"I was seventeen. Sammy was thirteen. Mom and Dad had had the great idea to send us off to some sort of outdoorsy camp thing out by a lake for the summer as a bonding activity. I- can't really remember what we did there. I think there was kayaking. We learned how to tie knots, maybe. And the last morning of camp, at breakfast, one of the camp techies got a phone call in the main office. He came back, lookin' real serious, and whispered something in the camp leader's ear. So the main guys left to go talk on the phone, so the kids there all had a bit of a food fight or something. And then..." Dean swallowed and kept his eyes firmly planted on the ground. "They came back. And pulled Sam and me from the table and took us out behind the mess hall and..." He took a deep breath. "They told us our parents were dead." Cas opened his mouth to say something, to find a way to express his commiseration for Dean, but it was like Dean couldn't stop talking; there was pain on his face, but the words just spilled out like a river breaking free from its dam. Cas got the sense that Dean had never really talked about this before, and honestly couldn't blame him. "They told us there had been a fire." His voice was steady as he continued, no matter how much each word hurt him. "Apparently, Mom had been- had been baking a pie for us. For when we got back. And she'd fallen asleep in front of the TV upstairs with Dad and forgotten to turn the oven off first. And somehow, in a freak, one-in-a-million accident, something went wrong. And our house was made almost completely of wood. They said it hadn't even taken twenty minutes for the whole thing to burn down. The stairs had collapsed before Mom and Dad had woken up, they said. They'd never even really had a chance to get out."

"Dean-"

"There was barely enough of them left to bury," Dean went on, voice slightly louder, eyes still glued to the floor. "That's what the firemen told us when we got back home, anyway. They were practically cremated. But we didn't finish that. They told us once when we were kids as a joke that they wanted to be buried together. And that's exactly what we did. Didn't invite anyone to the funeral. Didn't even have a preacher there. It was just us and our dead parents in the ground. And the gravedigger. Sammy cried for days. I didn't cry until I was sure he couldn't hear me. Someone had to be the strong one, you know?" Dean took a deep, shaky breath and went on. "So after that, we moved in with this guy who'd been a close friend of our family's. Bobby. He was practically our father after. I would have shown you where he lived, but he moved away to Montana a few years ago and the house got knocked down and replaced with a pharmacy. And then I went to college for a year and Sam stayed in high school- I visited every weekend, though, 'cause I was going to the community college pretty close to there- and got perfect grades. And no one really bullied us after that. Guess they understood we'd been through enough. Girls did still turn us down for dates, though." Dean smiled, but it was more of a grimace. "And the house we saw today- you know, the yellow one, with the trees- that's where we used to live. That was home. Well, they rebuilt it, of course. Barely anything was left after the fire. But that's what it looked like before, too. They did a pretty good job with it. Even replanted trees, 'cause those burnt down in the fire also. But no part of that house remembers Sam or me anymore. It's all rebuilt. And I was just wonderin' if anyone lives there now. I wonder if they know about what happened to us. Not so that they'd be afraid of it being haunted or whatever. Just so that they knew the full story. Whoever they are, I hope they end up being happier than we were." Dean slowly looked up at Cas for the first time since he'd began his story. "And now you know everything." And his lower lip trembled once and a single tear broke free of Dean's shimmering eyes and began its painful trek down his cheek.

And without even thinking about it, Cas leaned forward, placed his hand gently on the side of Dean's face, and rubbed the tear away softly with his thumb, trying to communicate everything he was feeling with his eyes.

With a bleating sound like a whimper, Dean launched himself forward and buried his face in Cas's shoulder, clamping onto it with both arms. And Cas could almost feel Dean's heart finally either opening up of its own accord or simply breaking as Cas lifted an arm and wrapped it tightly around Dean's shaking form, soon doing the same with his other arm.

"G-god, I miss them," Dean sobbed into Cas's shirt, voice muffled and shuddering. "I miss them so much, Cas. I miss coming home to Mom making me a grilled cheese and singing me to sleep if I was having nightmares. I miss my dad making me rake the leaves out front and Sammy throwing acorns at me from his treehouse. I miss not being homeless and an orphan. I miss- I-"

Cas held Dean tighter as Dean full-on broke down and sobbed without restraints. Cas guessed that Dean had never had anyone to confide to and that all of these tears had been collecting inside him over the many years that had passed since he'd lost his family.

Dean cried for a few minutes as Cas held him, one hand in his hair, one hand wrapped around his back and shoulders. There was nothing he could say, Cas knew, that would do anything to change how Dean felt. Just being there was probably the most he could do, even though he wished with every fibre of his being there was something else. But he knew there wasn't. And he hated being that helpless, because hearing and feeling Dean cry was probably the worst thing he would ever experience.

