Archive of Our Own ^beta

Dean Winchester’s life could never be described as perfect, hell, it couldn’t even be described as good. When he was four years old his mother and baby brother died in a house fire. His father never got over that loss. John was heartbroken and had no idea what to do with a four year old. He tried to stay in Lawrence, Kansas, but couldn’t deal with the memories and the ghosts that haunted him. They left Lawrence, never staying in one place for too long until they finally settled in Sioux Falls when Dean was ten. John never recovered from the loss of his wife and youngest son, but he found that a beer or a couple of shots of whiskey at the end of the day helped to fill the hole in his heart.

Dean hadn’t thought about his father for years. The last thing he’d heard was that his father had “cleaned up and found Jesus.”  He didn’t care: in his mind, John Winchester wasn’t his father anymore. He’d given up that position when he chose to leave when Dean was fifteen. Dean had refused to go with him, but at the time he’d thought his father would come back, but he never did. And now at the age of thirty-three, he knew that he never would. 

“Mr. Winchester?” The voice that came over the phone was unfamiliar, but had a softness to it. “I’m calling you today because we have you listed as next of kin for John Winchester.” 

Those words echoed in Dean’s ears. ‘Next of kin’.  People only used those words when talking about someone who was gravely ill or had died.

“Yeah, um, yes. I’m his… s–uh, his kin.” Dean hesitated. John hadn’t been his father for almost twenty years. It felt wrong saying that he was John’s son. He may be blood, but he sure as hell hadn’t been part of Dean’s family for more than half his life. “What…um, what happened?” Dean ran his hands through his hair nervously, his mouth suddenly dry. The best case scenario was that John was dead, but maybe he was a incapacitated and they needed Dean to make the decision whether his father lived or died.  It seemed like the voice on the other end was taking forever to answer his question. He even pulled the phone away from his ear and looked at the screen to make sure the call hadn’t been disconnected. 

“Mr. Winchester? Did you hear me? I said we found someone with your father’s ID, but he also had a few other IDs on him. We need you to come down and identify him and collect his personal effects.” 

Dean let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding in. “Um. Yeah. Sure. Where…I’m sorry, where did you say you were calling from?” The last place he’d heard John had called home was somewhere in Minnesota. Dean had received a letter about five years ago from his father trying to make amends for all of his mistakes.  

“I’m calling from Lawrence Memorial Hospital.”

 That hit Dean like a freight train. Lawrence? What was his father doing back in Lawrence? “Um, okay. It won’t be until at least tomorrow, I have to…um, it’ll take me some time to get there.” It was already getting well into the evening ,and Lawrence was a five and half hour drive from Sioux Falls. 

“Of course, Mr. Winchester. Take your time. We’ll see you soon. Goodbye.” 

Dean stared at the phone in his hand. He was frozen, unsure of how to feel. Was John Winchester a good father? No. Was Dean’s life better without him? Yes. Definitely. But then why did Dean feel like he’d just been sucker punched? He shouldn’t feel like this about someone he hadn’t even thought about for years. There was only one person he wanted to talk to about this. There was only one person he could talk to about this. Dean shoved the phone into his pocket, and headed downstairs to find Bobby. 

Dean moved in with Bobby when John had decided to move across the country for the ‘score of a lifetime’.  They’d been in Sioux Falls for three and a half years and Dean had found his groove. He had friends, he was excelling in school and he’d even joined the wrestling team. He wasn’t going to throw all of that away because his dad had found another get rich quick scheme. Growing up with John Winchester, they moved around a lot. When Dean was little, he didn’t understand why they had to move around all the time. It wasn’t until they finally landed in Sioux Falls the summer before seventh grade and Bobby Singer came into his life that he began to realize what his father’s job actually was. 

John was a con man, a grifter. Sometimes it was a pool game or a poker game. Or it was a fake organization raising funds for disabled veterans. That was how he made all his money. That was the reason why they had to move all the time. Once John was found out, he was literally run out of town. So when John talked about the ‘job of a lifetime’ in New York, Dean refused to go with him. He got his ass beat for it too, but he also wasn’t the scrawny kid anymore and could handle himself with his dad. 

 After that Dean packed a bag and officially moved in with Bobby. He’d been staying with Bobby on and off and whenever John was out on a job, but this time he packed up all his belongings from the small apartment they shared and left. It took John Winchester almost a week to realize that Dean was gone. He’s been living with Bobby ever since. Some people would look down on him for being a thirty-three year old and still living in Bobby’s house, but Dean was proud of what his life has become. He’s been running Singer’s Repair and Auto Body Shop since he was twenty-five and working there since he was sixteen. He was instrumental in changing it from a simple salvage yard and sometimes repair shop to one of the most reputable repair shops in Sioux Falls. Dean owes Bobby everything and he could never thank the man enough for what he’s done. 

Unable to find Bobby in the house, he headed towards the front door to try and find him in the massive shop outside. He nearly ran into the man as he came through the front door, his hands covered in grease. While Bobby didn’t technically work at the repair shop anymore, there were some special cases that he would take and work on at the house. 

“Why ya just standing there, Dean? You feeling okay? You look like you’re about to retch.” Bobby weaved around Dean and moved towards the kitchen sink. Dean heard the water running in the sink and the squirt of dish soap. 

“I…Bobby, I got a phone call just a few minutes ago,”  Dean said numbly, still standing in the entryway. 

Bobby turned from the sink to face Dean as he finished drying his now clean hands. “And? Is there more to that story or—”

“It was about John,” Dean said, cutting Bobby off. “It was from Lawrence Memorial.” Dean walked into the open kitchen and sat down at the small kitchen table with a huff. “I—they want me to pick up his stuff and, ya know, verify it’s him.”

Bobby didn’t respond, he just continued drying his hands and silently joined Dean at the opposite side of the table. They sat like that for what felt like an eternity. Dean started to squirm in his seat. Why wasn’t Bobby saying anything? Bobby never hid his opinions about John Winchester from Dean when they guy was alive, so what was up with the silent treatment now that he was dead? It was unnerving. 

“Jesus, Bobby! Say something will you!” Dean screamed. His voice broke with emotion he didn’t realize was there and he suddenly had a hard lump in his throat. 

