Chapter Text
Dean surveyed the college party Sam dragged him to, filled with headache-inducing flashing lights and most definitely spiked punch.
“Remind me why I’m here again?”
His little brother gave him a bitchy eye roll. “Because, Dean, you haven’t left the house in months, not since, y’know. You were gonna go crazy from not being around other people for that long.”
He sighed and sipped the questionable red liquid in his cup. “I wasn’t gonna go crazy. The only thing this party is doing is boring me out of mind.”
“Well, sorry for caring about your well-being.” Sam said, giving one of his friends- Gabriel- a knowing look. Dean hated when he did that.
“C’mon Deano, lighten up. Have some fun.” Gabriel waggled his eyebrows. “Meet some new people.”
“Nah.”
He made a face. “What? You're usually jumping at the chance to take one of these college girls home. What happened to your old man is sad, but you gotta live! Put yourself back out there!”
Sam elbowed the much shorter man in his ribs. “Gabe, shut up. I told you not to mention it.”
“Ow! Sorry, jeez. ‘S the truth though.”
Dean tuned out their bickering, the words of his brother's friend echoing in his head. What happened to your old man is sad. He clenched his fists. It wasn’t fucking sad that a car crushed John while he was woking under it, right in front of him. It was morbidly funny, actually. After having dedicated his entire life, and Dean’s upbringing, with being a mechanic, it was what did him in. He was always careful about his jacks, checking and double checking that there weren't any problems.
But that was just it. He put everything into buying that garage, building its reputation. After their mom died, John busied himself with fixing transmissions and spark plugs, instead of grieving like a normal person. Dean supposed that was something he had in common with his dad.
It wasn’t that he was never going to see his dad again that was getting to him. It was the irony of it all, the fact that he had always thought of being a mechanic as his career, his life, just like his dad had, and now he couldn’t even pop the hood of The Impala without getting a sick feeling in his stomach. Like being a mechanic was all he was, all he was ever going to be, and he was going to end up like John. Obsessed with his work, (and not so much with his family), dying under a ton of metal.
Dean needed to do something else, anything else. He needed to get away from the future John had built for him. As the oldest, he was heir to the Winchester Auto Repair business, while Sam could go prancing off to law school. But it was all he knew. Since he was a little boy, his dad had been showing him the ropes, teaching him everyday after school, giving him his first job. What could he possibly be useful at besides fixing cars?
He pushed away the thoughts that were following, the hollow feeling of dread in his stomach widening to the size of the frickin’ Grand Canyon. Instead, his eyes caught a man in the corner of the dorm room, and busied himself with studying him.
He had messy, dark hair, and a tanned face. His jaw was angular and dotted with stubble, and his eyes were a frightening icy blue. He was wearing dress pants and a button up shirt, his blue tie a backwards Windsor knot.
“Hey, Sammy, who’s that?” Dean asked, interrupting their conversation about one of the professors who supposedly had all their test answers leaked.
“The guy who looks like he just left Sunday service?”
Dean nodded.
Sam shrugged. “You know who that is?”
“Oh, that's Castiel Novak. Goofy name, I know, but he’s not a guy to be messed with. Messed up my brother pretty good when they fought.”
“He fought Luci and survived? ” Sam gaped at his friend.
“No, it was Michael. They were arguing about some religious stuff, and it got out of hand. Hey, Cassie, get your ass over here!” He called across the crowded room.
Castiel looked over at them, and slowly squeezed through the clumps of dancing bodies. He finally stood in front of the three men, shifting from one foot to the other uncomfortably. “What do you want?”
God, his voice. It was deep and gravely, a low rumble that travelled through the ground and up Dean’s spine. It gave him shivers.
“Meet my good buddy Sam, and his brother Dean.” He shoved Castiel in Dean’s direction.
Dean stared at him. What are you supposed to do, when a guy as beautiful as the fucking stars was standing in front of you? He cleared his throat.
