Title: The Trenchcoat Avenger of Truman High
Author: rons_pigwidgeon
Pairing: Dean Winchester/Castiel
Rating: NC17
Warnings: Masturbation, Underage Drinking, Phone Sex, Anal Fingering, Anal Plug, Sex Toys, Blow Jobs in a Car, Car Sex, Sex in the Impala, Bathroom Sex, Hand Jobs, light dom/sub play, Homophobic Language, Homophobia, Homophobic language (way to be a dick, John)
Chapter Summary: Castiel visits Idaho Falls. Meeting John Winchester goes about as expected. The rest is fine. Until it's not.
Author's Note: This chapter kicked my ass for a number of reasons. I'm sorry it's taken so long. Life has been keeping me very, very busy lately, and fanfic just hasn't been the priority.
Be aware that the end of this chapter is going to hurt. A lot. I'm not sorry, though. I've had it written for about a year now, and it's necessary. Canon had to raise its ugly head sometime. Most of you probably expected it. Also, there's a time gap between the rest of the chapter and the last scene. I hope it's obviously within the scene, but in case anyone gets confused, thought I'd give you a heads-up.
The drive was long and exhausting, and if Castiel had not been so desperate to see Dean as soon as possible, he would have broken it up into two days, rather than driving straight through. He stops in at the motel to check in and drop his bag off before making his way to the address Sam had texted him. They're staying in a dilapidated apartment complex on what is obviously the bad side of Idaho Falls. If he hadn't lived three years on the south side of Chicago, he might have been worried. As it is, he goes up to the door without hesitation and pushes the button for the apartment number he got from Sam. A gruff voice he doesn't recognize answers.
"Hello, I'm looking for Dean Winchester. Is he available?" Cas asks, assuming this is John Winchester.
"Who is this?"
"Castiel Novak. Dean and Sam are both expecting me."
There is a soft curse, then a louder shout for Sam to come to the door. Castiel waits patiently. He isn't leaving the apartment building without seeing Dean, regardless of what his father has to say on the matter. His patience pays off with a loud buzz, accompanied by the unlocking of the front door. He lets himself in and makes his way to the apartment, where Sam is standing in the doorway with a wide smile. Castiel is momentarily thrown off by how tall Sam has gotten. He's at least half a head taller than Castiel now, though still as skinny as he's always been.
"Hey Cas," Sam says, "good to see you. You look exhausted, man."
Castiel accepts the half-hug Sam offers. "I drove straight through. I wanted to see Dean. How is he?"
"I'm about ready to kill him."
"Is he being difficult?"
"You have no idea. Come on, he's in the living room." Sam holds the door wide for him, and he steps inside.
The apartment is small and in obvious disrepair, but Castiel is able to ignore it upon laying eyes on Dean, sprawled across the couch with his right leg propped up across the cushions. The cast goes all the way up his thigh, ending just below his groin, a row of pins sticking out of it. There's a pair of crutches laying across the floor next to the couch. Dean looks up as Castiel steps inside, pinning Cas with his eyes. Seeing the injury brings back all the frustration and anger with Dean he had felt when he first found out about the injury from Sam a month ago. He sets his teeth and walks over.
"Hello, Dean."
"Hey, Cas." Dean glances towards the kitchen, alerting Castiel to the man leaning against the counter with a glass of dark liquid in one hand.
"Mr. Winchester," Castiel greets him, putting his feelings for Dean, as well as his general dislike of John Winchester, aside to do the polite thing and introduce himself. He walks over to extend a hand to the man, taking the opportunity to size him up, look for any similarities to Dean. He is met with Dean's eyes, darker with distaste, but his eyes none the same. Castiel is momentarily taken aback by them. "I'm Castiel Novak. I hope you don't mind my visiting your sons."
John stares at Castiel's extended hand for a long moment before finally taking it and squeezing it harder than strictly necessary. Castiel gives as good as he gets. "Dean didn't mention you were coming."
"I apologize for his ill manners. I made sure to get a motel room so that I wouldn't impose, but I hope you don't mind my being here during the day for the next week."
John looks like he might protest, but Castiel stands his ground. "I drove twenty-two hours straight to get here."
John considers this, eyes narrowed on Cas. Finally, he shrugs. "I guess it's fine. You're sleeping at the motel?"