“Did they say what did it?”  Bobby asked flatly. 

Dean shook his head. “But is that really a question? I mean the guy has been a semi-functional alcoholic for as long as I can remember.” 

“Your dad wasn’t exactly an easy man to get along with, and after Mary died, well…I wish I’d kept closer tabs on you and John. You deserved to be a child.” Dean saw the sadness in Bobby’s eyes.

“It wasn’t too bad until it was, you know?” Dean ran his hand through his hair.

“It was, Dean. You don’t lay a hand on someone who can’t defend themselves, on someone you were just supposed to love and take care of. The way your father acted after Mary died it wasn't…it wasn’t your fault, but it also wasn’t fair. You know that by now, don’t you, boy?” 

This wasn’t the first time they’d had this conversation, and it probably wouldn’t be the last. All Dean had ever wanted growing up was to make his father proud, so he learned to swallow his emotions, and do whatever his father asked of him.  Dean looked up to his father, put him on a pedestal. He didn’t know any different, he just figured that was how a father acted.

“So you gonna head out tomorrow?” Bobby’s voice brought Dean out of his thoughts. Dean opened his mouth to protest. 

“Don’t worry about the shop,” Bobby added, anticipating what Dean was about to say. I’ll head down there in the morning and if anyone gives you shit for taking off, they’ll have to deal with me.” 

Dean shut his mouth. He knew when not to argue with Bobby. It warmed his heart to think about Bobby always having his back. Dean shuddered to imagine what his life would have been like if he hadn’t had Bobby’s support. His life would have been vastly different, and not for the better. 

“Well, if you’re sure you can handle the shop, then I’ll head out early tomorrow. Get there by the afternoon.” 

“Dean, I’m retired, not dead.” Bobby shot back. “I can handle running the shop for a few days, I did it for almost thirty years without you. You have any idea how long you’re gonna be there?” Bobby asked, getting up from the table and moving to the fridge. He opened the fridge door and Dean heard the familiar clink of beer bottles. Bobby returned to the table and set one down in front of Dean without a word. Dean took a swig from the bottle and immediately regretted it. Normally a beer at the end of the day would soothe him, but with all of the information he’d taken in and all the memories that were flooding back, the liquid soured on his tongue. He resisted the urge to spit it out, feeling even more uneasy than he had earlier. He pushed the bottle away from him.  

“I figure a day or two, maybe? Depending on what they need from me. The gal I talked to on the phone wasn’t exactly forthcoming with information.”  

“You got a place to stay? I have some contacts down in Lawrence if you need—”

“Thanks, Bobby,” Dean cut him off. His heart warmed a little at the fact that even though Dean was thirty-three, Bobby was still looking out for him. “I’ll probably just crash in Baby.” Dean saw the disapproving look on Bobby’s face. “If I'm there more than a night or two, I'll get a motel room, promise.”

Bobby’s face softened. “Thank you. I just worry. You’re not nineteen anymore, Dean. When you get older you can’t just crash in your car for a few hours and then expect to function for the rest of the day.” 

Dean stood up from the table, pushing his chair away. He walked over to Bobby and patted him on the shoulder. “I love you too, old man. I’m gonna go pack and then hit the sack.”  

Bobby got out of his chair and wrapped Dean into a big bear hug, patting him on the back. “I’ll fix us breakfast before you head out, sound good?” 

“Sounds great. Thanks again, Bobby.” 

“Anytime, kiddo.” 

Dean walked back up the stairs to his room with his heart full of love for his father, but he couldn’t ignore the feeling in the pit of his stomach. 

John Winchester was dead. He should feel something, right? This was the man that was his father until the age of fifteen, he may not have been Father of the Year, but he was still his blood, you know? And the fact that Dean had to come down and physically ID him? Couldn’t they do that with dental records and fingerprints and shit like that now? Why did Dean have to actually see John Winchester? He hadn’t seen the man since he turned eighteen. As Dean moved around his room throwing clothes into his duffel, he remembered the last time he’d seen John.

~~~

“I said, I need to see Dean Winchester. He’s the only one who can help me.”  

Dean stopped in his tracks at the sound of the gruff voice coming from the reception desk of Bobby’s repair shop. He hadn’t heard that voice in four years, but he’d recognize it anywhere. His stomach sinking, he turned the corner from the machine shop into the lobby. John Winchester was leaning over the counter, his face inches away from the young receptionist. Krissy looked terrified, but Dean was proud to see that she was doing her best to stand her ground. 

“I’m sorry, sir, but he’s not available unless you have an appointment. I can have one of our other techs take a look at your car if you would like, we have—” 

“You MAKE him available! I know he’s here somewhere!” John pounded his fists on the counter and Dean saw Krissy flinch. Taking a deep breath, Dean approached the counter, knowing that John wouldn’t stop until he got what he wanted. 

“Dean!” Krissy said the moment she saw him. “This gentleman asked for you specifically and I tried to tell–”

“It’s okay, Krissy, I’ve got it. Thank you.” Dean flashed a charismatic smile at her before grabbing his father by the arm and pulling him into an alcove out of earshot and the view of the other customers waiting in the lobby. 

Before Dean could get a word out, John patted him on the shoulder. “You hit that, Dean? She’s got spirit, but I bet you could tame that filly.”

Dean’s jaw ticked in anger. He took a deep breath, trying to keep his feelings in check. The last thing he needed was the police to be called because he decided to beat the shit out of his father. “Why are you here, John?” Dean said through gritted teeth.

“What, a father can’t come see his son at work?” John flashed a smile at Dean that he  knew all too well.  Hell, he’d used that smile on people, but seeing it from his father made his stomach turn. 

“A father could, but you stopped being my father when you decided a job was more important than your son. So let me rephrase the question, what do you want?” Dean held John’s stare, not wanting to be the first one to look away. John’s body language immediately changed. He dropped his charming disposition. 

“I’ve got this job, it’s–”

“No,” Dean said immediately, cutting John off. “I’m not helping you with any sort of job, John. ”  Dean had learned the truth about his father’s ‘jobs’ when he was fourteen. Dean had always thought that his father did odd jobs like handyman work, or helping people with their cars, but in reality he was a con man, swindling people out of their hard-earned cash, which he usually ended up blowing on alcohol or in a poker game. 

“Come on, Dean. This is a legit job, I promise and I can’t do it without you.” For a split second, he saw the John Winchester he used to know. The man that loved his family and would burn the world for them. Not the man that cared more about money and booze than his own son. He’d always wanted that John Winchester back, the one that lived in his earliest memories, not the man that had attempted to raise him. John must’ve sensed Dean’s hesitation. “You’re thinking about it ain’t ya?” John leaned in and whispered in Dean’s ear, “I’ll even split the job with you. An even seventy-thirty split. Doesn’t get much better than that, does it?” Dean’s whole body tensed, his hand was clenched into fist at his side and it took everything in him to not sucker punch John right in the face. 

“No,” Dean said curtly. His voice was strong, but the emotion and hurt was bubbling just under the surface and he wasn’t sure how long he was going to be able to keep it under control.  “And if you don’t leave the property in the next two minutes, I will call the cops and have you arrested for trespassing.” Dean seethed. He knew standing up to John Winchester was risky, but he wasn’t afraid of him anymore. 

To his surprise, John’s face softened and he placed a hand on Dean’s shoulder. “Well I’ll be damned. You actually grew a pair. I woulda never guessed that would happen.” Dean refused to let those words affect him, he was exactly who he needed to be and John Winchester wasn’t a part of the man he’d become.  

“You’ve got about thirty seconds to get off my property, John. Or do you want the cops to figure out that Burt Afraiman and Elroy McGillicutty are really John Winchester as well?” For the first time in his life Dean saw John Winchester falter. He saw the smallest sense of the broken man that lay beneath the tough exterior that he had built throughout the years. 

“Okay, okay. I get it, Dean. I’m leaving.” John lifted his hands in surrender and walked away. Dean watched his father pause at the door and turned back to look at Dean. “I’m proud of you, you know. Proud of the man you’ve become. I’d like to think I had a little something to do with that. Have a good life Dean.” 

