AN: This chapter is a bit longer than the others. I think this story should finish off around 16 chapters. I have also started a fanfiction blog on tumblr where I post updates and ask the readers questions. Go follow it if you have the time! link is on my profile.

Sleepless in Lawrence, Kansas – chapter ten – Don't let the world get you down

The tinsel, the string of off-white lights around the doorway, the fat, red nutcracker that sat on the dinner table… none of it had been Dean's idea. In fact, since John Winchester walked away, Christmas had been no more than brown paper bags and plastic, sixteen inch trees. Even then, the tree was only there because Sam insisted. So this year, when Ruby held up two reusable satchels bursting with decorations at their finely woven edges, Dean didn't like her.

She looked like she enjoyed tripping small children in the street.

"Come on, Dean," Sam had said, and Dean had relented.

They weren't traditional, the Winchester boys, so neither said anything about decorating after breakfast on Christmas morning.

"Maybe you should have done this beforehand?" Ruby said, her eyes tight with amusement and Dean did not look away and mock her words with a sour expression. Nope. "Yours is the only house on the street lacking in festivity."

"My festivity is, more often than not, a glass of jager."

"I wouldn't touch the stuff," Ruby said.

"Yeah, well, good for you."

Sam watched Dean from where he wound the tinsel in a coil up the stair rails. It laid limp like a rag against the varnish. "Dean," he said, tying the end.

"What?"

"Chill."

Dean's shoulders grew tight, drawing in on himself. "Yeah. Okay." What could he say? That they didn't decorate? Not really. Not since Mom. "You know I'm fine, right? It's just my obligatory duty to give her shit. I mean, if she's dating my baby sis…"

"Jerk," Sam said, smacking the top of Dean's head.

"Not fair! You've got like four inches on me!" Dean hissed.

Sam smirked. "So you admit it."

"Oh my God… I'm not hearing this."

Dean really didn't care that much about the decorations. All in all, he had been in an excellent mood come morning and it was painfully obvious that it was at the fault of the Midnight Matters man. Top that off with waffles and Dean's holiday had been set. He would just ignore the useless decorations and the uncanny nutcracker. By dinner, the three had settled into a tight-lipped peace treaty, meaning Dean wasn't unnecessarily cold toward Ruby, Ruby didn't egg Dean on, and Sam didn't strangle either of them. They had all agreed to have a civilized dinner like the adults they were, or in Sam's case, the honorary adult as Dean kept calling him.

"So, you and that radio guy… you know, the one you cry to every night?"Ruby asked, her mouth full of turkey. Maybe Dean should have poisoned it.

"Ruby," Sam groaned, covering his eyes.

"What's that about?" she asked. Sam mouthed apologies at his brother while Ruby waited patiently, looking like the cat that got the cream. "I mean, it sure as hell isn't platonic."

The mashed potatoes on Dean's fork became entirely unappealing. "Do you even hear yourself?" he asked. "It's public radio. Nothing unplatonic about it."

"Yeah, um… unlike you," she aimed the tip of her knife at him. "I actually listen to the show, so I like to think I have a vague idea of what's going on."

"Sam!" Dean cried out, throwing him an accusatory scowl. Sam's hands flew up in defense.

"Dude, it's totally not my fault."

"It was totally his fault," Ruby corrected, still holding her knife. "So tell me… you and him… do you like, talk dirty when the music's playing?"

"Ruby," Sam groaned again. "I do not need that visual."

Dean quirked his head at Sam. "Absolutely," he said.

"Dean!"

"Do you remember when he played Michael Buble the other night?" he asked Ruby, not waiting for her to answer before he stood up and dumped his leftovers in the trash. "I do."

The way Sam gagged as Dean left the room was supposed to be funny, but it left a knot in the back of his throat. He tipped over the nutcracker on his way out.

"Okay, spill," Sam said, sitting on the corner of his brother's bed. Dean had a large pair of headphones secured over his ears. "What was that about?"

"I don't like her. I don't get why she's here. She's my age, Sam." Sam's eyebrows rose and he crossed his arms. "Don't give me that look, I know I say a lot of crap about scoring and all, but this is different." He pulled the headphones off and settled them at his neck, sitting up. "I mean, I don't believe in hitting women but if she fucks with you…"

"I wasn't talking about Ruby, Dean."

