Lying in bed that night, Dean's mind drifted to Castiel. There was something about him that was incredibly hot, and Dean hadn't really thought that way about another man in a long time. Back in high school he had realized that he was attracted to boys as well as girls. Sadly, more often than not, that attraction was used for survival and not love.

He learned young that there were men willing to pay for a blow job from a handsome teenage boy. How many bars had his father taken Sam and him to, finding the young boys a table in the back, ordering them some greasy bar food to share, and dumping a fistful of quarters in their hands to keep them busy with some arcade game while he sat on a bar stool chasing away his pain with his pals Jack, Jim and Jose.

In those dark corners, Dean had been approached by sleazy men who reeked of cigarettes, alcohol and sweat. Sam sat terrified and frozen the first time. Dean never wanted to see that expression on his little brother's face again so he quickly learned to hide a small knife in his pocket and to flash it just under the table, but in the older man's view, while giving the slightest headshake and give off his best get the fuck out of here glare.

This had kept most of them away, but as Dean got older, and their father began disappearing for longer periods of time, leaving the boys without enough money for food and shelter, he remembered those men in bars and knew what they were willing to pay for. More times than he cared to remember, he had fed Sammy using money earned in the cab of an eighteen wheeler, a filthy bathroom stall in a bar or truck stop men's room, or in a back alley on his knees.

He still remembered the one time his father had caught him. That one hadn't even been for money. He had met Michael at school and was immediately attracted to his strength, leadership, and good looks. They hit it off immediately and were soon inseparable. During their three months at Hoover High in Canton, Ohio, Michael had become a steady part of the lives of Sam and Dean.

Sam loved that Dean had such a good friend and was always happy when the three of them would spend time together. Michael was always accepting of the fact that Dean let his brother tag along so much. They spent their weekends driving to the lake, enjoying the freedom of fishing and swimming in the fresh water, working at the local ice cream store to make a little extra money, and sneaking into Monster Movie Marathons on Saturday nights. That spring was one of the happiest of Dean's life. Until the day that all of the looks, smiles, and accidental touches finally made sense.

They had just finished their shift at Creamy Cones and Dean was giving Michael a ride home. The sound of Metallica was filling the car as the boys sang along, driving with the windows down to enjoy the warm May evening air. At a stop light, Dean turned to his friend and smiled and to his shock, Michael leaned over and kissed him.

Five minutes later, the Impala was parked and the boys had found their way to the back seat. Lit by only the moon and the lights from the car's stereo playing Bad Company, it was there that Dean fell for the older boy as they explored each other in a rush of teenage bliss. Dean was reveling in exploring Michael's warm torso with his tongue, enjoying that he could do this with someone whom he was so attracted to, when suddenly, he was yanked backwards out of the car by his collar, briefly choking him, causing his shirt to rub an angry burn across his neck.

He heard his father's gruff baritone, "Dean!" as he scrambled back, falling onto his backside and scraping the palms of his hands on the concrete. Michael gulped and scrambled out of the car to help Dean up, but John stood between them. Towering over Michael, he hissed through clenched teeth for him to leave, now! Dean met the other boy's eyes and nodded for him to just go. A tightness formed in his gut as he realized that this would be the last time he would see Michael's face.

John turned to hover over Dean, who was still on the ground, "Get off your ass and get back home," he grumbled out. Dean looked up at his father, but could only see the outline of the man in the dark with the brightness of the streetlight behind his head. That dark silhouette revealed nothing of John's face, leaving Dean with a heavy pit of fear in his gut. He hated not being able to read his father.

He watched his father turn around and climb into the Impala, pulling away without looking back at his son. Shit, thought Dean, he had brought the car out tonight. Now he would have to race to get back to the motel before their father did. He gathered as much dignity as he could, pulling himself up and wiping his scraped hands over his jeans and hustled back to the Sunny Days Motel. He felt tears welling up in his eyes all the way back but wouldn't cry, couldn't fall apart. He had to be strong for Sammy. He knew when Dad came back there would be hell to pay and he had to keep it together and figure out what to do, fast.

"Sammy, wake up," he whispered in a voice that he hoped didn't sound too panicked, "come on, you gotta get up. Dad's coming back and he's pissed. You got to go somewhere."

"Mmph, wha'? Dean, what's going on?" Sam rubbed his eyes and tried to wipe away the confusion. He registered Dean's tone, though, and knew he was freaked.

"Here's a couple bucks," Dean shoved a five in Sam's hand as he tossed the kid's shoes to him. "The diner down the street, it's open 24 hours. Go get something to eat and wait for me there. I'll tell Dad you are sleeping over a friend's. C'mon, hurry."

"Uh uh, Dean. What about you?"

"I'm fine, you know me." Dean forced a smile. "I can calm Dad down, take care of him." The lie came too easily off of Dean's tongue, having forced out similar stories to cover for their father too many times.

Sam stopped tying his shoes and looked up at his brother, "Then why do you want me to leave?"

Damn this kid for getting too smart for his own good. "Dad had some trouble at work and got drunk and he doesn't want you to see him that way. Don't worry, I'll get him to sleep then come and get you. Here, take the pepper spray and don't talk to anyone." Dean took a second to pull a hand down over his face, a gesture too mature, too weighed down for his 18 years. He sighed, "Everything's OK, Sam. You know I am not going to let anything bad happen, just go."