"Yes."
"Fine. I'm leaving in the morning anyway."
"Oh? I'm sorry to hear that," he lies, glancing away. John snorts and walks off toward a hallway that must lead to the bedrooms, lifting his glass to his lips.
Castiel decides not to give the man any more of his time and goes to the couch. Dean tries to lift his leg off the couch, but Castiel stops him, helping him lift it only far enough so that he can sit underneath Dean's knee, resting it gently over his lap. "How are you feeling?" he asks.
"How do you think?" Dean asks back, scowling. It fades under Cas' stare and he settles a little, sighing. "My pain meds quit working twenty minutes ago and the Med Nazi won't let me have any more for another half an hour." Dean glares in Sam's direction, who glares right back.
"You're gonna become dependent if you don't watch it. You wanna be an Oxy addict?"
"I want you to mind your fuckin' business," Dean snaps back.
"You're brother has a point, Dean. Those medications can be highly addictive."
Dean groans. "Not you, too. I thought you'd be on my side. Can't you see I'm in pain?"
"I just drove twenty-two hours for you. Do I look particularly sympathetic at the moment?" Castiel squints his eyes at him.
"Of course not. Shoulda known you'd be on Sam's side."
Castiel rolls his eyes. "I'm on your side, Dean. I'm always on your side. Your side just happens to currently be in pain and not thinking straight."
Dean grumbles, but he doesn't argue further. Instead, he glances behind the couch—possibly checking for his father—and reaches over to touch Cas' hair, running his fingers through it. "You look like a raccoon, babe."
"I drove straight through. I didn't want to miss any time with you." Dean rolls his eyes, but he pulls Cas in for a soft kiss anyway, glancing behind himself again when they pull away. Castiel looks to Sam, spilling out of a threadbare armchair at a right angle to them. He has his eyes averted, but he doesn't look uncomfortable about it. "I wasn't expecting to be greeted by a Titan when I came to the door. You've grown quite a bit since the last time I saw you, Sam."
Sam laughs, rubs the back of his neck, a fine pink tinging his cheeks. "Yeah, I finally hit a growth spurt."
"He's a fuckin' giant. Not fair."
Castiel leans closer to Dean, silently laughing at the indignation on his face. "You're not short yourself, Dean, even lying down."
Dean shoots him a look. "Look at him," is all he offers, waving a hand in Sam's direction.
"I'm happy for you, Sam. You look well."
"Thanks, Cas. You, too. Dean's right, though. You look like you need a good night's sleep."
"I'll be fine. I just got here."
"And you're gonna be here a week," Dean says, poking Cas in the shoulder. "Come on, let's get you to that motel. I'll even come with you."
"You'll do no such thing. You shouldn't be getting in and out of cars, Dean. It'll only prolong your healing."
Dean snorts. "What, now you're an expert on broken legs?"
"I'm an expert on yours. I did a lot of reading these last few weeks."
"Dude, you are such a nerd," Dean snorts again, shaking his head.
Castiel narrows his eyes at him. "Someone has to know how to take care of you. You do a horrible enough job of it yourself."
"That's not true—" One look from Cas cuts that line of protest off. Dean sighs and pushes at Castiel's shoulder without much force. "Go get some sleep. Apparently I'm not going anywhere any time soon."
Castiel capitulates, but only because he is truly exhausted. He slips out from under Dean's leg, careful not to jostle it, and leans over to give him a kiss. "You're right. I'll see you in the morning?"
"Yeah, Cas. Come by whenever you're awake. I'll get Sammy to make us breakfast."
"Hey!" Sam stands in protest.
"I'll make breakfast, don't worry, Sam. I've been informed that you regularly burn toast."
Sam deflates, sighing in relief. "Thanks."
Castiel gives Dean one more kiss, unable to help himself. He's still annoyed with Dean, both for getting injured and for the way he handled it afterwards, but there is no way to resist the pathetic picture he makes laying prone on the couch. There is no re-appearance of John Winchester, but Sam follows him out to the front of the building, looking a little nervous. "You didn't have to walk me down, Sam. I live in a much worse area of Chicago than this."
"I uh…. You said if I wrote a few samples for the college applications that you'd look at them while you're here? I wasn't sure I'd have another chance to give them to you without Dean seeing." He pulls a folded sheaf of papers out of his back pocket and hands them over, blushing.
