Dean pulled to a stop in front of Jo's house and slowly got out of the car. He went to the passenger side to get his brother out, who seemed in shock and was just staring wide-eyed at nothing.

"Leave your stuff in the car for now," he said quietly as Sam got out. But as soon as he'd shut the door, Sam threw his arms around his brother and buried his face in the older boy's chest. They stood there for a moment until Dean coerced Sam to go with him up the porch.

He rang the doorbell and waited with his arms still around Sam. They heard voices from the inside and then yellow light spilled out as Jo opened the door. Her mouth fell open and she stared at Dean in disbelief.

"Hi, Jo," he greeted her quietly, attempting a smile.

"Jo? Honey? Who is it?" Ellen, Jo's mother, suddenly joined her daughter in the doorway. "Dean!" she exclaimed, pleasantly surprised. But her face fell when she saw the state the two boys were in. Quickly, she ushered them in and made them sit at the kitchen table while she put together a bag of ice for Sam's face and found a cloth to wipe the blood from the corner of Dean's mouth.

Sam finally was able to let go of his brother, but he still wouldn't talk, and he kept his eyes on the floor as if there was something extremely interesting about it. After making sure both boys were alright, though, Ellen finally sat before them and demanded to know what happened. Jo stood beside her mother and looked morbidly interested in knowing, too.

But Dean only had eyes for Sam and worry was clouding his mind too much. "I'll explain it all tomorrow. Sam really needs to sleep and I'm too worked up right now to talk about it," he pleaded. Ellen relented though and sent them to the guest room.

Jo followed and watched from the doorway as Dean sat next to Sam on the bed, murmuring something she couldn't hear and stroking the boy's hair until he fell asleep. Beside the bed was an old loveseat and Dean sat back on that, his eyes finding Jo in the dimness. She quietly sat beside him and took his hand.

After a long while, Dean spoke softly. "One year, two months, and seventeen days ago my mother was caught in a highway pile-up caused by a sixteen year old girl who was texting while driving. My mother, the girl, and seven other people died instantly, and two more died later of injuries." He took a deep breath, fingers laced through Jo's in a comforting grasp.

"One year, one month, and twenty-one days ago my father came home, more drunk that I had ever seen anyone in my entire life. I tried to tell him to sleep it off because he had work the next day. He said 'I don't give a damn about a job. Or you. Or your brother.' I tried to tell him that he didn't mean it and he would feel better the next day. He broke my nose." Jo squeezed his hand and leaned closer so that their shoulders were touching.

"I hated him after that. I gave up trying to help him. And ever since, he spends most nights in the bar or his pickup and I've been trying my best to take care of Sammy and protect him." Dean laughed mirthlessly and continued, "I can't even count all the times when he showed up and I wasn't there and it was Sammy who paid for it. And it's all my fault. I never wanted him to get hurt. He didn't sign up for honorary punching bag. That was my job, and I failed too many times."

Jo's fingertips brushed Dean's cheek and came away wet. "Dean," she whispered, "it's not your fault. The only person to blame is your dad because he couldn't handle his wife's death. It's horrible that Sam has had to go through that, but so have you, and you're just as important as he is in this." Dean tried to soak that in, but he couldn't, and eventually continued.

"I held a knife to his throat and the only thing I felt was hate. I told him we were leaving, and I'll probably take Sam to Bobby's soon, but I told him that while we're gone, he needs to find help if he ever wants to see us again. Even as I said that, half of me wanted to just kill him then and there. Honestly, I probably would have if Sammy hadn't been standing there looking terrified. Terrified of me." Dean fought to breath normally.

Jo was quiet for a long time. "Stay here. My mom will let you stay with us, I know it. You're like the sons she never had, Dean, and you're welcome to stay, at least until the school year ends." Dean felt as if she was holding back from saying more, but it was a similar situation as he had had with Cas in that he appreciated her not asking any questions.

"Thanks, Jo, really. I… I don't know what I'd do with my life if you weren't in it." Dean's voice and heart were filled with a jumble of emotions, but he hoped Jo understood how much it meant to him.

She laughed quietly and let go of his hand to hug him. "You're welcome." She paused and settled in beside him again. "Anything else you want to say while I'm listening?" Dean knew it wasn't a question meant for prying, just something she always said whenever they had serious conversations.

Dean thought for a moment. "I kissed Castiel Novak."

Jo gave him a look. "No way! I don't even know who that is. Slut," she said jokingly. Dean smiled in spite of himself. He felt almost normal for a moment.

"I'll introduce you," he said quietly, the moment fading. Jo noticed.

She patted his knee. "Good. Now get some sleep. You're still going to be expected to go to school tomorrow."

Dean groaned, but a faint smile touched his lips as Jo left and he got into bed beside the still sleeping Sam. He must have woken the boy, though, because Sam grasped at his shirt and pulled him closer. Soon, though, both brothers were sleeping soundly.

Morning came and went and it was past noon when Dean woke up. Sam was curled into a ball on the other side of the bed and still breathing deeply so Dean tried to be as quiet as possible as he left the room. He stopped by the bathroom across the hall and finally saw his reflection in the mirror. His green eyes were dull and rimmed with darkness from exhaustion. There was a dark bruise in the shape of a fist that stretched from the corner of his mouth to his cheekbone and gave him an overall haggard look.

Dean splashed his face with water and wandered to the kitchen where Ellen was sitting at the table reading the newspaper. Dean knew that Ellen's husband, Bill, owned one of the major local bars and that sometimes Ellen worked days there, but he assumed that she'd taken the day off since he and his brother were staying there.

"You didn't wake us up for school," Dean said, taking the seat next to her.

"Dean Winchester, when have you ever been concerned about school?" Ellen sent him a smile. "And anyway, you two really needed the sleep." Her face grew serious again.

Dean sighed lightly, saying, "I suppose you want me to tell you what happened now?"

Ellen shook her head slightly, though. "I'll whip you up something to eat and we can talk afterwards." Dean's stomach grumbled in reply and she smiled. Handing him the paper, she stood and starting putting together some sort of lunch.

Dean's phone buzzed in his pocket and he'd forgotten he even had it with him. It was a text from Jo. It read simply: "Castiel Novak, right?" Dean replied back a quick, "Yeah", wondering why she was asking. After a minute, his phone buzzed again. "Dean, he's in the hospital. Lawrence Med."

"What?!" Dean exclaimed out loud, startling Ellen.

"Dean, what is it?" she asked as he stood abruptly from the table. His wild eyes found hers.

"My… My friend. He's in the hospital. Sorry, Ellen, but I have to go. I'll call when I get there." Dean's voice was frantic and he had just enough time to stop and give Ellen a peck on the cheek in goodbye before sprinting back to the guest room to grab his shoes, jacket and keys. Sparing one last glance at his sleeping brother, he ran back through the house and out the front door, jumping into the Impala.

Dean fought the speed limit as he drove the few miles to the hospital that Jo had specified. When he arrived, though, despite the worry driving him mad, he remembered to call Ellen and give her a quick, "I don't know what's happening but I have my phone," before nearly tripping over his own feet getting inside the doors.

The place was almost deserted; not too many people went to hospitals in small towns. He went to the nurses' desk and breathlessly asked for Castiel Novak's room. The nurse on duty, a middle-aged woman with a kind face pointed him to the second floor and gave him the room number. He slipped into the too-clean smelling elevator and rode it up a floor and into the intensive care section of the hospital. From there he followed the signs until he found it. Room 254.