“Hey.” He held out his hand for a handshake. Castiel accepted it unsurely. “I’m Dean.”
“I know that. I’m Castiel.”
“I know that too.” They stood in an awkward silence, aware of Sam watching them with a sappy look on his face. Dean could already hear the “Aw, Dean, you made a friend,” that was going to come out of his stupid mouth the second they left.
He handed the guy a cup of punch. Castiel took it reluctantly.
“So, you uh- you go here?”
“Yes. I’m studying in the field of entomology.”
Dean blinked. “ What -omology?’
“Entomology.” He looked almost bored, explaining it like Dean was a preschooler. “A bug scientist.”
“Oh. Cool.”
Another silence.
“Are you a student here?”
“Nah, not smart enough for that. My brother just dragged me here ‘cause he sucks.”
Castiel frowned at him, his eyebrows knitting together. It was kind of…okay, he needed to get a grip. “Don’t say that. I’m sure that your intelligence matches everyone in this room,” He gave the kids having a chugging contest a judging look, “if not greater.”
He shrugged. “Why are you here? No offense, but you don’t look like a party-going type of dude.”
“I’m trying to socialize. It’s…not going well.”
Dean laughed, and flashed a grin. “I can see that.”
“Am I doing it wrong?”
“Well, for one, you're just standing in the corner,” he explained. “Don’t you hafta to be actually talking to people to socialize?”
He looked around the room. “I don’t know anyone here. Why would they want to talk to me?”
“I don’t know, man, but I had no idea who you were, and now we’re talking. So you must be doin’ something right.”
That got a smile out of him. “That’s true.”
“What else do you like to do, bug-boy? Please don’t say some boring shit like stamp collection or something.”
Castiel squinted at him. “Do you consider electric guitar to be boring?”
“ Hell no! Guitar probably the coolest instrument out there. What kinda music do you play, then?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know how to classify it. I have a recording on my phone, if you’d like to hear it.”
“Like, an original riff?” Castiel nodded enthusiastically. “Why wouldn’t I? Hand that thing over.”
Dean tried not to think about their hands touching for a second while he was given Castiel’s phone, and he pressed play on the recording. It was difficult to hear over the party, but damn, he was good. Dean could practically see Castiel's fingers running up and down the neck, pick flying. The notes were all over the place and fast, dizzyingly fast. He had the phone held up to his ear long after the recording ended.
“...do you not like it?” He said in a small voice.
“What?! I fucking love it! That's like, Toro level shredding! Holy shit. And you came up with that? Fuck.” Dean put the phone down with a shaky hand. “That was crazy, Cas.” He didn’t even notice using the nickname, but the guy didn’t seem to mind.
“Really? Also, you know My Chem?”
He rolled his eyes. “Course I know them. And yes, it was. Are you in a band yet?”
Cas shook his head. “I don’t know anyone who would want to play music with me. If you can’t tell already, I don’t know that many people. Do you play an instrument yourself?”
“Nah, but I’m pretty good at singing, if I do say so myself. Written a couple songs too.”
“Sing along to this song, then.”
“What?”
“You heard me. Sing the song that's playing right now.”
Dean strained his ears to hear what was playing in the background. He groaned. “Aw, c’mon this is fucking Rihanna. Can’t you just trust that I have a good voice?”
“Nope.” Cas had a devilish shine in his blue eyes. “Sing.”
He heaved a big sigh. “Fine.” Dean cleared his throat, humming the tune, waiting for the chorus to start.
“ When the sun shine, we shine together. ” Castiel was watching him with amusement. He raised his voice. If he was gonna sing some dumb pop song, he was going to sing it. “ Told you I’ll be here forever, said I’ll always be your friend, took an oath, I’ma stick it out to the end .” Dean really went wild with the next lines, pitching up, adding some trick he had learned to it. “ Now it’s raining more than ever, know that we’ll still have each other, you can stand under my umbrella.” He didn’t even care that people were staring. “You can stand under my umbrella. ”
He could tell Cas was biting back a smile. “Wow, you really went for it. Not bad. Maybe you should be a pop singer.”
