Chapter Three

Dean rode shut-gun next to his dad, one summer-freckled arm hanging out of the window, tapping away on the side of the impala, to the violent sounds of Motörhead's new album 'Snake Bite Love'. In the back seat Sam stared stiffly at the window and pressed the side of his face a little further into the seat - trying to shield at least one ear from the noise.

Dean caught sight of Sam's annoyed expression in the rear-view mirror and started to sing along loudly.

Sam sighed. "I'm trying to sleep"

"Don't be a killjoy Sammy," Dean grinned and bobbed his head to the beat.

"I'm exhausted Dean, lower the volume!"

"Sorry, princess," said Dean and turned the volume down a note.

"And don't call me that!"

"Prefer 'your majesty?'"

"Not about that," yelled Sam.

Dean raised a brow. Sam rolled his eyes and continued, "Well, also about that! But don't call me Sammy."

"Why? Never bothered you before"

"Yeah, but I'm not 12 anymore, Dean," said Sam under his breath.

"Uhu? Could've fooled me," said Dean and turned around to face his brother's small form.

"Shut up you jerk," said Sam and shut his eyes tightly in protest, "I swear something weird happened back there".

Sam's body was still aching. Earlier that day, an otherwise regular salt-and-burn had turned into what could have become a nightmare, when John and Dean had left Sam with a cowgirl's horse, suspecting its saddle to be what the now dead cowgirl was holding onto in the living world. It just so happened that it wasn't the saddle but the horse itself that had been the source of the ghost's power, and if Sam hadn't, and he swore that was what he had done, somehow pushed the horse away from him by extending his hand towards it, it would probably have stomped him to death. He couldn't explain how he had done it though and when he had mentioned it to Dean, Dean had laughed and told him he was crazy, while John was away to take care of the possessed horse.

"What are you talking about?" said John.

"What?" said Sam.

"What 'weird' thing?"

Before Sam could explain, Dean interrupted, "Sam thinks he's Jean Grey."

"Shut up, back there, I made the horse get off me", said Sam slowly, looking down at his hands.

"I am fire! And life incarnate!" said Dean in a dramatic tone.

"Quiet Dean", said John and sent Dean a glare through the corners of his eyes, Dean immediately shut up, "Sam, what do you mean 'you made it get off you'?"

"I don't know… I just… did it."

"You just… pushed the horse off you?" John repeated, "in some kind of… temporary adrenaline rush?"

"Not like that… I did it with", Sam came to a realization, "with my mind", he finished and looked up at his dad in horror. To both Sam and Dean's surprise John chuckled.

"You're imaging things Sam"

"No I-"

"Enough, Sam!" John cut him short, using the voice that the boys knew meant the discussion was over; or that they at least better not try to continue.

"Sleep, you hit your head," he said.

Sam opened his mouth in protest, but stopped when he saw Dean's eyes move wildly from side to side, begging him to calm down. Sam turned violently back onto his side and closed his eyes.

They continued down the highway in silence for another two hours, Dean not daring to even open his mouth. He knew John was agitated. This was something that had happened before.

A couple of years back, Sam had stubbornly held on to the belief that he had seen exactly what happened to a girl they had saved from a skinwalker, in New York, in one of his dreams the night before. Dean remembered how John in the end had snapped. For a brief moment, Dean had been sure that John was going to hit Sam, but in the end he had pointed a finger at him, told him to never mention shit like that again, turned around, and left them by themselves for two weeks.

Dean looked over at his dad who was holding on to the wheel so tightly that his knuckles had turned white. Dean licked his lips and gulped when he remembered how cold the New York streets had been that winter, and how hard it had been to collect money for food.

Dean jumped when his dad suddenly started to talk in a low voice: "He isn't normal Dean"

"What, Sam?" said Dean and looked at his brothers sleeping form, "sure he's just going through some kinda phase."

"No, something's wrong with him," said John.

"What do you mean?" said Dean and furrowed his brows.

"There's something dark inside him, I can feel it, gives me the creeps"

"Huh?" said Dean, "Seriously dad, Sammy?"

"Something happened in that nursery."

Dean's eyes widened in shock; John never mentioned anything about what happened 14 years ago. Dean bit his lips, "Did the… did Yellow Eyes… do something to Sam?"

John turned his face away from the road and said, "all I know's that he isn't normal."

"Are you saying Sammy's some kind of freak?"

"I don't know what he is", said John gloomily and made a sharp right turn down the long gravel road to Bobby Singer's house.

