Chapter Text
In the end, it all came down to simple hunger. With his father fired from yet another in a long series of dead-end jobs and drunk on the couch, Dean had fed Sammy the last of the macaroni and cheese. The only things left in the house now were half a stick of butter, a bottle of ketchup, an opened jar of spaghetti sauce, a nearly-empty jug of milk and the last two bottles of beer. Dean considered the milk and shook his head. Sammy needed it. But his stomach was growling, insisting that Dean put something, anything, into it.
Worse, Sammy heard it. The fourteen-year-old paused, looking between his brother and what was left of his meal. Then he pushed his bowl towards Dean. “Here, Dean. I’ve had enough.”
“Like hell you have,” Dean growled, pushing it back. “Besides, you know how much I hate it when you put ketchup all over it.”
Sammy looked down, his cheeks heating. “I’m sorry, Dean. Next time I won’t.”
“Next time, you won’t have to.” Dean fondly mussed up Sammy’s shaggy hair. “You eat that. I’m going to go out and get some groceries.”
“With what?” Sammy asked. His tone was flat, depressed in a way that made Dean’s heart ache. “You know we don’t have any money in the house, Dean.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Dean assured. “I’ve got it covered.”
Worried green eyes looked up at Dean. “You’re going to steal something again, aren’t you? You’re eighteen now, Dean! The next time you get caught, you’re going to jail!”
Dean’s heart clenched. He forced his lips into a cocky smile. “I told you not to worry about it.”
Now Sammy looked upset. “Just don’t do what you did that other time,” he insisted. “Not even if you get caught and they’re going to arrest you. You promised you wouldn’t ever do that again!”
Dean felt cold all over. It had been foolish to hope his brother would have forgotten that. His smile faltered, and he swallowed hard. “I told you. That was a one-time thing. I haven’t done it since, and I won’t do it again.”
“I don’t know why you did it in the first place,” Sammy grumbled. He poked at his macaroni and cheese, mixing the swirls of ketchup into the yellow sauce to make everything a uniform orange color. “It hurt you.”
Dean shrugged. “I was fine.”
“You were crying!” Sammy accused. “I heard you, Dean. You were throwing up and crying.”
“I told you, I was fine. I’m still fine.” Dean tried to project steel into his voice. “Anyway, I’m not doing it again. I know a place I can get money, so I can buy us some groceries. It’ll be quick.”
Sammy didn’t answer. He watched as Dean picked up his father’s hunting knife, attaching the sheath to his belt. “Just be careful, ok?”
Dean shrugged. “Aren’t I always?”
Sam rolled his eyes. “Jerk.”
“Bitch!” Dean gave his brother another hair mussing, earning himself a scowl. Then he headed out the door.
****
“They told me you were dead,” Amelia explained. She sat in a straight backed chair at the fancy hardwood table they never could afford to buy while they were together. The table and chairs were in the middle of a sunny kitchen, filled with gleaming surfaces. It matched the rest of the house, or at least what he’d seen of it since his arrival.
“There were times I wished I were dead,” Castiel admitted. He was also seated in one of the chairs at the table, directly across from her. His back was military straight, his head high. Everything he owned was in a bag at his feet. His Army fatigues were rumpled, the hat resting on the bag. The only thing that moved were his eyes, flicking back and forth between his wife and her new husband.
“Cass, buddy,” Jeff began, “you have to know that nothing was done out of any sort of spite. It’s not like we were having an affair behind your back while you were away. They told Amelia you were dead, and I was just being a friend.”
“It was sixteen months, Castiel, and no one knew you were alive,” Amelia agreed. “He comforted me.”
Castiel’s eyes glanced down, towards the swell of her pregnant abdomen. “So I can see.”
“Hey, now, that isn’t fair!” Jeff protested. “She’s a beautiful woman in her twenties, Castiel. Did you expect her to act the grieving widow forever?”
Castiel nodded, lips pressed into a tense line. “Of course not. I just didn’t expect this.”
“To be fair, no one expected this,” Amelia agreed. “You, alive and well, and back home?”
“And not in a box, yes.”
