Misery Loves Company
Author: Cheryl W.
Disclaimer: I do not own any rights to Supernatural, Tomorrow People, Arrow or Reign, nor am I making any profit from this story.
Author's Note: Though I put this story under Supernatural & Tomorrow People, it's actually a crazy no plot rambling crossover between Supernatural, Tomorrow People, Reign and Arrow that came out of me after watching the other week's angsty episodes of each, which had their respective "family" ties being tested. ( I put it under TM because there aren't a lot of fics there) Be aware, spoilers do exist for all current episodes of these shows.
Summary: Set after SN 9x13: Dean Winchester, John Young, Oliver Queen, and Prince Francis of France end up a bar trying to drink away their family troubles and find common ground.
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At first, Dean Winchester has the row of bar stools to himself, can drown his misery in solitude. Which lasted all of two minutes before the stool beside him was occupied by a twenty something guy wearing a jacket and watch worth more than Dean would even credit fraud in his lifetime…and that was if he lived to be a hundred.
Sinking into the barstool, Oliver Queen greeted the bartender with a "Scotch on the rocks" then hunched over the bar top, contemplating how he was supposed to add another lie to his tally, to justify keeping Thea in the dark about who her real father was. He startled a little as a bar mate to his left inquired, "Rough day at the office?" Facing the other man, he grunted, "Wish it was that simple."
"Yeah, tell me about it," Dean concurred, knew if Sam and he just disagreed about the job, that would be the good news.
Sizing up his drinking companion, Oliver sensed a dangerous edge to the man, thought he just might have a clue about being in the middle of a crapstorm. But before he could open up a line of vague questioning, a dirty blood haired man claimed the chair to his right, promptly ordered a Vodka, straight up, which earned him not only Oliver's raised eyebrow response but also the inquisitive stare of the man who had been holding down the bar before him.
Sensing the attention he had garnered, not to mention getting quite a vibe of curiosity from the two bar patrons, John Young shot the two men a challenging glare. "What?" Because the way his day was going, getting into a fight and getting kicked out of a bar would be par for the course.
Dean shrugged. "Nothing…except Vodka…at 9am. You must be having a worst day than either of us," gesturing between himself and Oliver.
Smiling bitterly, John raised his glass. "Here's to doing the right thing and getting screwed anyway," because he had done the right thing, he had saved Stephen. He thought Cara would appreciate that outcome, especially since she was in love with the teenage boy.
Readily on board with John's toast, Dean clinked his glass with the newcomer's and so did the rich guy beside him.
Behind them, an accented male voice announced, "Whatever you're toasting, I'm game…long as there's some wine left."
"Wine?!" The three men at the bar chorused in disapproval, turning to see the curly blood man who was younger than any of them and wearing a flamboyant shirt with billowing sleeves approaching their threesome.
"What? Wine has its charm," Francis, soon to be the uncrowned prince of France defended as he, undeterred, put in his request for wine with the bar keep and sat beside John. "So is this a gathering of celebration or misery?"
"Misery," unanimously came from Dean, Oliver and John.
Francis unleashed a blazing smile, devised to shadow his wretched mood. "Well good. Then I am at the right spot," he declared, taking a hearty but sophisticated sip of his wine.
Dean ordered a refill on his whiskey and assessed his new found drinking pals. So screw Sam that he thought he hated to be alone. I mean, who did like it?! 'Certainly not Sam, who shacked up with girls when I was friggin taken by fairies, dropped in Purgatory and possibly dead or dying.' "So, we're all here drowning our troubles."
"Got nowhere else to be," John confessed.
"I don't want to be found," Oliver muttered.
"I'm suddenly without a country," Francis declared but noticed that the man who had posed the question hadn't give his answer. Leaning over the bar, he looked down the line to the oldest of the foursome, "So are your troubles to remain a mystery?"
"Family," Dean scornfully answered, meeting Francis' gaze unflinchingly. He wasn't expecting the other man to meet his statement with a round of in synch, sour "Cheers," which had four glasses clanking together in salute.
Feeling like a bit of a cheater, John clarified, "Well, adopted family. But apparently I adopted them…they didn't adopt me."
"And it's my half-brother who's managed to take everything away from me," Francis explained, unhappy gaze dropping to his refilled wine glass.
Thinking of his mother's repeated betrayals, Oliver contemptuously pointed out, "It's still about family, the people we are stupid enough to trust."
"And save," Dean tacked on, downing his whiskey in one gulp and nodding his head to the bartender for a refill. "Course forget about getting thanked."