In the back seat Sam was staring into the Impala's upholstery so intently that his eyes had started to water.

Dean hadn't wanted to ask where they were going, sensing that John still wasn't in the mood to be questioned; but after the almost 9 hour drive from Wyoming, he found himself in Sioux Falls, more particularly in front of the entrance to Bobby Singer's yard.

Bobby had always taken care of them as kids, when John had a hunt in the area, or simply, when he would be gone for too long for them to be able to afford staying at a motel. Hunting demons didn't exactly come with a paycheck, and most of the money they did earn in one way or another went to ammunition. Dean liked staying at Bobby's. He liked being on the road, he knew that was where he truly belonged, but staying at Bobby's was nice once in a while - and he knew that Sam at least appreciated the breaks. Recently Sam had gotten into his mind that he should 'focus on his studies' as he had put it, which was something that John hadn't been able to approve of at all. The only free time they had from hunting and, occasionally, school, was spent on practicing weapon mastery or read lore. Dean knew that Sam had never been keen on it and that he'd much rather do 'normal kids' stuff', but when he had been younger he had at least obeyed in the end. Now, Sam's refusal to practice was the main cause behind the recently ever more frequent arguments between Sam and John. The fights would always begin the same way; Sam would insist that reading Goethe for his history class was more important than wendigo lore, and the fights would also always end the same way as well, with Sam and John refusing to face each other. Dean didn't understand why Sam was doing this, why he was disrupting the peace and order in their family. And family was all they had, it was the most important thing in the world and yet… Dean looked back at Sam who was still facing away from the front seats, his hands tightly clutched around the backpack Dean knew was full of books. Dean closed his eyes and sighed.

"Wait in the car while I talk to him", said John as the car came to a halt, "You and Sam'll stay here a couple days".

John looked at his eldest son who nodded quietly. He opened the door and stepped out into the fresh night breeze. He walked across the salvage yard that led to Bobby's house and knocked on the wooden door. He was greeted with a shut-gun to his face.

"You expecting anyone Bobby?" asked John and glanced from the tip of the barrel and into Bobby's narrowed eyes.

"Nah, just you," said Bobby after a while.

"You mind if I come in - and to maybe point that somewhere else?" said John and made a gesture towards the gun. Bobby lowered the shut-gun and stepped aside, but continued to glare silently at John. John entered the living room without invitation and started to look around for something.

"'n where the boys?" said Bobby while watching John search his living room. He leaned against the doorframe and crossed his arms.

"In the car - where are they?" asked John while opening a large cabinet.

Bobby shifted his weight to his other leg, "the boxes?"

"Yes of course, the boxes!" said John impatiently.

John's raised voice didn't faze Bobby, "the kitchen," he said. John passed Bobby without looking at him and stormed into the kitchen. Bobby followed slowly behind him and when he entered the kitchen John already had his hands in one of the boxes.

"What you up to John? Had a peek - those are from ya old house."

"I told you not to look!" John fumed.

"Don't tell me what to do in my own god damn house boy"

John locked eyes with Bobby for a moment before he continued to rummage through the boxes. "It's none of your business".

"Hell it is" said Bobby quickly.

John glared at Bobby, "I'm going to Illinois".

"Don't tell me you going to Pontiac again, Dean didn't talk to anyone for a week after you came back from there."

"I won't take them with me this time Bobby"

"So you think you can take it on by yourself, even though you damn near got yourself and the boys killed last time?"

"I can't ignore it. There was a fire, Bobby. In a nursery. Ten minutes away from where we saw him last time".

"Yellow Eyes ain't coming back there John."

"I have to go".

"And what do you want me to tell the boys if you don't make it back?

"I left some things for Dean," John pointed at a black plastic bag on one of the chairs, "he'll know what to do in case I don't return".

"John, Dean's 19, you can't expect him to follow your ass around like trained dog forever"

"So you think you know what Dean will do better than me?" John still had his hands in the boxes, but he stopped moving and was now looking sternly at Bobby.

"Dean's just a normal boy"

"He is not, Dean's a soldier," John went around the kitchen table and stood in front of Bobby, "you know the life", he hissed.

"Better than you. But it still ain't too late for the boys, they're no soldiers - they're just a couple 'a kids!"

"They're part of this!"

"Mary wouldn't have-"

John gripped on to the collar of Bobby's shirt and slammed him against the wall, "do not talk about Mary as if you know what she'd have wanted," he said below his voice, his face inches away from Bobby's.