Sam did as Dean asked, looking back at his older brother knowing that there was more to his story. But he trusted Dean and knew he would only ask him to leave the motel in the middle of the night if he had to. There were the times he had Sam scram so he could bring a pretty girl back to the room, but he always made sure Sam had somewhere to go and never in the middle of the night.

Shit, shit, shit. Dean paced around the room trying to figure out what to say when his father got there. He steeled himself for the onslaught by taking a few swigs of his father's whisky bottle. He would be pissed about that, too, but how much worse could he make it at this point. The burn on his neck from his shirt being pulled was starting to ache and he started absently picking pebbles of dirt out of his scraped palms. He hoped his Dad would just hurry and get here already, he didn't want to leave Sam alone for long.

Turns out his wait wasn't long at all. Five minutes later, John burst through the door with fire in his eyes that made him seem unrecognizable to Dean, almost possessed. This was good. In his mind, Dean could detach the father that he loved from this man, who he called the demon. He saw nothing of his father's light brown eyes in this man, they were dark and dangerous, almost solid black. This man was a stranger.

When his father's fist connected with his cheekbone, he told himself he was being attacked by something evil and not Dad. Dean reeled back, grabbing his face. Shit, he hadn't expected that. Sure, John had used him as a punching bag more than a few times when he came home drunk, but he was usually smart enough to keep the bruises below the neck. Now, what was he going to tell Sam?

"No son of mine is going to be some fucking faggot! Bible says that's an abomination so don't ever let me catch you doing that shit again, you hear me?"

"Yes, sir. I…"

John took two strides towards his son, standing in front of the boy who had one hand cupped to his hurt face, the other lifted in protection, palm towards his father. "No, please" he said as his father grabbed the front of his shirt and swung his free hand up to hit Dean's jaw. He could feel his lip swelling and taste blood as he felt the dizziness that always came with a blow to the head. John let go of him and his legs wobbled and almost gave in, but Dean didn't want to fall in front of this man so he defiantly held himself up and stared straight at the thing that was possessing his father.

"Now, that pretty face of yours ain't so pretty. No one's gonna want you like that, so I just made it easier to quit fucking cocksucking." At that, John, lurched forward and had to grab hold of a chair to keep from falling. Dean could tell, had seen it enough times, that this meant the alcohol was taking its toll and his father would be passing out soon.

He reached for the older man, wrapping John's arm around his shoulder to put the burden of the older man's weight on his own back. He shuffled over to the nearest bed and lowered his father gently down. He squatted down in front of the bed to unite and pull off John's boots then stood up to slowly lift each leg up onto the bed. He leaned over the older man to reach a pillow and lifted his head to gently rest it on the pillow.

When he looked down, he saw blood on his father's face and wondered stupidly how John had gotten hurt. It was a moment before he realized it was his own broken face that had dripped onto his father's cheek. What a pair they made, a boy with so much heart nurturing the man who had broken the flesh of his son's face.

Seeing his own blood on his father's face caused a wave of nausea to pound into him. He felt bile rise up, tasting the bitterness of it, mixed with the metallic tang of the blood in his mouth. And there was a strange buzzing in his ears that kept flooding him with a swirling feeling of vertigo so that he had to hold onto the edge of the bed and lock his knees to keep from collapsing.

He ran to the bathroom, collapsing to his knees over the toilet, spilling his insides into the bowl in wave after wave of convulsions that left him empty and wrecked. He gave himself just a moment to lay his head on the cool porcelain to clear the vertigo. He had no time to waste; his brother was still sitting in a diner alone in the middle of the night.

He took a moment to assess the damage to his face in the motel bathroom's mirror. His left eye was swelling shut and just below his eye was a gash high on his cheek that was dripping blood. His mouth didn't look much better, an ugly black bruise covering the swelling on his chin. He cleaned himself up as much as he could, steeled himself with a deep breath and left the motel room to go collect his little brother.

Sam's eyes welled with tears when he saw Dean walk into the diner and slide into the booth across from him. "What happened?"

"It's not as bad as it looks, Sam. I'll be back to my gorgeous self in a few days. And hey, chicks dig scars, right? Just adds to my rugged good looks." Dean's joke fell heavy between them. Nothing could lighten the horror of what had just taken place. This was the first time Sam had really seen the effects of his father's temper. He knew that there were times that Dean and their father fought, but Dean was an expert at hiding it and deflecting all of their father's fury away from Sam. As Sam's tears flowed down his cheek, Dean was unable to hold his own terror back any longer as he felt the prickle behind his eyes and knew that he was going to lose it.

As the reality of what happened hit him, he began to shake and his breathing hitched. Sam got up from his side of the booth and silently slid in beside Dean, leaning his head on his older brother's shoulder. Dean wrapped Sammy in his arms and buried his face in his little brother's hair. The boys sat for a long time together in the quiet of the diner clinging to each other, each a lifeline for the other. Finally, when they gathered from each other the strength to go back, they headed to their motel room in silence.

One week later was the accident that took their father's life and left the boys orphans.

And now our bodies are oh so close and tight
It never felt so good it never felt so right
And we're glowing like the metal on the edge of a knife
Glowing like the metal on the edge of a knife
Though its cold and lonely in the deep dark night
I can see paradise by the dashboard light
Ain't no doubt about it we were doubly blessed
'Cause we were barely seventeen
And we were barely dressed
~Paradise by the Dashboard Light – Meat Loaf