“No thanks. If we had you on guitar, and me on the mic, I’d be singin’ hardcore and rock shit. Not Umbrella.” Dean chuckled.
“That’s not a bad idea.” Cas suddenly was serious, all the humor in his tone melting away. “Us being in a band.”
Dean tried to come up with an obvious reason why they shouldn’t. None came to mind. “Really?”
“Yes.” He made unblinking eye contact with Dean until he looked away.
“We just met, dude. But…you're right. I think.”
Cas tilted his head to the side. “If you're unsure, you should come over to my apartment, and we could experiment.”
He chose to ignore how that sounded. “You're on.” A hand landed on his shoulder, and Dean spun around to face his brother.
“You ready to go now? I can tell Gabriel is scheming something, and I want to have an alibi.”
“Yeah.” Dean pressed a couple of those small buttons on Cas’s phone, then handed it back to him. “Here, I put my number in. Call when you have a date in mind.”
Cas nodded, that goofy slight smile on his face again. Dean gave him a wave as they walked out the door.
“I told you going out would do you good. What’d you two talk about?” Sam asked, smugness oozing out of his every word.
Dean punched him in the shoulder. “Yeah, yeah. We talked about music ‘n other stuff. He’s pretty cool.” Telling his brother about Cas’s idea felt strange. It was their own secret plan. Plus, he wasn’t even sure it’d all work out. Maybe he was getting all excited about nothing.
Still, he couldn’t quiet the buzz in his veins. There were other options for him. He didn’t have to follow in his late father’s footsteps anymore. He could make a life of his own, one full of sweaty crowds chanting lyrics, and seeing Cas pluck out those notes rapid-fire onstage. He was getting ahead of himself for sure, but this was Dean's chance, and it felt right.
~
It was early that morning when he got the call. Dean had been barely awake, drinking his mug of coffee before his shift at the garage. He picked up his phone right when it rang. It wasn’t like he had gotten calls from anyone else, not in a long while. By his guess, Cas was an early riser, but his voice was still husky from sleep. It was a soothing sound to his ears.
“Heya Cas.”
“Good morning Dean.” So formal. “I called to tell you that I’m free tonight.”
He brought the hot ceramic to his lips, and took a sip. “Me too. Is after…about 8 good? I got work.”
“Yes, that's good.” The silence on the other end sounded like he was thinking of saying something else.
“What? I can hear the cogs in your brain turning, man.”
Cas sounded a little embarrassed. “I just thought, that with someone like you, you’d…have a busier schedule. Pre-planned gatherings with friends, personal events, etcetera.”
Dean shrugged, even though you can’t really hear shrugs, can you? “I used to. Before my-” he stopped himself. He had totally forgotten that Cas didn’t know.
“Before your what?”
He cursed himself silently. Of course Cas would ask. Well, it was either come up with some stupid lie he’d probably get caught in later, or tell the truth.
“Nevermind,” He finally said, harsher than he meant it.
The other end was silent again. But this one definitely felt uncomfortable. “Okay.”
Fine, he felt bad. Here he was, taking the easy way out, pushing people away. Again. It was what he was good at, after all. Once you stretch the gap between your friends wide enough, they stop asking you how you are, if you want to talk about something. You start to rely on yourself, and no one else. And that's how it should be, a corner of his mind said. He told it to shut up.
Deep breath. “Sorry. I’m being a dick.” He steadied his heart, and tried to swallow the lump in his throat down. “I used to be like that before my dad died. That was why Sammy was takin’ me to that party.” Cas’s lack of a response was probably a prompt to continue. “After it happened, I sort of…isolated myself from everyone, y’know? Last night was probably the first time I’d left the house for anything other than work since the funeral, and that was 3 months ago.” He bit his lip. The churning feeling in his stomach, telling him he was being weak and vulnerable, didn’t quiet until Cas responded.
