Chapter Text
The first thing Dean noticed about his second home was how cold it was.
It was the end of January when his father announced they were to move again, this time for good. Only two days later, he and his brother were in some small town in Illinois, going through the all too familiar process of moving their admittedly small supply of boxes, in which contained their entire lives.
Or at least what little of their lives their father had allowed them to keep.
For while this may have only been the second place Dean could call home, and for his little brother Sam, probably the first, this was far from the first place the two had lived. Ever since he was just a kid, Dean’s dad had dragged his sons from one run down motel to the next, only ever staying for at most two months, three if they were lucky.
That was probably why it confused Dean to no end when his dad stumbled in one night, declaring he had found them their new ‘home’.
If he could even call it that.
Dean didn’t have any connection with this place. Outside of visits to their family friend, Bobby Singer, Dean had never even been to this state. Dean had no part in picking their new house, had no say in his new school, didn’t know any place that had any good pie or drinks. Until two days ago, he hadn’t even known that Pontiac Illinois existed.
But, knowing it was unwise for one to argue with John Winchester, and that this would mean more visiting Bobby and a chance for Sam to get the life he deserved, this house was now the place he and Sam were forced to call their home.
Which Dean would have been fine with if it weren’t so damn cold.
It was snowing lightly, but to Dean, who had most often lived away from the cold, it felt like he had just been entrapped in some type of super freezer in the middle of Antarctica.
“Alright, I get that it’s the middle of January and all, but why does it have to be so freaking cold?”
Sam’s face may have been obstructed by the box the two were struggling to carry in, but Dean could practically feel the bitch face being aimed his way. “It’s twenty- two degrees out there, not zero. Stop whining.”
Dean rolled his eyes at his brother’s response. “I’m not whining, bitch.”
“Jerk.”
Dean smiled, taking pleasure in the easy flowing banter. Due to having practically raised the kid whenever their dad was absent, or even sometimes when he was there, he and Sam got along in a way not many siblings did. Dean couldn’t help but feel a bit of dread for when his father would come home, knowing the ex-marine's presence would put a stop to the care-free atmosphere.
“You start unpacking, I’ll see what I can scavenge up for dinner,” Dean ordered, guilty pushing away the troubling thought to the back of his brain. A voice in the back of his mind reminded him how he needed to be a good son, and that John was just doing the best he could.
That voice sounded suspiciously like his dad’s.
Sam looked up for only a second before following orders. Dean repressed a sigh before heading to their new kitchen, ruffling the kid’s overgrown hair on his way out. He knew of the two of them, Sam would be having a harder time, this being his first home that he could remember.
Dean walked into the kitchen and moved to turn on the light on, only for it to flicker violently before going out.
“Home, sweet home my ass.”
BZZZZ.
BZZZZ.
BZZ-
Dean practically slammed his hand into the alarm, cutting off the infuriating buzzing. He groaned, his lack of sleep getting the best of him already. After making dinner, he and Sam continued unpacking, until around eleven. Knowing they had their first day of their first actual school in the morning, Dean sent Sam away and unpacked the rest by himself, their dad wanting it done by morning.
Dean had stayed up till almost four, already tired due to not sleeping on the way there; for once their dad had decided to let them fly their, resulting in Dean freaking out the whole flight and getting no sleep. Dean glanced at his phone, only for it to prove that in the past forty-eight hours, he’s only gotten three hours of sleep.
Dean got up and quickly got ready so he would have time to make Sam breakfast after doing whatever chores his dad had left them. He went downstairs to tell his dad good morning, only to see his dad’s car was missing.
John never came home.
Dean sighed and went into the kitchen, knowing that his dad had probably spent his first night in Illinois at some nameless bar, drinking away the painful memories of the fire that had brought them to the place they were now.
He began on breakfast, thinking of his new school. Seeing as this was his first day of the new school, he should be freaking out. But he and Sam had been to so many ‘new schools’, Dean figured he was immune to the whole freaking out thing.
After he finished the eggs, and then waited a bit since Sam always wanted the dryer that the Sahara being the health freak he was, he ran upstairs to get his brother.
“Sammy! Get your ass down here, you have school!”
“Shut up, Mom.” Dean rolled his eyes before barging in. He would have yanked open the curtains if it weren’t for the fact they weren't up yet. Instead he settled for pulling off Sam’s cover and yanking him off the bed.
“Rise and shine, Sammy. Dad has the car and breakfast is ready, so get up, we’ve gotta go.”
The school was pretty much exactly what Dean would have expected, and throughout the day the classes just sort of blurred together in flashes of teachers, lessons he was hopelessly behind on, and girls doing their best to get his attention while guys sized him up.
Up until his last period, nothing strange really happened. Dean figured the day would finish up pretty fast and he could just leave, most likely on his own seeing as Sam had probably already found some nerdy club to join, and pick up whatever pieces were left of his Dad before his little brother got back.