"Get. Ye hands. Off." said Bobby and pushed John off him.

"We're leaving," said John and picked up the two boxes and turned towards the door.

"Don't be an idjit," said Bobby and followed him.

John turned around on the porch and stabbed an angry finger at Bobby, "you're not going to tell me how to raise my own damn kids!"

John walked back through the darkness to where Sam and Dean were waiting obediently in the Impala. He opened the trunk and carefully placed the two boxes between the orderly arranged weaponry. He eyed the boxes for a while before he turned around, flung the car door open and turned the key in the ignition so hard that the Impala let out a violent roar and both Sam and Dean jumped.

"Sam, Dean we're leaving!" he said.

"But dad, Uncle Bobby-", Sam began, but was cut short.

"Not up for discussion Sam!" said John with clenched teeth and turned to Dean, "fix us something to eat when we get there, 's bread in the back".

"Yes sir," said Dean, "but dad…can I ask where there is?" he continued after a while.

"Pontiac," spat John.

"P-Pontiac?" Dean gulped. John looked at him sternly.

Sam watched Dean turn his face away from John, towards the window. His eyes were wide and his cheeks were flushed. Sam remembered last time they had been to Pontiac; he remembered the short flicker of yellow and the wide toothy grin on the face of their mother's murderer, just before he had smoked out, leaving only his dead host behind. Sam shivered, but when he looked at Dean, he thought the anxiety he saw in his brother's face seemed somehow different from his own.

They arrived in Pontiac, Illinois after 6 hours of John's reckless driving. Having driven for almost 15 hours straight John was tired and couldn't be bothered to search for somewhere nice to stay. It was early morning and they stopped at the first hostel they saw and booked the only room available, which was a room for two. It didn't matter too much; John wasn't planning on staying anyway.

The walls in their room seemed to have been white at some point, but were now a dirty grayish color. When they turned on the lights cockroaches hid themselves in every corner. John called the local high school, who had taken Sam and Dean in last time they had stayed in Pontiac, and made arrangements for Sam, as they didn't know how long they'd be staying this time. John thanked secretary, hung up, and without saying anything to Sam and Dean he made it for the bathroom with the two boxes he had collected earlier at Bobby's, under each arm.

Dean let out a small gasp and stared at the brightly patterned bed covers that looked like they hadn't been changed in 20 years.

"We're so gonna catch something from this," he said.

Sam rolled his eyes and threw his heavy backpack on top of the bed furthest away from the door. Dean sighed as he watched Sam pull out several thick calculus books from his bag, but when a small blue book fell to the floor his eyebrows shot up, "you still have that?"

Sam blushed and quickly picked up the fairy tale book that had fallen open on a page featuring the title "The Dying Child".

"Does wee little Sammy want big brother Dean to read him a bedtime story?" Dean teased.

"Shut up," he said, and hastily stuffed the book back into his bag.

Dean was midsentence when he heard the door to the bathroom unlock. Sam and Dean watched in silence as their dad slumped down onto the other bed and ran a hand over his face.

"You… alright dad?" asked Dean and sat down next to John. John didn't answer; he looked at his hands, tears rolled down his cheeks and he began to speak into the air in a shaky voice.

"Never the religious type, but when you were born…" he began, having seemingly not registered Dean's question, "Mary she… she insisted on having you both baptized". John covered his face with both his hands and broke down in tears, slowly rocking back and forth on the edge of the bed.

"I'm so sorry Mary," he sobbed.

"It's ok dad". Dean placed a soothing hand on John's shoulder, but upon contact John looked up at him with a frenzied expression, his eyes shot up to Dean's chin length hair that was currently tucked behind his ears, "cut your god damn hair, you look like a fucking sissy," John spat.

Dean leaned away from John and looked down at his feet; but as he did so one lock of summer blond hair fell in front of his face. John shot up, "and where is the food?"

"The food sir?" Dean said without looking up.

"The bread Dean, the bread!"

"I'm sorry I-", but John didn't let him finish, "I gave you a clear order 'fix us something to eat when we get there', you want Sam to go to school without breakfast?" John made a wild gesture towards Sam who was sitting on the bed, mouth agape, but without saying anything.

"I'm sorry dad," Dean whispered.

"Well get to it already!"

Dean immediately jumped off the bed and started to search through the duffel for the bread and peanut butter he knew was there. Behind him he heard John move over into the sofa and mumble, "can't trust you with anything", Dean almost dropped the jar of peanut butter, "Bobby's right, you're no soldier… can't even remember a basic order", he continued to slur, "fucking useless".