“I’m sorry about your father. That sounds hard.” He was so sincere, it hurt.
“Yeah. Me too. Anyways, sorry for killing the mood. Tonight at 8, right?” The corner told him that Cas didn’t want to be anywhere near him, not anymore. Telling him was a mistake.
Cas perked up a bit. “Yes, tonight at 8. Do you have a notepad on hand? I’ll tell you my address.”
He exhaled, more than a bit relieved. “I got one.”
As he scribbled down the address Cas told him, it felt like a weight had been lifted off his chest. He had opened up to someone. It hadn’t gone horribly. Things were getting better again.
“‘Kay. See you then?”
He could hear Cas smiling. “Yes. I’m looking forward to it, Dean.”
Dean drained the rest of his coffee, and set the mug on the counter, next to the pile of other dirty dishes. This place really had gone to shit. He wiped a stain off the ceramic. Back when John was living with him, he would kill him if Dean hadn’t done the dishes in God knows how long.
He slipped on a jacket and walked out the door, greeting Baby in the driveway. She needed a good clean again.
When his dad had been manager, he still got down and dirty with the cars, alongside his employees. Since Dean had taken over, he hadn’t even touched a customer's car. He took over Bobby’s position doing paperwork at the desk, and occasionally supervised the repairs being done in the garage. The first month they left him to it. But he could tell as time passed, they were growing restless.
Dean murmured a greeting to Victor, always the punctual one. He had already gotten started with the Chevy from the day before. Victor was under the car, jack propping it off the ground. Dean sucked in a breath. The sickening crunch of metal smashing into flesh and bone, bumper thudding against concrete. His cut off yell. The blood pooling from his head to Dean’s shoes.
His hands were still shaking as he sat at the desk. Dean gritted his teeth. He had just gotten in here, and he already wanted to run out the door. It was going to be a long shift.
Bobby waved a hand in front of his face. He snapped out of his thoughts.
“Yeah?”
“I said, desk again today?”
Dean could still taste the bile. “Yep.”
He gave him a long, hard look. “Boy, I know this is hard for you, but you're going to have to get over it sometime. Can’t stay holed up in here forever,” Bobby said gruffly.
“Watch me.”
Bobby shook his head, but there was a hint of a smile underneath his beard. “Have it your way. We need more all-season tires.”
“Alright. Thanks for telling me.” Dean logged on to the computer on the desk. Bobby was still standing there. “Do ya need something else?”
“Nah.” He lingered in the doorway a second longer before leaving.
The hours passed slowly, full of filling out forms for customers, placing orders for more parts, and talking to insurers. Basically, mind numbingly boring. Right when the clock in his office hit 6, he shot up and grabbed his things. He waited for the rest of the guys to finish up and herded them out of the garage. Dean closed and locked the doors.
He had spent some time in his office memorizing which way to take to Cas’s, hunched over a map. He lived near the university, about an hour or two's drive from Lebanon.
Dean turned the radio on, and drove through the empty streets. The only lights were the occasional street lamp and his headlights, cutting through the thick darkness. He was still getting used to the winter sun setting earlier.
His Impala was the only car on the road out of Lebanon. They didn’t get many tourists in their little town. Dean used to love it, knowing everyone and everything in his home for years, but lately it had felt…suffocating. He could understand why Sammy moved to the big city for college. Sometimes he just wanted to disappear into a crowd, meet new people. Be surrounded by the unknown, not your past mistakes. His brother was lucky.
It was a good thing the roads were so empty, Dean had the accelerator floored. He only slowed down when he reached the main highway, where there were other people, and probably cops waiting to get him. He was still passing all the other cars. Now that he thought about it, it’d been awhile since he’d been this excited to go somewhere. Even when he used to go bars with Benny and their other friends, it wasn’t anything close to this. He tapped on the steering wheel to the tune playing on the radio. Damn, he really needed to get out more.
