DEAN
Fuck hiking. The boots are okay. Eight hours on my feet, every fucking day? Not okay.
While we were out in the middle of nowhere, there was a gunshot. You should have seen this pack of morons hit the deck. All but one of the counselors/doctor people. He just stood there looking at us like we were crazy. Which, I guess is the reason we're out here.
This one time, Sam and I were watching cartoons in this motel and a bullet came right through the glass. I knocked the kid on the ground and dove on top of him, just like I'd been through military training.
I can't really laugh. I dropped, too, when the hunter's shot rang out. Just goes to show the awesome surroundings we wayward hoodlums all grew up in.
SAM
One deep breath to clear my mind. Gunshot. I'm off. Flying. Free.
I don't care if I win or not. I feel almost good. For a change.
I wonder where Dean is. If he's thinking about me.
DEAN
Fuck writing. Sam is probably the only person on earth who can make sense of this chicken scratch. I peek around the otherwise empty cabin to make sure there's no one there to hear me rip the pages out of the notebook.
Mandatory journal bullshit. Every entry addressed to my little brother.
Shit. The door swings open. I shove everything under the pillow. Dr. Novak comes in and hovers. He's this solemn, dark haired freak. Seems to get off on all the god damn walking. I've already told him, he can shove it. I'd rather clean up trash from the side of the road. Not an option. Court mandate and I'm stuck with this Outward Bound bullshit.
"How's it going, Dean?" He's got this voice that sounds like he's been gargling with gravel.
"It's going, Doc."
"Just wanted to let you know if you want to talk, in private, any time…" The good doctor's blue eyes flick down at my mouth.
And there. That. Right there, is my opening. Sure, everyone looks at my mouth. I might as well wear a fucking T-Shirt that says, "Hey Asshole, Look at My Mouth." But that, is not always a bad thing.
Doc Novak turns and starts to leave. I call him back and go so far as the pat the foot of my bed. He takes the bait and I'm in heaven. But I play it cool. Cross my ankle over my knee.
"Your name is Castiel, right?"
He tucks his hands between his knees and nods with this earnest look on his face. This guy is going to be a cakewalk.
"What is that, Italian?"
He purses his lips into a smile, "It's actually a little village in Switzerland. Where my folks met. It's kind of a story."
Whoa. I didn't ask for your entire bio, dude. I nod and shut that shit down. Not the direction I'm trying to take this talk. "Your friends call you Cas?"
"Some do."
I sidle up closer to his side. He doesn't even flinch. "So, Cas, what's a guy got to do to get a letter out of here?"
I pull the folded pages out from under my pillow. He just blinks down at them.
"How about a little sugar?"
He half puckers and gives a tiny, almost imperceptible nod.
I can't help but smile. I didn't expect it to be this easy. Hell, I might even be able to get this guy to bring me messages back. If Sam writes. If he feels like it. I guess I can't make him, but ... no. It's Sammy. He'll write.
I lean in to seal the deal. Dr. Novak… Cas' lips part. At least, he's pretty good looking. This won't be too bad. And Sam'll understand. If I even tell him. Maybe I won't mention it. But he's smart. And if he figures it out on his own… It doesn't matter. I just need to get this to him and be sure that he forgives me. For everything.
"So, how often do you leverage your attractiveness for favors?" Novak's face is perfectly blank. No trace of lust or anything other than professional curiosity.
I jerk back and slide up to my pillow. "Asshole."
SAM
This test is basically an insult. I fill in the last bubble and march up to Mrs. Harvelle's desk. She's young and blond. She's the kind of teacher Dean would think was hot. I guess a lot of guys think she's hot. Maybe she is. I don't know.
Her eyebrows perk up. "Done already? Why am I surprised?"
She leans forward when I place down the Scantron. I train my eyes on the blackboard while her gaze slowly sinks to my crotch and back up to my face. "I saw you run."
Good for you.
I don't say that, of course. That would be belligerent. And I'm a good kid. Great student. Star athlete. Model fucking citizen. So, I smile and hoist my bag onto my shoulder. As I'm leaving the room, somebody mutters the word. "Asshole."
