It was rare, having a moment of relaxation. Dean hadn't had time to relax since his mother died. Always fighting, dying, worrying. But now that Jack was around, in his life— he had time to focus on him.
Dean remembered his first Prom, freshman year, and all the girls around the block wanted a piece of him. The music was jazzy 80s and rocking 90s. Nowadays, kids have phones, social media and FaceTime. There was no going out if it didn't mean private time in a relationship. So showing Jack the strings of how to be the normal he strived for.
Even if everyone in the team knew he wasn't ever going to be normal. That's what made him him.
So, Dean was raising Jack in the same place he grew up in. The same school, the same hallways. Same everything, just so he could live the best life he could. Treasure that last drop of innocence he had left before it got crushed by the monsters and reality.
"Is my hair okay?" Jack asked, hurried. He pulled himself out of the Impala, near inches from hitting the top.
Sam chuckled, patting his shoulder. "You're fine," he picked an invisible speck of lint off the boy's blue and white tux. It was more of a navy, but it wasn't completely black.
All Dean could do was breathe an impressive whistle. "Yeah, you're not going to have a single problem." He chuckled, "Chicks are gonna be all over you."
Sam elbowed his brother, with Castiel sprawling out of the car. Offering a small smile, "You look good, Jack."
If the nephilim beamed any harder, his face was going to contort into something horrifying.
"Okay okay! Game faces." His brows furrowed, a feeble attempt at Cas' signature face of angelic constipation.
"Go get em'," Dean said, patting Jack in the shoulder, prowling behind the strutting ball of energy. Maybe it was the kid's genetics, but the way he held himself made him look a million bucks. A confident, smart, adorable little Winchester.
His eyes scanned the floors, the hallways. Everything like he remembered it was. Minus the small changes, the new trophies, the new main office arrangements.
"Hey, I'm going to be in the car. Call if you need me," Sam shifted on a heel, prowling back and out of the school. Leaving the hunter and Angel alone to themselves.
Jack was in the GYM for the time being, closed off from the outside. Some parents were also basking in the nostalgia of their own glory days.
Dean's mind was enveloped within the walls, the classrooms. His hand moved briskly over the trophies old friends and jocks had won. Some are more memorable than the others.
A quiet sigh escaped his lips, the music fading to a hum. "You know, back when I was a sophomore, Sam and I used to avoid this single classroom?" His hands were slack to his sides, peering into the dark, empty classroom.
"Why?" Castiel followed in step, eyes meeting the hunter's.
"Mrs. Gremski. Or what I had dubbed her, Methuselah." A scoff, "She couldn't handle me, and moved three months after I switched into her class. Just so I could dodge taking Phys. Ed."
Castiel shook his head, "Really? Why would you do that?"
A simple shrug, "Dunno, I guess bodies weren't really my thing."
A beat passed, and Cas spoke up, floating past— he too was looking at the school's accomplishments. Decades of students, history that sprouted relationships, marriages, and lifelong relationships. His eyes kept skimming, until a single framed photo found the angel's view. It read:
Graduating class of: 1997
"Dean?" Castiel called the hunter over, who looked at the picture. A face of sadness, joy, and plain old amusement had played along the creases of his face.
Dean didn't know what to feel. Seeing that image after a dozen years was a hard hitter. If he ever did graduate on time, this would've meant a lot more to him. Only that this was a pre-grad photo.
A reminder of what his life could've been without John tying him into the hunting biz.
He sighed, a hand gently grabbing the photo's frame. Pressing it face down, recoiling away from the shelf all together. "It's better not to get into it." His mouth formed a thin line.
Castiel instinctively placed a hand on Dean's shoulder, squeezing the thick denim fabric. His shoulders tight, strained with the memories of long ago. "It's okay."
Dean looked at the gesture, and sighed. "Thanks." His green eyes facing Cas' icy blues. "I guess it's— just been a while."
"I know," the Angel replied flatly, but caring.
A stifled laugh escaped, a grin spreading across Dean's lips. "Prom of 1976." Dean felt the music, the vibrations and bass all the way across the school. "I ditched a hot chick I was supposed to fuck that night. She was so hot. But I couldn't. I was sick from the night before— hunting with Dad." The music felt so familiar, so— comforting. Back in his element. Dean began to sway to the beat, the feeling of smooth rock under his feet. Castiel's left hand slid to the hunter's other shoulder, holding both of them as they swayed.
"You're not alone, Dean." They conjoined in one soft sway. Their own little spot away from everyone, yet so close together at the same time.
"I know," heat rose in both of their cheeks.
"You keep saying that," Cas' head cocked to the side, their bodies slowly inching closer.
"I know," Another teasing chortle before their eyes align once more. "I guess I'm just glad to spend the night with someone."