"Dean, I can do it myself," said Sam and gripped Dean's shaking hand.

"Don't Sam," he whispered and shook Sam's hands off. Dean looked over at John who was sitting with his back towards them. He licked his lips, applied a thick layer of peanut butter, and handed Sam the sandwich.

"And get some sleep," said Dean.

Dean took off his jacket and fell onto the bed next to Sam's. Sam watched the restless expression on his brother's face. It didn't change even as he fell asleep. The sandwich got stuck in his throat; he swallowed hard.

Two hours later John stirred, "I'll take you to school," he said to Sam who was already in the middle of putting on his shoes. Sam hadn't felt like sleeping, and had instead studied while the rest of his family had been asleep.

"Wait in the Impala," said John.

Sam went over to the door, but before he left he turned around. A ray of morning light shone into the room through the open door and fell on his brother's sleeping form. Sam looked at him with worry in his eyes and closed the door quietly.

Back in the motel room John shook Dean awake, "you gotta pick Sam up later - I'll leave the Impala here".

Dean nodded drowsily, "you'll call, right? If you find anything"

"Be prepared", said John and walked towards the door. He stopped. "And Dean, what are your orders?"

"W-watch out for Sammy" Dean tried, but stumbled over the words. John rolled his eyes and smacked the door behind him.

Sam had a good day at school. It had been a while since he had had any real schooling, and not just Dean's evening physics lessons.

The principal of Pontiac Township High had been in debt to them since last time Sam, and at that time also Dean, had went there and saved him and a couple of students from possession, back when Yellow Eyes was present in the city.

Today Sam had been assigned to write an essay about Edgar Allan Poe by his English teacher, who had recognized him immediately.

He was waving some of his old friends off when he saw the Impala, seemingly empty, parked as far away from the school as possible, while still remaining in the parking lot. He walked over to it and upon further inspection he realized that it wasn't empty, but that Dean was just lying down inside it. He knocked on the window, "what are you doing?" he asked.

Dean jumped, "hey Sam!" he said nervously.

"Are you… hiding?" Sam asked.

"What? No - of course not I'm just… uhh", Sam crossed his arms, "this place just gives me the heebie-jeebies yenno."

Sam raised his eyebrows, "you were fine at the hostel".

"Just get in the car!" said Dean and opened the door to the passenger side.

Sam watched Dean hold on to the steering wheel tightly until the high school was completely out of sight, whereafter he visibly relaxed.

Ten minutes later they arrived at the hostel. As soon as they entered their room, Sam opened his bag and took out the notes he had taken for his essay. He started writing, but it didn't take long before Dean interrupted him. He sighed.

"Hey Sammy?" said Dean, who was sitting in the sofa and playing with one of their dad's knives. Sam looked up, "wanna go out a little?"

"Dean I have homework."

Dean furrowed his brows in amused confusion, "…so?"

"… soo I have to do them?"

"Says who"

"My teachers"

"And who cares what they say?"

"I need to do this"

"Come on it can't be that important," said Dean mockingly.

"Dean, getting recommendations for college is going to be next to impossible the way we live!"

"What's that?" said Dean and stood up.

"College", Sam repeated.

Dean stared at him for a while, flabbergasted, "…college?" he said slowly.

"Yes, college, don't you have any plans?"

"Like for my future and shit?"

"Yes!"

"Course not Sammy, why'd I plan for something that ain't ever happening"

"What do you mean by that?"

"What I mean's that as long as that bastard is still breathing, we don't have a future outside of this," Dean made a gesture to the knives on the table, "you're not planning anything Sam you're dreaming".

Sam bit the inside of his cheeks and looked away from Dean's gaze. Dean sat back down on the sofa and they both grew silent.

After a while Sam said, "you ever think we're gonna catch him?"

Dean blinked, "course we are," he said quietly and looked out of the window while licking his lips.

"And what then?" said Sam, "what happens to us then?"

"Don't be stupid Sam - there'll always be people to save n things to hunt"

"The family business", Sam sighed and looked down at his homework again. He hadn't written more than a couple of lines.

"Exactly, but hey, I gotta go breathe some clean air", said Dean, "and Sam?"

"What?"

"Don't go anywhere!"

Sam rolled his eyes and Dean left the hostel.

