getting the official handshake over with and the small talk with the president, a personal assistant, along with some gruel looking bodyguards, led him to his new office.

It was about a 10-minute walk just from the oval office.

Even though it wasn't Dean's first time in the White House, it was his first time in the White House as someone that makes all of it worth something.

He glared up at all the founding fathers that aligned the walls and silently thanked them, for no reason in particular. It just felt like the right thing to do.

It was a fairly quiet walk, aside from the clacking of the expensive Spain-imported dress shoes on the polished tile floor, though Dean didn't mind. His mind was preoccupied with what seemed like fireworks.

"Here we are, Senator Winchester." The scrawny personal assistant, Garth, stated with a big smile, hand extended towards the large oak doors, Dean's office waiting on the other side.

"Please, just call me Dean." He said compassionately.

He really meant it, but the look on Garth's face said something along the lines of. That's what they all say, but they don't really want me to do that.

Not to be immodest, but Dean knew that he was probably the kindest person in the White House. Sure, he was still a politician, but he believed that you could catch more flies than honey.

Garth put his hand up to his ear, looking down, a sudden look of concentration flooding his face. "Of course, sir, they're on my desk I'll just-" He stopped abruptly, looking startled, and then hurt. "Remember you said you didn't need them for another hour… You changed your mind, of course. On my way, sir."

He removed his hand from his ear.

Point made. Dean thought to himself.

"I gotta…" Garth said, pointing behind him but still looking down, ashamed.

"Hey," Dean placed a hand on Garth's shoulder. "I gotcha." He said with a sympathetic wink.

Garth smiled with a thank you in his eyes, and handed Dean his key, striding off quickly down the corridor.

Dean turned back to the doors, looking at the key in his hand that read,

Dean Winchester

US Senator

1972

He smiled to himself before inserting the key into the lock on the door handle, and with one big motion, opened the door to his new office.

He was almost overwhelmed when he laid eyes on what was in front of him.

There was a large cherry desk, facing the door. Blue carpet, darker in some places where furniture had been before. Behind the desk sat a large mahogany, and quite comfortable looking chair. Across from that sat two other chairs.

The whole room smelled of old wood and scotch.

So many things had taken place here. He was standing in the middle of history.

He took a seat at the desk and marveled at his surroundings, feeling better than he'd ever felt. He looked up at the framed picture of Nixon on the wall and nodded at it.

Dean finally felt at home.

~.~.~.~

"Mr. Winchester?" A voice called from behind the large doors of Dean's desk, followed by a few knocks.

"Come in." He said, with a little more power in his voice than usual.

Garth appeared in the doorway, looking even smaller next the 10-foot door. "Your ride has arrived."

"Thank you, Garth." Dean said, feeling very official.

He started gathering his things, putting the day's work in his official Senator briefcase. When he stood to go outside, Garth was still standing at the door.

Dean shot him a confused glancing, asking what he was still doing there with his eyes.

"You have to uh… excuse me." Garth said with a forced laugh.

Dean stepped closer to him, "Garth, I'm not like them. Do not ever let me dismiss you. Do whatever the hell you want, k?"

A generous smile grew on Garth's face and he nodded, allowing Dean out. A guard escorted him from then on till he got to the limo that was waiting outside the front doors of the White House.

As soon as he stepped outside, he heard the crowds of people pressing up against the fence with their picketing signs and what not, saying all the cliché things like, "make love not war" and peace signs.

The guards near the gate entrance cleared a path through the crowd for the limo. They drove slowly out into the open, Dean watching out the one-sided window at all the hippies, but one stood out.

He was at the very front, right next to the limo, carrying a sign that had a peace sign made from a hand on it, shouting along with the people.

He was dressed in a baggy white blouse-type thing, with a brown tasseled vest over it. Along with that he wore a pair of tight jeans and riding boots.

His hair was unkept and his beard unshaven, but not so unshaven where you couldn't see his cheeks hiding under it.

You could see by the way he acted and dressed that he was new. Probably an early twenties kid who ran away from something and hopped in a van with a bunch of stoners, and this is where he ended up.

But you could see that by his eyes more than anything else.

Dean could see their blue clarity even from inside the limo. They were still innocent, a shimmer of pain mixed in. Pain and fear.

Dean wanted to tell the driver to stop. He wanted to let this man and hear his story, because it looked like he had one to tell, but Dean knew all to well that wasn't possible. Security would tackle him faster than you could say Vietnam.

Dean just watched out the window as the man disappeared in the sea of people, his sign becoming smaller and harder to make out.

Even though Dean loved having his dream job, he didn't love the tinge of still being alone.