CHAPTER 2

Two are better than one, because they have a good return for their work:

If one falls down, his friend can help him up.

But pity the man who falls and has no one to help him up!

Also, if two lie down together, they will keep warm.

But how can one keep warm alone?

Ecclesiastes 4:9-11

THEN

Lawrence, Kansas, April 2013

Dean was tired. Again. He hadn't slept more than three hours, and today he had a lot of work to do. Yesterday had been hectic at the garage. It seemed that every single owner of a vintage car wanted it repaired as new. Dean loved his job, and repairing antique cars was a job as good as any. Money wasn't bad, either. He was very good at what he did, and he was starting to get famous throughout Kansas. But dealing with people, especially stressed clients, was a whole different thing.

He never slept more than four or five hours a night, but three? It was too much – no, it was too little.

Since John Winchester left home, when he and Mary had gotten divorced, Dean started to wake up in the middle of the night to check on Sam. The big age difference between them – Dean was almost eight and Sam was six months – made him feel responsible for his baby brother. Now that Dad wasn't home anymore, Dean was the man of the house. It was his job to look after Sam and Mom, who was always crying.

So Dean would tiptoe to Sam's room and then to Mom's. Just to check if she was sleeping. Sometimes, right after the divorce, she took sleeping pills, and Sam would cry and cry at night, so Dean had to get him and sing for him a little. Then, after Sam calmed down, Dean would go to Mom's room to see if she was still breathing. Just in case. Just to make sure she hadn't left him too.

When things got better, when Mom got out of her depression, Dean tried to sleep the whole night. But the habit was already there, so he spent his whole life with no more than six hours of sleep a day. Mom worried, but the doc said it was just the way Dean was.

Now, Dean wished for the six-hour rest. Lately, things were getting worse. He was starting to sleep less and less. He had taken the habit to go for a walk just before the sunrise, to clear his mind before a day usually full of work. Lawrence was a small city, people were still able to walk around in the middle of the night without being mugged.

The diner's light was on. Dean checked his watch; it was still five A.M. and he knew Missouri never got up that early. Maybe it was that Castiel guy. Maybe he had insomnia like Dean. Or maybe he was a creepy freak who performed voodoo rituals at night and was planning Missouri's assassination right now.

Smiling to himself, Dean stopped at the other side of the street, just outside of his mother's shop, by the window. Spring was coming and soon he and Sam would have to help Mom rearranging the showcase again. She insisted her boys participated in the 'family business', although she knew neither Dean nor Sam would sell flowers. Dean repaired vintage cars and Sam was almost graduating at law school.

Lost in thought, Dean started to cross the street. Suddenly, there was a loud horn near him, and he felt himself being pushed to the side with a lot of strange. The momentum threw him to the ground, on the sidewalk, and someone landed on top of him with a huff.

He watched, astonished, as the truck that had almost ran over him got smaller and smaller in the distance.

He should be dead by now. If not for the person who pushed him away from the truck, Dean Winchester would be history.

"Hello, Dean," said the low and raspyvoice.

Well, shit. "Uh…" he managed to say.

"Are you alright?" Castiel said, his intense blue eyes looking intently at Dean's face, looking for injuries, maybe.

"Cas… a little personal space would be good now."

Castiel looked at Dean in confusion. "Cas?"

"Yes, Cas, but if you don't like it, I can – look, thank you for saving me, but you're a little heavy, and I need to breathe, man."

Castiel seemed to understand now, and his eyes widened almost comically. "Oh," he said, "My apologies." He got up awkwardly, all bones and angles, and Dean finally could breathe.

"Are you alright?" Castiel asked again, after Dean got up too and stood in front of him.

"What the hell happened?" Dean asked, mesmerized, still unable to shake off the fact that, if not for this man, he would be dead. Dead.

"I saved you," Castiel declared, apparently very satisfied with himself.

