Chapter 10: Oh whoa, oh whoa, oh whoa, oh oh
He was running. Running straight. Never looking back. Never stopping. He lost track of time. It could have been hours, days, even months, but he didn't know. Hell, he didn't even know why he was running. Was something chasing him? Was it still chasing him? He could rule out the possibility that he was just running for the hell of it, for he didn't have shoes on, didn't even have socks. He wore only a t-shirt and boxers; the same clothes he fell asleep in. So yes, something was chasing him. It caused him to wake up and run for his life.
The gravel beneath his feet was rough, cutting his tender skin with every forward thrust. Blood spilled from the cuts, leaving behind red foot prints on the tiny gray rocks. His lungs cried out for air, desperate for relief, begging for him to stop. Every inhalation of breath caused the fire to burn hotter. Breaths quick, short and sweet and not giving him nearly enough oxygen to survive.
So he woke up and ran for his life? But surely, the blood lost and lack of oxygen would have killed him by now. Sudden realization hit and his aching feet finally came to a halt. He was dreaming. You couldn't die in a dream.
Trying to calm his breathing, he took slow, deep breaths and turned, ready to face his predator. He expected it to be a wild animal, something huge that would cause him to run for so long. However, he was met with the angry face of his father. The scent of alcohol rolled off him in waves.
With a raised fist, John made contact with his face. He pulled back; another punch. And another. The force of John's blows were coming faster and stronger. Each time his fist made contact with Dean's stomach his muscles tensed, reminding him yet again of the fuck up mistake he made, for surly this was punishment for the party.
Thump. Another blow aimed at his face. Behind the strength of the punch, Dean felt softness as knuckles made contact with jaw. Another punch to the gut, yet it was no longer Deans' stomach. He looked down and yeah, it looked like his stomach. John's fist connected to his flesh, the force of it caused a ripple affect as if it were water.
What the hell?
Dude, dream.
'Dude, wake up!'
Thump; another soft blow
When the hell did Sam get in my head?
Hello? Dreaming!
Thump.
"Wake up, jerk!"
Deans' eyes snapped opened with an almost audible pop. His breaths were coming in short rasps. A cold sweat covered his body. Teeth clenched. Hands fisted his sheets. Sam hit Dean in the face with the pillow again.
"Dean. It's almost ten. Get up so we can get to Ellens'!" Sam stomped out the room, careful not to slam the door though. No matter how pissed or annoyed Sam was, he was still a gentleman.
I don't think he's ever slammed a door in his life, Dean mused.
Sam was right, though. If it was really almost ten, then Dean had to hurry, and fast. He stretched his tensed muscles, trying and failing to demand them to relax. He hadn't had a dream that bad in years, if you don't count the recurring nightmare of his mothers death that is. He managed to drag himself out of bed in under two minutes, which would be quite an achievement considering the bruises that still littered his torso, had he not been accustomed to the pain. A quick glance at his alarm clock gave him all the information he needed; quarter to ten meant no time for a shower. Lifting an arm, he barely had to sniff his armpit before pulling back. He really needed that shower, but no shower was worth the wrath of Ellen.
With no time for a much needed shower, he quickly got dressed and sprayed himself down with his deodorant, before heading down to the living room where he found Sam watching the news. Dean faintly heard something about an ex-military officer being kicked out for some reason before Sam turned the television off. They slid into the Impala and made their way to the Harvelle household.
It was tradition. For as long as Dean could remember, before his mother died as a matter of fact, Labor day was spent bbqing at Ellens'. Unlike most families that would bbq on Sunday, the Winchesters', Harvelles', and Bobby would have their bbq on Monday. Ellen and Bobby always felt that if the government had a three day weekend, then they had every right to have one as well. Before her untimely death, Ellen would give Mary extra shifts in preparation of the holiday, in which the Roadhouse owner would close the bar down for the weekend. Similarity, Bobby would do the same with John. The only exception would be if they were jam packed and needed to have the garage opened the Saturday before. With schedules never being an issue, the adults would enjoy their weekend off and celebrate the holiday on the day of the week it fell.
The tradition never changed once the children started school. If anything, they added to the tradition. Since school started two days after the holiday, the parents decided to reward their kids by letting them have a sleepover at Ellens'. They never questioned what went on during that last night of the summer. For instance, neither John nor Ellen knew that it was during the sleepover before Deans' eighth grade year that Dean and Jo shared their first kiss.