"Oh." And 'oh' was right. Dean could ramble to his brother about his disapproval in his choice of women all night, but… "It was just a joke."

"Then why'd you storm off? Seems like a lot of theatrics for 'just a joke'."

"Well, I'm a dramatic guy."

They stared at each other in a bristling silence, a game of chicken where the loser was the first to spout out something that could be deemed a feeling. It's how things used to be, before Midnight Matters, when Dean was still one hundred percent against anything that even remotely resembled emotion. It was a darker time, but damn was it an easier one. Even now Dean wanted nothing more than to ask his brother what he had been asking himself in the back of his mind for weeks now.

How much can a voice really come to mean?

"Well, if you want to talk about it," Sam said, unsure of what to do with his hands. He eventually set one on Dean's shoulder. "I'm here. Even when I'm not, you can always call me. You know that right?"

"Yeah, I know."

Sam withdrew his touch, apparently as shocked at Dean's receptiveness as Dean was. "Um, okay. What… what are you doing tomorrow?"

"Aw, Sammy. Asking me on a date? How sweet."

Sam had him in a chokehold in two seconds flat and the last several months of separation evaporated.

"I was going to say that a new diner opened a few miles from here and I've heard nothing but good things."

"Really?"

"Yes, mainly about their variety of homemade pies."

Dean's mouth salivated and the swelling of his belly from the extravagant dinner conveniently disappeared.

"If you agree to try to get along with Ruby, we can go. My treat."

Dean clutched at his chest as if the very thought brought him wracks of physical pain, but he would try.

For the pie.

"It was amazing," Dean said, "The best pie I've had since my mother passed. Have I ever told you how much I love pie?"

"I believe you have failed to mention it," Castiel said. He had never heard Dean mention his mother without his tone wavering. Clearly, the man was in a pleasant mood. It'd been a while since he sounded so chipper.

"I don't know how. Everyone who knows me knows I'd maim a man for pie." Castiel knew Dean hadn't meant anything by it, but the suggestion that Castiel didn't really know him- stung. "This place is great. It's called Lafitte's and I'm pretty sure the owner is the one who does all the baking."

"Did you meet him?"

"Yeah. His name is Benny. He's got the whole Cajun hospitality thing going on. Young, too, for having his own place, you know?"

Castiel leaned back in his chair, content to listen to Dean ramble.

"I was skeptical at first, especially getting rhubarb because it takes a special kind of person to make it just right." Castiel's insides clenched. "But it was awesome. When I mentioned it was my favorite, Benny cut me an extra large slice. I gotta say, they got my future business."

"He sounds charming."

"He kind of is."

The clench in his stomach became tighter, a more unforgiving twist. Castiel could imagine the two men leaning over a counter, smiling and laughing. Face to face. The leather of his armrests creaked beneath the press of his nails. A pot of fresh coffee would sit beside them, ready to refill a glass. The smell would permeate the air, blanket the stench of the other patrons slathered in sweat and perfume. In its aromatic encasement, one might refer to the moment as tender. Romantic even.

"I hate to do this, but something has come up and Midnight Matters will be coming to an early close tonight," Castiel croaked, trying to take deep breaths.

"Is everything okay?"

"Of course. Just something that needs my immediate attention. Goodnight, listeners… Dean."

He didn't flick the 'on air' sign off, so much as physically abuse it. When the studio was left washed in darkness, Castiel locked the door.

By the time Castiel established that he wasn't going to vomit in the sink, he let himself drop onto the couch. The light of his answering machine flickered.

"Hey Cassie, sorry things got a bit crazy Christmas Eve. We probably shouldn't have let you have that fourth… or fifth… sixth… Okay, we should have cut you off pretty early is all. Sorry I keep missing your show, but working with Naomi is going to be a real challenge. She's the woman who wants to-" The message cut off. Castiel let out a heavy breath.

The knowledge of what he'd just done struck him yet again, and it wasn't until he was halfway home that it occurred to him that he was feeling nothing more than schoolyard jealousy. Hence, when the guilt of having walked out took root, it resulted in him leaning over the sink to begin with.

Dean knew people, would meet many more people in his life. Castiel had neither reason nor right to feel anything beyond companionship for the man.

Still, he wasn't so sure he liked this Benny.

"There was a shooting star," Dean said, still looking out from behind his curtain. "Or maybe it was a firework. I'm not really sure."

