Chapter Text
Sam tore the page from his spiral notebook, crumpling the paper and throwing it to the tile floor next to his brother’s discarded leather jacket. Groaning in frustration, Sam leaned forward over the kitchen table, his head in his hands. He had tried for the past twenty minutes to find a good opener to his essay, which wasn’t due until next Monday, giving the youngest Winchester a little less than a week to do it. Sam had wanted to get it out of the way so that he didn’t have to worry about it, but his frustration had already reached its capacity, and Sam swiped his notebook across the table.
“That essay not working out, Sammy?” A gruff voice called from the sofa. Sam lifted his head up as he replied, “It’s Sam, Dean.” Sam heard Dean shift around, and Sam turned his head around to get a good look at his brother.
Dean was wearing his favorite shirt, a blue sweater with the sleeves cut short. Sam never thought that shirts with the sleeves cut short looked quite as good on him as they did on Dean due to his small, underwhelming frame, and Dean would always joke with him that the day he saw his brother wear a short-cut shirt was the day pigs would fly. His dark blue, almost black jeans sported multiple tears and stains, but Dean could care less about that. Besides, his natural features made up for his choice in attire.
At first glance, you would never guess that the Winchester boys were brothers. Dean’s hair was dirty blonde, almost brown, and always slicked back with grease. His sun kissed skin, high cheekbones, and bright green eyes made him the target of many ladies’ wandering eyes, Socs and Greasers alike. His tall,muscular build was useful for the lifestyle Sam and Dean lived, with the fights and all that.
Sam, on the other hand, was small and frail due to his poor eating habits and unlucky growth spurt, which hadn’t quite hit yet, even at fifteen. His hair, which he didn’t like to cut, was long and shaggy. Sam always had this strange thing about the caretaking of his hair. He didn’t like it slicked back with gel or grease; it just never looked the way Sam wanted it to. His eyes were a dark brown, but not quite black. Sam hated his eyes since they always gave away what he was feeling. His emotions, even if well hidden in his facial expression, always poured into his eyes, making it near impossible to hide anything from his older brother.
Sam looked down at his attire. Dean and him had very different ideas on what and what not to wear. While Dean preferred to cut his sleeves and style his hair to his liking, Sam liked to wear his only madras shirt; a light blue one with black and white stripes that Dean stole for him a while back. On top of that, he wore the same brown, hand-me-down jean jacket every day for the usage of its pockets. His blue jeans were well-kept and neat; no stains, no rips, nothing. Really, the only thing that Dean and Sam had in common as far as outside looks go were black high-tops. Sam got Dean´s old pair, which he didn’t mind in the least. Dean kept his shoes in good condition, surprisingly.
¨Wanna toss me my jacket?¨ Sam knew that it wasn't a question, and so he bent over and snatched the black leather jacket laying next to the wooden chair he was perched on. He tossed it over to Dean, who put it on the moment it reached his hands. Sam was about to reach across the table and grab his notebook when firm hands lifted him up from under his armpits.
¨C’mon, Sammy! You’ve been at that stupid notebook for, like, a half an hour! Now, I don’t know about you, but a burger sounds like Heaven to me right now,¨ Dean said, his grip on Sam never faltering as he hauled him to his feet. Normally, Sam would argue with Dean, but he heard his stomach rumble and, begrudgingly, he agreed with his brother.
Dean took care of his Impala like it was another member of the family. The thing was always shiny and squeaky clean, and if you didn't know the Winchesters, you would think the car was straight out of a dealership or factory. That is, until you opened the car door. Then, the Winchester family smell of gunpowder, sweat, and gasoline hits you square in the face.
Sam swung open the car door, immune to the smell that any stranger would pick up from years of living with it. He slid into the car, the leather seats cool from the winter weather, and watched as Dean started up the car. The Winchesters were certainly not the most financially stable, but they would give up their shabby house before they give up the Impala. That car was more of a home than any house they could be for the Winchesters. Well, the car was a home for Sam and Dean.
Their father, John Winchester, was an alcoholic whose hobbies included getting blackout drunk and leaving for undocumented amounts of time. While John had never directly hit the boys, the words that flew out of his mouth left invisible bruises on them. Dean and Sam stopped calling him ‘Dad’ a long time ago, and they would most likely never call him that again.
Of course, John hadn't always been a drunk. Sam couldn't remember that time, but Dean did. It was back when Mom was still alive, before the fire.
Oh, the fire.