What he didn’t bring into the equation was the fact he had Mr. Crowley as his history teacher.
His guide for the day, some nerdy energetic girl named Charlie, had patted him on the back and quickly ran to her class while she wished him good luck over her shoulder as soon as they got within twenty feet of the class. Dean shrugged it off before walking in a few minutes late due to some issue the principle needed to consult with him. He’d quickly dealt with it and made off, knowing Sam would know if he missed his last period.
He’d been reassured the teacher would be notified about why he was late and that there would be no issue, so he didn’t expect much to happen when he walked in.
“Mr. Winchester, pleasure seeing you here. Of course, I don’t see why you bothered coming in late. Why not just skip out on my class completely, seeing as you have a complete disregard for learning. Just saying, seeing as based on your record you’re a complete and utter MORON!”
Dean blinked in surprise, not sure what to think of the sudden anger being directed. “Did you not get the email the principal sent you or-”
“Please, Mills is a suck up. Everyone knows I’m the real king of this hell hole. Now are you just going to stand there like an idiot or-”
“Excuse me, Mr. Crowley. I think I might have found a flaw on page 167. Would you correct either it or me? Please,” said a conveniently timed voice from the back of the class. Dean silently thanked the voice as though it had just went to the depths of hell and pulled him out. Crowley sent another glare Dean’s way before turning around to see the student. As soon as Crowley turned around, a blonde haired girl grabbed Dean’s hand and yanked him into the seat next to him.
“I pissed him off just by walking into the class. That’s some kinda record, right?” He whispered this to the blonde haired girl. Her face gave no sign of having heard him, but, under the cover of the table, he felt a sharp jab of a boot in his shin.
Dean shrugged, not letting it show that her kick actually kind of hurt. He figured she just didn’t want to talk, and looked away to grab his book from his bag. When he straightened up, there was a note, presumably from the blonde.
You kiddin? You pissed him off by existing, not by walking in the room. In fact, I’d even go as far as to say he’s in a rather good mood. Don’t ruin that by talking in his class, unless you have a death wish, cause I will kill you. Name’s Jo.
Dean smiled to himself before making sure it looked as though he were working. As he did, he wrote on the sheet Jo had given him.
That’s a good mood? What is he, Satan? Weird. Names Dean.
He got the sheet back only moment’s later. No, wrong class. And please, that ain't the weird thing. Seriously, what did you do, sell your soul to the devil?
Dean looked at the note in confusion for just a second too long. He felt it be ripped out of his hand, only to be looked at by Crowley himself.
“Listen hear Squirrel, I don’t know what-”
The expression ‘saved by the bell’ had never made more sense than it did at that moment. Crowley looked at the bell as though it had personally offended him. He looked like he wanted to say more, but was waved over to the other side of the room by what Dean assumed to be the same guy as earlier.
Dean shrugged before turning to leave, only to be faced with Jo, who looked as though Dean had just grown another head. “What? And what did I do that was soul selling worthy?”
Jo shook her head before grabbing her head. “You don’t understand. You’ve been here for one day an’ you already got freaking Castiel Novak saving your ass. Twice. You sure are something, Winchester.”
And with that she left Dean to walk home alone, feeling extremely one hundred percent confused.
Dean came ‘home’ to the smell of alcohol. He stopped in the doorway for a few seconds, trying to mentally prepare himself. He knew what the smell meant. His dad had gotten back, which meant it was time to be criticized upon every minuscule thing he had done in the past forty-eight hours.
“Dean. Get in here.”
With a sigh, Dean left the front door, stopping to carefully put away his backpack. He walked in to see his dad on the couch, staring at a rectangular object that rested in his hands. Dean approached slowly, worried that his dad might still be drunk. While Dean highly doubted his dad would ever hurt him, drunk or not, his dad wasn’t exactly the most pleasant person to be near when he’d had a few too many at the bar.
“What is this supposed to be?”
Dean had finally gotten close enough to see what his dad was holding. He felt his heart sink as he realized that in his four am zombie like state that morning, he had accidentally put up the one picture he had been told to never let see the light of day.
His dad was holding the last picture ever taken of Mary Winchester.
“Dad, I didn’t mean- I hadn’t gotten sleep in a while and it was like four am and I was just trying to unpack in time. I wasn’t thinking, I swear I didn’t mean it.”
He heard a breath of humorless laughter from his father. “You call this unpacking? Can’t you do anything right?” He shook his head as Dean did his best not to let the hurt that came from disappointing his father show in his eyes. “Have dinner prepared for your brother, you hear?”
“Yes sir,” Dean said, already turning to compete the task, homework be damned. He had more important things to do now.
He walked into the kitchen only for the light to sputter out once more, the darkness washing over him in a sort of coldness that he couldn’t help but associate with the house. He only allowed it to settle over him for a minute before setting off to work, doing his best to not chop off his hand in the darkness.
It wasn’t like their new house was going to make Sam dinner anyway.
Because this house would always be to cold to become a home.