"No shit, Sherlock," Dean said, looking around. The street was deserted again, the sun wasn't already up, and everything was dark and quiet, as if nothing had happened. "Where did you come from?"

"I was throwing the garbage at the dumpster," Castiel said, pointing at the alley beside the diner. "I heard the truck coming."

"Shit, I didn't hear anything," Dean said, astonished. "I think I owe you my life."

"You're welcome," Castiel said, in that flat tone of his.

"Man, I – I still can't believe it," Dean shook his head slowly. He was so tired and distracted that he'd almost got ran over by a freaking truck.

"I have fresh coffee. You should seat for a while."

"Yeah, I guess it's a good idea."

They crossed the street together, side by side, Dean eyeing Castiel curiously. The man looked fine, refreshed even, for someone who was up so early in the morning. Dean always woke up feeling like shit. And right now his butt hurt from when it hit the sidewalk.

Dean sat at the counter while Castiel poured him some coffee.

"Why are you up so early?" Castiel asked.

Dean didn't mind answering. After all, Castiel was an early riser too. "I have insomnia. Was always like that."

Castiel gave him a nod, and after a pause, he said, "I don't require much sleep. Missouri started going home earlier because I don't mind staying and closing the diner, since I still have to clean it."

Dean frowned. "You spend the entire day here?"

Castiel gave half a shrug. "I don't know anybody besides Missouri, her nephews and the regular customers. It's only been two weeks since I arrived here." He paused, turning to adjust the temperature of the air conditioner. "I went to the park on Monday afternoon and watched the sunset. I don't mind staying here; I don't have anywhere else to go."

For Dean it sounded like a very shitty life. Apparently the man had been dumped by his brother here, in the middle of nowhere, Kansas, and now lived the most boring life Dean had ever heard of. Well, at least the part about the voodoo rituals wasn't true, apparently. But Dean still didn't know anything about the guy, so he didn't completely trust him, even if the guy had just saved his life.

"Where are you from?" Dean asked, out of nowhere.

Castiel stopped dead on his tracks, the pot of coffee in his hand. The very hot pot of coffee.

"Man, you're burning your hand!" Dean almost shouted, and Castiel put the pot on the counter, hurriedly, spilling the liquid a little. He looked at his very red hand in wonder.

"It hurts," Castiel declared, frowning, and hurried to open the sink and put his hand under the water.

"Gee, man, if you don't wanna tell me where you are from, then don't. You don't need to burn your hand to avoid the question," Dean joked. Or better, he pretended he was joking, because Castiel's reaction had been at least a strange one.

The other man looked at Dean with a deer-in-the-headlights expression. "P – Paradise," he stuttered.

"You're from Paradise Hill, Oklahoma?" Dean raised his eyebrows. "I met a girl from there, once. Gee, you're far away from home, aren't you?"

"Yes, I am," Castiel declared. "I – I think I saw some ointment in the back," he said, blowing at his red hand. "If you excuse me, I'll be back shortly."

Dean nodded in acquiescence. There was clearly something about his past that Castiel didn't want to talk about. But Missouri trusted him, and Dean trusted Missouri, so, it would have to do.

Sipping his coffee, he remembered his near-death experience from a few minutes ago. Shit, he really was distracted. And Castiel had saved his life. He decided that Castiel wasn't so bad, after all. For a weird guy.

NOW

Lawrence, Kansas, July 2013

Castiel dreamed about Dean that night. Dean was crying, pleading, begging for help. Castiel could see him, but he was paralyzed somehow, unable to help. Beside him, someone in a deep, thunderous voice, kept talking. And the more this someone talked, the more Dean writhed on the ground, in pain. Castiel's whole being hurt. He was desperate to reach out and help him, his heart aching with pity, compassion, sorrow, love; his very core screaming 'don't make him suffer like that'.

But all he could do was stay there, unable to speak, to move, to look away. And the voice went on and on, each word like daggers in Castiel's heart.

You shall not misuse the name of the LORD your God.

You shall have no other gods before me.