Despite his previous enthusiasm, by the time he’d reached the city, Dean was starting to get nervous. Which, c’mon, freaking out over hanging out at some nerdy dudes house? Was not something Dean Winchester did. He was better than this.
He turned into Cas’s street and parked the Impala. 8:01, just on time. Dean rubbed the bracelets on his wrists and popped out his jacket collar, fussing with his hair.
Dean reread the address on the sticky-note. Apartment 3. He checked his reflection for the last time in one of the windows, and knocked on the door. The door opening was almost instantaneous, and Cas stood in its place. His hair was going every direction, he was wearing another button up shirt, but this time it wasn't tucked in, and the tie was gone.
“Hey.” Dean put on his calmest smile. Cas fully opened the door and stepped aside.
“Hello. I still have to get things ready, just sit down anywhere.” He disappeared down the hallway.
Cas’s apartment was…interesting. The only things on the walls were a painting of a beehive, and what he guessed was a family picture. There was an around highschool-aged Cas standing in front of a tight-lipped, middle-aged woman, and another two older kids. They were all wearing formal-wear, and there wasn’t an emotion in sight.
Dean couldn’t tell if the house was clean, or messy. A blanket on the couch was perfectly folded, and his shelves had evenly spaced trinkets and books. Speaking of books, there were piles of them scattered around, in practically every open flat surface. Accompanying them were stray newspaper articles, stapled papers, and an open laptop. Dean could see into his kitchen, small and TV advertisement clean. He was pretty sure if he looked around, he wouldn’t even be able to find a grain of salt out of place.
Cas returned. “Follow me.” He waited for Dean to get up, then asked down the hallway again. At the end were two doors, the same white as all the walls. Dean followed him into the open one.
His bedroom was completely different from the rest of his apartment. A neon blue guitar with contorted black decals sat on a chair, facing away from his desk. The walls had posters and CDs on shelves, from too many bands for him to count. His bed looked like he’d just gotten up out of it. His amp was the size of a mini-fridge, and wires plugged into it connected with the guitar and some pedals on the ground.
Dean settled on Cas’s bed, watching him sit down on his chair and tune his guitar. Even the way he did that, plucking one note at a time and twisting the pegs, was mesmerizing. His nails were long, too. A little too long for a guy. Dean scowled to himself. That was the kind of thing John would say. Sam’s hair made him look like a girl, Dean “makin’ eyes” at a guy, Dean was actin’ all emotional like a pansy, Dean wasn’t dressing like a man. Those comments always rubbed him the wrong way. He didn’t want to be like that.
“What's wrong?”
He shook his head, snapped out of his thoughts. “Nothing.”
Cas did what looked like breathing exercises, then hovered his pick over the strings. “Ready?”
“Yeah.” Dean grinned at him.
He thought for a few seconds, adjusted the strap, and straightened his back. Then the most mind-blowing three minutes of Dean’s life passed by. His fingers danced along the frets, tempo all over the place, other hand moving the pick up and down insanely fast. He was chewing on his bottom lip in concentration, every note purposeful and echoing in his tiny bedroom. Halfway through he had noticeably loosened up, gotten lost in the music, starting to dance in the chair. Dean wouldn’t have been surprised if he got up and started spinning around.
The last exhilarating note faded away, and he glanced up. Sweat dotted his face.
“What’d you think?”
He hadn’t even noticed that his mouth was open, but he closed it. “Dude.”
“...yeah?” Cas started to sound a little worried.
“How do I-” Dean rubbed his face. “That was…that was awesome. I mean, the recording you showed me last night was crazy, but this was crazy. Your a fucking musical genius,” he said, throwing his hands up. “There's no other way to say it then you're wicked talented.”
He beamed sheepishly. “You think?”
“I’m literally speechless.”
“You're talking to me right now.”
Dean gave him a playful glare. “Shut up. Seriously though, I dunno if I can compete with that on stage. Jeez.”