Once Dean, Jo, and later Sam, became old enough to help in the kitchen, their responsibility grew, which resulted in a slight shift of the tradition. In order to get all the food prepared in time, even with the new pairs of extra hands, Ellen decided on a time for the Winchesters to arrive by. You guessed it; ten o'clock in the morning. So what happens when Dean gets to the house late, even if only by five minutes? He has extra work to do. More cutting, more mixing, and more carrying, which in return means more aggravation on his bruised abdomen.
Each year was the same. The help with the food, then later in the night the sleepover. So why was it that five minutes from the house Deans' palms randomly started to sweat?
It's because Cas is there this year, dumbass.
There was no denying it. With the exception of the night of the party, Dean hasn't slept next to Cas in weeks, and he missed. God did he miss it. Waking up to Cas' face yesterday morning was like waking up to an angel. He looked perfect.
Dean pulled up to the front of the house, palms still sweating like crazy, to discover a yellow convertible in his usual spot. Dean chanced a glance at his brother expecting to see similarly confused face, only to become even more confused by the excited look that graced the youngest Winchesters' features.
He opened his mouth to question Sam on his sanity, when he was abruptly cut off by a voice he hadn't expect to hear. "Dean-o! And Samsquatch!" In front of the Impala was a short man with semi long golden brown hair and a lollipop stick hanging loosely in his mouth.
Sam rushed out of the passenger seat and attacked Gabriel with a giant bear hug, almost toppling the both of them to the ground. Dean was less enthusiastic about the appearance of the older Milton brother, but pleased all the same. Of the little interaction the two had the night Cas moved in, he found Gabe annoying in an almost endearing way.
Once Sam released the shorter man from his death hold, Dean raised his hand, expecting just a handshake. He was caught off guard when the sugar addict pulled him into a half hug.
"Gabe, what are you doing here?" Sam asked excitedly.
"School's on break for the holiday and Aunt Ellen invited us for the bbq. Anna is here too..." he looked around as if searching for the red-head, "...somewhere."
This caused a chuckle from the three of them. Anna was most likely hanging out with Jo, seeing as they were the only two females other than Ellen in the household. A quick look at his watch had Dean cursing at himself and rushing into the kitchen. Ellen spotted him as we walked in panting.
"About damn time, boy!" He looked down in shame. Pointing the wooden spoon in her hand threateningly in Deans' general direction, she went back to the potato salad she was currently stirring. "You're lucky Anna and Gabe are here to help this year," she said. After she finished the final stirs of the salad, she handed Dean a tray of various parts of chicken and instructed him to take it outside to the grill, warning him not to come back in unless otherwise asked, for he'll only be in the way.
Once outside, Dean located his dad and Bobby at the grill; Bobby sipped on a soda, his dad a beer.
Let the fun begin, Dean thought bitterly.
He dropped the tray off on the picnic table closest to the two elder men before ditching. He hadn't seen his father since the beating the day before and wasn't afraid to admit, to himself at least, that he was avoiding his father. After that dream he had the night before, he was worried that he was still a glowing target at the moment.
Sam and Gabe were on the other side of the backyard chatting animatedly while Cas stood to the side, occasionally nodding his head when appropriate. Dean walked up to them and just caught the tail end of Sams' question. "...staying the night as well?"
Cas noticed Dean at the moment and their eyes connected, drowning out the rest of the world. Bright blue eyes filled with questions Dean didn't have answers to yet. Gabe noticed his brothers' shift in attention and turned slightly, noticing Deans' presence to his left for the first time.
"Dean-o! Not having too much trouble with Aunt Ellen, now are you?"
"Nope. For once I was instructed out of the kitchen." Que in Deans' cheeky grin. "So, what are we talking about?"
"I was just asking Gabe if he and Anna were staying the night."
"No can do kiddo. Classes start back up tomorrow. We're just here for the free food." There was something about Gabe that just relaxed a person.
It wasn't until Dean felt a tap on his shoulder that he realized Cas was by his side. He stepped back a bit, just enough so that he could whisper to Cas without fear of being overheard. "Look, Cas. I know I said we would talk, and I swear we will, but it has to wait until tonight." Cas nodded and the four of them fell into easy conversation.