"It may be beneficial to make a wish, just in case."

Outside, Dean could see Sam and Ruby, kneeling down to stick their hands in the snow. They looked like children. The flurries still scattered around them from the fresh downfall. When Dean was little, he'd wake Sam up, bundle him in sweaters as quietly as he could without waking John, then sneak out to play in the 3AM blanket of snow. Time didn't really change anything, just set it askew.

"I already did." He'd wished that Sam would never forget how to play in the snow. "It's selfish and materialistic."

"Well, make sure you keep it to yourself."

"Can I tell you a secret?" Dean asked. "But you can't tell anyone."

"I'm not sure if we've ever formally discussed how this show works, but-"

"I'm not so sure about Ruby," Dean said, cutting the man off. "There are all these little things about her that just make my skin itch."

"Such as?"

"Well, she curls her hair for one. Sam thinks it's natural but I caught her curling it in the bathroom at four in the morning. That's another thing, she wakes up at four in the morning." The man laughed and Dean's heart skipped. "And then she does yoga. Her and Sam, they do yoga together."

"You are being a bit ridiculous."

"Come on, you gotta side with me here. Sam won't listen to me but he still loves your show apparently, so he'll listen to you. He likes you," Dean pleaded. "You just gotta say, stay away from women named Ruby. She thinks she's too good for plastic bags."

"Cloth bags are incredibly economical," the man said.

"Not you, too!"

"I think your mistrust lies in more than her shopping preferences."

When Sam swooped down to plant a kiss on Ruby's lips, Dean grimaced and drew the curtain.

"You're right. I may not be a sleeper, but I'm a big eater and I don't appreciate losing my appetite whenever they're around."

"You know what I mean."

"Let me guess, is it that I am being too overprotective of my baby brother? Or is it that I'm projecting some sort of bitterness at being single? Because, let me tell you, it's not that. I'm good being single. Peachy, in fact."

"It sounds like you know exactly what I mean."

"Yeah, well, you're wrong."

A loud clatter rang out from the window, sending a shiver up Dean's spine. He whipped the curtain open to see a splatter of snow on the glass, falling away in chunks. Below, Sam was covering his face and Ruby was standing with her feet apart, both arms raised, throwing Dean two middle fingers.

"That… She…"

"Dean?"

"I gotta go," Dean said, grabbing a knit cap. "This is war. Wait for my return."

"As I do every night, Dean."

Dean let out a weak breath. The heat from his winter layers lit him up, his insides embers.

Dean couldn't blame the bed anymore. The dreams had been frequent, vague, and blistering hot. He woke up completely hard and equally ashamed, but touched himself anyway. That was when it had been dreams. Dean's arousal was inevitable, as he was human, but he knew even as he fished his lube out from the second drawer of the nightstand who exactly he was thinking about.

The shame did not hinder his enthusiasm as he worked himself up. He was single and he had needs. He would say that there were pieces a voice on the radio couldn't fill, but Dean hadn't found them yet. He got off just fine thinking of how the voice would feel on his neck, his side, his thighs. Like chocolate and rust.

The dreams he could excuse away. The mind had a way of utilizing the elements of life in innovative ways, but it also had a stroke of honesty. After he came, Dean stared at the ceiling, his hand tacky with semen, and made a decision.

"I agreed to go on a double date with Sam and Ruby," Dean said.

"Oh?"

He didn't know why he said it, except that the man had asked about Dean's imaginary love life several times before. "Yeah. I'm going with some woman they met at a yoga class. Sam thinks her and I would get on well, but he was pretty vague about the whole thing. I think he just wants me out of the house. Also, they're leaving in a week so they wanted to go out together more."

"I do agree with him there. It'll be good for you spend time with new people."

Dean grimaced. Somewhere inside he had been hoping that the man would object loudly to the idea, but thinking back on it, the notion was ridiculous. Besides, he'd only agreed to it because even he knew he was becoming too focused on his Midnight Matters sessions, or more so, the man behind them. The man whose name he still didn't know.

"Well, hopefully I won't be a disaster."

"Don't be ridiculous. She'd be lucky to have you."

Dean hung up feeling worse than when he called.

Dean wasn't a complete asshole. Yes, he had refused to cater to the whims of the people who (creepily) obtained his address and wrote to him by not reading any of their letters, but he could not bring himself to throw the piles away. He figured the emotional glitch that kept him from doing so would eventually pass and he would be able to dispose of them with no problem. Too bad Sam found them first.