Francis shifted uncomfortably on the stool because he was on the other side of that spectrum, was supposedly being saved. Drunkenly leaning heavily against the bar, he admitted, "And you know what?! I'm pathetic enough to miss my brother. After everything he's done, taking Mary from me, taking my birthright, my home…I still want to find a way to forgive him."
That incites another round of glasses colliding together in agreement.
"But there's no making this better. Some things can't be undone or forgotten, " Dean solemnly declared, knew that he would always choose to save Sam but his brother didn't feel the same devotion toward him. Wounds like that, they didn't fade and couldn't simply be forgiven and forgotten.
"Yeah, can't go back…but I'm not strong enough right now to go forward," Oliver said because telling his mother they weren't family was worlds away from him not loving her anymore. No matter what she had done.
"So here we sit," John sighed, had no idea where he would be sleeping that night, couldn't believe the sanctuary, that he had established, was no longer his own. That all those people that he had saved, including Cara, had stabbed him in the back. "Good intentions really do pave the road to hell."
That was another sentiment wholeheartedly toasted to by the other men.
"Thing is…what I did…I wouldn't undo it. Guess that makes me as selfish as my brother thinks I am," Dean muttered.
"I was trying to earn my redemption, so mark me down as selfish too," John chimed in, joining Dean's guilty trip.
But Francis shook his head in protest. "Why's it selfish to finally know what you want and to reach for it?! Especially when you're sacrificing everything on the slim chance things would turn out as you hoped." Because that was the level of risk he had taken, for Mary, to get a future he actually wanted.
"I don't deserve the sacrifice my father made to save my life. I owe him. Even if it costs me everything," Oliver somberly interjected because there wasn't a day that went by when he didn't remember his father pointing the gun at his head, killing himself…so he could live.
Dean leveled a compassionate look to his wealthy companion, didn't know what his drinking buddy's father had done but he recognized the survivor's guilt, the same one that had stared back at him in every mirror after his father had died and gone to hell to save him. "You losing everything, it's not why your dad did whatever he did to save you." At Oliver's surprised and challenging look, Dean gave a bitter smirk, "Hey, I've been there. Tried to deserve my father's sacrifice…and nearly undid his good works a few times before I got it, that if I died, it would make his death worth nothing."
Under the shocked stare of his companions, Dean returned his focus to his drink. Had no way to know that Oliver and John distinctly understood exactly what he was saying and feeling, had fallen silent in commiseration not judgment.
"Least no one's died for me…yet," Francis spoke in the void. But he wondered how long that fact would remain true, how long it would take his mother or supporters of the royal blood line to start to take lives, maybe Bash's…Mary's, to try and reinstate him to the line of succession. And suddenly the thought of harm coming to Bash, at all, never the less for him, made him feel violently ill.
A lull fell over the foursome, in talking, not drinking.
Then it's a new accented voice that draws each man's head up from his drink.
"Francis, thank God you're alright," Bash declared with fervent relief as he drew closer to Francis, could see for himself that no harm had come to his little brother. "When your guards came to the castle seeking you, I feared the worst."
"What? That I had done the honorable thing and fallen on my sword?" Francis retorted, spinning the stool around to face off with his betrayer.
The poor joke evoked a grim set to Bash's mouth. "Whatever you think, you have to know I would never wish harm to befall you, that what Mary and I are doing…."
"Is to save me," Francis drawled with frustration. "Yes, I've heard that excuse. Over and over." He intended to turn back to the bar but Bash grabbed his arm and the unexpected contact had his eyes flying up to Bash's.
"You are my brother, Francis. You accepted me when you had every right to despise me. Don't you know what that's meant to me?! I wouldn't throw it away…not for a kingdom…or a girl," Bash passionately vowed, prayed his brother could see into his heart, know the truth of his words.
"Mary is not just any girl," Francis lightly countered, wished that she were so he didn't still love her.
At his brother's correction, Bash couldn't hold back a smile. "Indeed. And she has exceptional taste in men."
"Because she choose you…or me?" Francis gamely inquired.
"Both," Bash replied, his smile the cocky one Francis grew up wanting to mimic.
Unable to fight back a chuckle, Francis shook his head, "I hate when you cajole me out of a rotten mood."
Sobering at the word 'hate', Bash earnestly implored, "Hate me all you want, brother, but come home."
Dropping his gaze, Francis quietly refuted, "It is no longer my home."
But Bash stepped closer to his half-brother, would not be so close to a reconciliation only to let Francis slip away from him. Wrapping desperate hands in Francis' shirt, he gave his brother a miniscule shake, enough to get Francis to raise his head, meet his gaze. "You are wrong. It is your home, first and last."