Dean's crying lessened slightly and he hiccuped. He then laughed into Cas's shoulder, breathing still broken by occasional sobs, even though at this point they were more reflexive than teary. "I-if you t-tell anyone about th-this, Ca-as, I-i'll kill y-you," Dean said and Cas could feel him smiling. Cas ruffled Dean's hair lightly with the hand that was in it and said, "Don't worry, Dean."

Cas held him until his breathing steadied completely and he was emotionally strong enough to detach himself from Cas and sit up. He hiccuped once more and sat still. Then, he sniffed to clear his nose and stood. "I could use a drink."

"Surprise," Cas said. "You sure that's the best idea?"

"It's always the best idea in my book." Dean opened the fridge and pulled out a bottle of beer and then a second, offering it, as usual, to Cas. "Want?"

Cas rolled his eyes. "For the thousandth time, no."

Dean shook his head in disbelief and replaced the second bottle. "Suit yourself, weirdo." He popped the top and drank, and, after a small sound of appreciation at the quality of the beer, sat back down next to Cas. Dean looked gingerly at Cas's shoulder and, upon seeing how wet and wrinkled the fabric was, winced apologetically. "Look, sorry I-"

"Don't mention it," Cas said firmly. "Shirts can be washed. Feelings cannot."

Dean raised an eyebrow and there was a pause before he burst out laughing. "What?" he spluttered. "Feelings can't be washed? Is that seriously what you just said, Cas?"

"Look, Dean, I'm just-"

"A writer, huh? Right," Dean said, eyes twinkling, and drank again. "Seems real legit, Cas. Feelings can't be washed."

"Okay, that's enough," Cas said, failing to keep the smile off his face. "I know it wasn't the most perfect of metaphors, but..."

Dean looked at him as one would look at the slightly stupid family dog everyone is fond of even though it's not very bright at all, and drank. "Anyway, thanks for letting me cry all over you," he said levelly and avoided Cas's eye.

"Anytime," Cas said warmly.

"Hopefully not," Dean said, looking at Cas with eyebrows raised and eyes amused.

"Well, no, but-" Cas waved a frustrated hand in the air. "You know what I mean."

Dean downed the rest of the bottle in one gulp, made a face, and looked at the clock on the wall of the bus. "Pretty sure we've changed time zones here. But whatever time it actually is, I can sense that I'm sound checking soon. Wanna come?"

Cas shrugged. "Sure. Don't have anything better to do, right?" He stood and grabbed his trench coat from the back of the leather chair where he'd flung it upon entry of the bus. Dean, too, stood and slid on his worn jacket.

"Oh, and Cas?"

Cas turned around from his spot right at the front of the bus as he was about to leave. Dean was looking at him with a dash of fear in his green eyes.

"Don't tell Sam. About- about what I said. Okay? I don't want him to think-"

"I won't, Dean," Cas said and nodded.

"Cool," Dean said, relief on his face at confirming that, and followed Cas out of the bus.

At the soundcheck, Dean would stop every few minutes to go backstage himself to refill his water bottle- with actual water this time. And although Cas may have been reading a bit far into it- of course he was, it couldn't have meant more, because Dean's not interested that way in him, why would he ever be- it often seemed like Dean was just using that as an excuse to talk to Cas. So they talked, and when Dean was done quenching his thirst for both conversation and water, he would return to the stage and proceed with his testing of the mics and guitars and Cas would continue writing.

When the concert was about to begin, Dean stood backstage next to Cas, a tranquil expression in his eyes. "Here you go, Cas. Here's the concert that'll make your article."

Cas smiled and looked away from Dean. "Let's hope so."

Dean patted Cas on the back, grinned, and strode out onto the stage as soon as the lights boomed off in the stadium.

"Ladies and gentlemen of Lawrence," Dean began in the silence and the blackness, "my name is Dean Winchester. And tonight... I'm coming home." The lights exploded on, music joining in instantly, and the crowd went- no matter how cliche it sounded- wild.

And for the first time since meeting Dean, Cas felt uniquely privileged at being allowed to come along with Dean on this journey of his, to be a part of Dean's inner circle, to be trusted with Dean's innermost feelings. There were thousands of people out there who would never hear Dean say a single word to them, and Cas, of all of them, got to sleep a few feet away from Dean each night.

"Now this next song," Dean said, panting slightly after finishing up the first, "isn't really on the program for tonight. But I dedicate it to some people backstage and some people trying to get there." He nodded to the band and the opening chords to "Poppy" rang out.

And it may have been Cas's imagination, but he thought he saw Dean turn his head to the left slightly and wink at Cas from the stage.

