_Whiskey Safe

Drinking a good, strong whiskey, gambling for other peoples' paychecks and wallet money, skin to skin fighting, laughing 'till your stomach hurt, cheating on every single game of checkers, smoking 'till your lungs switch to an ashy black…

Hell, those seemed like the only things to do in the goddamned town of Lawrence, Kansas nowadays, anyway.

There wasn't really anywhere special to go, honestly, to do all (if any) of these things, but mainly, each group, clique, posse, gang...Whatever they were, they stuck to each other in their own territories. The idea of it usually went pretty decently, actually, unless some idiot sneaked their sorry ass into somebody else's property and got whooped. Their entire group would follow, and it would just turn into a bloody mess. That is, of course, unless they're smart enough to bring a weapon of some sort with them, in which case they would only be able to defend themselves for a little while, anyway.

This specific day, August twenty second, was the beginning of the school year for most kids around Lawrence (those special few that the day wasn't dedicated for were dropouts, who didn't have a thing to be proud of, and that included their reputation and, no offense, their appearance). The sun was only halfway risen, even though it was seven thirty in the morning and it was supposed to be three quarters of the way in the sky at least, and the air was too sticky with humidity to even focus on one simple task, it seemed.

Well, it was either the humidity or just the childish way that the sorrowfully lively group around the Winchester household acted on a daily basis.

Dean Winchester had his considerably too large flask filled to the rim with honey golden whiskey, the strong alcohol being sipped a little bit by the older teen before he screwed the cap onto the cool metal container's opening. It was his very first day of his senior year, and he wasn't intending on suffering through it without some sort of aid. Of course, little brother Sammy gave him a disapproving shove as he walked past him. He looked down on Dean's alcoholism frequently (especially in the school building), but the kid had no room to talk, either; he was quite the drinker himself, for a fourteen year old kid, in the eighth grade at that. Unhealthy as it was, it was always Winchester culture to drink at a fairly young age, and Dean supposed that it wasn't a problem. Hey, it was his rule with their father gone, after all, and he called it an okay deal.

"Dude," Dean said, cocking an eyebrow and leaning down to retrieve his bag from the ground. He released a large yawn, hooking his right arm into the correct strap and lifting it, slinging it over his shoulder and steadying it. "What's your problem? You afraid that I'm gonna screw up the first day with a little flask like this?" The taller of the two raised his flask to his younger brother, waving it around before shoving it into his back pocket. He raked his hair back with his fingers, and then ruffled it up, causing it to be messy on purpose. Of course. He was giving himself the bad boy look, and what other would Dean be known by other than a bad boy?

Well...Dean Winchester...If you were to say his name to somebody in his town, they could think various things, depending on the person and the time that you ask. Some people would say that he was an absolute hardass, that he didn't much care for most anyone other than his family and his whiskey and cigarettes (which, for the record, were rarely even touched by the teen). Others might say that he was the teenage heartthrob that they had the best night of their lives with a couple of weeks back. And those very special people, people like Sam...Those people would say that he was the most loyal, caring human being that walked the earth, with just the hints of alcoholism and a crappy home situation.

Dean himself would say that he was a badass, a catch, a ladies man. But things always attempted to convince him otherwise, seemingly to his disappointment. This happened constantly, in fact almost too constantly. Dean tried to hide it though, and he was pretty convincing, too. It led to him always trying to make things work with people, but, even though he was friendly if you got on his good side, it never seemed to work out in the end for him. Pretty much everybody that got close to him had to endure some type of emotional or physical pain at some point, and only a few certain people slithered out of that deal. You know, like it had been said before: Sam. He was his exception.

They definitely didn't call themselves a gang, though everyone else belonged to one.

They called themselves family, unlike most others would out loud, and held each other close like so. Because that's what they were. They were full blooded family, inseparable like you wouldn't believe.

Sam turned back to his older brother, brow raised and right hand shoving into his front jeans pocket. Sometimes, the kid worried about his brother, seeing as somebody had to have a care in the world in their family. It was funny, the fact that the person to give a damn about everything always ended up being Sam Winchester. The youngest of all Winchesters, and of most gang members around. He wasn't all that welcome to a lot of the choices that Dean and Benny made, and in fact he almost always tried to shun them away so that they were never brought up again, but it would be a miracle if the shunning was ever successful.