Dean entered some bar in the middle of the city. He looked around nervously, but since it was still relatively early, the only people in the bar were a couple of bikers and a group of young people surrounding the pool table. Dean eyed one of the girls; she was short, blonde and fit with muscular thighs and a low cut shirt that showed off her well-endowed bosom.

He ordered two beers in the bar and went over to the pool table.

"Hey," he said to the blonde girl.

"Hey sweetie," she said in a flirtatious voice. Dean caught sight of a big bearded guy who was sending him hateful eyes. Dean grinned at him and he cracked his knuckles. Dean leaned closer to the girl and said, "hey, what you say I beat your friend over there and I take you home?"

The girl giggled and stroked his chin with the tips of her fingers, "honey, it doesn't work like that, if you wanna take me home you gotta beat me," she winked.

Dean laughed, thinking that it would be an easy win, but soon realized that the girl knew what she was doing. Dean had plenty of practice from hustling pool, but he had to admit - the girl could play.

It was only from a mix of luck and extreme focus that Dean managed to win. The big guy's face flushed with anger as Dean put his hand on the blonde's waist and led her out of the bar.

"I'm Rhonda," she said.

"Dean"

When Dean had followed the girl, Rhonda, from the bar, home, this hadn't exactly been what he had been expecting. He was lying on his elbows in her bed with his legs spread wide and her hands running up and down his thighs.

"You look great sweetie," she said as she massaged him through the pink satiny material that was covering his erection. Dean bit his lips and held in a groan.

At first Dean had refused when she had asked him to put her panties on; but he had given in when she had bended over and taken them off slowly, giving him a great view of her round ass. All embarrassment had disappeared in his state of arousal and he had quickly jumped out of his own boxers.

She gave him a little lick through the fabric before she grabbed him by his ankles and pulled him down onto his back. She slowly slid the panties down his legs, but stopped when she reached his knees and let them stay there as an elastic tie. She crawled up over him, her long wavy hair tickling his inner thighs, until she was lying on top of him. She smiled at him as she started to move back and forth, giving friction to his now fully erect cock. He moaned and she covered his mouth with her own. She tasted of beer. He cupped her soft breasts with his hands. It had been months since he had been with anyone, and he was afraid he wouldn't last more than a couple of minutes.

She ran a hand down his chest, circled one of his nipples, his abs, until she reached the base of his dick. She gave him a couple of lazy strokes. He felt her suck and nip at his throat and jumped a little when she bit him. Dean tried to reach between her legs, but she held on to his arm, "no, I wanna do you babe," she whispered into his ear.

"You want… what?" he said dazed.

She winked and reached for something under the bed; something that appeared to be a pink dildo, except it was connected to a black harness.

"Is-is that a strap-on?" he stuttered wide eyed.

"Of course it is babe," she said and started to put it on.

"Uhm.." Dean began.

"Don't worry, I'll take good care of you," she smiled and applied a gracious amount of lube onto her fingers and the dildo. Her smile wavered when she caught sight of his nervous expression, "I thought you… you haven't done this before have you?" she asked.

Dean stared at her and blinked, "I'm not, yenno"

"Hey, I'm a girl," she slapped his arm teasingly, "and it will feel great I promise babe".

Dean bit his lower lip. He nodded slowly, cheeks flushing.

"Okay, yes, do it," he said and got on all fours in front of her.

Rhonda had been careful in stretching him and laughed when Dean had told her to just get on with it. "You're not going to sit straight for a week if I just get on with it'" she had said and added another finger to his hole.

Dean had thought about sex this way before. Fantasies he hadn't admitted to anyone, not even himself, before he was smack in the middle of it. He had been… curious, and it had been close, but he had never carried it all the way with it with anyone or by himself. At first it was uncomfortable, not directly painful, but definitely uncomfortable. The discomfort had slowly disappeared as she had added more fingers. When she could work him comfortably with three of her fingers she pulled out, added more lube onto the phallus and penetrated him. She slowly started to thrust in and out, while simultaneously jerking him off. He had gasped loudly when she hit something inside him that sent a shock of pleasure through his body.

"Ahh..," he moaned.

"Feels good, right babe?"

It didn't take many thrusts before Dean reached the edge. His eyes rolled up and he bit his lip as he came hard on her mattress, listening to her whisper encouraging words into his ear.

His arms were shaky and he crashed face first onto the pillow.

When Dean woke up 30 minutes later, the first thing he did was storm for the bathroom. He sat and waited for something to come out, but nothing happened and the feeling of having to use the toilet didn't disappear. Now that he had come down from his high he felt ashamed. He got up, collected his things, and left without a note.