Castiel takes them, a little confused until he remembers his email. He rubs at his eyes and nods. "Yes, I'll look at them in the morning if I can. Is it all right if I write on them?"
Sam nods quickly. "Yeah, totally. Whatever you think they need." He hesitates, sticking his hands in his pockets. "Please don't worry about hurting my feelings or anything. I'd rather get accepted than be right."
"Of course, Sam. I told you I would do what I can to help you and I meant it. Make sure that Dean gets some sleep tonight, please. He looks almost as tired as I feel, though he hides it better."
"No problem. Drive safe, 'kay?"
"Never fear. I am nothing if not a cautious driver." And cautious he is. It takes him twenty minutes longer to get back to the motel than it did to get to the apartment. He's asleep before his head hits the pillow.
/
When Castiel arrives the next morning, John is preparing his duffel to leave. Castiel gives him a wide birth as he begins poking in the refrigerator for things to make breakfast. Sam helps when he can, but Dean hadn't been lying when he said Sam is a hopeless cook. It becomes clear to Castiel almost immediately that Sam can't do much beyond putting cereal in a bowl and covering it in milk. Dean sits at the kitchen table with his leg propped on a chair and watches them, giving Cas the occasional instruction on how he likes his eggs cooked.
"How would you feel about going grocery shopping later? I want to make you both dinner," Castiel asks as he hands Sam off the plate of bacon to be put on the table.
"I thought I wasn't allowed to get in cars, might prolong my healing."
Castiel turns from the stove to squint at Dean. "I was talking to Sam, but in the light of day, you'd don't look as bad as I thought. You can come, if you really want to hobble around on those crutches."
"Hell yeah. I'm so tired of being in this freakin' house." Dean's expression matches his declaration. He steals two strips of bacon and shoves them in his mouth, but even that isn't enough to smooth his annoyance with being stuck inside.
"I'm leavin'. You know the drill," John announces, stepping into the kitchen, pointing at Dean to make it clear he's talking to him. Dean nods, eyes darting to the floor.
"Cas made breakfast," Sam says, holding the bacon higher as if in offering.
John glances at it with a look of disgust and shakes his head. "I'll eat on the road," is his gruff reply, said over his shoulder as he walks away from them. Sam looks like he might say more, but Dean holds a hand to his wrist with a look Cas can't read. A moment later they are alone in the apartment, and a weight slides off Castiel's shoulders. He is angered to see both Sam and Dean's shoulders also relax.
"Sam, can you get the plates, please," Castiel asks, turning back to the stove to plate the eggs and turn off the fire.
An hour later, they're in the grocery store with a cart already partially full of groceries. Dean bumps into the third display with his crutches and starts cursing too loudly for a public space. Castiel glares at him over the carton of eggs. "Watch your language. We're in public."
"Since when do you care about me cursing?" Dean grumbles.
"I don't, but the mother the next aisle over probably does."
Dean rolls his eyes and tries to maneuver past the cart, but Castiel catches him by the shoulder before he can. "You're being an ass. Stop."
Dean glares at him. "You try walking around with throbbing pain in your leg."
"You could have stayed home. Sam and I are more than capable of buying groceries without you."
"I wasn't bein' left behind like a loser."
Castiel gives him a withering look. "Stop being a baby and go get three packets of yeast. They're up there." He points down the aisle to where the yeast and other bread-making supplies are sitting. He waits until Dean is moving to step away and pick up a bag of bread flour. Sam pops up with the tomato paste, three ripe tomatoes in a plastic bag, an onion, two cloves of garlic, and the spaghetti noodles. He sets them in the cart while smirking down the aisle at Dean, cursing under his breath as he reaches for the top shelf.
"What, Sam?" Castiel asks.
"Nothing. What else can I get?"
"Eggs and milk? Oh, and Parmesan cheese." Sam nods and goes off in the opposite direction. Dean comes back still grumbling and puts the yeast in the cart. He stops when he notices Castiel staring at him.
"What?"
"Nothing. Let's go find Sam and check out." He pulls the cart around and starts heading in the direction of the dairy aisle. The squeak of rubber on linoleum tells him Dean is following.
"Can we get pie?"
"Can you stop acting like a dick?"