~~~

That was the last time Dean Winchester saw his father. And now he had to see him one more time. Dean tossed and turned trying to get some sleep before the drive to Lawrence the next morning, but he only managed about four hours. Yawning, he rolled out of bed, got dressed for the trip, grabbed his duffel that he packed the night before and headed downstairs.  The glorious smell of freshly brewed coffee hit his nostrils as he descended the stairs and made his way into the kitchen. He dropped his duffel in the living room, next to Bobby’s recliner, before stepping into the kitchen.

“Mmmm, that smells amazing, Bobby. Whatcha makin’?” Dean padded over to the coffee maker and poured himself a cup. The black liquid swirled around, mixing with the splash of cream and sprinkle of vanilla sugar he adds to his coffee but doesn’t tell anyone about. The warmth of the mug spread through his hands and up his arms, enveloping him like a cozy blanket. He took the first sip as he sat down at the table and let out an audible sigh. “So, you gonna tell me what you’re making or is there a reason you’re giving me the silent treatment?” 

Dean looked over to where Bobby was pulling something out of the oven and placing it on the stovetop. “I’ve learned never talk to you before you’ve had your first sip of coffee. Made that mistake before.” 

“Okay, fair,” Dean replied. “But uh, what’s that?” Dean nearly fell out of his chair straining to see what his sort of culinary delight his dad was pulling out of the oven. 

“Stop yer rubbernecking. It’s just a quiche Lorraine, nothin’ fancy.” A small smile escaped Dean’s lips. Just looking at his dad, you’d think that he was a ‘good ol’ boy’ and he was in some respects. But he was also the one who nurtured Dean’s love of cooking and cried at sappy commercials and Hallmark movies. Bobby was the one who made sure that Dean knew he was loved and accepted for who he was when he came out as bisexual. Bobby’s the reason Dean was the man he was today. Bobby was Dean’s dad and the man who raised him. Dean may share some of John Winchester’s DNA, but Bobby Singer is his dad.  Dean took a big bite of quiche into his mouth, the flavors dancing on his tongue. He loved cooking, loved figuring out which ingredients and flavors complemented each other, but when he was cooking growing up he always had to be careful not to make the meals too ‘spicy’ for his father. Dean’s drifted back to one particular night when he’d been in charge of making dinner. 

~~~

Dean had decided to make Salisbury steak, instant mashed potatoes and sauteed vegetables for dinner. John had come home the other night with two big bags full of groceries and Dean couldn’t wait to use all the fresh produce and meat. Dean had the veggies on the stove top and he carefully popped open the pepper shaker that they had ‘borrowed’ from a diner and sprinkled a little into his hand to make sure that the dish wasn’t ‘too spicy’ for John’s taste. He tested the vegetables on the stove and they were perfect. He reached for the pepper shaker lid on the counter when the front door slammed open, announcing that his father was home. Dean, the open pepper shaker still in his hand, flinched at the loud noise,  and pepper flew everywhere. It was all over the stove top, the floor and—most importantly—a handful had fallen into the vegetables that Dean was sauteèing. 

Fuck. He was screwed.  

Dean tried to scrape as much as he could out of the pan, but the dish was ruined and he had used all the vegetables they had purchased, so he had nothing to replace it with. He could hear his father tromping down the hallway towards his room to change out of his “work” clothes. Dean had five minutes maximum to figure out what to do. He was stuck between a rock and a hard place. He had two choices, either scrap the pan of vegetables and face his father’s wrath for wasting food, or serve it as is and get in trouble for making dinner ‘too spicy.’ Dean’s heart raced  and his hands began to shake as he heard his father’s heavy footfalls heading toward the kitchen. He hoped that the punishment for too much pepper would be less severe than the one for wasting food.

“What’s for dinner, Dean?” John’s gruff voice sent a chill down Dean’s spine. The overwhelming smell of cigarette smoke and stale alcohol wafted into the kitchen. When Dean was younger, he actually enjoyed the smell of the cigarettes his father smoked, it was warm and comforting. But in the years since his mother and brother died and since his father started drinking every night, the smell turns his stomach. “Did you hear me, boy?”

Dean’s spine  stiffened. “Yes, sir.” He turned around to face his father. “I’ve made mixed sauteed vegetables, mashed potatoes and Salisbury steak.”  

“Hmmm.” Dean wasn’t sure if the sound that his father made was one of disapproval of his cooking skills—'Those are women’s skills,’ he’d been told many times, but if Dean didn’t cook then he usually didn’t eat—or if it was a sound of approval that dinner was done by the time John got home.  “Well,” John said as if he was waiting for Dean to finish his thought. “You waiting for the food to get cold or what?” 

“No, sir,” Dean said with his heart in his throat. He should have just thrown the vegetables away, maybe then John never would have seen them. Dean grabbed two clean plates out of the cabinet and scooped up the veggies and the potatoes onto his father’s plate (‘Always serve your elders first, boy. It’s a sign of respect’)’ along with a Salisbury steak,  then he served himself. He brought both the plates out to the T.V. trays that were permanently set up in their small living room. Dean had a fuzzy memory of having a dining room table when his mom was alive, but he couldn’t remember what happened to it. His dad probably sold it or bet it in the poker games he didn’t think Dean knew about. 

Dean sat down and waited for his dad to do the same. Dean was wound tighter than a spring as he waited for his father to take his first bite. He closed his eyes waiting for the shoe to drop. 

“You sure you’re not a girl?” was not the response that Dean was expecting. 

“What?” he said without thinking. 

“Did I stutter?” John said with an edge in his voice. “Cuz, this might be your best dinner yet.” Dean tried to keep his face calm. What was happening right now? This couldn’t be real. Was his father actually complimenting his cooking? Dean turned his head to look at his father, wondering if he could see any marks on his skin or any other sign that John had been possessed or was a pod person or something. 

Dean’s face fell as John took a bite of the mixed vegetables and immediately spit the partially masticated food back on the plate in disgust. “Dammit, Dean. Here I was thinking you’d actually listened to me and you go and do something that fucks it all up.” John pushed his tray table away from him and got up from his chair. “You know you brought this on yourself.” John began to undo his belt and slowly pull it off and through the belt loops of his jeans. “This is gonna hurt me more than it’s gonna hurt you.” 

Dean wondered if that was actually true, because that belt sure hurt a whole hell of a lot and hiding those welts from everyone at school hurt even more. But he didn’t dare tell anyone at school, because it was his fault, he knew what he had to do to not get beat, but for some reason he just kept screwing up. So it wasn’t really his dad’s fault that Dean kept pissing him off. 

“Now, do ya think you’ve learned your lesson ?” John said as he was putting his belt back on. “Or is this gonna happen again?” 

Trying to hold back his tears from the pain, Dean shook his head. He knew if he tried to speak, it would come out in a sob and that would just get him another beating for ‘not taking it like a man’. And for once, John took that gesture as an appropriate response. Dean grabbed his plate and took it back toward the kitchen, his stomach roiled in hunger, but he’d lost his appetite. 