On his way back to the hostel he stopped at a hairdresser's and got his hair cut short.

"And where the hell have you been?" yelled John as Dean entered the room. For a moment Dean was taken aback, he hadn't expected to see his dad again for a least a couple of weeks.

"I've-", Dean began.

"You cut your hair?" John interrupted.

"Yeah, it's better like this," said Dean.

John smiled and Dean gained a little confidence, "I was at a girl's, Rhonda, chick could do things you wouldn't even-"

"Ew Dean, TMI," said Sam from one of the hostel beds.

John laughed. "That's my man," he said and clapped Dean on the back. John went over to the duffel and looked through it. "No more beer," he sighed.

"Hunt's a bust, just a regular old fire - we leave first thing in the morning," he said before he went out of the door, "and oh hey, there's some boxes in the bathroom. Move them into trunk will you?"

"But da-!", Sam called but it was too late, John had already closed the door.

"What?" Dean asked.

"I just finished this…," he said and closed his notebook, "…now I won't get to turn it in".

"Ahw, come on Sammy, for a nerd like you isn't the most important thing that you learned something?"

Sam glared at him, threw his books forcefully into his backpack and ran into the bathroom.

Dean shook his head and turned his attention to the boxes on the table. He knew he probably shouldn't open them, but his curiousity got the better of him. One of the boxes was full of framed photos; the other had papers with burned corners, a shirt, jewelry and a little white statue of an angel.

"Hey, I remember you ugly!" said Dean and smiled, "you used to live in my nursery". Dean played with the statue in his hands.

"The hell…?" he said out loud when he noticed a small engraving on the bottom of the statue. Dean squinted at the text, but it didn't appear to be English - perhaps it wasn't even letters.

He was still studying the statue when Sam unlocked the bathroom door and reentered the main room with slightly glassy eyes. Dean didn't comment on it.

"What's that?" said Sam and reached for the statue.

"Hands off!" said Dean and slapped his hands away. Sam crossed his arms.

"Hey Sam, you know what language this is?" Dean showed Sam the text and Sam reached out again, "Dean I'm gonna need to hold it if you want me to take a look".

"Hmph," said Dean and handed Sam the figure.

After a while Sam said, "I think it's.. I think I've seen this before". Sam went over to the duffel and withdrew a heavy black book. He flipped through the book until he found the page he was looking for and said, "yes, this is definitely it!"

"What, Sam!?"

"It's Enochian," said Sam amazed.

"Excuse me? My Klingon is a little rusty"

Sam rolled his eyes, "it's the language of the Watchers"

"Watchers of what?" said Dean.

"Angels, Dean, it's the language of the angels!"

"And why do you know this?"

Sam bit his lips, "because…I…"

Dean narrowed his eyes and Sam continued, "come on Dean, we see the weirdest stuff, why shouldn't a little good exist as well?"

"Are you saying you believe in angels? In God?"

"What's wrong with that?" Sam pouted.

Dean laughed, "ahw Sammy, that's cute, but if God really exists then he obviously doesn't give a flying fuck about us," Dean continued to laugh, "you should go to bed."

Dean put the tiny angel statue back where it came from and carried both of the boxes out to the Impala. He unlocked the trunk and placed them inside. He lingered. He licked his lips and opened the box with the angel statue again. He knew his mum had bought this statue once upon a time. He had a vague memory of a gentle voice telling him that "angels are watching over you Dean". Dean stared at the statue and couldn't decide if he'd rather smash it to pieces or take it with him back inside. He decided to do the latter and hid it under his shirt.

Sam already appeared to have fallen asleep. He made his bed and uncovered the angel statue from underneath his shirt. He turned it a little in his hands. He looked over at Sam and checked once more if he was asleep.

"I've never done this before but uh… here goes… so… hey God, if you really exist… then I just want to tell you, you're a son of a bitch, amen," he chuckled, "this is fucking stupid," he said and hid the statue under his pillow. He turned off the lights and tried to sleep, but he couldn't get the statue out of his mind. He reached under his pillow and felt its cold, smooth surface. He held on to it and began to whisper, "….mom… if you can hear me… if you're watching over us then… could you do me a favor? Help Sam achieve his dreams, will you?" Dean slowly drifted off to sleep, "thanks mom". Dean slept peacefully.

Author's note:

And thus the rating goes up to M.

Next chapter: Enter Castiel! (finally)