“I mean, if you think that's impressive,” Cas got ready to play again, “wait ‘til you see this other one I’ve been working on.”
His stomach grumbled loudly, spoiling his plans to make a good impression. Dean cringed. “Sorry about that.”
Cas looked up. “Oh, do you want something to eat? I should have offered before.”
He instinctively started to refuse. Lately he didn’t have the energy to cook and eat full-blown meals, just eating junk food throughout the day. Yet another daily routine that had been turned upside down after what happened. But he was trying to change, right? And he couldn’t lie about an honest-to-God prepared meal sounding really good.
“Uh- yeah. Thanks.” They went back to his kitchen, and Cas pulled out an ornately carved wooden chair for him.
“Let me see...I think I have everything for a stir fry.” He pulled out an assortment of vegetables and other ingredients. Cas placed a cutting board and a knife on his counter, and started to cut something he didn’t recognize.
Dean stood up, and walked over to him. “I can help you with that.” He held out his hand for the knife. “I dunno how good I am at cooking, but chopping vegetables is easy. You shouldn’t have to do everything on your own just ‘cause I forgot to eat.”
Cas made a face at him. “It's really no trouble.”
“Hand it over. ‘S the least I can do.” A spare cutting board with another knife was hesitantly placed in front of him. It didn’t take long for Dean to take over, instructing Cas on the right ways to fry things, scrounging through his cupboards for extra spices and sauces for taste. Cas was more than content with it. They talked the whole time, with topics ranging from concerts they’d been to, to their favorite movies.
“Really? You haven’t seen Red River? What, you been living under a rock?” Dean pointed the wooden spoon at Cas, dripping a little bit of oil on the tiled floor. “It’s a classic. I gotta make you watch it.”
“I haven’t watched many cowboy movies.”
“Oh, we’re having a movie night. Not even Clint Eastwood?”
Cas shook his head.
“Guess it’s up to me to educate you. ‘Cause no one else’s done it the past-”
“23.”
Dean nodded. “-23 years.” He turned the heat on for the burner down, and moved the pan to a cooled one. “How are you so knowledgeable about music, but haven’t even watched the cornerstones of pop culture?”
“I like reading the books better. Were these movies adapted from books that I can read instead?”
“Everyone knows that movies are completely different. And better!” Dean added, interrupting Cas, who was definitely about to claim the superiority of literature. “Get the bowls out.”
Cas took out two sky blue bowls, keeping hold of the one chipped at the edge with cracks sneaking out of it, and handed Dean the other.
“I set it down too roughly.”
Dean whistled. “Damn, you musta been pissed.”
“It happened while my mother was visiting, so…there's a good chance of that.”
“I’ve been there, believe me. Though my bowl would end up in shards.” He stirred the mixture with rice, and sprinkled various nuts on the top, then did the same with Cas’s. “Try it. Your kitchen is pretty lacking in the interesting flavors department, but I did my best.”
Cas rolled his eyes and took his bowl back. “Thanks.” He took a bite, then another. “This is really good.”
He shrugged. “I could make one a billion times better at my place.”
“I’ll have to taste it myself to believe it.”
Dean smiled through his mouthful of food, and Cas smiled back at him.
By the time they finished eating it was already past 11, and they decided to do it again the two nights from then. Dean gave him the address to his house. He made up an excuse about having to work late that night so he’d have time to clean the place before Cas came over. He drove away from the apartment with a long forgotten feeling of warmth in his chest, and the guitar riff he’d heard stuck in his head.
He fell asleep almost instantly when he came home, and didn’t wake up ‘til his alarm. Another thing in a long line of firsts since John died. Dean usually tossed and turned for a couple hours, distracted by his thoughts. Then he would be plagued by nightmares all night long, springing awake after some of the worse ones. He’d attempt to fall back asleep, but that didn’t always work, so he’d resort to staring at the ceiling until the sun rose.
Dean waited for his coffee to brew and surveyed the house. He needed to throw out the trash, and do the dishes, and put away all the random shit he had lying around, and…he sighed. It was going to be a busy day.