“Castiel!” Jeff snapped as Amelia’s face fell. “We’re all glad you’re alive, and safely back home.”
“Home?” Castiel looked hard at the other man. “What home? When I left my home five years ago, I was eighteen. I had a house that I inherited from my parents, a new wife, and the promise of a new future. But something went wrong. I ended up a prisoner and went through sixteen months of Hell before I managed to escape. I made it through debriefing, got discharged with commendations, but the only thing I wanted? The only thing that kept me alive in that cage they locked me into was the thought of home, of my wife and the family we’d start, the happy future we’d have. Imagine my surprise when I roll up to my house, only to find strangers living there and the neighbors telling me that my wife had sold my home, married another man, and was starting a family with him!”
“It was perfectly within her legal rights,” Jeff insisted. “When you were labeled killed in action, she automatically took possession of all your joint assets.”
“Is there anything of mine you didn’t sell?” Castiel asked.
“Well, there’s your car,” Amelia admitted, hesitantly. She looked at Jeff, who looked upset.
Castiel didn’t look at him. “May I please have it back?” he asked Amelia.
Jeff’s face forced itself into an expression of disinterest as he got up and returned with a familiar set of keys. “It’s in the garage,” he said.
“Thank you,” Castiel said politely, accepting the keys. “It’s nice to know that there’s one thing you thought was worth keeping.”
“I needed to start again!” Amelia cried. “I couldn’t live in that house with all your memories, Castiel.”
“You were certainly quick to get rid of them,” Castiel retorted. “The neighbors said you had a ‘For Sale’ sign in the yard two days after my memorial service.” He leveled a glare at his ex-wife. “Would you like to know what else they told me?”
At least she had the decency to flinch. “I had needs,” she stammered.
“I do, too,” Castiel shot back. “I need a place to live, money to live off of, and, according to the military, years of therapy and medication to help me deal with what I’ve been through. You’ve both been quite adept at tending to your own needs. What about mine?”
“You know what?” Jeff rose, dug into his wallet, and tossed several bills on the table. “You want money, Cass? Take it.”
Castiel scoffed. “You seriously think you can just buy me off?”
“No one made you go into the service, pal!” Jeff yelled. “You left behind a young wife to go play soldier. You don’t get to complain later that she got tired of waiting for you to come home.”
“I was serving my country!” Castiel yelled back. “I’m painfully aware of what you were serving.”
Amelia had started sobbing, hiding her face in her hands. Jeff’s face darkened in anger. He picked up the money and threw it at Castiel. “Get out!” he ordered. “Get the fuck out of my house, Novak. And don’t come back!”
“I assure you, I have no desire to return,” Castiel retorted, grabbing the money and throwing it back. “There’s nothing here worth coming back for.”
Snatching up his pack, Castiel slapped his hat back on and stormed out to the garage, slamming the door hard enough that he heard, with satisfaction, something fall inside. It would likely be the last bit of satisfaction he’d have in some time.
At least Jeff had taken good care of the car. He’d obviously been driving it, though. Castiel took a moment to dump anything that wasn’t part of the car out into a messy pile in the garage. Jeff could clean it up himself later. Right now, Castiel just wanted to be far away. He hit the button to open the garage door, tossed his bag back into the back seat, got behind the wheel and started the car. As he pulled away from the curb, he finally realized the obvious - he had nowhere to go. He was an only child. Both parents were gone. He had no living relatives. Now he didn’t even have a house to go home to. He didn’t even have any money. His pay from the Army would have gone into the joint account he’d shared with Amelia, but she’d closed it down. Where had his pay gone? Wherever it was, he had no way to access it. The military lawyers would help him, but was it even worth it? Why fight, when he had nothing worth fighting for?
Castiel drove aimlessly until the idiot light on the dash caught his attention. He was running out of gas. With a sigh, he pulled into a station and checked his wallet. He had just enough cash to fill the tank and grab a few snacks. After that, he had no idea what he would do. Perfect. He filled his tank, made his purchases, used the restroom and got back into his car.