"You like my dick."
"Not the time for flirting, Winchester."
Dean sighs in a loud, obnoxious way. "Fine."
Castiel turns to face him and pecks his lips, surprising him. "Thank you. Why don't you go pick one out at the bakery, and Sam and I will meet you?"
"'Kay," Dean says, eyes focused on Cas' lips. Castiel gently turns him around and gives him a little push in the right direction. He finds Sam in the dairy aisle. By the time they get to the bakery, Dean has a pie in each hand and a struggle on his face.
"Blueberry or Cherry?"
Cas tilts his head, peering at Dean, wondering how he could possibly be in love with someone who can't make a simple decision. He takes the cherry box out of Dean's hand and puts it in the cart, then takes the other and puts it back on the shelf. "Let's get you home. It's almost time for your next pill." Dean looks longingly back at the blueberry pie, but turns when Cas gives him another look and follows to the register.
/
The sound of the front door closing is like the sound of the bell tolling midnight on New Year's Eve. Dean is pulling Cas closer immediately after and kissing him, hard and fast. "God, I thought he'd never leave," he says between kisses. Cas laughs and situates himself on Dean's lap, careful to put all his weight on Dean's uninjured leg. Hands slide under his t-shirt, tracing over his spine. It's on the floor a moment later, followed quickly by Dean's.
"Are you sure he won't be back?"
"He's got a thing for the chick he's teaching. We've got a couple hours at least." Dean traces his lips up Cas' throat, over the rim of his ear. "Why? You wanna stop?" He nips at Cas' cheek, his smile pressed against Cas' skin.
Cas snorts and pushes Dean sideways onto his back, climbing on top of him. "Shut up, Winchester." He gets a smirk in response as Dean makes himself comfortable, pulling a pillow behind his head. Castiel begins trailing kisses down his chest, tickling at his armpit enough to make him squirm and try to pull back. Cas doesn't let him, relentless until Dean is thrashing and cursing at him, trying not to laugh. He relents with a glint of his eye as he plucks at the band of gray sweatpants. Dean settles, watching. He has to maneuver around the leg, careful not to bother it and cause Dean pain that might deflate the tent he is currently hovering over.
"You gonna do something down there, or are you just visiting?" Dean asks with a raised eyebrow.
"I'm enjoying the view. I don't get to see this very often." Cas brushes his fingertips over the lump, enjoying the way it twitches under his touch. He pulls the fabric down with deliberate slowness, releasing Dean's cock centimeter by torturous centimeter until it bobs up in front of his face, bisecting his view of Dean. He doesn't move to touch it right away, waiting until Dean starts to squirm again and make impatient huffing noises. He licks up the underside, kitten licks that do more to infuriate Dean than pleasure him. It's hard to hide his grin at the groans of frustration, but he ducks his head, breathing over the soft skin. Dean curses under his breath and shifts, but then he winces and Cas pulls away, alert. "Are you okay?"
"Fine, babe. Fucking get on with it. You're making me crazy."
"Am I?" Cas licks at the head with a wicked grin.
"Goddamnit…" Dean slams his head back against the pillow, muttering. Cas decides he's been tortured enough and wraps his lips around the head, sliding down until it just brushed his throat. Dean curses louder, jutting his hips up, but his pleasure quickly morphs to pain. "Fuck, shit, bad move," he says, grabbing onto the edge of his cast as though that might help ease the pain he's caused himself. Castiel lets go of his penis with a pop to massages the skin just above the cast.
"Maybe we should wait until you're better…"
"Shut up and get back to it, Cas. My fucking leg can fuck off." The growl in Dean's voice is almost arousing, but concern still swirls in Cas' mind. He goes cautiously back to his task, watching Dean for signs of distress. It isn't long before they're both able to relax again, Cas beginning to bob his head as Dean moans, digs his fingers in Cas' hair. He can feel Dean tensing, getting closer, but Dean has other ideas. He taps against Cas' ear, alerting him again. "Get up," he says, pushing at what he can reach of Castiel's shoulders. Castiel complies, confused.
Dean scoots down, sitting up to pull on Cas' jeans, unfastening them and pulling them and his underwear down. His abdominal muscles flex with the effort, entrancing Cas, who wants nothing more than to climb back over him and lick them. Once his jeans are at his feet, he steps out of them as directed. Dean stretches out again, patting the couch above his head in a confusing gesture. Castiel stays standing. "I don't…"
"Sit on my face. I wanna lick your ass."