~~~

Dean instinctively rubbed his side at the memory. Bobby had never laid a hand on him, he’d never admonished Dean for wanting to learn how to bake. Bobby had even taught him a few things in the kitchen. 

“Something wrong with the quiche, Dean?” Bobby’s voice rang through Dean’s ears bringing him back to his seat at the kitchen table. 

“Nah, Bobby, it’s awesome,” Dean said, taking another bite, but his thoughts were still in the past. 

“Thinking about John?” Bobby said, taking the other seat at the small table.

“Yeah, he…he tried, you know? Like I sometimes remember him being a good father, but other times it’s just…” Dean dropped his fork on his plate,  his stomach souring and his appetite gone. “I think I’m gonna head out, Bobby,” Dean said, pushing his chair out from the table. 

“Take some quiche for the trip.” Bobby stood up from his seat at the table.

“And lemme send you with some coffee, too, so you don't have to suffer through that dreck they serve at the Gas-n-Sip.” Bobby walked over to the coffee pot, grabbed a thermos from the cabinet and emptied the rest of the carafe into it.  

“Thanks for breakfast and, you know, everything, Bobby.  See you in a few days.”  

Bobby set the thermos on the table and wrapped Dean in a big hug patting him on the back. 

“You be good now, you hear?” Bobby said as he released Dean. “And if you can’t be good, be careful.” 

“Bye, Dad,” Dean said as slung the duffle over his shoulder and walked out the door and towards his car. 

Lawrence was about a five and a half hour drive from Sioux Falls, so Dean should arrive around one or two o’clock in the afternoon. As he drove, he tried to remember his life in Lawrence, he’d been about five when they left. John had tried to keep a normal life after the fire, but his grief took control and about six months later they were on the road. Dean remembered snippets of his childhood before they finally landed in Sioux Falls. They lived in Kansas City and  St. Louis, Mo;  Tulsa, OK, and even as far south as Plano, TX. Growing up, Dean never understood why they had to move so often. To most people, John Winchester was a grieving widower with a young son just trying to make ends meet. But in reality he was a broken man who had lost his way and didn’t know how to raise a son like Dean. 

He pulled into the parking garage at Lawrence Memorial. He hadn’t been told exactly where to go, but he assumed that someone would be able to tell him. He turned off the engine, took the key out of the ignition and stepped out of the car. A chill ran up his spine as the reality of the situation began to sink in. He was here to identify John Winchester’s body. Dean had so many conflicting emotions running through his mind, he didn’t know how to feel. He walked through the main entrance of the hospital and up to the desk that had a sign saying “INFORMATION” in big bold letters hanging over it. The woman at the desk looked up at Dean and gave him a warm smile. “How can I help you, hon?” 

“I’m, uh, I’m here to see my father,” Dean said, the words feeling foreign on his tongue. John Winchester hadn’t been his father for almost twenty years. 

“Name?” The woman said, looking expectantly.

“John Winchester.” The clacking of keys echoed in the otherwise silent lobby of the hospital. “Oh, honey. I’m so sorry. He’s in the morgue.” 

“I–I know, I’m supposed to uh–verify it’s him. Do you know where I’m supposed to go?” 

“Of course,” She pulled out a large paper map and began drawing something on it. Once she handed it to him, he noticed that it was the path he was to take to the morgue. It was on the complete opposite side of the building, but at least he could walk there and didn’t have to drive to another part of the campus. 