You shall not covet your neighbor's wife

You shall –

Castiel woke up with a start, drenched in sweat, the dream still vivid in his mind. What could he do to stop this? If the situation got out of hand, who could he call for help? Perhaps no one. Probably no one. No one would risk everything to help him. He was alone in this.

Sighing, he got up and started his day. It was Saturday, and the diner opened only at ten, but he couldn't stay in bed anymore. He took a shower, brushed his teeth and went to the diner. The place was in relative order, but cleaning was never Victor and Gordon's thing. The windows were greasy and the coffee machine was dirty. The floor was in no better state.

As always, it was still dark outside, and Castiel looked at the desert street while he cleaned the windows. He liked these quiet moments, early in the morning, when he could meditate while cleaning the diner. He wondered if Dean had slept the whole night or if he would be coming early to chat, like he frequently did.

He couldn't take the image of dream-Dean in pain from his mind. Suddenly he became very anxious to see him, to know if he was alright.

He started to work and lost track of time, so when Missouri arrived with the pastries and fruits, everything was already clean. The day went on as always. Between customers, coffee pots, spilled drinks and dirty plates and glasses, Castiel almost forgot that Dean hadn't come. Almost, because Dean was always in his thoughts. But Castiel didn't worry, because it was Saturday, and Dean surely had better things to do that to go to the diner to chat with Castiel.

He was probably spending some time with his family.

But at 11 P.M., when the last client left, Castiel started to worry again. If he had Dean's number, he would call him, just to know if everything was alright. But he didn't, and he wouldn't dare to ask Missouri. The knowing looks she'd been throwing at him and Dean together were at least unsettling, and even if Castiel didn't understand their reason, they made him feel… exposed, in a way he hadn't felt before. As if the older woman knew something Castiel didn't.

The problem, Castiel realized, was that he missed Dean. And he wanted to see him.

Maybe Dean had gotten upset with the way Castiel had left on Friday? He knew he hadn't said a proper goodbye – he wasn't good at social interactions, after all. But the whole Bella subject had left him without knowing what to do, and Castiel had felt the need to seek solitude and think.

Maybe he hadn't been very polite. Maybe Dean thought he hadn't enjoyed the non-date.

Interacting with people was so confusing sometimes.

After closing the diner, late at night, Castiel decided to go for a walk. The night wasn't cold and he needed to think, to find a solution to his predicament. Why were things happening so fast? He was not ready for everything spinning out of control, and he hoped it never would.

He crossed the street beside the Walmart, without paying too much attention to where his feet were taking him. But Castiel didn't believe in coincidences, so it wasn't a surprise when he realized where he was going.

In front of his house, Dean was sitting on the hood of the Impala with a beer in his hands. He was looking at the stars, and he didn't look very happy. Castile wondered if something had happened with his brother or his mother. Or even his father. John Winchester was a touchy topic for Dean.

"Dean?" He asked, approaching the man slowly.

Dean neither looked at him nor showed surprise for hearing his voice. He kept his gaze in the stars, but sat straight and moved to the side, leaving a space beside him. "Hey, Cas," he said. "Grab a seat."

It took Castiel a few seconds to understand, but he went to where Dean was and situated himself on the hood of the Impala, beside the man.

"Why are you here?" Dean asked.

"I…" Castiel hesitated. "I don't know." He honestly didn't.
"I didn't see you today."

"Well, I wasn't sure you wanted to see me," Dean said icily. "You left in a hurry yesterday."

Castiel nodded, even though Dean still wasn't looking at him. "I know. I… I'm sorry, Dean."

"Okay, what the hell was that last night?" And Dean went straight to the point, finally looking at Castiel with a sour expression that made Castiel feel a pang inside. Dean was upset, it seemed.

