Cas' POV

He doesn't follow me, a swift look behind my shoulder confirms that, but he's watching.

Marv's eyes train on me, expressionless, as I stumble out of the area, my pounding feet gradually grinding to a halt once I hit solid pavement next to an empty road. The sidewalk slowly disappears, and I bend down to breathe for a second, begging to rip off the hot clothes I had so recently wanted to layer up.

I jog along the slim pathway of grass beside the gravel, until I see lights, radiating from the town I travelled here through.

The bus journey is long; by the time I'm home the sky is dark and my lids are heavy. Yet, as I stand outside my door, unthinking as I corrected the slanted knocker, I know that I don't want to go in.

I can't see Gabriel, I can't look him in the eye and tell him that I saw someone. Someone. That I saw a man, with the features of our father, but… wrong. He wasn't. He wasn't our dad or maybe he was but he's not the man that walked out on us. I don't know who he is, but that man is not our father.

The walk to Dean's house is a long one.

I hear talking, shouting, then a thud. A few seconds later and the door swings open, a tall, unravelled Dean holding it open. His eyes grow wide when he sees me, and he gulps.

Dean waits for me to say something, but I don't. He raises his eyebrows, and a look of disgust overcomes him.

"The fuck do you want?" He snaps, loud and clear.

I feel myself flinch, like a moth attracted to a light, only to discover the light is a bug zapper and suddenly, well, zap. A single volt of electricity ricochets throughout my entire body and that's all it takes.

"Dean, I-"

"WHO'S AT THE DOOR?" A man's voice shouts, vicious and unsteady, from within the house.

Dean looks me up and down. "Just some punk kid," he calls back, with barely a moment's hesitation.

"Go away." He speaks again, but his eyes say otherwise.

"Why, Dean who is that?"

"WHAT DOES HE WANT?" The voice bellows again.

"GIVE ME A MINUTE." Dean replies, trying to hide his panic. Then he whispers to me, attempting to mask his impatience.

"Look, Cas I'm sorry- my dad's home, please, you have to leave now."

"But-" Dean cuts me off. He glances behind him to make certain his dad is out of sight and earshot, and grabs my hand. Dean tugs me along with him, stepping outside and pulling my frame away from the doorway.

He kisses me. Hard. "You never fucking shut up."

I feel my face pulling into a cocky smirk, and I bite my cheek at the arrogance of it. "I'll see you at school?" I ask.

"Hell yeah you'll see me at school." And he shoves me in the direction of my house.

Dean's POV

I slam the door, then lean my back against it, smiling to myself before I go back to my dad. I'm sure a tinge of the grin is still smudged across my face, just from the way Sammy looks at me.

He raises his eyebrows, and I slap the back of his back as I walk past.

"Who was that?" Dad asks, though I'm not sure why he cares.

"Girl scouts," I joke, and he nods his head, smiling pitifully at what seemed like a poor joke. He doesn't say any more.

"So," Sam breaks the silence. "John winchester's back in town - what's the occasion?"

"Sammy," I groan, praying to avoid another fight. Sam and Dad blasting it out at each other is starting to become a family tradition.

"Last time I checked, I don't need a reason to see my own children." Dad's voice rises slightly, already growing angry.

"So… credit card trouble?" Sam accuses, purposely nagging at John's sore spots.

"You'd better start showing me some respect, son." He snarls. "I put food on your table and a roof over your head, as long as you're alive, you should be thanking me for keeping you that way."

Sam's mind is winding like clockwork, clicking and ticking and turning as he searches for the perfect snarky reply.

"Dad," I interrupt, and the tension between the two of them snaps. "Would you like a drink?"

He beams at me, teeth not quite glistening, and it's so undoubtedly obvious that the show of affection is just an attempt to piss off Sammy, to make him jealous. I'm not proud of either of them.

"Thank you, Dean." He nods curtly, "A coffee would be fantastic."

"Only because you need to sober up all the freaking time." Sam mutters, quietly enough that John doesn't hear.

"Don't start anything, Sammy. You hear me?" I nudge him.

"Sure," He responds.

I face my father again. "Milk?"

"Do I look like a pussy?" He reasons.

"No sir," I march out of the room.

I stare at the kettle placed on the hob, and the flame that flickers underneath it. My thoughts drift away as my pupils fix their gaze.

The fire multiplies steadily, a little more light and energy creating itself every few seconds. 1, 2, 3, fire. 1, 2, 3, fire. 1, 2, 3,... the pattern stops, and it's jumping high, ducking low, throwing itself everywhere. It's out of control. I try to throw a cloth over it, but the material is soon alight and the fire is still flourishing and spreading, cornering me, but into the center of the room. I breathe in the smoke that burns my lungs, and my eyes start stinging as the smoke turns to tear gas. I hear shouting, and I pray that the fire hasn't reached Sam. I pray that my blood-curdling screams have woken him from his stupor fast enough that he can escape.

I blink. The water's boiled.

Shaking my head, I encourage the riddance of the fading images. I stir the coffee rapidly, then slam my fist on the kitchen counter. I can still hear the shouting. I can still hear Sam's screams as the flames engulf him.

I grab the kettle's handle, and slowly tip it until there's a steady stream trickling onto the wooden floor. I prep my hand to flash through it, just enough to jolt my brain back into business.

Sam and Dad. Sam and John. All of a sudden I realise I'm not insane. The voices did stop, the daydream was no more than a daydream - Sam and Dad are just fighting.

My legs stride into the front room, they would have started running if it was any more that three metres from the kitchen.

"I am SICK of your attitude towards me. I'm your father, and I am entitled to your upmost respect! Look at everything I do for you, and what do I get in return?" Dad yells at my giant of a brother, as the the two of them remain completely oblivious to what I thought was a rather dramatic entrance by myself.

"Oh will you shut up, you can't even get a fucking job. Scamming credit card companies to get enough money for a bowl of soup a day isn't providing! You're just digging us deeper and deeper until you get arrested, and then Dean has to live on his own whilst I get adopted by some couple who want to dress me up all nice for Church and play card games every Saturday night!" Sammy's looking for a big one tonight.

"Well that sounds like a real nightmare for you, doesn't it." John remarks.

I walk up behind Sam, and tug at the neck of his shirt. "Cut it out."

"What about dad? You ever gonna tell him to 'cut it out'?"

"Just give it a rest, Sammy." I sigh.

"No! I don't understand the blind faith you have in the man. I mean, it's like you don't even question him!"

"He's doing what he can," I state. I then look towards my dad, who's head is bobbing in approval at my words.

He's doing what he can. It's a lie, but it's a lie that will help keep the peace. John may not be the perfect father, but Sam needs to understand him better. He doesn't get that even if he didn't know Mum… we did. It did things to dad. It's not his fault.

"Screw this anyway," Dad splutters, his show of devotion faltering. "We're leaving. I'm fed up with this shithole of a town, I deserve better than this."

John Winchester has an unordinary concept of brutality. If I were to punch him, square in the jaw, he would take it less personally than what I'm about to do.

I laugh. I don't know why, but I laugh at him.