- This is (obviously) a work of fanfiction. I claim no ownership over any of the characters, or the world of Supernatural, however grateful for them I may be, which is hella.

The day after, Dean Winchester goes into work, just like normal. He mixes drinks, pours beers, flirts a little, and wipes down the bar, all just like normal. No one asks him about it, and he ignores the pity in their eyes.

Shouldn't have done it in the parking lot.

From: Mom
Honey, are you doing okay?

To: Mom
dont wanna talk bout it ma

From: Mom
Oh, I know, sweetheart, I'm just checking on you.

To: Mom
im fine

From: Mom
You know you can talk to me, though, right?

To: Mom
yeah i kno

The second day after, Dean does the same thing. The routine is soothing, if nothing else.

Not that he needs to be soothed, because he's fine.

Really. Dean's fine.

Dean works at the Roadhouse with Ellen (who's like a second mother), Jo (who's like a crazy little sister), and Ash (who defies description), all of whom are shooting him puppy dog eyes and treating him with kid gloves. It's making him homicidal.

He's getting ready to load the last load of glasses into the dishwasher, about to heave the big stacking rack off of the bar, when he feels Ellen's calloused hand on his arm.

"Dean," she says gently, "Why don't you head home?"

Dean closes his eyes and counts to five before responding. "'M fine, Ellen."

"I know you are, honey, you've just been working so hard-"

"No harder than usual."

There's just a beat of hesitation this time. "Dean-"

"Ellen, I swear to Christ, if you are about to mention him, or what happened, or send me home early for any other reason than that I fucked up on the job somehow, please, I'm fucking begging you, please don't."

Another silence, then, "All right, then. Finish up."

From: Sam
For the love of God, please talk to our mother.

To: Sam
no

From: Sam
Look, I get that you don't want to talk about it. Just tell her you're all right.

To: Sam
i told her im fine! jfc

From: Sam
Then get better at acting.

The garage is a haven from the drama. Not only did It (and It's already taken up Capital Letter status in Dean's mind, which is just fucking great) not happen here, but Bobby, Benny, and Victor couldn't care less if they tried.

Or so Dean thought.

"So, I heard about Cas, brother," Benny says, his head buried in the engine of a Ford, like he's not casually mentioning one of the worst things that's ever happened to Dean.

The wrench that Dean drops in shock makes a very loud clanging noise. "What?"

"The hell?" Bobby snipes, coming in from the office with a frown.

"We're talking about Dean's love life," Victor says easily. "It's not going well."

Bobby sighs. "Yeah, heard about Cas."

Dean is absolutely horrified, deep down to his bones. "How?"

"Ash called."

"... Ash called who?"

Bobby rolls his eyes. "Don't worry about it. It's just… Ah…" He clears his throat gruffly. "Sorry to hear it."

Dean blinks in absolute surprise, then slowly puts his tools down and starts shaking his head. "Nope, nope, I'm not doing this with you people." He points to each of them individually, glaring at them. "I'm taking an early lunch, and when I get back, we are not talking about this."

"Not healthy to bottle things up, Winchester." Victor's eyes are sparkling with mirth, damn him.

"Fuck you."

Dean climbs into the Impala in his coveralls, which is already a sign that he's not in the right headspace. He's usually meticulous about making sure he's clean before he's anywhere near his baby, but he just… He just doesn't have it in him today.

He drives about halfway to town and pulls over on the side of the road. He turns the Impala off and just sits there, listening to her motor tick as she cools. He gently places his forehead against the steering wheel, closes his eyes, and tries very hard to breathe.

And he does not cry.

From: Dad
wanna come watch the game today

To: Dad
ma put u up to this?

From: Dad
y? would that change ur answer?

To: Dad
fine

Watching the game goes smoothly, because Dean is cut from the same cloth as John Winchester. They don't talk about Castiel Novak, or It, or any damn thing that isn't related to football. They drink beer, bitch about the refs, and Dean gets ready to go.

He almost even makes it out the door.

"Dean, listen…"

Dean turns around, pausing in the act of putting his leather jacket on. When he sees his dad, his blood runs cold.

John doesn't really do awkward. He's gruff, yeah, and stubborn. He's insistent, and mostly closed-off. But "awkward" has never been a word used to describe John Winchester.

Now, he's avoiding eye contact, shifting his weight from foot to foot, and rubbing the back of his neck. Awkward.

Oh, shit.

"Your mother wanted me to-"

"Dad, please, for the love of God," Dean begs. "Don't do this."

Unfortunately for Dean, John Winchester is a man who has only one master, and she's a five-foot-eight-inch blonde terror named Mary Winchester.

"Son, I don't like it any more than you do."

"Can't we just say we had a good, long talk?"

"When have either of us ever been able to lie to your mother?"

Dean groans and leans back against the wall. "Fuck."

John leans next to him, posture almost identical. "I agree."

Dean runs a hand hard over his mouth. "All right. What do you want me to say?"

"Well... How are you?"

"Like shit, Dad. I'm like shit."

John nods, undeterred. "Yeah, that makes sense."

"I just… What does everyone want me to say?" Dean's voice does not break, thank you very fucking much. "It sucks, it's over, I'll move on."

John's voice is uncharacteristically soft when he speaks again. "Dean, this ain't a normal break-up."