The words struck Francis in the heart, twisted something even as it repaired something. But still he resisted, pulled his hands form his shirt and turned his back on his brother, took another healthy swallow of the wine.
Crestfallen, Bash couldn't move, couldn't bear this newest defeat.
From his position down the bar, Dean could read the warring emotions on Francis' face, knew how hard it was to let the hurt go, to bury your pride, even if it was to get what you wanted most in the world. So he leaned forward, caught Francis' eyes and offered the younger man the very hard won knowledge he had learned. "Kid, I'd give anything for my brother to show up, say any of that chick flick crap to me." Then he gave a jerk of his chin toward Francis' brother.
It was if Francis had just needed someone else's say so, sometime to tell him he wasn't being weak for wanting to start to forgive Bash. For he gave a short nod of agreement to the older man and stood up..and promptly started to drunkenly stumble into the other vacant bar stools. But his brother caught him and pulled his arm over his shoulders and began to lead his little half-brother toward the door.
And their conversation carried back to the three men remaining at the bar.
"One question: Do you seriously like wearing all this foppery? It weighs me down, is stifling hot and I keep getting the cape caught on doors and furniture," Bash lightheartedly complained.
"Aha, see you thought I was just a clumsy, sweaty kid when you came to live at the castle," Francis triumphantly declared.
Bash gave a bark of laughter and pulled his little brother closer. "You were a clumsy, sweating kid and it had absolutely nothing to do with your clothing. Lucky for you I guided you through your awkward stage."
"You did?! Is that right?!" Francis laughingly challenged, holding Bash's gaze.
"Absolutely, was my job as big brother," Bash lightheartedly declared before he saw the trepidation returning to his brother's eyes. With a tone reserved for only those he loved best, he earnestly vowed, "It's going to be alright."
"Promise?" Francis asked, wanted someone to say it would be alright, even if it were a lie.
Seeing the need and hope and affection in Francis' eyes, Bash knew he would do everything in his power to not be lying as he pledged, "Promise."
Then the brothers disappeared out the door, leaving the remaining bar patrons to their drinks.
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When a gust of wind mysteriously blew the napkins from the bar, Dean spun his bar stool around, ready to take on whatever supernatural thing just winged its way into town. But there's just a brown haired teenage boy approaching the bar, making a beeline for John.
"Hey, Russell thought you might be here," Stephen greeted, taking the now free seat beside John, though John had already returned proved disinterest in his appearance, was finding his drink more fascinating that his unexpected guest.
"Russell ratting me out. I guess all loyalty is gone," John cynically retorted, still focusing on the white liquid in the glass he held.
But the boy didn't even seem discouraged by John's sullenness, instead leaned closer to the older boy, dropping his voice lower, as if the other men inches from him couldn't hear him. "Russell called me, told me what you did, getting Cassandra to turn herself in to save me," Stephen said, admiration and gratitude in his tone.
"Yeah, she saved your bacon," John concurred, draining his glass and catching the bartender's eye for a refill.
Understanding that John wasn't getting what he was trying to say, Stephen wrapped his hand around John's forearm, which got his friend's eyes finally snapping up to his. "No, you saved me. And I'm sorry it cost you your place with Cara and the others. I can't…."
"Was bound to happen sooner or later," John brusquely muttered, was about to sample the new round of Vodka in his glass when he noted Stephen hadn't release his arm yet, the arm that his hand holding his drink was attached to. "Stephen…" he began in warning but the younger man cut him off.
"No, it wasn't inevitable." At John's skeptical look, he amended, "Ok, there was going to be some trust issues to overcome but you getting forced out, that shouldn't have happened. You saved every one of those people down there and you've done right by them, even when it put your own life in jeopardy," Stephen zealously defended John.
"Doesn't mean anything…apparently," John sourly drawled, though he too thought it should. 'Still with the hope. Thought Ultra would have smarted you up, get it through your thick skull there is no place for you, that you will always be alone…even when you're surrounded by people,' John bitterly thought, wished he could just accept his fate and move forward.
"It mean's something to me, to Russell…and some of the others," Stephen declared with conviction before he let out a disheartened sigh. "I wanted to support Cara in her new position but…she's…impulsive," feeling nine ways a traitor but whatever he felt about Cara as a person…it didn't change the way he perceived her leadership capabilities.
John looked to Steven, gave an amused snort. "Kettle calling the pot black there, Stephen. You give a new meaning to the word impulsive.