He hadn’t had anyone over besides Sam, and even those visits were far and few between. Besides, his brother was used to Dean’s mess. He didn’t mention it when he did come over, out of politeness. His brother had tip-toed around him like he could snap at any second since it happened. It was starting to piss him off. Maybe now that Dean was “going back to normal,” he’d get off his back.
It was another uneventful day at the garage. Bobby commented on his unusually positive mood, but Dean had just made some excuse about how much business they’d been getting lately. He obviously didn’t buy it. It was true, though. There had been more flats and defective brakes this month than most other years.
But the real reason he was feeling happier, was because things were looking up. Going to Cas’s place was the highlight of his week, and the song he’d played in his room was still stuck in his head. Humming it was good for taking his mind off things, and Dean had even found himself making up lyrics to go along with it. Most of them didn’t stick, but throughout the day he would grab a piece of paper and frantically write a phrase that kept resurfacing.
When he got home, Dean got started with the cleaning. The living room wasn’t too bad, just a few scattered DVDs and other things. Once it looked presentable he moved on to the next room. The kitchen was a bigger task, mysterious stains on every surface, leftovers and empty wrappers all over the place. God forbid Cas wanted to see his bedroom.
Dean sang some of the lyrics he’d come up with while washing the dishes. He’d written parts of songs before, paragraphs of words in messy handwriting all over his shelves notebooks, but not anything with music behind it. He couldn’t imagine playing an instrument and singing at the same time, and he was nowhere near Cas’s skill level. When Dean listened to music he focused on the singer, their tone and pitch. The meanings behind their words. Not the accompanying instruments.
He left the dishes to dry and collected the trash that littered the floors and counters. Now that he was really paying attention to it, the house looked like shit . When his dad had been here…Dean frowned. Not something he wanted to think about.
The next task was the first bedroom. AKA, John’s bedroom. It was still trashed post-funeral. The minimal decoration had been smashed or thrown. The TVs screen was completely shattered, and the guns he kept on his wall were on the floor. He used to have a couple trophies and photos on the shelves, but those were broken too. Dean hesitantly looked inside the drawer he had wrenched out of the frame. Underneath a pile of jeans was a photo album he’d never seen before. He couldn’t even remember the last time John had held a camera.
The first picture was of his parents on their wedding day, Mary looked a bit like a ghost in her pale and billowy brides dress. The next one was of her in a hospital gown, looking dead tired, and holding a small pink shape. The next was a closer version of it, and Dean recognized it as his baby pictures. He flipped the page.
Then it was his dad holding him, and another picture of him asleep in a crib. It must have been in their old house, back in Lawrence. Dean turned the pages until he got to the next set of hospital photos. Sammy looked so small in his mothers arms, mid-cry. The next few pictures were of the two of them seeing each other for the first time, The two of them smiling, the two of them eating. The last one had the caption “Little Sam’s 6 month birthday.”
He swallowed. After that, it was empty. They weren’t even a fourth of the way through the book, when the fire changed everything. Dean checked the rest of the album in vain. All of it was empty spaces where there should have been pictures. He put the book back in the drawer.
Part of him wanted to trash the room again, as if that would punish John for dying on him. When he got home from work, his dad would usually make a beeline to his room, and stay in there until morning, but that didn’t mean that the house didn’t feel empty without him. Sammy had only left for college the previous year. Dean could still remember when the three of them felt sort of like a family- at least, the two of them.
Dean didn’t want to sell the house he’d lived in for the last almost 2 decades but…there were too many memories there. He slammed the door to John’s room shut, and closed Sam’s too. There was no reason for anyone to go in there.
His bedroom was by far the worst. The first month after, when he didn’t even go to work, Dean had spent all day, everyday, there. He hadn’t had the energy to clean anything up either. He flopped on his bed and put on his earbuds, the music starting to play as closed his eyes. Cleaning could wait.