“Thank you.” He lifted the map in thanks and began his trek towards the morgue. He passed Rheumatology, Oncology and other small offices that had handfuls of people in the waiting rooms. He passed the Urgent Care, and a memory came flooding back of his dad rushing him to the Urgent Care with a broken arm. It was just a few months before the fire. Dean had been obsessed with Batman as a kid. He was convinced that wearing his Batman mask and utility belt meant that he could run across buildings and jump from great heights and not fall. One day, when John was supposed to be watching him while Mary and Sam were out, Dean made his way to the roof and jumped off. Thankfully the only thing he broke was his arm. He remembered how much it hurt, but he also remembered his dad cradling him in his arms and driving to the hospital, worried about his son. Come to think of it, that was the last time Dean remembered John putting Dean’s needs ahead of his own. Dean rubbed his left arm at the memory as if his own body was reminding him of the almost thirty year-old injury. 

Dean reached the end of the path and a bank of elevators that either went up to patient rooms and other departments or down to the morgue. Why did the morgue always have to be in the basement? He was sure it was something historical, but it always made them seem extra creepy. He entered the elevator and pressed the button for the morgue according to the directory. The doors opened and he was surprised to see that it was a floor that looked almost identical to the one he had just left. He double checked to make sure that the elevator had actually moved. 

Just to the right of the elevator bay there was a desk with a bright-eyed redhead behind it. Her nose was buried in a book and it wasn’t until Dean was right in front of her that he was able to see what she was reading. It was Lord of the Rings, but the title was all wrong. It was The Desolation of Frodo Baggings and Samwise Gamgee. 

“Huh, I’ve read all the LOTR and Hobbit books, even got through The Silmarillion, but i’ve never heard of that one.” Dean put his hands on the desk and leaned in trying to see if he could read any of the pages. 

Obviously taken aback by the intrusion, the redhead slammed the book down on the desk and stood up. “Can I help you with something or are you just here to judge my reading selection, sir?” She emphasized the last word with a sneer. 

“Woah there, Red, put the claws away. I come in peace.” Dean held his hands up in surrender. “Besides,” He dropped his voice and leaned back in, “I always shipped Sam and Frodo. I mean how could you not? It was right there in black and white.” 

The redhead’s eyes lit up like Dean had just told her he still believed in Santa Claus too. “Right!?! I mean it's practically canon!” She stuck out her hand in greeting. “I’m Charlie. What can I do ya for?” 

Dean shook Charlie’s hand. “I’m Dean. Winchester. I’m here to–” 

“Ooooh, yeah…Okay.” Charlie shoved the book aside and began to type on her keyboard faster than anyone he’d ever seen outside a hacker in the movies. “He’s a doozy. The officer that found him also found like five other IDs in the car, and his fingerprints didn’t bring up anything in the system, which was weird, you know?” 

“Um, Charlie?” Dean rubbed his neck nervously. “Can you tell me how he died?” 

“Well…” Charlie paused. “I technically don’t have access to those reports, but…” Charlie squinted at Dean and tilted her head as if she was trying to figure out if he was worthy of the secrets she held. “Since you’re a Frowise fan, you seem like a cool guy.” Before Dean could even say thanks, Charlie was back behind the screen tapping away. “Here we go. According to the police report filed by the officer that found him, it looks like he was pronounced dead at the scene. He crashed into a telephone pole, no other vehicles were involved. It looks like his blood alcohol level was…yikes. It was .20. Oof.” 

Dean shook his head. He always knew that this would be how John would go out. Even after he’d heard through mutual friends that John had tried to contact Dean as part of his recovery program, he’d known it wouldn’t last. 

“Was your dad a drinker or was this—” Charlie started.

“John isn’t my dad,” Dean yelled and he watched Charlie flinch. “I’m sorry, he’s–we’re related, but I mean– he was, but– he’s–I’m…” Dean’s anger quickly deflated. “Sorry, Charlie. He hasn’t been my father for almost twenty years. I’m just–I’m his only living relative so, can I see him so we can get this over with?” 

“Of course, sorry, Dean,” Charlie said meekly. “I’ll get someone to let you in. Give me just a minute.”  She picked up the phone he hadn’t noticed on the desk and heard her side of the conversation. “Hey, Yeah. Dean Winchester is here. Oh. Well, can’t you just do it? Of course. Yes. Thank you.” Charlie hung up the phone, but it looked like there was more behind the conversation than just a regular request. 

“Everything ok?” Dean asked

“Meg will be right out,” Charlie said curtly. 

“You must be Dean Winchester.” A gorgeous brunette wearing a white coat over a form fitting blouse and black slacks that hugged her curves in all the right places came out of the double doors that must lead to the morgue. “I’m Meg Masters, please follow me.” She pushed the double doors open and Dean followed her through them before they slammed closed on him. “I don’t know how much Charlie told you, but the reason we had to have you come down here in person was–”

“You found multiple IDs in the car, right?” Dean said, not letting Meg finish. 

“Yes, we did, how did you know? I believe that piece of information wasn’t made public yet.” 

“Ms. Masters–” 

“Doctor,” Meg corrected.

“Doctor Masters, John Winchester was a con man, and until I was fourteen, I was part of his cons, that’s how I know. Can we get this over with so that I can sign whatever you need me to sign and I can get back to my life?” 

“Of course, Mister Winchester.” Dean followed Meg further into the room. It was smaller than he expected; there were only nine drawers on the wall. Meg walked over to one in the middle and pulled out the drawer.  Dean steeled himself to see what shape his father was in after what sounded like a horrendous car crash. The body was covered with a sheet and Meg pulled it back so that just the torso was revealed. It was unmistakably John Winchester. Even with the bruises on his face and the autopsy scar on his chest. This was the man that had helped bring Dean into the world, the man that had loved him with all his heart for the first four years of his life. This was also the man that saw fit to use Dean for his own gain. Who used Dean as an outlet for his own shortcomings and insecurities. 

“Is this John Winchester, aka Burt Afraiman, aka Elroy McGillicutty, aka Carver Edlund?” Dr. Masters asked clinically. 

“Yes,” Dean said without any emotion. 

“I’ll leave you alone to say any final words.” With that Meg was gone and Dean was alone with his father for the first time since that day in the repair shop when he was eighteen. He stared at John and then all the emotions began to bubble up. 