"That sounds uncomfortable for you…"
"Just do it. It'll be awesome, I promise." Castiel does as instructed, gingerly straddling Dean's head, careful not to kneel on his hair. Dean's hands on his hips guide him to where Dean wants him, and the first lick of his hot tongue against Cas' hole makes him whine in pleasure. He's so distracted with how good it feels that he isn't even embarrassed by the noise. Dean seals his lips over the pucker and sucks, his tongue flicking over it in little fluttering motions that make Cas's breathing speed up.
"Oh…" he gasps, grabbing onto the couch back for balance. He looks down over Dean's sprawled body, his leg propped up on the arm of the couch, focuses on the swollen, pink head of his cock. He wants to taste it again, wants to feel Dean shudder under him as he comes. He leans over, testing. Dean's mouth follows his movement, never losing contact. It's actually easier this way, bracing his elbows next to Dean's hips, using his hands to lift the shaft just enough to make sucking it down effortless. Dean's fingers clench on his skin, a moan audible over the sound of his slurping. Cas grins and goes back to work, stopping only for the brief moments the pleasure of Dean's tongue becomes too much.
Fingers join the tongue, teasing, pressing inside. When Dean brushes his prostate, he has to pull off to take a breath, losing his balance for a moment and resting his cheek on Dean's stomach. "Dean…" he whines, unable to help himself. Dean buries his fingers deeper, presses harder. Cas Lifts his head up, determined to make Dean come before he does. It becomes a competition, each of them merciless in their task.
Dean breaks first, a sharp breath and trembling limbs hailing Cas' victory. He swallows his prize down with a triumphant grin, but he's quickly distracted by the press of four fingers against his prostate and finds himself clutching onto Dean's good leg for support as he falls into his own orgasm. He lays against Dean for a few minutes, collecting himself, listening to Dean's ragged breathing above him. Dean slaps his ass lightly after a while, startling him. "Grab that blanket, will you? Don't want Sammy getting an eye-full."
Cas retrieves the blanket with a glare, but he is quickly soothed as Dean pulls him back down on top of him, making him straddle his hips this time, and pulls the blanket over the both of them. "Shouldn't I put my pants back on?" he asks, balancing a hand on Dean's shoulder.
Dean pulls him down with a grunt. "Nap now, pants later." He nuzzles into Cas' hair, already half-asleep. Cas settles against him, giving himself over to the warmth and the gentle stroking of Dean's fingers through his hair. "Missed this," Dean mumbles somewhere above his ear. Cas smiles, strokes a finger over Dean's bare chest.
"Me, too."
They wake up an hour later to a distressed cry from Sam and a slammed door. Dean laughs so hard he nearly topples them both off the couch.
/
Dean insists on clunking downstairs to check over the Fairmont as best he can with his leg before letting Castiel drive back home. As frustrating as it is, it gives Castiel a little time to speak with Sam out of earshot. "You know you can email me your revisions, right?" he asks, checking that Dean is preoccupied under the massive hood, checking some fluid or another.
"Yeah, I figured out how to do that last month. Are you sure what I gave you was okay?"
"There were a few minor issues, but you have a solid start and you're moving in the right direction. Do you know when they release this year's application?"
"Next month."
"And what about the recommendation letters?"
"I've got three teachers willing to help me out. Mr. Teague even said he'd help me fill out scholarship applications if we're still here in the fall."
"Do you think that likely?"
"No. Dean's already antsy, and I know Dad'll wanna get moving as soon as the cast is off."
"But Dean will have physical therapy, still."
Sam gives him a pointed look, and he sighs. It was probably too much to ask for to expect Dean to follow the doctor's orders. "He is going to be far less mobile than he thinks."
"He'll figure it out."
A slam of metal on metal so loud that it resembles a gunshot startles them both. Dean brushes his hands off with a scowl on his face, staring down the dusty hood. Castiel really should take it through a car wash, but he doesn't drive enough to remember to do it. He turns back to Sam with a twinge of regret, disappointed that they could not have more time together. "You know you can contact me any time you need help."