"I'm sorry," Castiel said again, at a loss of how to explain. He couldn't tell Dean the truth, even if he wanted to, and that left him without much to say. "I have no explanation or excuse. I know I left in a hurry and – "

"It wasn't that," Dean cut. "It was the face you made, like you were in pain, man. What the fuck? Like you were… shit, I don't know, but the word 'disgusted' fits too well. Now man up and tell me why did you practically ran away from me when we started talking about Bella."

Castiel looked down. He really had been in pain, but he couldn't tell Dean that, could he? "I don't know," he said softly. I just...It didn't seem right to want a married woman."

"And you're a prude, since when?" Dean asked. "Fuck, Cas, I didn't… not even when I was drunk. And I owe you no explanation, man, so don't you dare judging me."

"I'm not judging you, Dean," Castiel put his hand on Dean's knee without realizing, and when Dean looked at it pointedly, he took it off slowly, awkwardly. "It's not my place to say what you should and shouldn't do," he finished.

"Damn right it's not!" Dean snapped.

"I… I worry about you, that's all." That was the closest from the truth Castiel could go. He did worry about Dean. In fact, he did nothing but worry about Dean.

"Well, thank you, but I've been taking care of myself since Dad left. Don't need anyone to do it for me."

Castiel didn't say anything. Thinking about Friday night, Castiel had the impression that Dean was overreaction a bit. Sure, he had practically fled the car, but was it reason enough for Dean to be so angry with him? Certainly no. But he couldn't ask, could he? As he couldn't explain why he felt so lost because Dean was displeased with him.

"I better be going," he said, almost to himself. He started to get up, but Dean put a hand on his wrist.

"Wait," Dean said, softly. "It's not all you, really. I mean, I'm a little mad, but there's a lot of shit going on at home, and – shit, grab a beer and let's just stay here, 'kay?"

Castiel felt the loss of Dean's hand on his wrist, but accepted with a nod the beer Dean took of from the cooler under his feet. And then, everything fell into place, with Dean and Castiel silently looking at the stars, drinking beer, sitting on the hood of the Impala on a summer night. Not saying a word for a long time, but feeling at peace.

THEN

Lawrence, Kansas, April 2013

Every Tuesday morning, Dean and Sam went to Missouri's diner to have breakfast. They both got up really early and, along with their mother, Mary, went to the wholesale next town to get her flowers supply. Then, they arranged everything in the deposit at the back of the shop and Mary and Becky, her employee, started arranging the flowers in vases.

They'd been doing this since they could remember. Now, both had their own careers – Dean as a mechanic specialized in restoring antique cars, and Sam just fresh out of law school – but they still went every Tuesday to the wholesale with Mary.

As they crossed the street that separated their mother's flower shop from the diner, Dean saw Cas through the glass door. He had his back to them, and appeared to be calmily sweeping the floor. He had the ridiculous yellow apron the diner's employers used, and black pants.

Cas turned his head when they opened the door, the bell above it announcing their arrival. He smiled at Dean, and, okay, Dean must be really hungry, because his stomach did a flip-flop. Of course, he must be hungry, he'd only had three of Sam's tasteless granola bars on the way back to the flower shop. And a bag of Ruffles, another of beef jerky and a can of soda.

He approached Cas, pulling Sam by the arm. "Hey, Cas," he said, "How's it going?"

Cas gave a half shrug. "Uneventful," he said, still holding the broom and looking at Sam expectantly.

"This is my baby brother Sam," Dean introduced.

"I know," Cas said.

"You know? How?" Dean frowned.

"I – I mean, Missouri talks a lot about you," Cas said to Sam. "And so does Dean." He extended his hand to Sam. "I'm Castiel."

"Hey," Sam said, shaking Cas' hand firmly. "I heard you saved my moronic brother's life," he said, smiling. "Thanks a lot, man. Dean is an asshole but Mom and I would miss him."

"That was nothing," Cas replied seriously. "I was merely in the right place at the right time."

"According to Dean, you have, like, superpowers or something, because you appeared out of nowhere, just to save him, damsel-in-distress style."