DEAN
Next thing you know, they're going to have us holding hands, singing Kum Ba Yah. Sammy used to love that campfire shit when he was little. If they do it, though, I'm out. I don't care if I have to swim across the fucking lake, stumble through the woods and ride with some funky trucker down off this mountain.
The kid next to me is named Travis. We all know he burned down his grandmother's house. What I just now found out is that his grandmother and his uncle were in that shit when it went down. Damn. Where do they find all these fucked up kids?
Travis is kind of curled over on himself, sobbing like a huge, sweaty, pyromaniac baby. A couple of guys come over and wrap an arm on his shoulder. Pussies.
"What about you, Dean?
I squint over the flame at the good doctor. "What about me, Cas?"
"You have anything you want to share?"
"You know what? I'm going to go with my usual and say Fuck you."
That earns me a few snickers. Travis looks personally offended. You know? Fuck Travis, too. Fuck all of these douchebags.
The fire heckles. Spits hot at my face. Fuck you, too, fire.
SAM
Mario's on my left. Eric on my right. Arms crossed over my back. Mine are curled around theirs. Both of their eyes are closed. In fact, all the guys have their eyes closed. Even the coaches. Are they serious? Do they really think Jesus gives a shit how this game turns out? Do they honestly believe that if God existed, He would have nothing better to do than to make us play better?
It's perfectly obvious to me that if God exists, God is a sadistic, capricious shit. I would much rather accept that there is no God, no order, no fucking justice and rely on myself. The way I used to rely on my big brother. Let the chips fall where they fall.
Coach growls Amen. My teammates murmur Amen. I say Amen.
DEAN
Up there on that mountain, with all of God's creation spread out like an all-you-can-eat buffet, it occurs to me that I'm like a drop of grease in the bottom of the bacon bin. Tiny. Insignificant.
The dawn up here is fucking magnificent. The sunlight is all coral and flame and absolution. It's like everything Cas has been preaching for the last, damn near a year - about childhood trauma, emotional misplacement and personal responsibility…
Everything he's dredged out of me - from my mother's murder all the way up to the last fucking time I saw Sam…
Every word him and the other counselors and all these lost boys in my troop have exchanged for the last eleven months … It all just slams home like a fucking MAC truck.
Here I am, at the top of the world, all raw and open. I can't even explain why all these hands on my shoulder are such a fucking revelation. All I know is that I'm bawling like a little girl. Crying for every dumb damn thing I ever did to my brother. Good, sweet Sammy. God. I am so fucking sorry.
"Let it out, Dean. Just. Let it all out, man." Cas and all the lost boys patting my back.
And I'm crying for my beautiful dead mother. At least she never had to see what a fuck up her older boy became. My pitiful father, wherever the fuck he is. It's like I'm crying for every awful thing that ever happened in the history of the goddamned world. Crying until I'm gutted. Empty. Hollow as a fucking flute.
And it feels awesome.
SAM
"Are we done?" Just like every Thursday evening for the last two years, I've wasted nearly an hour watching the second hand on the clock on Dr. Mills' wall.
"The Singers. Your social worker … everyone thinks you're doing really well."
"Does that mean we can stop with this?"
She places her pen on top of her yellow note pad with a small sigh, "I'm not so convinced, Sam."
If Dean were in my position, he would have already fed her the garbage she wants to hear. He'd have her wrapped around his little finger and creaming her pants. I am so fed up with this. "I do what needs to get done, don't I?"
"Better than most people." She has this look on her face, like she's in some kind of physical pain.
She has no fucking idea.
"Exactly."
"Success isn't the same as healing." Her voice is all soft and cloying and it's kind of making me sick to my stomach.
"I'm fine." Technically, it's only 7:48, but I've had all the psycho babble I can take for one day.
"You know, Sam, I can't help you…"
"I know." I shoot to my feet and snatch up my backpack.
She rises to her feet, as well. "…if you don't let me."
The words trail off behind me as I fly out of the door.
DEAN
This kid, Adam. Scrappy, blond. City kid. Not cut out for this wilderness shit.
Good. That's how I know he'll get there. I see good things happening for this kid, if he can get it together.
I slap him on the back. He scowls like he would gladly slice out my spleen with a paring knife. God help me, I fucking love this job.
