Dean Winchester pulled up his beloved impala at the house. Cursing under his breath, he hurried to cut the engine and scrambled inside.
Locking the door behind him, Dean hoped to be able to sneak up quietly to his room, but his brother was sitting in the living room watching tv.
"Dean? Is that you?" Sam's voice was small, as though he expected there to be a murderer coming in. Of course, there was, but it was different. Dean would never harm Sammy.
"It's me," Dean answered gruffly. "Why aren't you in bed asleep?"
"I got scared," came the reply. The tv was turned off, and Dean started up the steps, hoping to avoid further conversation.
Unfortunately, luck was not on his side. Sam quickly followed Dean up the stairs. He was tall for fifteen, but weedy as a reed. And annoying as hell.
"Where were you, Dean?" Sam asked, stepping in front of Dean to block the door to his room. "You've been going out like this before, but never this late."
Dean scrambled for an excuse. After all, it was after one in the morning. "I was…uh…out with Marley."
"Marley? Doesn't she have a curfew?"
"Sneaked out," Dean said, pushing past Sam to get to his room. Dean felt bad using the preppy cheerleader as his excuse, but what else could he say? Sam couldn't know of his sick obsession. Watching the blood drain out of his victim, as their panicked eyes flitted around the room, Dean felt a sense of power.
"Fine, but next time, I'm telling dad!" Sam crossed his arms and stood in the doorway.
Dean laughed, trying to cover the bloodstain on his shirt. "Dad? When's the last time we saw him? Month ago?"
Sam glared at Dean and wiped a tear from his eye. "He'll be back eventually."
"Not until he's finished tracking that evil dude down. And until that happens, I'm in charge. No more questions about what I'm doing. Got it?" Dean flopped down on his bed, hoping he wouldn't have to fight his brother.
Luckily, Sam ran out of the room. "I hate you!" he called, slamming his own bedroom door shut.
Dean sighed as he slipped the gleaming dagger out from under his shirt and hid it underneath the clothes in his dresser.
"So what if my dad's an FBI agent?" he muttered, kicking the ground. "All he cares about is tracking down the guy who murdered Mary! I can do whatever I want!"
Dean dropped on his bed again and looked up to the ceiling.
"Whatever I want."
…
SEVEN YEARS LATER
Dean drove home quickly in the impala like he had done a million times before. This time, though, he was still angry. Not even killing the helpless man had done away with his dark thoughts.
When he got to his apartment, Dean hid his dagger as he always did, even though he had stopped using it a while back. There were all sorts of weapons in the trunk of his car.
Dean's cell phone was blinking, but he ignored it. He knew what day it was. Sam was graduating from college. And he wanted Dean to come to the ceremony. "Like hell I would!"
John was out, tracking Mary's killer again. When Dean was young, he'd dreamed of joining his father in the hunt, and John was only too happy to oblige. Years of being trained to fight, moving around schools constantly, and looking out after Sam while they were home alone had changed Dean.
His first kill had been accidental. The man had startled him, but years of John's training gave Dean the instinct to stab first, question later.
Watching the innocent man die gave Dean something he'd been missing for years. That was when his dream profession had changed.
Now it was a weekly occurrence for him. Dean had the skills to leave no fingerprints or hair, make a quick, clean kill, and get out without raising any hairs. It was a kind of strange irony, that the FBI skills he'd been taught were used to murder.
Currently, Dean was in California. Every couple of weeks, he would drive to a new state and live there. Credit card fraud kept him with enough money, so Dean never held a job.
Meanwhile, Sam was busy becoming successful and liked. He even had a girlfriend, who he was planning to propose to. It hurt that Sam didn't need Dean's protection anymore, but Dean was definitely happier now that he lived alone and no one nosed in his business when he returned at late hours with new bruises and blood dripping off his hands.
Dean sighed as he flicked the light off. What had his life come to?
….
Sam sighed as he checked his phone. Dean still hadn't answered, and the graduation ceremony was only a week away.
"What's wrong, honey?" Jess asked, walking over to his bed in her smurf pajamas.
Sam pushed his hair back. "Nothing. It's all fine."
He thought back to high school, when everything changed. Sam had grown up the rebel of the family, always questioning John and not wanting to hunt killers. One of his teachers told him that he didn't have to become an FBI agent; that he, not John, decided where his life would go.
Dean didn't have anyone like that.
Also, being older, there was always more pressure being put on Dean. To help John, to join the force and work alongside him. "The family business," John would say with a smile.
There were long weeks where Dean was the only one in charge and John was out on work. At first, when Dean was starting high school, he still tried to get good grades so he could be what John wanted. But something happened.
Dean began going out late at night and coming home with no explanation. His grades in school dropped and although he still practiced shooting a gun, it was without the same drive.
And all Sam could do was watch it happen.
Bobby, the other FBI agent working with John, saw in Dean what his own father missed. "That boy's a fighter," he often remarked to Sam, "but without guidance, with John always being gone, the violence will come out in the worst ways."
Sam shook his head and straightened his homework due the next day.
It had been hard to watch Dean throw his life away. When he turned 18, Dean fled, taking John's impala without asking.
"And even then," Sam whispered bitterly, ignoring Jess' concerned look, "Dean was still the prize. John still wants him. But then the second I want to go to Stanford and become something other than an agent, I get disowned."
It was all too much.
Though it was only 8:00 at night, Sam shut off the lights and climbed into bed.
…
The next day was bright and sunny, with birds chirping, as Dean set off along the sidewalk. "Time to choose a victim," he whispered.
That was how he spent his mornings. Finding someone to kill.
Usually the unlucky soul would be a father or mother. The pain in their eyes would be greater as they realized their kids wouldn't have them anymore. It was always a bonus if the next day, Dean could see the mourning kids.
One time, he even had the audacity to attend the funeral.
Today, Dean chose to head over to the nearest park. Parks were always a great place to find loving parents. Another location was clothing stores, but the town he was staying in didn't have very good ones.
Dean sat down on the park bench and pulled out a newspaper to reduce suspicion.
He glanced up every few seconds and his eyes searched the park for potential candidates.
"Hi." A gravelly voice jerked Dean's eyes up. Standing next to the bench was a man about his age, wearing a long trenchcoat. His eyes were serious and as blue as his hair was brown. "Can I sit here?"
Dean shifted and cursed in his head. "Sure," he said jovially, smiling like he was happy. "I'm Dean."
"Cas," the newcomer responded, taking a seat.
"So, what brings you here?" Dean asked when the silence stretched too long. "Do you have a kid?"
Cas frowned. "No. I was coming to enjoy the sunshine. Do you have a child?"
Dean looked out to the kids playing on the playstructure. "I don't. I'm new here, just checking the place out."
"It's a very nice neighborhood," Cas said, but he didn't smile. It seemed to Dean that his mouth was fixed in a permanent frown. "Welcome."
"Uh, thank you," Dean said uncomfortable, wishing he could be anywhere else at the moment. "I don't think I'll be staying long."
"You should come to my house for dinner. As a way of welcoming you here."
Dean looked into Cas' eyes. Now, those are some eyes I would enjoy seeing filled with pain, Dean thought and he nodded. "What's your address?"
Cas told him, and Dean stood up to evade further questions. "I'll see you later," Dean said, and he was careful to leave slowly to not look suspicious.
Cas watched Dean go, and sadness filled his face. The man was very handsome, but there was something…broken about him. Cas couldn't put his finger on it.
Either way, Cas was very much looking forward to the dinner.
"Soon," he promised himself; then he left the park without a backwards glance.
…
Please review!