Okay, that was it. Dean slapped Sam's arm, maybe a little harder than he intended. "Shut up, bitch."

"Ow!" Sam recoiled. "You see? He's a jerk. But thanks again. Really."

"It was nothing," Cas said again, seeming embarrassed by the praise. "Will you have breakfast today?" he asked, changing the topic – it seemed he was a specialist at that.

"Yep," Dean said, sitting at the nearby table. "I'll want – "

"Black coffee, two teaspoons of sugar, no cream. Pancakes with corn syrup, eggs and bacon, corn bread," Cas finished for him.

Dean looked at him in awe. "Man, how do you know that?"

"Because you are predictable, man," Sam said, sitting down too, looking disgusted at the amount of food Dean would eat. "I'll have a latte, no sugar. Also, whole toast and eggs over-easy."

"Alright, I'll be back in a minute."

Cas turned to go, but he seemed to remember something. "Today's special is blueberry pie. Do you want me to bring you a slice?"

Dean felt a big smile coming to his lips. "Man, you're awesome. Bring it on!"

Cas smiled too and for one or two heartbeats, no one moved. Dean and Cas kept staring at each other and Sam kept staring at them, dumbfounded.

"I… I'll just…"Cas said, looking down and clearing his throat. "I'll just, um, go and get your orders."

Dean and Sam went silent for a few seconds, Dean still thinking about the glorious blueberry pie he would be having – Missouri was great at baking – and Sam doing whatever Sasquatch brothers did to pass the time.

"He seems to be a great guy," Sam commented.

"Yeah," Dean said. "He's nice. A little weird, but nice."

Sam frowned. "What happened to 'he's a wacko who'll probably murder Missouri and run away in the middle of the night with her money and her china doll collection'?"

Dean shrugged. "Nothing. But hey, the guy saved my life, so I guess he's not that bad, uh?"

"And that staring contest, what was that?" Sam teased.

Dean was used to Sam's teasing. His brother had never said anything bad about Dean's bisexuality; he knew Sam got his back in everything he did. But Sam always teased him whenever he had the chance; especially if good-looking guys were involved.

"What staring contest?" Feigning innocence, Dean kicked his brother's shin under the table.

"Ow! Again!" Sam complained. "What's with you today, jerk?"

"I just don't want Cas to know we're talking about him. And there was no staring contest, so shut the fuck up." Dean whispered.

"Here are your beverages, gentlemen." Cas arrived with Dean's coffee and Sam's latte, making Dean almost jump from his seat. Thankfully, he didn't seem to have listened their conversation.

"Uh, thanks, Cas." Dean said with a nod, trying to look serious but not too much.

"Victor will bring your food soon. I'll accompany Missouri to the market today," Cas said, putting Dean's coffee in front of him; then he looked at Sam with a soft smile. "It was a pleasure to meet you, Sam," and to Dean, "See you later?"

"Me too, Cas," Sam said.

"Sure, see you around," Dean answered, feeling Sam's eyes on him.

Sam muffled a laugh. "See you later? Yeah, right. Like I believe you. But you have to agree that it's strange that the guy turned from 'I don't trust him, he should go' to 'he's a great guy' overnight."

"It was not overnight. We've been talking lately. You know I go on my early morning walks – "

"That's more 'in the middle of the night' walks, Dean," Sam interrupted.

"Fine. But you know, he's already up by four, five A.M. And, I don't know, I always end up here and we talk."

"Every day?" Sam asked in disbelief.

"No, no! Of course not!" Dean hurried to say. "Not every day. Um, well, not on Sundays, because the diner is closed until lunch time."

"Every freakin 'day?!" Sam said loud, then looked around, laughing a little. "No one's looking, relax. So, when are you going to ask him out?"

Dean almost choked on his coffee. "Are you insane?" He shook his head vehemently. "It's not like that. At all. Can't a guy have a friend, for Christ sake?"

