Why the hell does the universe hate me so much?
Dean really wished he had an answer to that question as he stood in the rain, leaning against the hood of his Impala. He had had a lot of fun playing pool with Derek which is why his life was now destroyed. Dean Winchester wasn't allowed to have fun, or, well, anything good in his life. In fact, everything good in his life just stepped on a bus headed for Stanford with the seven hundred dollars that Dean had spent a majority of his past three nights winning. It didn't even turn to say goodbye, kiss my ass or anything. He knew that Sam was mad at their father but still . . .
Sure, Dean had arrived to the fight late because they were both early for the first time ever. Sam hadn't actually even gone to the library like he had told Dean that he was. No, instead Sam had stayed home to pack up all his belongings and, yeah, it had reminded Dean of the past times that Sam had run away, starting with the Flagstaff incident. Dean still had trouble thinking of that one in any detail.
This time, though, Dad had come home to see Sam's 'desertion', as his father liked to think of it. The fight that had ensued . . . well, what Dean had heard had been bad enough. If there had been more, Dean really didn't want to know about it. He had tried to stop it but, like in all of their fights over the past year, they were oblivious of anyone except their opponent. It didn't matter if Dean yelled at them, got in their face or physically pushed them. They would just swat him away like an annoying fly and continue tearing up each other and Dean in the process of asserting their dominance.
Dean had managed to get Sam in the Impala when he had stormed out but their Dad's ultimatum still rang loudly in both of their ears. Dean drove Sam to the bus stop, gave him the money and asked him to call as soon as he arrived in Stanford so that Dean would know Sam made it okay. Sam had only nodded once then left. He didn't make eye contact, didn't talk, didn't acknowledge Dean in any other way. Dean didn't even warrant a goodbye hug from one of the clingiest kids in history.
Deep down, Dean knew that he was to blame for all this. He had as much fault, if not, more fault than his father in this instance. After all, Dean was the one who had forced the last move. Sam had fought it more passionately than the previous ones because he had really become fond of some of the kids, the school, and even some of the teachers which in Dean's estimation was the worst part of it all.
The biggest problem which made it mostly Dean's fault was the fact that this was the one time that Dean sided heavily with his father regarding the move. When Dean told Sam to grow up and shut the eff up, he'd become the ultimate traitor in Sam's eyes and he knew it but there wasn't anything else Dean could have done at that point. The whole thing still killed him and he felt himself shutting down just remembering that small part of it.
Dean shivered violently as the rain and cold finally penetrated his destroyed mind. He hacked up another couple of coughs before he slipped into his baby. He grabbed a towel out of the backseat and tried to protect his leather seat as best as he could. He started the Impala and drove back to their rundown rent house.
He sighed heavily when he saw his dad's truck was gone. He parked and went inside the house to see if there was a note. He found it on the rotted kitchen table. It already had water spots on it from the leaking ceiling.
Dean,
Researching job. Will call. Pack up. Be ready. Then go win back some of the money you gave Sam. Work double time shifts if you have to.
It wasn't even signed , he mentally observed then tried to ignore that fact. Dean didn't know why that stood out so much this time but it did. That fact screamed to Dean how royally pissed off his dad was at him.
He slowly looked around the dilapidated home with the rotten furniture and barely working utilities. He heard a rat scurry in the pantry wall and knew he needed a drink. Not beer this time. No, something much stronger.
First he searched the house for alcohol while he packed up everything that was theirs, including a few of Sam's clothes that had made their way under Sam's bed somehow. He turned everything off and locked up while he took his duffels out to his baby. At least, she was still with him but then she really couldn't leave him, could she?
You really want to tempt fate like that, buddy boy? His inner voice mocked him.
Dean shook his head and ignored the dizzy lightheaded feeling that followed it. The rain wasn't cold anymore. In fact, he could barely feel it at all anymore between his illness and emotional numbness.
He had about forty bucks to his name and knew that he'd already hustled too many people in this area. He needed to eat but he didn't have any appetite. He was just really thirsty. He pulled out of the driveway and drove without any real destination in mind.
He spent most of the drive not thinking about Sam, not thinking about Dad, and not thinking about how crappy he felt. He tried to focus on what he was doing but it was too much. Not thinking about his cursed life took all the energy he had.
He blinked as he realized that he had stopped. He looked up and saw that he had actually stopped in front of Mort's bar again. He knew he should use his money for gas to get far away from here but he really needed a drink first. Then maybe . . .