The fourteen year old Winchester was many tiers away from graduation himself, but he dreamed of going to college. Stanford, preferably, where he could get a fine occupation and make a living. More importantly, it was somewhere that he could get away. Honestly, after all these years without a mom or a dad in his presence, and instead a brother that couldn't get off of his back twenty four seven, he needed a break. He didn't want it to be taken wrong, however; he would do absolutely anything for Dean, and Benny for that matter. But sometimes, people just need their alone time. Sam was always the independent one, after all was said and done, and though he enjoyed their company...there was going to be a time that they had to grow up, squeeze their way out of the loops and the reputations of high school, and Sam decided to do that the smart way. That was how he did things; with logic, intelligence, grace...Whereas his older brother worked with luck, and chance, and blind guesses that were only correct about a quarter of the time. Sam supposed that he could deal with that, but, like any other normal human being, he could only hold so much until he broke.

Sam had only begun to plop down onto a less than comfortable kitchen chair, working a single shoe onto his left foot before Dean was grabbing the younger teen's bag from the table and heaving the strap over his shoulder along with his own. "C'mon, Sammy," he urged, heading towards the front doorway. "Let's get to the schoolhouse and see what the word is." Chuckling and ignoring the sound of Sam's annoyed protesting, Dean made his way out the front door, leaving it swung wide open as he knew that Sam would be following close behind.

"Dean, man, hey-" Sam's words got caught when he tried to stand, still attempting to slip on the shoe, which resulted in him falling to the ground. He groaned in defeat and finally pushed the shoe onto his foot, reaching for the other and doing the same thing with ease this time. Scrambling to his feet, Sam ran out the door behind his brother, pulling it closed with a booming slam as he called, "Dean!" He whipped his head around in search of Dean, and found him leaning against the good old '67 Chevy Impala, holding the younger one's bag in his hand with a teasing swing. He couldn't help but grin at the scene, slowing to a walk as he approached Dean, snatching the bag away before Dean could jerk it away from him (which was threateningly implied). "Don't mess around," he warned, "I have my laptop in this bag, you know."

"Ay. Your laptop is a pile of crap anyway," Dean responded with amusement laced heavily in his voice, lips perking upwards in a way that mirrored Sam's as he opened up the driver's door, sliding into the car with a content sigh. The invading scent of practically mint conditioned leather and stale cigarette smoke breathed across the eighteen year old's face, causing him to become unsure whether he should revel in the scent or bitch about it. He did neither, though, and simply relaxed back in the driver's seat after shifting his bag from his arm and tossing it to the back floor. He pulled the door shut, his fingers digging into his front pocket and searching for the key. Finding no such luck in either of the main pockets, he groaned and arched upwards in his seat, resorting to the back ones, confusion tangling up in his system as Sam rounded the front of the car and found himself at the passenger side.

The only thing that Sam could do was roll his eyes and mumble an incoherent "whatever," the young teen pulling the door open and getting inside as Dean had, the door creaking before it united with the Impala once more. As soon as he looked over at the newly stressed Dean, he couldn't muffle the laugh that ended up slipping past the barrier of his lips. The laugh faded and his teeth showed through his grin when Dean looked at him with a questioning look. "What're you so excited to find, Dean? Hm?" Sam set his bag gently next to Dean's, turning to his older brother with every sign that he was guilty of snatching the key while the other wasn't looking. He waggled his eyebrows suggestively, fingers dipping down into his shirt's breast pocket.
Dean impatiently relaxed into his seat again, holding his hand out to Sam, He sucked in a deep breath and mumbled, "Totally not fair. Hand it over, ballbuster."

"Make me."

"Sammy, don't make me make you."

"Go ahead."

"Kiddo, you dug your own grave."