Once Dean had gotten to the triumphant close of the song, he grinned at the audience and asked, "So how many of you all are actually from Lawrence?"

Cheers filled the stadium as the residents of Lawrence clamoured for attention.

"And how many of you actually knew me when I lived here?"

There were cheers, but they were spread out and quiet.

Dean pointed into the audience. "There's a hand up there. Let's see who it is."

A nearby cameraman panned and zoomed in on the girl in question, who was jumping up and down uncontrollably in delight.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't sweet Sandy Richards," Dean said and waved at the girl. "Good to see you, Sandy."

A microphone was jabbed under the girl's mouth and she said, blushing deeply, "Hi, Dean. It's good to see you, too."

"Mmm, I'll bet," Dean said and thought for a second. "Hey, remember that one time when you were wearing that killer blue dress in school? I think it was sophomore year. And I told you you looked nice and your boyfriend Nick Harris slammed me into a gym twice a day for the rest of the year for that. You two still together? You all made a lovely couple."

Poor Sandy's eyes widened and she attempted to stammer out a no and an apology as the entire concert hall rose to its feet in indignation. Dean waved a good-natured hand and said, "Oh, it's all water under the bridge between us now, Sandy. Enjoy the concert."

The girl blushed a deeper red than before and stared away from the camera, mortified. Dean chuckled and the cameraman returned to his previous spot.

"So anyway, that's quite enough chit-chat and public humiliation, don't you think? Let's press on in our intergalactic tour, shall we?" The hall responded with enthusiasm and Dean cued the band to start the next song.

Cas shook his head incredulously and decided against making a note of this for his article.

The concert ended a couple hours later, and Dean looked happier than he had ever looked after a concert once it was done. "Come on, let's get out of here before the kids start breaking down the doors," he said, grabbed Cas by the shoulders, and pushed him along in front of him.

"O-okay," Cas said, barely managing to snatch his laptop and charger up in time.

Once they had darted into the bus- it's true, fans really were chasing after them- Dean started to laugh, grabbed a beer out of the fridge, and collapsed onto the couch in the front room, placing his feet up on the table in the center. "Well, that was fun."

"You seemed to be enjoying yourself," Cas remarked after pulling a bottle of water out of the fridge and sitting down across from Dean.

"Oh, I sure was," Dean said and smiled at the ceiling. "A lot more than I thought I would. There's just something about being home, I guess."

They talked late into the night, Dean only pausing the conversation to press up against the window as the bus pulled out of Lawrence too see his town one last time before saying goodbye for another while. This time, they told each other about their childhoods in hushed voices, Cas letting Dean talk slightly more as he told Cas about Lawrence. They exchanged arm-breaking stories, which led to a discussion and competition as to who had the most gruesome injury. Dean ended up winning, explaining that the scar running through his left eyebrow was the result of a lawnmower malfunction when Dean had been mowing the lawn at the age of 14- the blades had first gotten stuck, then exploded outwards when Dean had attempted to investigate. Cas had nothing comparable to offer, seeing as how the worst injury he'd ever sustained- besides breaking his arm falling out of a tree- was nicking his thumb pretty deeply whilst chopping lettuce for a salad. They somehow moved on to discussing their favourite violent films, disagreeing rather severely on some but finding they had a lot of common ground when it came to B-grade action.

They talked until both fell asleep, still sitting in the front of the bus, fully clothed.

A few hours later, Cas was pulled reluctantly above the warm ocean of dreamless sleep by a loud sniffling sound. He opened his eyes a crack only to find Dean twitching slightly in his sleep- it looked like he was having a nightmare; sweat collecting on his brow, closed eyes darting from side to side.

Cas's heart went out to him, and, without even thinking about it, so did his body. He rose to his feet and stumbled over to where Dean was sitting and gently sat by his side. "Shhh," he soothed and placed a reassuring arm around Dean's shaking shoulders- he was now crying slightly in his sleep. "You're safe. You're okay. Shhh."

Dean's eyes slid open, full of panic. His eyes darted up to look at Cas, and his breathing began to steady. He closed his eyes again and slid to his left a little, closer in to Cas. To his surprise, Cas discovered that he and Dean fit together like that almost like puzzle pieces.

Dean snuggled in a little more, made a sleepy sound, and settled. Cas tilted his head so it was resting atop Dean's and drifted to sleep, too, soon after, lulled by the sound of Dean's breathing.

Dean woke up for some reason a second or two after Cas fell asleep, and smiled sleepily at seeing where he was. He mumbled "Thank you, Cas"- or something that sounded vaguely like that, for it was hard to enunciate when one was half-asleep- and drifted off again.