Dean's never really had a routine that didn't revolve around fear.

Fear of his father. Fear of eviction. Fear of Sammy starving to death. Fear of Sam's teachers or friends finding out about how the Winchesters live. Fear of discovery when he had to turn to stealing. Fear of discovery when he had to hit the streets. Fear of getting Bobby in trouble when he helped Dean out.

So Dean knows a lot about fear. He's never had an absence of it like he does now.

Because now? His routine is built around… Well, routine.

When he gets up in the morning, he makes breakfast, wakes Sam up, and watches the news until he sends the kid off to school (Kevin's old enough to have a license and a car, so he takes both of them). Once Sam is gone, Dean does things like clean the apartment, do the laundry, or just sit and watch TV with a second cup of coffee, which is something that he's never done in his life, and is quickly becoming addicted to.

Late mornings and early afternoons mean work. He runs paces with Benny or Garth, or he learns a little about what Charlie does. He has absolutely zero interest in doing the job the way she does it, but it's cool to watch her work. If he's not doing any of that, he'll sometimes accompany Benny to grocery stores or markets to shop for the shared apartment. Dean swears he's learned more about fresh goddamn vegetables since they moved in than he ever wanted to know.

Afternoons and evenings, once Sam is home and settled, or once Dean knows that he and Kevin are safely at their after school whatever activities? They belong to Cas.

There's always a quiet sort of pride in Cas' eyes when they do crowd work together and Dean comes back with almost as much as Cas has. He's never beat the older man, but he's determined to do it, and Cas is encouraging the dream. Dean's never had this much money in his life, he hardly knows what to do with it. With the little amount of free time he takes for himself, he goes to thrift stores or used bookshops and buys whatever strikes his fancy there. The bookshelf in his room is slowly filling up. He forgot how much he likes reading.

Cas has even started keeping him inside and teaching him the basics of roof work. There was admiration in his voice when Cas admitted that it's the fastest he's ever moved a student on from simple picking pockets, but he's certain that Dean can handle it, and Dean would rather die than disappoint Cas about anything, much less about this.

On his rare nights off, he'll sometimes go see Bobby. They'll hang out at the tavern, and it's more like two adults meeting up than a kid coming to a parental figure for help. The weather is starting to get kinda cold again, so Bobby starts bringing up Dean's seventeenth birthday, which makes him roll his eyes. Dean's never celebrated a birthday in his life, at least not since his mom died, and he's not gonna start now. It's great hanging out with Bobby, though, especially now that he's on more even footing with the man.

Sammy's happy with his school, filling out and shooting up tall now that he's being fed good food regularly. Dean's never needed much more than that to be happy, and now he has it, and he has so much more he never even thought he could dream about, much less have.

So it makes sense that as soon as he gets comfortable in his new routine, something comes along to remind him about fear.


Castiel is a light sleeper, and always has been. Maybe a holdover from his childhood, or his time with Cain's charges (before he was sleeping in Cain's bed, of course). Whatever the reason, while he has very little trouble going back to sleep, the slightest disturbance wakes him up.

The shouting across the hall is not the slightest disturbance. It's loud, and while he can't hear the words being said, the tone is angry and biting. It sounds like Sam, which is what drives Castiel out of bed.

Though he's had less reason to be so lately, Castiel has seen how thoughtless Sam can be with his words when he's angry. He's sure it's part of being a teenager, but there is no one in the world with more power to hurt Dean than his younger brother. It's the urge to protect Dean that has Castiel tugging on a pair of sleep pants and throwing on a robe before he goes out in the hall.

Garth is standing just outside his own door down the hall, a concerned expression on his face. Castiel waves him back into his place and waits until he hears the door click before he turns to the Winchesters' apartment.

How much should I interfere? Should I do anything at all? Is this overstepping my bounds? Am I letting my inappropriate affection for Dean color my actions?

Being shocked out of sleep and having adrenaline propel him out of his home has left him feeling a little fuzzy. He's still working out the best course to take when the door flings open to reveal a furious Sam Winchester.

Sam clearly dressed in a hurry. One of the flannel shirts he and his brother favor is haphazardly buttoned over his torso, and his shoes are untied. He's already got his backpack slung over one shoulder and his hazel eyes are snapping fire. His breathing is labored.

He doesn't even seem surprised to see Castiel standing half-dressed in his door, just glares at him. "Maybe he'll listen to you," he snarls, before storming his way down the hall. Castiel watches as he knocks on Kevin's door until the other boy opens up, then goes into the apartment and slams the door behind him.