It was just after one in the afternoon. The burgers, hotdogs, and chicken were finished, already placed in the middle of the two picnic tables. Ellen, Jo, Anna, Cas, Dean, Sam, and Gabe were all rushing to get the rest off the food, plates, and plasticware outside. John was nursing his fourth beer in the past two hours, cheeks already taking on a rosy hue. With the table finally set, everyone sat down and dug in. Everything was going surprisingly well, for the first ten minutes at least.
"So Bobby," John began, slurring just a bit. Dean and Sam had lost count on how many beers their father had already drank. "Did you hear about that military officer that got kicked out? It was all over the news the past few days."
"I caught bits and pieces. You know I'm not one for keeping up with the news."
"Well," hiccup, "Apparently the dumb fuck ratted himself out as a fag!" He downed the rest of his bottle. Opening another one, he said, "Seriously, why do queers think they have a place in the military?"
Not even Ellens' glare was able to cut through the tension that ensued at this point. Leave it to John to bring up a touchy subject such as this. Gabe and Anna looked absolutely murderous. Cas adverted his eyes, not chancing a glance in Deans' direction.
Sam, brave little Sammy, was the first to speak. "Dad. What does being gay have to do with being able to serve?"
With the look on Johns' face, one would think that someone just upchucked on his shoes. "What does if have to do with the military? Sam, queers are only good for doing their nails dressing in woman clothes. They have no place in the military."
And bless Sams' little heart. "What about the women though? They serve! Are you saying that women can't serve either?"
"That's different."
"How so?" came the angry, gravely voice of Castiel. At the sound of Cas' voice, Deans' eyes shot forward, attempting to catch the blue orbs. However, Cas was glaring challengingly at John.
"Have you seen Ellen and Jo?" He took a chug of his beer. "Women get scary when they get mad, boy."
"So a woman is allowed to serve, but a gay man can't? Where is the justice in that?"
John quirked his eyebrow. "What's it to you boy?" he asked. A sneer graced his lips as he asked, "you a little fag?"
"No. Cas isn't gay," Dean hurried in, effectively cut Cas off before he could out himself to John. This earned him half curious and half glaring eyes.
"Fine," John spat. He took another chug of beer. "Prove it. If you're not a queer then you'd have no problem telling a joke."
A contemplating look crossed Cas' face. Dean wondered if he could really say a joke that makes fun of himself and not cringe. Then Cas' eyes got mischievous. "Ok," he said. He waited as John finished yet another beer. "I know a gay person that sounds like an owl."
"Who?"
At that moment, if there was any doubt in Deans' mind that he didn't have a crush on Cas, it was crushed. Why? Because John. Stupid, alcoholic, abusive, homophobic bastard John, didn't realize what he had done until it was too late.
Sam and Gabe had tears in their eyes, Jo and Anna were pounding their fists on the table, Bobby was full on laughing his ass off, and Ellen was trying so hard not to laugh by covering her mouth with her hand. Cas just sat there, smugly smirking. Dean was laughing on the inside. Johns' face was dark red, his fists curled in anger and he looked like he was about to punch someone. Dean schooled his expression. One look at his father and he knew. If his lip so much as twitched he was in trouble. He could feel the tears try to form, but any emotion, any at all, and he was due for another beating. John angrily stood up and left. His truck squealing out the block. Dean turned his gaze to Cas' too blue eyes and let his eyes do all the talking. Three words said it all. That was brilliant.
Holiday traditions only cover a certain amount of the day. After everyone finished eating, the grown-ups and teenagers would go their separate ways and do whatever they wanted until nightfall, which is when all the teenagers had to be back for their yearly sleepover. Gabe and Anna left not long after everyone cleaned up. They wished the three high schoolers and Sam good luck, gave Cas a hug, and were on their merry way.
Jo and Sam would always go upstairs at this point in the day while Dean would go out with his teammates and have a beer or two to celebrate the end up summer. This year, Cas went upstairs with Jo and Sam. Like any other year, Dean left. However, he was breaking his own tradition.