The two of the Winchester brothers quarreled in the very front seat of that old Impala, Sam pulling the key out and dangling it in front of Dean like he was going to hand it to him, but pulling it back every time the other reached out for it. It took a few minutes, but Dean finally snatched the key away from the younger Winchester, grumbling some inaudible cuss words under his breath. He shoved it into the ignition and twisted it with one quick motion. The engine responded with only a short sputter, and the Impala switched on, the blare of Guns 'n Roses seeping from the speakers. Dean turned the wheel in order to peel off of his property, onto the road with a squeal of his tires. However, he almost slapped at Sam's hand when the younger one turned the volume knob of the radio towards the left, turning the sound almost completely off.

Sam chuckled a small bit, his body only jerking forward a small bit when Dean's foot slammed against the brakes pedal, the Impala skidding to a quick halt as soon as Dean caught glimpse of a pair of teenage boys crossing jaywalking their way across and in front of them. The older one swallowed nervously, pretty damn thankful that he hadn't hit the two (because, damn, he had gotten very close, and he honestly didn't want to get his license taken due to a hit and run).

"So," Sam started giving a large smirk when his brother began speeding down the road again without a care, "is there ever a day that you're gonna let me drive this thing, or nay?"

A block of silence fell upon the two, but that only lasted for a couple of seconds, Dean returning the smirk and shaking his head in detest. "Nada," he informed with a turn of the wheel, forcing the car to turn right at the corner that led up to the school. "You're too young, Sam. You ain't even got your permit yet." He shrugged, his emerald green eyes scanning what was now the pavement in front of him; which, coincidentally, was the school's student parking lot. The elder Winchester searched for a parking spot, finding a good one and swinging into it before anybody else could. It was competition for those kinds of spots, you know! He sort of had to snag a good one while he could. Shifting the car into park and flicking the key towards him, shutting it off, Dean continued, "Besides, if you ever screw up Baby, I'll have to screw up your face. And I kinda don't wanna do that until you can fight back." He pulled the key out of the ignition and cupped it in the palm of his right hand, the jagged edge digging into his soft skin.

Parting his lips to say something in protest, Sam was interrupted by a rock slamming against the outside of the door, followed by a muffled, "Damn it, my aim is worse than an old man's-"

"Gabriel!" an extra voice warned, a hell of a lot more gravelly than the other and much less cocky.

"What?"

Sam gave a confused gaze to Dean instead of the once-upon-a-time words, and Dean returned the same, even though the older of the two was a bit more angry than confused at the predator's rock, which could have done damage to his precious car. In unity, the brothers turned from each other and opened up their doors, sliding out of the assaulted Chevy and looking around, only to find two teenage boys, who looked to be about the Winchesters' age, standing on Sam's side, one of them wearing an expression of self righteousness and the other wearing one of solemnness. The doors of the car swung shut, Dean coming to Sam's side so that he could take a good look at these fellow teenagers. They looked familiar, for some reason, though neither of the Winchesters could put their fingers on how.

"Your car, big boy?" asked one of the teens, brow uplifting as he inspected Dean with something of an annoyance.

"Damn straight. Your rock?" Dean returned to him, already feeling a wavelength of dislike travel in a mutual fashion between them.

The same teen nodded, laughing a little bit and revealing a large grin. "Yeah. You almost ran me over, numb nuts. I was just returning the favor to your chickmobile."

"My what?"

It dawned upon both of the brothers that these two were the ones that Dean had almost hit with his car beforehand, and to this they both kind of rolled their eyes, simultaneously pulling their own style of what they liked to call a bitchface. Dean's fists were clenched, the only thing holding him back from punching the brat right across the face being Sam's hand, which had immediately flown up to grip the older's upper arm, warning him not to engage in any type of fight when he had only been on the school property for less than five minutes.

Dean exhaled heavily, only inhaling after a moment's hesitation. He slipped away from his younger brother's grasp and gave the shorter, stranger of a teen an expression that was nothing even close to genteel. "Well, listen," he said with a snarl. "You touch my car again, you'll be a pavement pancake next time I drive past ya. Capisce, Gabriel?"

The one that Dean had been speaking to gave a short nod, not having to say a word to reveal that he was, indeed, Gabriel. "Caposh," he replied, a mockery influencing his voice as he spoke to Dean. But when he turned to Sam, his voice actually switched off into something of a playful tease, nothing to be taken as actually offensive (in which was the moment that Gabriel decided to stick around Sam more often than the other Winchester). Gabriel said, "What's the name, kiddo? You look like a Jared or some shit."