Steven rolled his head at the mostly true criticism. "Ok, yes, I leap before I look but that just puts me at risk, not a group of people I'm trying to keep safe. Her heart's in the right place but….you're the leader they need John. And they'll figure that out..even Cara will." Seeing that some of what he was saying was sinking in, Stephen released his grip on John's arm and clapped the man on the back and smiled, "In the meantime, you're crashing at my place."
Truly stunned at Stephen's offer, John stammered, "What?! No, I couldn't. If Jeb pays a visit…"
But Stephen wasn't taking 'no' for an answer. "Jeb and I aren't that tight, don't play poker or squash together after work," he sallied, slipping a hand around John's back and manhandling the blond off the stool. "Now my mom…she doesn't have a large range of things she can cook so expect spaghetti…a lot."
Suddenly John halted, met the gaze of his fellow barmates, but Oliver gave him a happy for you smile. "Go. Looks like you have someplace to be."
"Guess so," John replied, stunned that it was the truth, that more than that, he was actually wanted somewhere, his company was wanted by someone. It was a startling and terrifying and satisfying revelation. Without further protest, he joined Stephen on the trek out of the door, found himself inside Stephen's house the next second..where he could smell tomato sauce cooking on the stove.
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"So it's just you and I…" but Dean broke off when he caught sight of a beautiful bespectacled petite blond girl hesitantly breaching the bar's threshold. Suddenly he had a change of heart, was certain the guy at his side would be ok drinking alone. So he pulled on his 1000 watt smile…which the blond totally missed, was too busy rushing up to the rich guy beside him. 'Figures,' Dean silently grumbled because that's how his year had been going.
"Felicity," Oliver welcomed the new comer.
"Oliver, you weren't answering your phone and Diggs said you were Ok but he doesn't know what I know and now you know. Though your mom didn't want you to know…or me to know..or tell you," Felicity rambled, her hand starting to reach up to nervously readjust her glasses.
Reaching out, Oliver tenderly snagged Feliciy's hand before it made it to her glasses. "Did you need me?"
"Yes…I mean no. But I did come across…" Stopped as she remembered they weren't able to speak freely, weren't alone. It caused her to really take in Oliver's companion, the drop dead gorgeous man sitting only a few inches away, a man who was watching her exchange with Oliver. Nope, scratch that. Was watching her. She felt herself blush when he smiled at her.
Noticing Felicity's sudden interest in his drinking buddy, Oliver stood up, an action that put him so close to Felicity they were nearly touching. "You can tell me what you need on the way back to the office."
Snapping out of her besotted stupor when Oliver touched her back, Felicity distractedly replied, "Right…office…we should…" But the devastatingly handsome man was right there, had that welcoming smile she knew she could trust, didn't care if she couldn't. "Course I am a bit thirsty," and she took a step toward Dean.
"I'm buying," Dean announced, hope stirring that his luck was about to change, ignored Oliver's glare at his obvious invitation to his female friend. Because Dean knew body language, knew that Oliver wasn't sleeping with this girl. 'Idjit,' he mocked even as he patted the stool beside him.
Heading Felicity off at the pass, Oliver stepped to the right, put himself bodily between her and Dean. "No time," he lied as he gently seized Felicity's shoulders and turned her around, gave her a little prod toward the door.
But Oliver didn't feel right just leaving, didn't know why he was feeling protective of this stranger, only that he was. Turning to now the lone man at the bar, he quietly asked, "Hey, are you going to be OK?" because the man had been drinking before he arrived and the stuff they had talked about, it wasn't the stuff of fairy tales.
Dean lifted his glass. "I'm in my element." Thought for a moment the man would offer to call him a cab or something embarrassing but then Oliver simply gave a curt nod of raw understanding and steered Felicity toward the door.
"Hey, how'd you find me?" Oliver thought to ask because, this bar, it was way out of his normal radius.
"What?" Felicity offered in her innocent but so guilty tone.
Oliver's eyes narrowed. "You put a tracker on me, like I had you put on Sara, didn't you?"
"What?! No, I wouldn't…that would be…" Felicity nervously stumbled over her denial.
"We'll talk about what that'd be on the ride," Oliver lowly bit out, his displeasure evident.
"I really could use that drink now," Felicity said as she attempted to turn around, head back to the bar, but Oliver hustled her out the door, nearly collided into a handsome brunette man wearing a trench coat in the doorway as they left.
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"Cas," Dean dejectedly sighed as his angelic friend made a beeline for him. Though he knew he wouldn't have long to wallow in his misery, he had hoped he could have gotten royally drunk.
"You are not answering your phone and it took me a considerable amount of time to find you since I have to drive to each bar, instead of….you know," Cas finished vaguely as he noted they were not alone. But the look he gave Dean, it wasn't one of reprimand but concern.