He slowly climbed out in his still sodden clothes. The rain slowed down to a mist that lightly cooled his heated skin. He stood while he waited for everything to quit spinning. He vaguely wondered when the last time he ate was then realized he really didn't care.
Once the world was right again, he walked over to the door and let himself in. He walked up to the bar and ordered a bottle of Jack. Mort gave him a curious stare but quickly gave him the bottle and a glass. Dean ignored the glass and headed for an empty table he spied in the back of the bar.
This time he completely ignored the feeling of being watched. If he was lucky, he wouldn't have to be conscious tonight. He didn't care if that was accomplished because he got jumped or blind drunk. Either way, he wouldn't have to think about how totally screwed his life was now.
He sat down and unscrewed the top before chugging a large gulp down. He coughed violently as the burning liquor hit his already sore throat but he knew, in a couple more drinks, he wouldn't feel a thing and that was exactly what he was going for. He swiped at his eyes harshly before taking another large gulp.
"Well, that will either cure you or make you sicker. Which are you trying for?"
Dean squinted up at the vaguely familiar voice then slowly recognized Derek. "Hey, Derek. Does it matter? And who asked you?" he replied cynically.
Derek arched an eyebrow in question as he took the seat across from Dean. He questioned, "Didn't you have somewhere else to be?" Dean ignored him and took another drink, resulting in a slightly less violent coughing fit. "Bad break up?" Dean glared then looked away. Derek pursed his lips and speculated, "So if it's not a girl, it's family. What happened?"
"You don't know me," Dean snapped irritably.
Derek nodded, "True, but I'm right, aren't I?"
Dean glowered, "Leave me alone."
Derek studied him then started slowly, "I'm going to tell you a story which will stop my questions so sit there and listen. I had a friend once. Real good friend. Grew up together. Best buds type thing." Derek paused and watched Dean to see if he was listening before continuing, "Yeah, we did just about everything together until we graduated high school. Then, well, he never really believed me when I said I was going to join the Seals but I did. When he finally listened to me, well, he looked a hell of a lot like you do now. In fact, he told me the same thing and, that time, I did."
"What happened?" Dean asked, unable to help himself.
Derek smirked, "The crazy idiot got blitzed then went and signed up, too."
Dean couldn't help smirking back but he cocked his head in question before stammering, "I . . ., I don't get it."
Derek scoffed lightly, "'Cuz you don't know the rest. We were able to stay together, even got put into the same squad. Did a few of tours."
"Sounds like happily ever after to me," Dean snarked. "So what's with the After School Special?"
Derek paused and grabbed the bottle of Jack. He chugged a huge swallow before he set it down. He leaned forward on his elbow folded in front of him then continued slowly, "Got some bad news when we came back from a mission about six months ago. Found out my father had a heart attack and needed help with the family business. I'm the oldest so it was my responsibility, you know, but the kicker was they didn't let me know about it for four months."
"They?" Dean wondered then clarified, "The Navy?"
Derek nodded, "To say that I was pissed, well, that didn't come close. By the time I got back home, the family business and house were about to be foreclosed on because everything had fallen apart and my younger siblings didn't know how to hold it together. Needless to say, I quit after going postal on pretty much anyone in any position of power that I could get to. They said that I was honorably discharged but whatever. I didn't care, you know."
Dean nodded as he took another drink of Jack then observed hesitantly, "This isn't going to end well, is it?
Derek shrugged noncommittally. "I got back home and managed to get everything back on track before anything serious happened." He paused and took a drink, too. "So the family was okay and I got the business back on track."
"Sensing a huge but here," Dean interjected dryly.
Derek gave a weak smirk as he acknowledged, "Got a call four days ago. My friend . . . I always had his back, you know. I mean, I was the reason he was there so I had to take care of him."
Dean definitely empathized, "I'm guessing that he didn't make it."
Derek scoffed weakly then flinched before he admitted, "I'm on the way back from the funeral, the military one. There will be another one when he gets home but, . . . I needed to talk to the others and . . ."
"Find out if you could have stopped it," Dean concluded wisely. "Did it help?"
Derek looked down with a heavy sigh. "No. Still feel . . ."
Dean gave a soft snort. "Yeah. I get it. Believe me, I get it." He took another long drink then handed the bottle back to Derek. Derek reached for it but then Dean suddenly yanked it back with a shocked expression on his face. Dean cursed him, "Damn it, Derek. I'm sick and you've been drinking after me. What the hell, man?"