"Yeah, I got your number. Thanks again for not saying anything to Dean. He wouldn't take this well on a good day. With the leg…" He trails off, rubbing the back of his neck. Castiel nods in understanding and pulls him in for a hug, not caring that it isn't manly. "Good luck. I know you will have no trouble getting in wherever you want. Keep me updated on your progress."
"I will. Be careful driving back."
"I will." He pulls away and turns to join Dean, stepping into his personal space to enjoy what little more of his presence he has left. "Is it serviceable?"
"She'll do. You sure you gotta go so soon?"
"I have work on Monday, and I start my internship at the Newberry Library next Wednesday."
Dean scratches the back of his head. "Fine, be responsible." He props the crutches on hood on either side of Castiel and cups Cas' face in his hands. "You drive safe. We don't need two of us outta commission."
Castiel leans into his touch, fluttering his eyes shut at the touch. "I'll be fine. You know I'm a safe driver."
Dean presses forward, sealing their lips together. It's warm and rough and so, so good. Cas holds onto his waist for balance, letting himself be swept away for just a moment before pushing back, giving as much as he gets. "Yeah, I'm more worried about the assholes driving around you," Dean says as he pulls away, voice gruff with arousal.
"Don't worry so much. I made it here just fine." Castiel pulls him back in, concentrating on getting his lips back. Dean obliges, burying his fingers in Cas' hair and pushing their bodies together as they kiss. Eventually, they pull apart, unable to postpone the inevitable any longer. "I'm going to miss you."
"Me, too, babe."
"I don't want to hear from Sam that you've skipped out on your physical therapy. You have to promise me you'll go."
"What? Come on, Cas…"
"No, physical therapy is just as important to healing as having the cast. You want to be able to move the same way you could before, right?"
"Yeah, but…"
"No buts. You may be young, but you still need to take care of yourself. If not for yourself, then for me. I want you as athletic as possible. Understood?" He hopes the look he gives Dean is heated enough to convey his meaning.
Dean stutters and nods, his cheeks reddening just enough to show that he understands. "Yeah, I uh… yeah. I'll try the therapy thing."
"Thank you." He kisses Dean once more, chaste but hard. Dean's eyes are a little glassy when they pull back and his fingers are clutched in Cas' hair. "I'll call you when I stop for lunch."
"You do that. Be careful." He accompanies the repeated request with a press of his lips to Cas' forehead, leaving a warm imprint that still tingles even hours later. Castiel brushes a last hand up his stomach, kisses him one final time, resists the urge to tell him that he loves him.
"I'll talk to you soon." Dean lets him go with a nod and grabs the crutches, using them to hobble a few feet away, space enough to let Castiel round the car and get in. The last view he sees of Dean is his waving hand in the rear-view mirror.
/
Sammy looks nervous, but sort of excited, too. Weird. "What's up, Sammy? You look like you're about to lose your V-card."
"Dean," John scolds, shooting him a look across the table.
"I uh… I sort of have some news."
"Yeah? You meet a girl at that new school?" John asks, smiling.
Sam looks down at the papers in his hands, unsure. Dean's starting to think maybe they aren't the homework he'd thought they were. "No, but it is about school…"
"You aced that Trig test, didn't you?"
Sam smiles. "Yeah, but that's not it, either."
"Then, what is it, son? You're starting to worry me," John says, setting the gun barrel he'd been cleaning down and giving Sam his full attention. Dean pushes the shell reloader away to do the same.
"Well, you know how hard I've been working to keep my grades up and everything. I wasn't doing that just to do it. You know how badly I want to go to college—"
"And you know that's not gonna happen. Where am I supposed to get the money for college? And besides, you're a hunter. Hunters don't go to college. They hunt. Period."
"I don't want to be a hunter. I want to go to school. And you don't have to worry about where the money's coming from because I already found enough. I've been offered a full ride to Stanford University, and I'm going." He sets the papers down in front of John with a determined set to his jaw. Dean's stomach falls right to his shoes.
John takes the papers and looks through them, frowning. He's quiet, the kind of quiet that means bad things. Really bad things. After a few minutes, he puts the paperwork down and looks at Sam. "No," is all he says.
Sam snaps. "I'm going whether you like it or not. I'm eighteen. I can make my own life decisions."