Dean's vision clouds. "Dad…"

"We all know Cas was different."

"Yeah, well, clearly not that different."

"He thought he was helping."

"He wasn't."

John sighs. "I know, son. I just…"

"Dad, I can't," Dean finally says what he's been thinking, what he knows. "I can't be with someone who thinks I'm… Less."

"You're goddamn right you can't," John says fiercely. After a beat, he heaves a sigh and relaxes against the wall again. "But I don't think he does, Dean. I think he really was just… Trying to help."

Dean can't do this anymore. He shoves off the wall and walks out the door. "See you later."

"Dean! Dean!"

Dean stops at a liquor store on the way home because he has the day off from both of his jobs tomorrow and he plans on staying sloppy, fall-down drunk for at least the next twelve hours.

When he gets back to his apartment, however, someone is leaning against his door.

Dean scowls. "What the fuck do you want?"

Gabriel Novak looks up from his phone and rolls his eyes. "Nothing to do with this whole fuck up, trust me."

Dean nods. "Great, then go the fuck away."

Gabe shakes his head. "No can do, Dean-o."

Dean rolls his eyes. "Gabe, man, we've been friends for a long time, but I do not want to talk to you about this."

"Well, that's not really up to you."

"It is if I call the cops on you."

It's Gabe's turn for an eye roll. "Like hell you will. Come on, let's go inside."

Dean waits for another moment, then unlocks the door and pushes the door open to let the shorter man in first. "Whatever it takes to get you to go away."

Several hours later, and several (probably ill-advised) shots later, Dean is slumped over in his recliner, listening to Gabriel wax poetic about Kali, who is quite the firecracker. She and Gabe have been on and off again since Dean has known Gabe, which has been a very, very long time.

Gabe is silent for a while, and Dean reflects.

He met Gabe during a… Rebellious phase in high school. Gabe was a small-time pot dealer who took a shine to Dean, and they became fast friends. Dean didn't know Cas was Gabe's brother until they'd already been dating for a few weeks.

As if summoned by Dean's thoughts, Gabe sobers a little. "Dean."

Dean shakes his head. "Noooop. Noop, we're not doing this."

Gabe scoffs, and Dean figures that about sums it up, because he is definitely a little bit too drunk to walk away. "Yeah, all right, hot stuff. Let's talk about Cassie." There's only a little bit of a slur there, because the Novak boys have always had ridiculously high tolerances for alcohol.

(Dark hair, sparkling blue eyes, a wide, gummy smile. "I think I'm starting to feel something."

"You're fucking with me!"

Cas laughs again. "Of course I am." He puts the shot glass down, then leans across the table until he's close enough that their lips are brushing. "I don't feel a damn thing.")

Dean's head lolls back against the back of the chair. "Can we not?"

"Dean, Cas has been fucking miserable."

"Yeah, well, he can join the fucking club."

"You know he didn't mean it."

Dean looks at Gabriel and feels remarkably sober for a man who's had as much tequila as he's had. "You know as well as I do that Cas doesn't do a damn thing he doesn't mean."

Gabe sighs. "He's… Dean, I mean it, he's a fucking nightmare to be around."

"Yeah, well, that pretty much officially became not my damn problem anymore four days ago. So I don't care."

Dean has one hell of a hangover, and does not feel better at all, but Gabe does leave him some weed, so he's not empty-handed.

At least, that's what Dean tells himself.

From: Mom
Dean, honey, please talk to me.

To: Mom
drop it ma

From: Mom
Castiel called me.

click!

"Don't be mad."

"What the fuck do you mean, he called you?"

"He's just reaching out, trying to get a hold of you. He says you haven't been answering your phone."

"I blocked his number, like any normal person would do."

"He's so sorry, I think if you just-"

"Wow. All right, this conversation is over."

"Dean, please-"

"No, mom. I know you don't understand, but I kind of needed you in my corner on this one." A deep breath. "I'll… I'll talk to you later, okay?"

"Dean, honey, I'm always-"

"Love you, ma. Bye."

click!

It's a week to the day since It, and Dean has taken to outright glaring at anyone who tries to be nice to him. As a result, Ellen kicked him off of the bar and back to dishwashing duty so he can't mean mug the patrons.

Hmph.

He's angrily scrubbing a pitcher when Jo comes into the kitchen. The hairs on the back of his neck stand up when he sees the expression on her face. "Jo? Everything all right?"

"You… Need to come outside, Dean."

He frowns. "What's wrong?"

"Just… Come with me."

He sets the dishes down carefully and follows her out. There's some murmuring when he's out in the bar, but other than that, relative silence.

Which is not normal for a Friday night.

He's starting to get worried when Jo leads him to the front door, then stops and turns around. Her eyes are shining, her face earnest. "Just… Be careful, okay?"

Dean stares at her, but doesn't comment. He just pushes the front door open and steps out onto the wrap around porch. Once there, his heart stops.

He looks… Good. His black hair, always sex-wild, his wide shoulders, his slim hips. He's wearing a tux, which makes him look like walking sex. His eyes are hard to discern because it's night and he's facing away from the moon, but Dean would be able to see the blue in them anywhere.

"Cas," he breathes.

"Hello, Dean."

- Feedback gets my motor running.