Castiel takes the door in front of him, left open by the irate teenager, as an invitation. He enters cautiously, torn between wanting to check on Dean and not wanting to embarrass the boy if he catches him in a moment of vulnerability. Contrary to his charges' belief, he does remember being Dean's age.

He needn't have worried, Dean is leaning back against the counter, scrubbing his hands against his face. His bare shoulders are slumped in defeat, but his eyes aren't wet when he looks up to see Castiel standing there. Just tight with tension.

"Are you all right, Dean?" he asks as he slowly makes his way into the kitchen, not wanting to startle or upset Dean more, but unable to deny the urge to be closer to him.

Dean huffs out a sigh and places his hands on the edge of the counter behind him. His arms flex as he grips it hard. "I, uh. I dunno."

"Would you like to talk about it?"

Dean shrugs and settles his eyes somewhere down near where his bare feet peek out from beneath his sleep pants. "I, uh. Dad called."

Castiel cocks an eyebrow, though Dean isn't looking at him. "Oh?"

"Yeah. Yeah, he, uh, he sounded kinda drunk, and I dunno, it's like, seven in the morning. It's weird that he's still drunk, or drunk already," Dean says with a humorless chuckle, running his hand through his short hair. "Anyway, I told Sam that I was gonna ask you if I could skip a couple of hours today to go check on the old man, and he just… Flipped out."

"Why would he… 'Flip out?'" Castiel asks, using the air quotes his crew makes so much fun of in the hopes of drawing even a small smile out of Dean.

It works, and he's rolling his eyes as he answers. "I just… Look, Dad told me to come home, and I think he'd throw a fit if I didn't. I mean, it's the longest we've gone without seeing him, and I don't… I don't want him getting suspicious and trying to get us go back. And it's not just that, it's…" Here, Dean swallows hard. "He's family. Before we came here, he was the only family we had, and Bobby says that family don't end in blood, but I still gotta go check on him."

Despite the warmth that threads through his heart at the implication that Dean now sees the crew as family, Castiel tilts his head. "Sam disagrees?"

Dean snorts. "Yeah, Sam thinks I should leave him in the dust." He takes a deep breath, and it's then that Castiel really notices that Dean is shirtless, too. He wonders if he should tie his robe shut now, or if that would just draw attention to the fact that there's so much bare skin present.

"He just doesn't get it," and the way Dean's voice tightens in distress thoroughly distracts Castiel from his dirty thoughts. "He doesn't get how bad things got, and that I was taking care of both of them, and I can't just stop 'cause I like Sammy more. I mean, Sam knows what went on, but he didn't know everything, I… I couldn't let him know everything, I wouldn't, because the kid's too smart for his own good, and he would have gotten in the way, and I couldn't let Dad hit him instead, I just couldn't, and I-"

Castiel acts on instinct, desperate to soothe the ache in Dean's words. He takes the last step forward that separates them and wraps Dean up in his arms. Before he even has time to worry that he's overstepped, Dean's arms are winding around his waist in turn, beneath his robe, to hold Castiel just as close. Dean buries his face in Castiel's neck, his breath shuddery and damp against Castiel's skin.

Castiel threads the fingers of one hand through the hair at the back of Dean's neck, soothing him with soft sounds and a gentle press of lips to the boy's temple.

"Go to your father, Dean," he whispers, even if the words pain him. "You can take as much time as you need, you know that. Sam will calm down."

"I hate fighting with him, Cas," Dean whispers, and Castiel aches for this (his) boy. "He just… He doesn't get it."

"I think Sam perhaps sees more than you realize," he answers, keeping Dean close against his chest, "but the reason he doesn't see it all is because of you, little one. It's an incredible gift you've given him."

Dean shrugs, but doesn't loosen his hold on Castiel. "I guess."

They hold one another in silence for long, lovely minutes until Dean pulls away with a blush and a muttered excuse about "getting this over with."

When Castiel goes back to his room, he thinks ruefully that he just took a giant step backward in his efforts to keep his hands off of Dean.


Still high off of Cas' embrace (awesome), it takes a second for the feeling of dread to really sink into Dean as he enters the apartment he used to share with his brother and his father.

John Winchester is sitting at the shitty, beaten up table that's shoved against the only free wall in the kitchen. He's slumped in his chair, his eyes red and watery. It strikes Dean with surprise, seeing his father. He's been around the crew for long enough now, people who go out of their way to take care of themselves, that it's a shock to see someone who so clearly has a blatant disregard for his own person.