The fire happened nearly fifteen years ago on the dreaded night of November 2, 1950. John, who was still their father at the time, had apparently gotten into some argument with a bunch of Socs. Of course, they were older than teenagers, but a Soc is still a Soc, just as a Greaser is still a Greaser, despite the age. And so, as Mary tucked Dean and Sam in and John slept in the living room with the TV on, the Socs doused the outside of the house in gasoline and lit it up.
John used to get a little fuzzy around this part, because this was the part where the love of his life was burned to death. The house was reduced to ashes, and John faced homelessness for a few months before finally getting the old, run-down house that they currently reside in. John didn't become an alcoholic immediately after that. Until Sam was about eight, he had faint memories of John being obsessed with finding some man named ´Azazel´. Then, out of nowhere, John came home one night and his frustrations came out in venomous words and heavy drinking. After that, the yelling just became normal. Soon after that horrible night, the eldest Winchester would simply leave the brothers to survive without him for weeks. It became the norm.
¨Sammy! Hey, front and center, man!¨ Sam was snatched from his thoughts about fires and neglecting fathers by Dean´s deep voice. ¨Dairy Queen sound good?¨ Sam hadn't even noticed that the car had started moving, and he figured that Dean had already set course for Dairy Queen, so he responded, ¨Yeah, sure.¨
Soon enough, they had pulled into the Dairy Queen. Dean had ordered his favorite burger, and when Sam was asked what he wanted, he ordered a Dilly Bar because those were his favorite. Plus, he wasn't very hungry. He never was.
¨So, while you were busy doing homework, I gotta call from Cas. He needs a place to crash tonight, so he's gonna sleep on the couch,” Dean managed, rolling down the window of the Impala and propping his arm up in the opening.
¨Cas?¨ Castiel Novak was a Soc, but not really. The poor kid was neglected by his parents his whole life. It wasn't like the hit him or yelled at him, they just ignored him, pretended he didn't exist. When he needed something, they would give it to him, but other than that they just pretended like he had never been born. Cas was lucky, he never really got hardened by the experience like Dean and Sam had when they were younger. Dean had found the kid around three years ago at the park reading a book and went to mess with him, maybe tear a few pages out of the kid's book, but they ended up befriending each other. Imagine Sam’s surprise when Dean brought home a Soc boy in all of his madras and Corvette glory.
¨Something happen with his parents?¨ Sam asked.
¨Nah, he just needs to get away. Told me he had a run-in with some other Socs, wanted to leave for the night.¨ Ah, that made sense. The minute the Socs had discovered that Cas hung around with Sam and Dean, they made him an outcast, a reject. They made it hard for him at school, and Sam felt guilty for it.
¨Hm. Just him coming over?¨
Dean glanced over at Sam, trying to read his facial expression. Sure enough, he looked at Sam's eyes, and the younger brother had to look away to conceal the hidden message in his words.
But Dean understood. ¨No, John isn't gonna be back for a few more days.¨ Sam nodded, a breath he didn't know he had been holding releasing itself. Dean’s gaze lingered on him for a moment, and Sam shot him a sideways glare. Dean shrugged, then began to say something, but was interrupted by a feminine voice.
¨Burger and a Dilly Bar?” Sam nodded, not bothering to say anything as Dean grabbed the food from the waitress with a flattering smile. ¨You dig okay,¨ he said, his teeth flashing. The waitress, a blonde girl with warm, brown eyes, simply walked away, he skirt swishing as she hurried back inside of the Dairy Queen. Dean rolled his eyes, huffing in disappointment. ¨I didn't even get to ask her for her number,¨ he sighed, and Sam snickered in amusement.
The brothers ate their food, careful not to get any on the seats, and were prepared to meet Cas at their house when somebody banged on Sam’s window. He jumped in surprise, subconsciously scooting closer to Dean. ¨Damnit, Gabriel! You damn near got yourself punched!¨ Dean shouted through his window. Sam rolled his own window down, a gust of cool air hitting him and making him shiver, despite the jacket he was sporting.
Gabriel was a Greaser if you ever saw one. He may be short in stature, but what he lacked in height he made up for in muscle and tough looks. His blondish-brown hair was slicked back from both grease and gel, his eyes amber with a mischievous glint in them, and his face was almost always smeared with some sort of dirt or oil.
Gabriel ruffled Sam's hair, who furiously batted his hand away, before saying, ¨Fancy seeing you guys here. You hear about Samandriel, that Soc?” The brothers shook their heads, Dean throwing in a few cusses about the Soc. ¨Beat the shit outta him a few days back with the rest of my gang. Man, you missed out Dean. Little shit pulled up in his mustang, started throwing trash at us,¨ he chuckled heartily, clearly recounting the event. Sam tuned out the rest of his story.