“I looked up to you. You know that? I actually wanted to be you when I was younger. You were my idol, my father, my hero. I thought you could do no wrong. I always thought that the reason you lashed out was because I had done something wrong. So I tried to be better, be better for you. But you know what? I hate you. I’ve hated you for almost twenty years, since the moment I realized that a quick score was more important to you than my well-being. You always said I was a disappointment, well, I hate to tell you this, but you were the disappointment.” Dean was yelling, tears were streaming down his face and he was pacing back and forth the length of the room. “And you know what, John? Mom would be disappointed in the man you became after she died. You were never my father after that, you were just a sad, broken man who didn’t know what to do with a grieving four year old who had lost their mommy and baby brother. I WAS GRIEVING TOO, DAD! You weren’t the only one who lost someone. I lost both parents the day of the fire. Did you ever think about that! That I needed a father! It took about ten years for me to figure it out, but I finally found one and his name wasn’t John Winchester.”

~~~

Dean was in and out of the principal’s Office for fighting almost every week, and most of the time it wasn’t even his fault. His classmates were just assholes, picking on some poor kid who didn’t deserve it and Dean was always the one who got in trouble when all he was trying to do was help. 

As he sat waiting for the principal he knew that this time it was his fault, because this time he was the asshole.

Ever since the first day they met, over a year ago, Dean and Jimmy had been inseparable. They had lunch every day and Jimmy even started packing extra food for him. Dean really enjoyed hanging out with Jimmy at lunch, it was the best part of his day. 

 It was May of Dean’s eighth grade year and Mother Nature decided that it was now summer. It was almost ninety degrees outside and the school hadn’t turned off the heat for the year. Despite the warm weather and lack of airflow, Dean was wearing a t-shirt and a plaid over-shirt and was covered in sweat. He was dying to take off his over-shirt, but he’d forgotten to pick up his dad’s smokes on the way home from school yesterday and bore the marks on his arms for his forgetfulness.  So, the plaid stayed on with the sleeves buttoned at the wrist. Jimmy had been bugging him all day about his shirt and it had really been grating on his nerves. 

“Drop it, man,” Dean said through gritted teeth the umpteenth time Jimmy mentioned taking off his plaid. 

“But you’ve gotta be sweltering, Dean. Wouldn’t you be more comfortable taking the shirt off?” Before Dean knew it Jimmy’s hands were on him, shoving the plaid off his shoulders. it fell to his wrists before he was able to shrug it back on, but it was too late. 

“Oh,” Jimmy said. “Dean, you gotta tell–” 

“I’m gonna stop you right there, Jimbo. I don’t gotta do nothing, k?” Dean said, his voice full of anger. He wasn’t even sure where the anger was coming from, but he couldn’t seem to stop it. Dean spun around and grabbed Jimmy by the collar and lifted him onto his feet.  “And you tell anyone about what you saw, I swear to god, you’ll regret it.” Dean released Jimmy from his grip, but before he could stop it, his right arm coiled back and punched Jimmy right in the stomach. As the anger receded, Dean  immediately regretted what he’d done when he saw the terror in Jimmy’s eyes. He wasn’t really angry at Jimmy, he just–he’d acted just like his father. 

Fuck.

Dean suddenly felt a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. What if Jimmy did run off to tell someone? He would be in so much fucking trouble. Not with the school, he didn’t care about them, but his father. What would John say when he found out? What would he do ?

Dean couldn’t concentrate the rest of the day. His greatest fears were confirmed when during seventh period he heard his name over the loudspeaker. 

Dean Winchester, please report to the principal's office, immediately. 

The tinny announcement echoed through the suddenly quiet classroom. It was met with ‘oohs’ and ‘oh, he’s in trouble’ as well as whispers of why Dean was being called to the office. He packed up his desk, shoving his books and half done assignments into the large pocket  of his backpack and slung it over one shoulder. He prayed for a tornado to come through the school and take him out, or that a wild tiger had escaped from the zoo and was roaming the halls, anything to prevent him from facing his father AND the principal right now. Fearing the absolute worst, but knowing he couldn’t do anything about it, Dean slowly approached the principal’s office and was greeted by the secretary, Mrs. Moseley. 

“You can go ahead and go in, sugar,” she said in her sweet Southern drawl. Every muscle in Dean’s body tensed as he walked into the office and saw Mr. Morningstar sitting at his desk, but his father was nowhere to be seen. 

Dean began to relax until Mr. Morningstar said, “Dean, please, sit down.” It wasn’t until he moved to sit that he noticed there was a man in the chair next to him. Dean let out a sigh of relief. It wasn’t his father, it was their family friend, Bobby Singer. 

Dean remembered meeting Bobby for the first time when he was about ten. Both he and his dad were greeted with the blunt end of a shotgun when they pulled up in front of Bobby’s house. But when John mentioned he needed to drop Dean off for a few days, Bobby dropped the shotgun and silently relented. 

“Your dad and I used to be great friends, hell, we were each other's best men. But then my Karen got sick and your Dad started getting mixed up with the wrong crowd, trying to help me out. And then your mom …and it just never got better. I’m sorry, Dean.” 

“Dean,” Mr. Morningstar said. “I want you to know first and foremost that you are not in trouble.” 

Dean scoffed, which was followed by a light thump on his shoulder from Bobby. “Respect yer elders, ya idjit.” 

For the record Dean was in trouble, he just wasn’t expelled. He had to agree to go to thirty days worth of anger management classes and detention for a whole month. But in all honesty, that was ten times better than whatever punishment his father would have given him had he found out.  Dean had never been more thankful that he’d met Bobby and spent most of his free time at either Bobby’s house or working with him in his repair shop. John Winchester was away on jobs more often than not, and anytime he was away Dean stayed with Bobby. So, John never found out about Dean’s issues in school and whenever he was home, he was usually in a drunken stupor that Dean wasn’t even sure John knew that Dean was there.

~~~

Dean looked at his father’s cold and bruised face. His cheeks still wet with tears, he said one final thing to John. 

“You may be the one who helped bring me into this world. You might be my father, but you are not my dad. My dad’s name is Bobby Singer.”  Having finally gotten the closure that he needed, Dean turned towards the doors to find Dr. Masters when he bumped into someone. He hadn’t even heard anyone come in. How long had they been there? How much had they heard? 