The air was coming in through the open windows, bringing with it the sounds of downtown. Laughter from a group of kids seemed to mock him. Castiel drove, no destination in mind, lost in his thoughts.
He didn’t know where he was going. Part of him didn’t really care.
****
Dean pulled the bandana over his nose again. He hadn’t tied it tightly enough and the stupid thing kept slipping down. It would have to do. Setting the ballcap he wore low over his eyes, he watched through the glass. Didn’t look like anyone was inside other than the clerk. Perfect.
Taking a deep breath, Dean brandished his knife and shoved into the store, making a beeline for the register. “This is a stick-up!” he yelled, making his voice as deep and rough as he could. “Give me everything in the register and no one gets hurt.” He waved his knife threateningly at the clerk.
The man’s face went white. He reached down and Dean’s eyes flicked quickly towards the door. No one coming in yet. Perfect.
He looked back at the clerk in time to see the man raising the barrel of a pistol towards his face.
Dean had great reflexes. They didn’t fail him now. He dropped like a stone, falling on his face on the floor just as the weapon went off. It didn’t sound anything like it did on TV. The pistol wasn’t big, but the sound it made was. It echoed around in the corner store, deafening and deadly. In the wake of it, the whimper of pain that followed was nearly unheard. Dean glanced towards it and saw the woman at the back of the store. He hadn’t seen her behind the shelves. Now she stood, eyes wide and terrified, staring down at the rapidly-spreading stain of blood on her chest. As he watched, she crumpled like a marionette with cut strings to sprawl on the floor. A horrible gurgling sound came from her.
“Oh, shit!” Dean yelled. “Call an ambulance!” Forgetting his knife on the floor, Dean scrambled up and went to the woman, tossing his hat aside and pulling off his bandana. Blood splashed into his face as she gurgled again. He knelt next to her, pressing his bandana against the spreading wound. Behind him, he could hear the clerk doing something, but paid no attention. “Hang on,” he urged, looking into the woman’s glassy eyes. “They’re coming, hang on!”
As he watched, the light seemed to go out of her eyes. Her chest rose, making the gurgling sound once again, before it went still.
Dean immediately knelt over the woman and started chest compressions, trying to remember the CPR classes he’d had when he’d briefly worked as a lifeguard at the city pool. “Come on!” he urged. “Dude, do you have an AED? Get over here, I need help!”
Even as he spoke, Dean knew it was useless. Every time he pumped her chest, more blood spurted out of the grisly wound. He was covered with it. He blew air into lips that were rapidly turning grey. Desperate, he turned to see what was keeping the clerk.
The clerk wasn’t behind the counter. He’d ducked into the office in the back, but he wasn’t on the phone. Instead, he was bent over what looked like a TV screen or computer monitor. Then he ran out and, to Dean’s surprise, threw the gun at Dean’s chest. Dean caught it on instinct, looking stupidly down at it as the clerk suddenly raced outside, waving frantically at the approaching police car. “Help!” the man was yelling. “He tried to rob me, and he shot a woman! He’s got a gun, help!”
It took a moment to process. Even then, it didn’t make sense. Dean blinked again at the weapon in his hands. He looked at the woman, still and silent on the floor. His clothing was covered with blood. He looked towards the monitor in the back, and then up at the video cameras high on the walls.
Oh shit.
Two cops were moving quickly towards the door, crouched down with their drawn weapons in hand. The clerk had vanished, likely hiding somewhere to avoid any crossfire. No time to think, Dean bolted, racing towards the door leading into the freezer. Luck was with him. A door led out into the rear loading area. He shoved through it, realizing too late that he was still carrying the gun. Already, someone was blaring their horn, trying to attract the attention of the police. Dean needed to get away, and fast.
There. Ahead of him was a car, stopped at the light. The passenger window was down.
Dean sprinted for the car, grabbed the roof, and threw his legs into the passenger seat like the Dukes of Hazard. That wasn’t anything like what was on TV, either. He ended up with a scraped back and a banged knee where it connected with the dash. He also nearly lost the gun, forced to scrabble for it at the last minute before it would have been out on the street. Getting it in his grip, he aimed it at the driver. “Drive!” he ordered. “Get us out of here, now!”