He was fine with getting in fights, but Samandriel wasn't necessarily the meanest Soc out there. He hung out with the bigtime Socs though; Michael, Raphael, and their little clique. They all despised Greasers with a passion, and to make matters worse, they grouped Cas in with the Greasers, picking on him whenever the chance arose. With their Mustangs and Corvettes and fancy madras, they cruised around like they owned the place, no matter what side of town they're on.
A horn honking turned Sam’s attention back to Gabriel and Dean, who’s conversation seemed to be wrapping up. “Aw, man. That’s Luci calling. Me and him are buddying up for a fight tonight,” Gabriel explained, glancing back at the source of the noise. “See you guys later.” He hurried away, each short step bringing him closer to Lucifer.
God, Lucifer hated Sam. Sam didn’t even know what the source of his disdain for him was, it had just always been there. Lucifer, whose real name was Nick, was one confusing person. The twenty-two year old had no sense of loyalty, not even to his brother, Gabriel. It was strange that the two of them agreed to fight on the same side tonight, seeing as Lucifer wasn’t loyal to Socs or Greasers. It was weird though; you couldn’t quite call him a reject because his help was appreciated whenever it was provided, but nobody ever really directly asked him for it.
Lucifer’s gang was small and consisted of a few nameless people who basically worshiped the man. They did whatever he told them, no matter how revolting or wrong the command was. It disgusted Sam how somebody could be so blind to what is right that they would kill for someone.
“Cas is probably already waiting for us at the house, and it’s getting dark,” Dean said, “Let’s get Baby up and rolling already.”
When they arrived at the house, a blue Corvette was hidden around the side of their home. A branch from a tree had been pulled down to partially conceal the car since the car had been trashed by some Socs when they saw it parked by the Winchesters house a few months ago, and the group decided it's better to be safe than sorry. Not that Cas’ parents cared.
Dean walked into the house and tossed his jacket onto the ground, Sam following swiftly behind him. Cas was sitting on the couch, his posture impeccable as always. The TV was turned on, but from what Sam could tell, it was just for background noise, as Cas was flipping through a paperback book titled To Kill a Mockingbird. “Haven’t you read that one, like, fifty times?” Dean asked, flopping down on the couch next to the man.
Cas’ black hair wasn’t slicked back with gel, and was relatively well trimmed and neat, as the majority of people’s hair from the Eastside of town are. He donned a long, pale-peach jacket and a blue madras shirt, similar to the one Sam was wearing, and khaki pants held up by a brown, leather belt. His shoes were neatly placed by the door, and Sam untied his own high-tops and dumped the pair next to Cas’.
“In your terms, yes, I did read this book fifty times,” he said matter-of-factly, looking up from the book to greet the boys. “Hello Dean, hello Sam.” Dean finally decided to take off his shoes, each one flinging across the room as he kicked them off. “When will John be back?” Cas asked, folding the corner of the page he was currently reading and closing the book. “Not for another few days,” Dean replied, leaning back and turning up the TV. “Didn’t even leave a note this time.”
“So, do you wanna tell us why you asked to crash on our couch?” Dean inquired, and Sam’s curiosity peaked. Cas was never very emotional, so Sam didn’t expect any sort of sob story, but it was rare that Cas called before coming over. Normally, he would scare Sam and Dean half to death by just appearing in their house. One time, Sam was sleeping on the couch and woke up to find Cas watching him from the other end of the sofa. The teenager didn’t mean to be rude or creepy, he just never had any guidance on what to do and what not to do, thanks to his upbringing.
Cas started, “I was walking home from my volunteer job at the high school. It was nice until Michael and Raphael intervened. They…” He hesitated, though not for the purpose of collecting himself, more so for figuring out his choice of words. He decided to unbutton his shirt by a few buttons a pull it down, revealing a long, red scab on his chest. Sam gasped, shocked by the reveal, but Dean’s surprise was made more vocal than Sam’s.
“Cas, what the hell! Raphael and Michael did this?” Dean shouted, his eyebrows furrowed and face creased. Castiel’s icy eyes met Dean’s raging green ones, and he firmly nodded. “Yes, and that is not all the occurred. They made some very disturbing threats, and that’s why I ended up ‘crashing on your couch.’” Sam figured it wise to not try and calm Dean down when he was this furious, and so he let Dean do the talking. “Spit it out, Cas! What did they say?”
“They threatened to set my house on fire.”