“Oof,” they said in a deep voice. “Sorry, Charlie failed to tell me anyone was in here.” 

Dean wiped his face, hoping it wasn’t obvious that he’d been crying, and looked at the person he’d run into. He was struck by bright blue eyes staring back at him, and Dean swore his heart skipped a beat and he stopped breathing. It couldn’t be. 

“Jimmy?” Dean whispered, the name barely audible. 

“Hello, Dean.”

~~~

Dean’s life changed about halfway through seventh grade when Jimmy moved to town. He was a small mousy looking boy with dark tousled hair, but it was his eyes that captivated Dean. They were an icy blue, like the blue he’d seen on glaciers in a book on the Arctic. Dean didn’t have many friends. He’d only been at this school since the end of last school year and the other kids had been less than welcoming. Besides, if he didn’t have any friends, then he couldn’t be sad when they moved away, or decided they didn’t want to be friends with him anymore. But there was something about Jimmy that drew Dean in, he wanted to know more about this new kid, and that terrified him. Just as Dean was about to ask Jimmy where he’d moved from, Marv, the most annoying kid in class, stepped in front of Dean and asked Jimmy that very question and had his ear for the rest of the day. Disappointed, the moment the bell rang Dean grabbed his backpack and raced out of the classroom feeling dejected. 

He had another opportunity the next day. Running late because he’d had to clean up after his father, Dean just made it onto the school bus before it pulled away from the  curb. Breathless and sweaty from sprinting down the street, he looked for an empty seat when he was struck with bright blue eyes staring back at him.  

It was Jimmy. 

“Hey,” Dean said as he approached Jimmy. “Is this seat taken?” 

Jimmy didn’t respond, but he scooted closer to the window, and Dean took that as a ‘yeah, okay.’

“Hey,” Dean tried again. “I’m Dean. You’re Jimmy, right?” Dean stuck out his hand waiting for Jimmy to shake it, but the boy just wrapped his arms around his backpack as if it was precious cargo and hugged it tight to his chest, pressing himself against the window. Dean could tell that this kid needed a friend or else he was never gonna survive the rest of the year.  “Starting a new school sucks, especially after the year’s already begun.” Dean noticed that the death grip Jimmy had on his backpack began to loosen, so he continued. “I’ve only been here since the end of last year, before that I was at three other schools. I know how it feels to be the perpetual new kid.” Jimmy’s posture immediately changed. He relaxed his shoulders and his arms began to fall to his side. 

“Why did you move schools so often?” Jimmy finally said, his voice quiet and meek as if he was afraid someone would overhear them. 

Dean paused. His usual answer was just that his dad traveled for work. That was the simple answer, but for some reason Dean wanted to tell Jimmy the truth, so he did.  

“My mom and little brother died when I was four. Long story short, my dad blames himself and he’s never really been able to hold down a job for longer than a year or two since then.” 

Jimmy’s mouth made an ‘O’ of surprise. He turned to face Dean and Dean immediately recognized the sadness behind Jimmy’s eyes. “My mom, she  also–she died last year. My father moved us here to be closer to family. After he married Naomi, my stepmother.” 

Dean let out a low whistle. While he definitely didn’t have the best home life, he couldn’t imagine his father marrying someone else less than a year after his mother died, no matter the circumstances of her death. 

“I’m sorry, dude. That’s rough, but look. I get it.” Dean placed his hand on Jimmy’s shoulder and Jimmy gave him a withering look. “Seriously, I understand. And I promise, I’m not a dick. If you need someone to hang out with at lunch or whatever, I’m offering you an olive branch here, okay?” 

The bus pulled up to the front of the school and as they were filing off the bus, before they walked through the entrance of the school. Jimmy pulled Dean aside.

“I really like olives.” Jimmy said. Dean slapped him on the shoulder letting out a small laugh. 

“You’re a weird little guy, Jimmy. I think we’re gonna get along just fine.” 

~~~

“What are you–how–what?” Dean’s brain was scrambling to catch up with what was going on.

“It’s good to see you.” Jimmy stuck his hands in the pockets of his lab coat and he looked… embarrassed? Shy, maybe? He’d always been hard to read and they hadn’t seen each other for the better part of two decades.

“It’s…um…I go by my first name now.” 

“Oh,” Dean said, surprised. “So you go by James now?” 

“No, my first name.” Jimmy rolled his eyes and looked at Dean as if he was an idiot.

“Dude. I thought James was your first name,” Dean said with the same droll look on his face. 

“Dean.” Jimmy, or whatever his name was, placed his hand on Dean’s shoulder, and he could feel the heat of his palm radiating through the layers of clothing. “My middle name is James. I used it growing up because my first name is…different. And I didn’t need to give the bullies any more reasons to make fun of me.” 

Dean racked his brain to try and think of what Jimmy’s first name could be, but he never would have guessed it.

“It’s Castiel. He’s the Angel of Thursday. My mom always wanted angels to be watching over us, so she decided to name us after them.” 

“Cas-tee-el?” Dean sounded out the name. It was definitely a weird name and now he understood why he went by Jimmy growing up. “That’s…certainly different. Can I just call you Cas?”

“Of course, Dean.” Cas removed his hand from Dean's shoulder and moved around him to the other side of John.  Dean had almost forgotten he was still there on the slab. “I’m sorry about your father.” 

“Honestly, I hadn’t thought about him for years. He stopped being my father when he decided one more job was more important than I was. I’ve said my piece. Do whatever you need to do with him. I don’t care about him anymore.” For the first time in his life he truly believed that. He didn’t care about his father anymore, he truly didn’t have any power over him anymore. “I’m–I’m more interested in why–how you’re here.” 

“I work here, Dean. I would think this,” Cas grabbed his lab coat and flashed it open, “would be an obvious clue.” 

“So are you like Doctor Masters’ assistant or something?”  Dean said, trying to keep Cas in talking and in the room.

“Hardly. In fact she is my assistant.” Cas rubbed his brow and let out a sigh. “And I keep telling her she needs to stop pretending to be me. Did she insist that you call her doctor?” Dean nodded. “She thinks it's hilarious. I, on the other hand…anyway. It’s good to see you, Dean.”  