The man behind the wheel wore Army fatigues. He looked like he was in his early twenties, only a few years older than Dean. Deep blue eyes studied Dean without a trace of fear.
“Go!” Dean yelled. “Drive, dammit!”
The eyes moved back to the road. Fortunately, the light had turned green. The man hit the gas and the car shot forward. Dean found himself thrown back against the seat. Then a hard right turn nearly had him in the man’s lap. The driver didn’t spare Dean a second glance, maneuvering through traffic at breakneck speed, cutting off other cars and nearly forcing one off the road. “Shit!” Dean exclaimed. “You’re going to get us killed!”
“So?” the man asked, not taking his eyes from the road.
“So?!”
“So, I assume you’re going to kill me anyway,” the driver said. His voice was maddeningly calm, even as he merged onto a highway with inches to spare between two tractor trailer trucks. “Death from a bullet or from a car accident, what’s the difference? Besides, I believe you told me to get us out of here now.”
“Well, now I’m saying slow down!” Dean was clinging to the armrest for support.
The car didn’t slow down. If anything, it sped up, the insane driver apparently choosing to drag race with some douchebag in a BMW who was roaring down the right lane. The BMW’s driver was yelling and waving a middle finger out his window, ignored by Dean’s new friend. Dean pointed the gun at the BMW and watched with satisfaction as the douchebag paled and immediately fell back. At least there was some good to come out of this.
Dean pointed the gun at his driver again, thought better of it, and put it on the dash. “Ok!” he called, raising his hands. “I’m sorry, alright? I seriously wasn’t going to hurt you. I was just scared.”
“Oh, I see,” the driver said congenially. “You jumped into my car, covered with blood and waving a gun in my face because you were scared. Yes, I understand completely.”
“It’s not... I didn’t...” Dean sputtered. “I know how this must look, alright? But I mean it. I’m not going to hurt you.”
The driver never took his eyes from the road, but his hand suddenly shot like a snake from the wheel to snag the gun. The weapon vanished into the waistband of his pants.
“Right,” Dean said, unnerved and hoping it didn’t show. “Ok, you have the gun. It’s obvious I’m not a threat to you right now. If you just pull over and let me out, we can both pretend this never happened.”
For some reason, that seemed to upset the man. His hands tightened on the wheel. “Pretend this never happened?” he echoed. “Pretend this never happened. Personally, I would like to pretend this entire day never happened. I’d like to pretend the last sixteen months never happened. In short, you could not have picked a worse car to try to carjack.”
“Whoa,” Dean cautioned, raising his hands. “Calm down, dude. I’m sorry. Just let me out.”
To Dean’s relief, the car slowed down. But it only slowed to normal driving speed. “Um, what are you doing?” Dean called, watching uneasily as they passed an exit with no sign of leaving the highway.
“Just what you told me to do,” the man replied. “Driving.”
“Dude, come on, let me out!”
For the second time that day, Dean found the same pistol aimed at him. “I’m going to assume you know next to nothing about weapons, especially because when you aimed this at me, it still had the safety on,” the man said. His voice was eerily calm. “I, however, know exactly how to use it. I spent five years in the Army, since I was about your age. I’m a master marksman at both pistol and rifle. So, believe me when I tell you that if I pull this trigger, I will not miss, especially at this range.”
“Ok,” Dean called, raising his hands. “You don’t have to do anything crazy, man. I’m not going to hurt you.”
“No, you certainly are not.” To Dean’s relief, the weapon was returned to the man’s waistband. But the car still showed no sign of slowing or stopping.
“Um, what are you doing?” Dean asked. “Just let me out, ok?”
“No.” The man’s voice was still calm, almost pleasant. But there was a crazy look in the blue eyes that made Dean’s stomach sink. “You wanted me to drive you? That is precisely what I intend to do. And if you know what’s good for you, you’ll put on your seatbelt, sit there quietly, and let me do it.”
Dean swallowed hard and fastened his seatbelt. Somehow, he had a feeling that maybe the police might have been a safer option than jumping into this man’s car.