"Um, Dude?" he said, an eyebrow raised. In his hand he held a laundry basket full of letters. Yeah, Dean probably shouldn't have put them in a laundry basket, or in the laundry room, for that matter. "Are these them? The letters?"

"No," Dean said. Sam rolled his eyes. Dean wasn't sure how he hadn't passed out yet with how many times he did that.

Sam dropped the hamper onto a chair, grabbing handfuls of envelopes and spreading them across the kitchen table.

"What are you doing?" Ruby asked, walking in to rifle through the fridge.

"He's not doing anything," Dean said, panicked. Sam began reading return addresses.

"These are literally from everywhere," he said, tearing one open.

"You can't read them! If you read them, they win!" Dean snapped, trying to dump the letters back into the basket. Hell, he was ready to throw them out then and there.

"No," Sam said. "If you read them, they win." He opened the first card and a twenty dollar bill fell out. The three all stared at it. Sam cleared his throat.

"Dear Lawrence, Kansas. I'm no good with words, so take this twenty and pick yourself up a hot meal. Stay safe. Sacramento."

After a beat of silence, Dean and Ruby both started tearing open envelopes.

"You guys are so cheap!" Sam accused, taking the discarded letters from the two as they tossed them aside. He scanned each one silently. By the time the last envelope was gored open, Dean had accumulated two hundred dollars.

"It's amazing," he said. "People sending money to a stranger because they don't know how to be sympathetic."

"Some of them are very sympathetic," Sam said, gesturing to a pile of cards that hadn't contained anything more than ravings.

Ruby tore open the last envelope.

"Not even a card," she said, plucking out a folded sheet of paper. "Cheapskate."

It was Dean's turn to roll his eyes as Sam plucked the letter away from her.

"You're gonna split that, right?" Ruby asked.

"Hell no. The cards say Dean, not Dean and company."

"Bitch, you wouldn't even know about the money if it wasn't for us," Ruby snapped.

"Dean," Sam said.

"If it wasn't for Sam. You were just drinking out of the milk carton. Again."

"Dean."

He and Ruby both looked to Sam, he had reclined back and held the paper up. "You should read this one." He sounded serious.

Dean accepted the offering. Ruby was right. It was just a sheet of notebook paper that had been folded over several times. The edges were crumpled from heavy fingers. Dean placed his hands over their imprints, the way the writer must have. Their hands were about the same size. It was a mess. The handwriting was the kind of cursive that was beautiful to look at but was nearly impossible to read and Dean was sure that there were coffee stains at the top corner.

He had to strain to read it.

Dear Lawrence, Kansas

You have a strength about you. I know you think that you've become a sort of spectacle, but I can assure you that is not the case. We admire you, Dean. I can only imagine how it must be to wake up one day in a spotlight you never asked for. People are going to say things about you, and not always good. They're going to say that there is something wrong with you or that there is something wrong with the rest of the world for caring so much about a virtual stranger. In these trying times, you must remember that those who matter are not those saying such things, but those who would defend you of them. It's okay to care about something or someone, but mainly, it's okay to care about yourself. Don't let the world get you down. You are a beacon in this endless midnight. You shine on all of us.

"C. N." Dean said, setting the letter on the table. It rested like a fallen leaf, weary from its travel.

"That's what it says on the envelope, too," Sam said, reading it. "Seattle, Washington."

Dean looked at the piles of envelopes and stacks of cards that Sam had organized by state and the wad of cash at the center of the table. He grabbed it.

"Hey!" Ruby whined. "Not cool."

"There are people that need it more than you," Dean said, grabbing his coat.

"Like who, you?"

Dean shook his head. "I was thinking more along the lines of wayward adolescents, or a particular wayward adolescent."

Dean folded up the letter and put it in his pocket before leaving. He recalled something about Alex Annie Alexis Ann arriving with nothing but a backpack of clothes.

Before he could climb into his Impala, a neighbor that jogged by every day made his usual round. Dean waved enthusiastically at the stranger.

"Happy New Year!" he called out. The man stopped, tilted his head, and waved back.

The note hung heavy in Dean's pocket, but it was the good kind of weight. The kind that kept you grounded when you feared you might float away.