A soft smile spread across Cas’ face and Dean finally saw his best friend in the man standing in front of him. Dean saw that sweet sad mousy boy that he met in seventh grade; he saw the lithe young man that made his stomach flip whenever they touched. Dean always loved the way Cas’ eyes crinkled at the edges when he smiled. His stomach swooped once again just taking in the man that Cas had become. Dean never thought he would ever see Cas again and now he was here standing in right front of him. There were so many things he wanted to say, so many things he wanted to do, to touch. 

But the only words that came out of his mouth were, “Yeah, you too, Jimmy-er-Cas.” Dean rubbed his hand across the back of his neck. He couldn’t, he wouldn’t let Cas go this time. He had to say something to keep Cas talking.

“Hey, so…um, why didn’t you ever come back to Sioux Falls after that first Christmas break from college?” Dean regretted the question the moment he looked at Cas. His face fell and Cas shoved his hands in his pockets and avoided Dean’s gaze.  “Cas?”  Without thinking, Dean moved to the other side of the drawer. He needed to be closer to Cas, he could sense that something was wrong. 

“I–I couldn’t come back home after that first Christmas.” The pain in Cas’ eyes shot right through Dean’s heart. Without another word he understood why Cas never came back. He wasn’t welcome.

“I didn’t think it would be a big deal,” Castiel’s voice was low and soft, as if he was revealing a secret.  “I figured my parents would accept me for who I was. I was their son, you know?” 

“Dude, I’m–I had no idea, I’m so sorry.” Dean moved to the other inched closer to Cas. He longed to wrap him in a big hug. At this moment, he didn’t see the successful thirty-something forensic pathologist in front of him. He saw the small mousy boy on the bus who was hugging his backpack like a life preserver. 

“There’s nothing to be sorry for, Dean. I found friends and family that accepted me for me, so I’m good.” Castiel stepped away from Dean creating more distance between them. 

“Yeah, but Cas,” Dean closed the space between them and placed his hand on Cas’ shoulder.  “I–I could have, I should have been one of those friends.” Dean rubbed the back of his neck. He felt the heat begin to rise in his cheeks and a lump in his throat thinking about Cas being rejected by his family just because of who he loved. Had he not found Bobby, he definitely could have had the same experience.  “Man, when I came out to Bobby, I was worried sick that he would reject me.” Dean paused, waiting to see Cas’ reaction. He was as stoic as ever, but Dean couldn’t go back now, the cat was out of the bag, so to speak. “All he did was pull me into one of those giant bear hugs and thanked me for telling him.” 

Castiel’s mouth dropped open. “You’re…” There’s the reaction Dean was looking for, but was it horror, shock or delight?

“Yeah, Cas. Bi as the day is long. Could never make a decision.” Dean let out a small laugh at the stereotype that was excruciatingly true for him.  “Except for one thing.”  Dean was now chest to chest with Cas, his hand still on the man’s shoulder, and staring into those bright blue eyes. It was now or never.

“And what was that?” Dean felt the words rumble through his chest. 

“You.”  Dean closed his eyes. He had no idea how Cas would react, but he had to tell him how he felt. He’d waited almost twenty years, he wasn’t gonna back down now. 

“Me?” The hope in Cas’ voice made Dean weak in the knees. Was this finally happening?

“Yeah, dude. I never told you, cuz I didn’t figure it out till you were gone, but I've kinda loved you my whole life.” 

“What? How?” Cas sputtered. 

“Looking back on it, it was kind of obvious. Hindsight is 20/20, right? Do you remember that one weekend when your parents had to let me sleepover because Bobby was gonna be out of town?”

“Yeah, they were not happy about that.” Cas put his hand on Dean’s shoulder and pulled him forward so that there wasn’t an inch of space between them. “But I was.” Cas moved his hand up into Dean’ hair. Cas’ eyes were shimmering even in the harsh fluorescent light. “Dean, I’ve…I’ve loved you for a very long time, but I assumed that you would never feel the same way.”

Dean’s heart shattered into pieces at Cas’ words. “How long–er–when did you know?” 

“It wasn’t until I started dating my first boyfriend, Mick, in college. We were talking one night and I mentioned you and he looked straight into my eyes and said, ‘does he know you love him?’ That was the first time that everything clicked into place and I realized that I had been in love with you for years.” 

“Jesus, Cas. We’re idiots. We could’ve been, I could’ve—”

“Shh…” Cas hushed and leaned in and captured his lips in a soft kiss. His lips were soft and slightly chapped, but kissing Cas was heaven. Dean’s hand moved from its location on Cas’ shoulder to thread through his hair as he pulled Cas deeper into the kiss and just as he felt Cas nip at his bottom lip, Dean opened his eyes and remembered where they were and who was laying on the slab next to them. Dean broke the kiss and gently pushed Cas away.

“Cas.” Dean cupped Cas’ face in his hands after seeing the disappointment after breaking the kiss. “I–I really wanna continue this, but maybe not here, yeah?” Dean inclined his head to the body of John Winchester laying next to them. 

“Oh, right.” Cas looked to his right, but then a wicked smile formed on his face. “Or, from what I remember of John, it would piss him off even more to be in the same room as two men kissing, much less his son kissing another man.” 

“You’re still a weird little guy, aren’t ya Cas? But no, I’m gonna make out with you in front of my dead father out of spite.” Dean grabbed Cas’ hand and led him out of the double doors. “Come on, let’s go.” 

“Where are we going, Dean?” Cas asked, squeezing Dean’s hand. 

“Well, it might sound old fashioned, but I figure we should probably go on at least one date before we ravage one another.” Dean raised Cas’ hand to his lips and kissed his knuckles. As they walked past the reception desk, Dean saw Meg sitting on the edge of the desk talking to Charlie and out of the corner of his eye saw Meg roll her eyes and slap a twenty into Charlie’s hand. 

“So, where are we going, Dean?” Cas asked as they waited at the bank of elevators. 

“Wherever you want, sunshine. As long as I'm with you.” There was a ding as the doors opened and Dean led Cas into the elevator, still holding hands, his heart full of the opportunities that lie ahead.