Reprimand, Dean would have known how to handle. Concern? Not so much. So he did what he always did when he felt backed into a corner: lashed out. "And none of that gave you a clue that I wanted to be alone? Here I thought your time being human taught you something."
Ignoring Dean's rudeness, Cas claimed a seat beside his friend, shook his head when the bartender asked if he wanted anything. So they sat in silence, his eyes trailing to Dean every few moments, hoping to see a lessening in the man's unsociable mask.
Feeling Cas' eyes on him, Dean put his glass down with a loud clank and faced his friend. "What do you want, Cas?"
"He'll forgive you, Dean," Cas earnestly declared, knew that worry was at the heart of his friend's misery.
Dean's face twisted in an embittered smirk. "I don't think so." Then he picked up his drink again, took a slow sip. "Right now, I don't even know if I care if he does," he coldly confessed, his brother's words from last night still echoing in his head, that Sam wouldn't bother saving him. Course that shouldn't be a shock, it wasn't like Sam had looked for him when he got an all-expenses-paid ticket to Purgatory.
"What has happened, Dean?" Cas asked, didn't know what had transpired between the brothers but had thought something good when he had learned Dean was back at the bunker, back at his brother's side. But arriving to find Dean 'out' as Sam had coldly announced and Sam…something more than hurt and less than angry, he feared that their reunion was only a precursor to an irrevocable break in their brotherhood. And he did not wish to see that happen, ever.
Dean waved the glass in a circle, indicating everything. "Apparently Sam and I aren't brothers anymore and if I'm about to die and he's the only one that can save me, I'm crap out of luck. But besides that, Sam and I are as good as new."
Cas' mouth tightened into a grimace of pain for his friend, knew that, if Dean actually believed any of that, things were truly on the verge of irreparable damage between the brothers. "Dean, I do not know what has transpired between you and Sam but I know that is not true." He gave Dean's arm a squeeze to ensure his words were sinking in but he felt gutted when Dean's misery filled eyes met his.
"All true. Heard it from the horse's mouth, Cas. Don't know why I'm still even here," Dean mumbled in self-hatred, couldn't voice what Sam had, that he was there because he couldn't bear to be alone. Hated that it might be true.
"You're still here because you don't give up on family," Cas fervently stated, knew that first hand, that Dean would fight for those he loved even if it destroyed him in the process. 'Like I almost did on more than one occasion,' he sickly condemned himself, but the memory that stuck with him now was in the cave when he had the tablet, when Naomi ordered him to kill Dean. But Dean had stopped him, had told him the one truth he wanted to believe more than any lies. "Like you didn't give up on me. You said we were family, in the cave where we found the tablet, you said…you needed me..that we were family."
Dean gave a small sad smile. "Don't you know by now that that's a curse, not a blessing, Cas."
"Not to me, Dean," Cas earnestly declared and felt some measure of relief when Dean simply nodded, accepted that truth at least. "And I know Sam feels the same way."
"Cas…" Dean protested but the angel spoke over him.
"It will be Ok, Dean," Cas vowed in that angelic, I-know-best tone that Dean couldn't argue with. "And in the meantime, until you and Sam mend your brotherhood, I thought maybe it would be ok if I stayed in the bunker, was there in case you needed someone like a brother to be around. I know I don't know all the ways a brother should act or say..but I'm willing to try…."
The next second Cas was being hauled off the bar stool and the angel wasn't sure if he was about to be a recipient of a punch for daring to offer himself as an, albeit lousy, stand in for Sam. Instead, he found himself drawn into a hard hug and heard Dean's grateful, "Thanks Cas."
Returning Dean's hug, just like Sam had taught him to, Cas genuinely replied, "It would be my honor, Dean."
Pulling back from the hug, Dean pulled his wallet out, tossed some money on the bar table and started for the door with Cas at his side. And when that first step was more stumble than walk, Cas held him up, made sure he didn't fall, was there to make sure that family took care of family.
With a smirk, the bartender watched the last of his morning patrons disappear out the door, didn't fret about them making it home ok. Not when he knew they were no longer alone, had learned that, misery may love company, but it was family, in any form that it came in, that leads you home.
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The End
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Thanks for reading! I did warn you it was a rambling piece but I hope you enjoyed it.
And sorry for everyone hoping Sam would be the one that arrived at the bar for Dean. I just felt Cas showing up was more plausible at this junction.
Have a great day!
Cheryl
PS: I'm hoping to get my next chapter of Tethered up in a few days!