"Really? Fine then. If you want to leave this family, go right ahead. But don't expect us to welcome you back when you get into trouble. You leave, you better stay gone."
"Fine, if that's how you want it, then I will. After I graduate, I'll leave and you won't ever have to see me again."
"Oh, you're just gonna abandon your family, then? Just like that? We mean so little to you, Sammy?" Dean asks, standing from his chair. He can't believe what he's hearing.
"It's not abandonment when you're thrown out, Dean!" Sam yells back. "All I want to do is go to college. Last I checked, that wasn't a crime!"
"You disloyal little shit!" Dean snaps back, balling his hand up to take a swing. He almost has his hand high enough when his dad's hands holding his arm back stop him.
"Dean, take a walk."
"What?! But he's the one who—" Dean cries out, turning in indignation at his father.
"Take a walk. Now."
Dean growls, clenching his fist, but he goes. He punches the opposite wall, his fist going straight through to the drywall. He pulls it out with a sigh and shakes out the shooting pains. His knuckles are on fire, but it's nothing to the shit storm inside his head. How the fuck is he supposed to take care of Sammy, watch out for him, if he's not with him? Had everything he's done for Sam meant nothing to his brother? He'd sacrificed everything for that kid, and he was just gonna leave? Fuck that.
He goes on his walk, trying not to think of all the ways he wants to beat the living hell out of his brother. He ends up in a bar, but he's too pissed to even flirt with the bartender, and she's all kinds of hot. He goes back to the motel after his third, intending to ignore everyone and just go to bed.
Sam's not in the room when he gets there, and Dean slams his fist on the nearest table in frustration. How was Sam supposed to earn enough money to live on his own and finish high school, too?
"He just went for a walk. Take a seat. We need to talk," John says, nudging the chair opposite him with his foot. Dean slumps into it without saying anything. "I know you're angry about Sammy, so am I, but he's not gone yet. We need to show him that his place is here with us. He's a hunter. We need to show that to him."
"How do we do that?"
"Bring him on more hunts with us. We've been letting him slack off because of school, but no more. He needs to be reminded of what's at stake here, of how much stronger we are as a unit."
"Okay," Dean agrees, nodding. He doesn't feel any conviction, though. At the moment, he doesn't feel a whole lot of anything except the anger still simmering in the back of his brain.
"What I want to know is how he did all this behind our backs. Did you have any hint of this?"
"No, nothing. I would have told you if I thought he was applying to schools. He hasn't said a word other than saying he wants to go."
"Well, then, what even made him think college was an option?"
Cas. Dean's stomach sinks at the thought. "I uh… I think I know where he got the idea." He pulls his phone from his pocket and hits Cas' speed dial number. Cas picks up on the second ring with his usual warm greeting, but it doesn't send the tingles down Dean's spine it normally does. "Hey, Cas, did you uh… has Sammy talked to you about Standford?"
"Yes, Dean. He asked me several months ago to assist in filling out applications and writing the necessary essays. He made me promise not to tell you, but it was hard. I know you're as proud of him as I am."
"Proud?" Dean clenches his jaw, closing his eyes to try and keep his calm. "Not exactly the word I'd use, Cas. Why didn't you tell me? Sammy's my responsibility, not yours. What gives you the right to just…" He punches the wall again because there's nothing else he can do to contain his rage. How dare Cas meddle in their business?
"Dean, calm down. I thought you would be pleased. Sam has a full scholarship to one of the finest universities in the country, if not the world. He has worked incredibly hard, and you should be very proud of him."
"Yeah well, I'm not. I can't believe you would do this to me. Jesus, Cas, I thought you…" He breaks off, unable to say it. He turns around, tugging at his hair.
"I don't understand why you're so angry, Dean."
"That's the problem, isn't it? I don't know why I ever thought we could work. This was a mistake."
"What are you saying, Dean? I don't understand." He sounds it, too, confused and a little frantic with worry.
"Lose my number, that's what I'm saying. We're done. Don't call me, and stay the FUCK away from Sam, do you understand me?"
"But Dean, please… I don't understand…I lo—" Dean hangs up before he can hear the rest and chucks the phone against the wall as hard as he can. It shatters into a hundred pieces, denting the wall on impact. Dean ignores it. He's shaking with rage. He turns, freezes at the look in John's eyes. Fuck.