"A guy can," Sam sipped his latte. "You, on the other hand… come on, Dean, you are practically a hermit! How many friends you have besides our extended family?"

Dean scratched his neck. "Victor!" he said triumphantly.

"Victor doesn't count. He is Missouri's nephew, therefore, a member of our extended family."

"Benny?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "That was in college, moron. It doesn't count."

"I give up," Dean said, because he couldn't think of anyone else. Besides their extended family, Dean only interacted with his clients and a hook up here and there.

Sam sobered. "All I'm saying is, you should go for it. The guy seems to like you enough, judging by the stares and the smiles. And," Sam added, "He didn't take his eyes from here. "

Dean shook his head. "You're delusional, Sammy. Delusional."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Denial, denial, your name is Dean Winchester."

"Shut up, bitch."

"Jerk.

NOW

Lawrence, Kansas, July 2013

Castiel was torn. Should he go with the blur button-down or the black one? Missouri said the blue brought out his eyes, and Victor said the black one was classy. And he only had these two options, because his brother hadn't thought about his social life when he bought these clothes.

Not that any of them imagined Castiel would have a social life.

Or another date. With Dean.

It was another non-date. Dean had asked if Castiel had seen the new Star Trek movie, and Castiel hadn't, so dean invited him. Simple as that. Castiel didn't have the heart to say that he had no idea what Star Trek was, so he doubted he would understand the movie. But he accepted anyway. Saying no didn't even cross his mind. Missouri had given him the night off again. She was a great woman.

The film was at nine, but at eight Castiel was already anxious. He didn't want to examine why he was anxious too closely. It certainly wasn't because of the movie – he had asked Missouri and she'd said it was some science fiction thing. Lately, Dean's proximity was making Castiel feel things. Strange, new things.

It wasn't the protectiveness from before. The need to protect Dean was still there, of course; but now, every time Dean touched his arm or shoulder, or every time Dean smiled, Castiel felt a tingling on his skin. That was new to him. It seemed to Castiel that his feelings towards Dean were changing, but to what, he couldn't say. He had no base for comparison, since he had never interacted with someone for so long. And it was not as if he could ask the people he knew.

To pass the time, he started to clean his small room, then decided to rearrange his clothes in the wardrobe. Just so he could stop thinking about Dean. So, when Dean arrived to pick him up, he was still buttoning his shirt – the blue one – and didn't have much time to comb his hair properly. Not that combing it too much would help his rebellious hair, but he still made an effort every morning, anyway.

They were still a little tentative around each other. Dean had said he had big problems at home, and Castiel didn't want to pry. Dean did seem more tense than usual So when Dean asked him to go to the movies, Castiel was pleasantly surprised. Maybe going out was just what Dean needed to clear his head, so Castiel would gladly accompany him.

Dean was waiting inside the diner, talking to Gordon and, as Castiel approached him, Dean smiled in greeting. Castiel's stomach did that funny thing again, but he tried not to pay attention. They were already a little bit late.

The movie theatre was in walking distance from the diner, so Dean left the Impala parked in front of Mary's flower shop. The summer night was beautiful and the street was quiet. They started walking side by side, Castiel's hands on his pockets.

"You're gonna love the film, Cas," Dean said, a hand on Castiel's shoulder. "Sammy saw it with his girlfriend and he spent the whole weekend talking about it."

"How is he? I haven't seen him lately."

"Oh, he's looking for a job. Putting his CV together, apparently, is harder than he thought. Maybe it's because he has so many things to write on it, the freakin' nerd."

"Dean?" they heard a grave voice from behind.

They turned together, and Dean's face went suddenly very pale.

"Dad?" he said in disbelief.

"I need to talk with you," the man, John Winchester, said. "In private."

Castiel opened his mouth to say he would wait for Dean back at the diner, but Dean put a halting hand on his arm. "No way. Cas will stay. You say what you have to say now, 'cause I don't think you'll get another chance."

"But your friend – " John started.

"Is exactly that: my friend. You can say whatever you want in front of him."