SAM
"You cut a striking figure in that suit, Sam." Mrs. Singer rests her hand on my shoulder.
Mr. Singer taps a fork against his wine glass, possibly purchased for just this occasion. Once he has everyone's attention, he coughs nervously. "Karen."
"I want to thank all of you for being here." Turns out, she has to clear her throat, too. "My Bobby always wanted a son."
Misty eyes cut over to me from all over the room. Most of them, I know. Pastor Jim, Mrs. Singer's… I'm supposed to call her Ma.
Just how much of a traitor would Dean think I was if he knew about this?
Mrs. Singer's friends from the shop. A couple of Mr. Singer's cop buddies… Pop's. Who I never met before.
"Try though we might, it was not in the good Lord's plans to give us one the old fashioned way. Now, we know that's because He was waiting to send us this young man right here. Sam, your father and I love you very much. Everyone in this room loves you."
Mr. Singer raises a glass. They all do.
He kisses Mrs. Singer's forehead and slaps me on the back. "Short and sweet. That's how I like speeches and women. Let's eat."
Even the old man's eyes are a little damp and I know I ought to feel something. Gratitude. Resentment. A healthy blend of the two. I just don't.
DEAN
"He said what, now?" I know my double take was a little on the exaggerated side, but I'm totally reeling from what Castiel just said and antics is how I deal. Sue me.
"In a nutshell, that you propositioned him."
Adam Milligan. That little shit.
"And you believe that?"
"Isn't the point. Dean."
"I think it kind of is the point, Cas. Who are you going to believe here? The kid is a pathological fucking liar. It's what he does. He's spent the last ten years on the street, conning people in order to survive."
"Look. I don't like it, but if a kid makes an allegation, we have to do an investigation. You know the protocol."
Yeah. I know the protocol. I know the fucking protocol like the back of my hand. A kid makes a claim like that, the staffer is immediately put on leave, without pay. They do the whole investigation thing and then, maybe. Maybe the guy gets his job back, although I've never seen that happen. "This is a piping pile of bullshilt and you know it, Cas."
He gestures to the seat in front of me. "Why don't you tell me what did happen?"
I can't sit down. If I sit down, I'm going to completely lose my shit. I had envisioned my self doing this job until … fuck, forever. This is the job for me. I was cut out for this job. I come from a fucked up background, like these kids. I have fucked up royally in my life, like these kids. And this job is my fucking redemption. What am I supposed to do now? "Nothing. Absolutely nothing happened, Cas, godammit."
"Did you hug him?"
Did I hug him? Yeah. "Yeah. He was crying. I put my arm on his shoulder. I've been through the training. I know good touch from bad touch."
"Did you tell him he reminded of your brother?" Castiel's face is a total blank. The guy must play a mean poker. It's just a question, right? Just another question on the list of things he would ask any guy in my position.
I did not tell Adam that he reminds me of my brother, but he does. That's the only reason I hesitate before I speak. Adam reminds me of a mix of me and Sam. Smart, with so much mouth. Neither of our looks, but hey, you can't have everything. Unless you're Sam. But my brother was always the exception, not the rule. And I need to answer this fucking question. "No."
"But he does."
"Is that a crime now?"
"Of course not."
I want to punch him right in his blank slate face. I knock the paperweight off Cas's desk, instead because dammit, this is not how this was supposed to go.
"We're going to conduct the investigation and whatever's best will come out of it, okay?"
"Yeah." I get up and leave his office, because what the hell else is there to do?
SAM
"Sam, did you hear me?"
I didn't hear him. I'm mesmerized by the pain in my knuckles. I stretch my fingers and curl my fist. Every little movement hurts so good.
The little nerd, Matt, is cupping his own cheek. Massaging over the spot I struck. Glaring at me like I belong in a zoo. The look on his face is actually pretty hilarious. Dean would definitely get a kick out of it.
"What the hell's got into you, boy?"
I'm not being willful when I don't answer. I honestly don't remember whether the kid was antagonizing me or what. All I know is that if Coach hadn't pulled me off of him, I would still be beating the living shit out of his harmless, little face.
I just keep flexing my hand. Breathing hard. I can't believe how much better I feel.
"Save it for the field, Singer."
"Yes, sir."