"It's Sam, actually." Sam glanced over at Dean, realizing that he was almost out of patience with Gabriel already. So, the younger of all three of them groaned and playfully shoved at Gabriel's shoulder. "Hey, uh, before Dean-that's his name, by the way, it's, uh-Anyway, before he has a total freak out on all of us, let's just give him space, all right?" He didn't wait for the other to reply, simply patting his shoulder and walking past him, expecting him to follow.

And that is just what Gabriel Novak did: he followed Sam, no question about it, simply giving a sarcasm induced wink at Dean and chuckling before he was moving his feet to catch up with the young Winchester.

With Sam and Gabriel out of hearing distance, Dean sighed in relief, eyes focusing on the other teenager. The one that had stayed practically silent for the entire time that the Winchesters had been in his presence. Dean inspected him with a blissful intrigue, which somehow looped around with the way that his stature unceremoniously weakened. He shoved a hand into his back pocket, his fingers immediately skimming against the cool metal of his flask. "You really hang around with that douchenozzle?" he asked, pulling the container of alcohol out of the safety of his pocket and letting his fingers dance up to the lid. untwisting it and pulling it out of his place. He brought the opening up to his lips and took a short swig before bringing it back down, as to not sip up too much at once (even though he really wanted to).

The blue eyed teenager had practically grimaced, those eyes flickering from amused intimidation to sharpness, which had an immediate, yet short, punch of coldness radiating through those baby blue irises. "That 'douchnozzle,' as you put it," he responded, "is my older brother." He watched Dean's every move as if he were the cynosure of the entire world, from the Winchester's green speckled eyes (that seemed to be locked on him, all the same) to the flask in his hands. It was the younger Novak's first intention to mention that alcohol in school was most certainly prohibited, but it looked like Dean already knew that; it was just the fact that he didn't care about the stupid rule.

"Oh," Dean mumbled, "sorry 'bout that."

"About what?"

"About the fact that he's your brother."

"You should stop talking."

"Yeah, I should." Giving a small chuckle and the perks of a newborn grin, Dean twisted the cap back onto the silvered flask, replacing it where it belonged just after. He leaned back against the Impala and crossed his arms over his chest. The sun had risen quite a bit more, but, coincidentally, the air was still chilly, and it caused the hair on Dean's arms to tremble and peek up under those brown leather jacket sleeves as he ran his hands over them a few times. He dealt with the coldness without even a tiny shiver, though, and said, "What do they call ya, angel?"

The look of pins and needles in the shorter teen's eyes had softened to a gentility by now, himself staying anything but unattainable as he shoved a hand into his pocket. There was a large, hesitant gap between the next words to come, but he eventually made out, "Castiel. I'm-"

"The dick's little bro?" interrupted Dean with a smartass tone.

"Well," Castiel continued, "no. Yes. I mean, yes, I'm-"

Dean shook his head with amusement, unfolding his arms to pat Castiel Novak's left upper arm with the entirety of his hand. "Save your breath," he joked, "you sound like you're gonna need it." The way that he smiled at the shorter one, and the way that his touch radiated against him as a friendly kind of action...It almost surprised Dean, to be honest. Although, he didn't mind, recrossing those arms again, the leather sliding smoothly against itself as he did so. "I'm just gonna call you 'Cas,' okay?"

Nodding, Castiel scrubbed quickly at his face with the fingers that had been in his pocket, replying, "Yes. That's alright." He let himself smile, just this once for Dean, and dropped the hand at his side.

This was the beginning of something new.

Hell, this was the start of a friendship.

Not just one, but two: Dean and Castiel, and the previously mentioned Sam and Gabriel (who were, by now, hanging around the bleachers, talking about the stupidity of some people and how they constantly got on their nerves, though Gabriel was usually that one person that got on peoples' nerves).

And things were only just unfolding, because there was more to come.

There's always more to come.

( I'm hoping to update every week and a half! There will be more chapters coming soon! Thanks for reading! )