John eyes Castiel suspiciously, but started talking. "I called your mother today," he said. "I've been calling her these past weeks."

"No shit," Dean snorted. "You think I don't know? You think Sam and I didn't notice her red, puffy eyes in the morning? She's been crying at night, when we're not there to see. But we notice anyway."

"It's not my intention to upset her," John said, and to Castiel, he seemed genuinely sad.

"Really? So stop calling," Dean's angry voice trembled a little. "What do you want from her anyway?"

"To talk!" John almost shouted. "I can talk to my wife whenever I want!"

"Ex-wife, Dad. Ex-wife, because you fucking cheated on her!"

"It was a mistake, Dean. Everybody makes mistakes!"

"Don't pretend to be dumb, Dad. You know what you did was way more than a little mistake."

"Dean, I miss her," John said, running his hands through his hair nervously. "I miss having a family. I miss having a home, someone to return to every night!"

Dean's eyes were getting red, but Castiel suspected it was more anger than sadness. He backed away from father and son, trying to give them a little bit of privacy, but not wanting to leave, since Dean had asked him to stay.

"You had all of these things, Dad!" Dean shouted. "And you threw everything away! Don't play the victim here! You had a nice life, a wife that adored you, two sons that – " Dean took a deep breath. "You know what, I'm not having this conversation anymore."

Dean started to walk in Castiel's direction, but John's strong grip turned him around.

"Don't turn your back on me, boy!" he shouted. "I'm still your father!"

"You lost that right a long time ago," Dean said, his face showing all the disgust he felt. "You left twenty-four years ago, Dad. How many times you came to visit Sam and I? How many times? Two? Three? And now you want to pull the "I'm your father" card on me? Really? Forget it. You fucked up a long time ago: deal with it. Deal with your shit and the consequences if it!"

"All right!" John shouted, and his face was so red that Castiel was afraid the man was going to have a stroke. "I fucked up! I admit! But give me one thing, one reason why I shouldn't have a second chance! Everyone deserves one! Your mother still loves me, I know she does! Why can't I have a second chance, Dean?"

Dean's expression turned as cold as ice. "Because you had an affair with the fucking neighbor under Mom's nose. Because you knocked her up at the same time Mom got pregnant with Sam. Because you have another son, called Adam, who has Sam's age, and who still lives in Lawrence. Because you not only cheated on her, you lied to her, you had a son with another woman, and the more I think of it, the more I can't find any reason to forgive you. You are a liar who couldn't keep your fucking dick in your fucking pants."

The slap made Castiel flinch. Dean, on the other hand, didn't move a muscle for a while. John's face became even redder, but he backed away from Dean one or two steps, breathing heavily.

Slowly, Dean's hand went to his own face, the imprint of his father's hand already visible, even in the streetlight. He gave a step toward John. Raising a finger, he put it practically on his father's nose. "You stay away from me, your son of a bitch," and he shoved his father hard, both hands on John's shoulder. John fell on the ground, on his ass, and looked at Dean with an astonished expression.

Dean started walking away. "Let's go, Cas," he said. Under the streetlamp, he kicked a trashcan, spilling its content everywhere. "Leave this asshole on the ground, where he belongs."

Castiel couldn't breath. Leaning against the wall, the pain inside his chest was so great that, for a second, he thought he was going to faint. But he didn't and he took a deep breath to steady himself.

"Come on, Cas!" Dean called, impatient, from the other side of the street. He turned around and started walking again, not waiting for Castiel.

Looking at John, who hadn't still gotten up, but seemed fine, Castiel started walking, slowly following Dean with a heavy heart; there was a sense of foreboding growing inside him. In his mind, he kept hearing the same sentence over and over:

You shall honor your father and your mother.

Before he turned the corner, with Dean way ahead of him, Castiel risked a look at John Winchester again.

He was still sitting on the sidewalk where he fell.

But he was smiling.

And his eyes were red.