Goddamn, he looks like shit.

It's not until Dean's almost right on top of him that John even looks up, and it takes a couple of beats even after that for him to focus enough to recognize his son.

"Dean," he slurs, and Dean's spine tingles with the low, angry note in his father's voice.

Shit. "Dad," he says evenly. "How ya feeling?" He stoops low to sling one of John's arms over his shoulders and help him stand.

John squints at him, and does only the bare minimum to get on his feet. "The fuck have you been?"

Somewhere better. "Out with friends."

"It's too goddamn late to be out of the house," John gripes. "And where the fuck is your brother?"

Dean rolls his eyes. "Sam's at school, Dad, because it's nine in the morning."

Dean forgot. He forgot how fucking fast John Winchester can be, even when mostly drunk or hungover or whatever sort of limbo in-between he's at right now. Maybe especially then. He's just spent so much time around people who have no urge to hurt him, he's gotten out of the practice of dodging hits.

The blow catches him absolutely unawares, and Dean almost goes down when pain explodes at his cheekbone. John has suddenly found the will to stand on his own, and the fist he struck Dean with is still balled up at his side when Dean manages to swing his bewildered gaze back to look at his father.

"Fuckin' backtalk me," John sneers. "Hanging out with your punk friends, learning how to goddamn disrespect your goddamn father."

Dean is suddenly way too tired for this. No, not just tired, exhausted. He can't imagine how he put up with his dad for so long when just a few minutes in his presence again has Dean feeling worthless, like he can't do anything right at all. Christ, he was just trying to help the man stand.

"Yeah," he says softly. "Sorry, Dad."

John snorts and starts to sway on his feet again. "Fuckin' right you are."

Dean looks around the kitchen, one hand still held to his cheek. There aren't any bottles around, which means that John is hungover, not drunk. He's losing energy. That hit to Dean was probably all he had in him.

Dean just sighs again. "Let's get you to bed, Dad."

John gives him the stink-eye, which Dean would find kind of hilarious if he didn't think it was so goddamn pathetic. "Telling me what to do, boy?"

Dean digs deep to find the patience he used to have with his father. "No, Dad. I just think you'll be more comfortable in bed is all."

John hmphs, like he barely believes it, but he spins in place to head to the back bedroom. When he sways too far to the left, Dean lunges forward to catch him. "Easy, now," he murmurs, guiding his father to bed.

Anger gone, forgotten in the alcoholic haze in which he lives his life, John's much easier to handle now. Dean leads him to bed and helps him lie down. He strips his father's boots off, revealing socks with holes in them, and tugs off his jacket. It was nice a long time ago, and Dean can still see the echoes of the father he used to have in it. Before the weight of the world rounded John's shoulders, before the habit of drinking more than eating thinned him out, wasted him away where he used to be bulky. Oh, he still throws a mean right hook, and he can have some scary strength in small bursts, but overall? John Winchester is a diminished man.

He's snoring by the time Dean lines his boots up by the door and hangs his jacket up on the corner of the headboard. He tilts his father's head to make sure he doesn't choke on his own vomit (real classy roots you got there, Winchester) and walks out the door.

Out of habit, he checks the apartment for cleanliness. It's obvious his father hasn't been here very much, and the place is covered in dust. Even if he doesn't live here anymore, it makes him itch to clean, and Dean finds himself carefully sliding out of his own, much nicer, leather jacket, hanging it in the coat closet, and rolling his sleeves up.

Cleaning is therapeutic for Dean. He can lose himself in the dusting, the sweeping, the washing of walls. It allows him to think, really think about how different his life is now. How he looks forward to every day as he sits on his couch and drinks coffee. How he used to wake up filled with dread and a gritty determination to see Sam through at least one more day. He thinks about all of the things he had to do, he had to do, to get them by. Now, even if Cas kicked them out today, Dean would never have to sell himself again.

Suddenly overwhelmed, he peels off his gloves and pulls his cell phone out of his pocket. He opens it and types a quick message.

To: Cas
Thank you.

He slips his phone back into his pocket, pulls his gloves back on, and goes back to work, feeling better.

When he gets to the bathroom, the smell makes it immediately clear that his father got sick in here, and didn't quite make it to the toilet before puking his guts out. Dean wrinkles his nose and almost walks out, but ultimately can't bring himself to do it. John will do a cursory clean up of the room at most, and the thought of his father living in filth like this fills Dean with a deep, gut-wrenching guilt.

