After a very long, very bumpy boat ride, Dean and his fellow soldiers arrived in Calais. Everyone got off the boat, followed by a green faced Dean Winchester, and stood in line, ready for duty. Dean listened as everyone's name was called out. He was still a little sick, but he didn't want to appear weak in front of these men. "And…Winchester." Dean stood to attention with a quick "Yes sir!" and followed the man.
"Now, you listen here boys, all this time here, you obey ME. No one else, unless I give the order. The name's Crowley, but to you, it's sir. Is that clear?" the man who had lead Dean and these other men here. Crowley's statement was followed by a few mumbled "Yes, sir." 's. "WHAT was THAT?" Crowley yelled. "I want respect!" "YES SIR!" they all chorused. Crowley looked extremely pleased with himself.
"Now, you won't be on the front line for a while, boys, so think yourselves lucky. You'll be doing odd jobs, whatever is asked of you, and you stick together. Now, I know I'm not one for sentiment or any of that shit but think of each other as family and families never leave each other. So, here's where you'll all be staying, so make the most of it before you're moved to the front. The front's full of fucking mud and fucking rats the size of your face." A few of the men shuddered and Crowley walked off, pleased at being able to scare some new ones.
"Hey, is that you? Castiel, wasn't it?" Dean asked, walking towards the same short man from earlier. The man looked startled but relieved. "Oh, it's good to have a familiar face here in our garrison." Castiel said. "Garrison? Never mind, how do you like it so far?" "I'm not too keen on Mr Crowley's language, but I suppose I'll get used to it." Dean made a mental note to watch his mouth around Castiel.
"Bit muddy, isn't it. But I suppose, we aren't at the front. Yet." Castiel continued. It was getting dark, and the men knew that they'd be busy tomorrow so they settled down for the night. Even though they were quite far back, they still heard the whizzing and bangs from the front line.
"Dean, you going to sleep?" Castiel asked, looking genuinely concerned.
"Gotta write a letter, promised Sammy I'd write to him a lot." Dean explained.
"Oh, who's Sammy?"
"My little brother, he's only nine and I love him so much."
Dean and Castiel spent the rest of the evening discussing family, with Dean learning about Castiel's many brothers-Michael, Raphael and a few others that Dean couldn't remember. Dean teared up a little, though he'd never admit it, when discussing his parent's deaths.
Dean had lost his mother when he was nine; with his father following close after. His mother had been struck down with a load of illnesses all at once. His father had died from grief, or so they'd said. Dean had seen the pill bottles on the floor. Selfish bastard Dean had thought all of these years. But now that he was older, he could understand it. It would be hard to raise two kids who were the spitting image of your just dead wife, all by yourself. Though that thought didn't make Dean despise him any less.
The boys had been adopted by their uncle, Bobby, who wasn't actually related by blood or marriage to the Winchesters, but was an old family friend. He loved the boys a lot, feeling bad for all they'd had to go through. Other family members paid their condolences and had given Bobby help with raising the boys, but Bobby had enjoyed it thoroughly, having no kids of his own.