Behind the wheel of his baby, Dean let himself do a dangerous thing. He let his mind think. On the one hand, he was so damn proud of Sam and Cas for standing up to John at the picnic table. This pride he felt proved to him that Sam was growing up, becoming his own person. His feelings toward Cas only intensified.
On the hand, however, it was fucking with Deans' head. He knew without a doubt that John wouldn't approve of these feelings he was having towards the blue eyed man. He was positive, that based on everyone's acceptance of Cas that they wouldn't have a problem with Dean being gay, bi, whatever it was that he was now. But to know that his birth parent, the one who was supposed to be there for him no matter what, was against him on this without knowing it, it caused a pain in Deans' heart that no beating could compare to.
He couldn't help but wonder, which side would Mary have been on? Would she have stood by her husband no matter what, or would his outlook on the situation be different if only she wasn't dead?
He didn't realize where his body was leading the car until he pulled through those iron gates. He knew this place almost as well as he did Ellen's house and Bobby's garage. To the far right was the big oak tree that him and Sam carved their initials in during a visit five years ago. In the middle of the various sized stones stood that angel statue that always gave him the creeps no matter how old he got. And to the left, a willow tree. Beautiful in it's own depressing way, with it's branches and leaves drooping as if in mourning of the wife and mother who died too young.
His legs had a mind of their own. Before his mind caught up to what was happening, he was kneeling in front of Mary Winchesters' grave stone. His hand reached up of it's own accord, fingertips lightly brushing against the surface of the smooth granite. The porcelain angel that use to watch over him as an infant still stood next to the stone. It's been ten years now. Ten years since his six year old self brought this last piece of his mother to her grave. Every time he visits, he'll hold the angel tight in his hand and ask the angels to look out for his mom. His mother, who is dead because of him.
This was no ordinary visit, though. There were set dates that Dean always visited; January 24th (his birthday), May 2nd (Sammy's birthday), November 2nd (her death day), Thanksgiving, December 5th (her birthday), and Christmas. Dean tried to stay within these set days, for if he visited outside of them, something was wrong. So wrong that he had to turn to his dead mother.
"Hey, Mom." He had to stop. Clear his throat. "I know I usually don't visit on random days... but I need you, Mom. I need you so much right now. Dad," he swallowed thickly and blinked back tears, "Dad doesn't understand, Mom." He forced out a laugh. "Who am I kidding? Dad never understands." He paused, trying to figure out how to word his thoughts right. "I'm changing, Mom." He blinked rapidly, but a tear managed to escape. "I don't know what wrong with me." His hands started shaking. "I have a new friend. His name is Cas." The tears flowed freely down his cheeks. "You would have loved him, Mom. He has these eyes. They're so blue," he said in wonder. "How can someones' eyes be that blue, Mom?" He choked out a laugh. "I've never even looked at a guy twice, ya know? And then this blue eyed stranger stumbles through a door at a party and I'm different." The tears were flowing faster, choking his words, making it hard for him to speak, but he had to get this out. If there was one person in the world he could trust to keep this a secret, it was his mother, dead or alive. "What do I do, Mom? I can't get him out of my head. I've tried." When did his forehead lean against the gravestone? "Can you give me a sign?"
"Hey Jude, don't make it bad. Take a sad song and make it better..."
Deans' head rose slowly, looking for the source of the music.
"Remember to let her into your heart. Then you can start to make it better..."
His head turned left and right, desperately looking for the source.
"Hey Jude, don't be afraid. You were made to go out and get her..."
He looked behind him and saw it.
"The minute you let her under your skin. Then you begin to make it better..."
An ugly green volkswagen was driving down the street adjacent to the cemetery, blaring his old lullaby. Dean doesn't believe in coincidences. What could it be if not his mother telling him, 'yes, it's ok baby. You're not a freak. It's ok.'?
The corners of his lips twitched upwards slowly until there was a full blown smile gracing his features. He turned back to the gravestone. His hand grabbed the angel and held it tight to his chest. His head dropped backwards as fresh tears slid down his face. "Thanks, Mom."
Notes:
Here's the newest chapter. I hope you like it. I decided to stay out of Deans' mind as much as possible in this chapter. I feel like if I do the therapy sessions with himself then it makes it harder to get out of his mind. Does that make any sense? Anyway, I'm sure ya'll can figure out what the next chapter will be. Let me know what ya'll think! :)