He goes to get the cleaning supplies, just ready to get this over with. At least it's just alcohol. It looks like John didn't even try to soak any of it up with food last night. Once he's done, he puts the gloves and cleaning supplies away under the sink, then takes a look at himself in the mirror.

"Ouch," he says softly, prodding gingerly at the rapidly darkening bruise just below his eye. Not gonna be able to do crowd work like this. He's not terribly worried about that, he's more than pulled his weight as far as money being brought in. He can take a week off, and by that time, he can wheedle Charlie into covering him in makeup if he needs to.

Whatever.

Once he leaves the bathroom, he heads into the kitchen. He's not surprised to find it pretty barren, and he has to close his eyes and lean his forehead against the cabinet in defeat for a moment. Dammit. Despite how tired he is, despite how much he wants to go home (home) and crawl into bed and sleep for a week, he can't leave the place like this. His dad's gonna fucking starve to death if Dean doesn't make sure there's at least some food here.

He pulls his boots on, then reaches for his jacket. As he slides the soft leather on, he gets just a moment of comfort. Just a beat of warmth, the memory of blue eyes looking into his while a big, warm palm cups the back of his neck. It bolsters Dean, and if it doesn't actually make him smile outright, it does lift his spirits.

His cell phone vibrating in his pocket does so even more.

From: Cas
For what?

Dean smiles for real now.

To: Cas
Everything.

It carries him through running to the grocery store.


From: Dean W.
Everything.

Castiel frowns down at his phone, feeling like the teenagers he cares for more and more as the minutes tick by. He won't admit out loud that he's anxiously awaiting Dean's return, but at least to himself, he can admit that he's anxiously awaiting Dean's return.

Not that he'll come here, he thinks sourly. He's sitting in his own kitchen waiting for the sound of the door across the hall, knowing that the way he feels about Dean is completely out of hand. He knows that Dean will go home, that he won't want to be around anyone. If even a small part of what Castiel suspects about John Winchester is true, it will drain Dean to be around his father. He'll go straight to bed (maybe he'll undress slowly, an unconscious tease, or he'll fling his clothes off haphazardly, his only- No, no, no, stop it!) and probably sleep the day away.

Not that Castiel has studied Dean, or the way he deals with stress.

He sighs and pushes the phone away from where he's been staring at it for the last forty minutes. He has responsibilities to attend to. Charlie thinks she has a bead on Abbadon's movements. Abbadon has hired someone named Azazel, who has apparently presented somewhat of a challenge as far as digging into his background. It's only made Charlie more determined, and Castiel should really go to the shared apartment to check on her. She tends to absorb herself into her projects, and she-

The tentative knock at his door has him up out of his chair and halfway across the room before he manages to temper the excitement burning in his belly. I haven't felt this much since Cain.

He opens the door to admit Dean, and all of his good feelings immediately flee.

A tired smile tugs at Dean's lovely mouth. "Heya, Cas."

"Dean."

At Castiel's shocked, severe tone, Dean's face falls, almost crumples. Castiel immediately reaches out to gently cup Dean's neck and tug him inside. Dean comes willingly, standing close to Castiel as he closes the door behind them. He keeps his hand on the back of the boy's neck.

Once they're safely inside his apartment, he turns back to Dean, sliding his hand around to gently cup his chin. "What happened?" he asks.

Dean shrugs, his eyes dropping from Cas'. "Just Dad being Dad," he mumbles.

Gingerly, oh, so gingerly, Cas' thumb comes up to caress the bruise on Dean's face, just below his eye. "I see."

Another shrug. "It's no big deal."

Castiel frowns, and he uses his hand to gently tip Dean's face up until he's looking Castiel in the eye. "Dean," he says softly, upset.

"He just…" Dean swallows hard. "Dad's, uh… Dad's kind of a drinker," he whispers, eyes darting back down again.

Castiel sighs and, in this moment of weakness, tilts his forehead to press it against Dean's. He wants to insist that it is a big deal, that it's a problem. He wants to find John Winchester and tear him apart for laying a hand on Dean, for daring to touch this boy. His boy.

Mine.

He's so desperately angry, and the feelings of helplessness are making him rash, making him do this he wouldn't normally allow himself. Castiel presses a kiss to Dean's forehead, keeping him close. "I don't want you to go back there, little one," he confesses.

Dean sighs and relaxes in his hold, making Castiel shudder just a bit. He leans forward and loops his arms around Castiel's waist in a casual manner that has his breath catching in his throat as Dean leans into him. "Yes, sir."


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