Derek stared at him a moment before giving a wry grin then frowned and insisted, "I don't get sick."
"Whatever, bitch," Dean slurred slightly. He closed his eyes to rest them a moment then felt someone shaking him. He struggled to force his eyes open.
"Dean?" Derek sighed with relief. "Damn, you are burning up. Come on, I need to get you home." Derek yanked him to his feet and pulled him out of the bar. Derek headed to his truck but felt Dean yanked away out of Derek's grasp.
"Not without my baby," Dean insisted with slurred words as he stumbled away.
"What?" Derek demanded while he hurried to catch up.
Dean staggered to the Impala with Derek trailing behind, as he tried to keep Dean upright. Dean keeled over to lay down on his hood with his arms out. "Miss me, baby?" he mumbled with slurred words. "You won't leave me, will you, sweetheart?"
Derek rolled his eyes but couldn't help a slight smile as he searched through Dean's jacket pocket.
Dean slapped him away then he rolled over and snarked, "Told you already. Not gay, dude. Know I'm hot but definitely not gay. Can't feel me up, man. Not that drunk. Yet. Don't do 'Crying Game.'"
"Whatever, Cassanova," Derek snarked back. "Need your car keys, Dean, because you so cannot drive in your condition."
"Wanna bet?" Dean taunted drunkenly. "Have before. Will again . . . Probably."
Derek smiled then leaned over and warned him, "Either you give me the keys now or I strip search you. Your choice."
Dean eyed him up and down contemplatively then observed wryly, "Kinky bastard. Don't swing that way."
"Don't care," Derek admitted darkly as he leaned in and gripped Dean's shoulders. He put his face right up to Dean's to the point that they could feel each other's breath. Derek countered suggestively, "You keep saying one thing but your actions say something else so should I consider this a dare? Because I don't make threats, I make promises."
Dean's eyes widened slowly during Derek's statement. He grinned tauntingly then a second before Derek followed through and Dean held up his keys. Derek grabbed them but whispered tauntingly against Dean's lips, "Your loss. According to Flo, anyway." Derek leaned back and yanked Dean off the Impala with his left hand which remained on Dean's shoulder. He shoved Dean into the passenger seat then ordered, "Stay. I'll be right back."
"Bossy," Dean huffed as he huddled into his seat. He didn't want Derek to get any ideas, ideas of how he made Dean feel deep down inside him. Derek actually seemed to care about what happened to Dean which gave him a warm, fuzzy feeling that went well with the alcohol. Funny how this guy he'd only met a few hours ago could care about him more than Dean's own family. Probably because he didn't know what a screw up Dean was yet. When Derek did find out, he would leave Dean just like all the others.
Derek shut the door and rushed to his truck to grab up his bag before locking up his truck. He hurried back to the Impala and threw his stuff into the back seat. He checked Dean and saw that he was still conscious. "Alright, Dean. Tell me how to get you home."
With some prodding, Dean stayed conscious long enough to direct Derek to the rundown house before passing out. As Derek pulled into the overgrown driveway, he stared at the house in horror. "No way, dude," he hissed out then glared over at Dean. He saw that Dean had, in fact, actually passed out. He cursed inwardly then thought maybe appearances were deceiving and it was better on the inside. "Stay here," he told his unconscious passenger.
Derek exited the Impala and rushed through the rain that had started up again once they'd gotten on the road. He made it to the porch but it did stop much rain. He turned the doorknob which was locked. He sighed and leaned against the door with a heavy sigh.
Nothing prepared him for the door giving way under his weight. He fell, stumbled then righted himself inside the house. He reached over and flicked on the lights. He shuddered at the shambles of a house that remained in front of him. He stopped counting the leaks when he hit ten.
No way Dean lived here , he mentally insisted when he spotted a crumpled up piece of paper in a dry spot on the floor. The kitchen table apparently stopped some of the water that trickled in through the shoddy ceiling from hitting the floor. Derek stooped down and grabbed the only new looking thing there. He smoothed it out and read it. It was a confirmation that he didn't need.
Well, Dean's family might be able to leave his sick son here but I'm not , Derek thought adamantly. He spun on his heel and left the house. He hurried to the Impala and headed back to the motel he had thought of staying at before he entered Mort's bar, unknowingly changing his life more than he'd ever thought was possible.
