crowleysboys-blog

[crowleysboys-blog]

All of You - chapter 1

Supernatural AU where Dean is living at Sonny’s farm, but instead of Robin teaching him guitar, it’s cute boy-next-door Cas.

Dean wasn't really sure if ‘sticking around’ was an option with a father like John, but what harm would come from trying to be friends with someone?

Chapters: 1/?

Words: 1,329

Triggers: mentions of abuse

“It was a little five-finger discount!” Dean was sat smirking, hands cuffed, on some grubby, spunk-worn couch in the middle of nowhere. One minute he was stealing food for Sammy, and the next he was being taken to some junked-up farm for detained boys or whatever; it smelt like an episode of true crime waiting to happen, except apparently John had okay-ed it. Figures.

“It was theft.” The police officer was a whiney little bitch according to Dean, and he didn't mind saying so as he punched him an hour or so earlier – back when he thought he was being dropped back off at the motel.

The officer and the other guy – Sonny – were in some conversation Dean had no interest listening to. He was thinking about John, and how he was gonna beat the hell out of him when he got back. He was thinking about Sammy, and whether he'd had any more nightmares, and how John would have reacted to his cries with Dean as a meat shield. He wasn’t thinking about how the officer had now left, and how this Sonny guy was asking him a question.

“Huh?” He gawped, dumbly.

“I said, kid, you know what you done wrong?”

“Yes, Sir.” It clearly wasn't the time for wise cracks and sarcasm.

“An’ you understand what you'll be doing here?”

“Um, no, not really, Sir.” Dean winced every time he mumbled the ‘s’ word – it had the same effect as accidentally calling a teacher ‘dad’- a word only used in regards to his father.

It turned out that Sonny was an ex-con who had an affiliation for helping boys get out of that way of life, and through doing so, getting free labour so long as he kept them fed and clothed. Sonny wasn't that bad though, and after an hour of talking Dean almost felt welcomed. The hand cuffs came off, and a bed was made with the promise of Sonny getting his charges dropped so long as he didn't run away, or slack on his chores.

And so Dean stayed, and everyday he helped on the farm, and every night his thumb hovered over the ‘call’ button of the shared landline. John wouldn't pick up an unknown number anyway. Dean stared down at the number, and his brow furrowed as he thought about Sammy – had he noticed he was gone? Had he cared? It was too much, and the light snores of the boys around him brought him back to the present. Life wasn't on the road, it was here on the farm, and for the most part, it was good.

On Sunday morning, or rather afternoon, Dean woke to the sun glaring in his eyes, and the curtains drawn back on an empty dormitory. At first he thought it must have been some kind of prank – had the other boys not woken him to get him in trouble? Would he walk into the house to find Sonny and the maid, Martha, with bags packed by the door, ready to kick him out? His stomach turned in knots; of course he had to go and do something like this, and screw up a good thing. He quickly washed his face in the washbasin by the door, and went to meet his fate, only to find the house seemingly empty as well. Dean played with the idea of an apocalypse, before knocking on Sonny’s study door, and opening it, to find the man, spread across the couch in a greasy football shirt, watching some quiz show on the telly, bowl of chips in hand. Dean couldn't decide whether the man had just earn respect or lost it.

Eyes flicking up from the match, Sonny noticed him lurking in the doorway.

“Hey now, what ch’you doin’ here, Dean?”

Dean didn't know how to answer – what was he doing there?

“Where is everyone?” He knew he sounded stupid and needy the moment the words left his lips, but what came next surprised him more than anything; Sonny laughed, a proper, belly laugh, as if Dean had just told the funniest joke, and what's more, he didn't stop laughing until he noticed that Deans’ expression hadn't changed from the initial confusion.

“It's Sunday, boy, the Lord’s day an’ all that?” He grinned, focusing on the green in the boys eyes as his pupils grew larger. Dean held himself like a man, but for sixteen, he was pretty skinny. “Sunday’s yer day off. Chores can wait – your old man never give you a day off?”

Dean shook his head. He felt ashamed, but he wasn't really sure why. Perhaps admitting to not knowing something was bruising his pride.

“Look here,” Sonny began, shifting his wait so he was properly facing Dean, the television crackling in the background as a jackpot was won. “Most o’ the boys like to go out on a Sunday, I give them a lil’ pocket change, and they go and mess about in the park, or hang out at the movie theatre in town, or Chuck’s diner – ‘s long as they can give me receipts proving they weren't buying no cigs or hookers, I let ‘em have their time. Does that sound like a sweet deal?”

“Oh, er, yes Sir.” And to Dean, it really did; a whole day of doing whatever he wanted sounded better than any of the attempts of parenting John had shown him over the years. His brain was whirring as he thought up all the cool things he could do – see the mechanic in town, or play ball with the other boys, or – his face dropped. The other boys hadn't told him. He wondered if they all secretly hated him. Fergus wasn't so bad, but Bart and Lu were dicks. Either way, they'd all gone and done their own thing, and left Dean stuck with Sonny and a half crushed bowl of potato chips.

Sonny gave him a look, and he knew he was about to be pitied.

“Got no plans?”

Shaking his head seemed to be all Dean did these days.

“Here, my good friend Chuck runs the diner in town, an’ he comes up here and tutors some of the boys on schoolwork and guitar an’ him an’ his son - he's about your age – are coming round to watch the game later. How ‘bouts you get dressed properly, and I'll introduce you to his kid. He's smart, an’ seems to act like he's an adult already, kinda like you. Bit odd though, never really one for friends.” He didn't sound like someone Dean wanted to associate with – hell, what kid thinks of the word ‘associates’ anyway? “Who knows,” Sonny continued, “Maybe if you stick around, you could become friends.”

Dean wasn't really sure if ‘sticking around’ was an option with a father like John, but what harm would come from trying to be friends with someone?

Three o’clock rolled around, as did a harsh knock on the glass on the porch door, and the creak as Sonny got up to get it, calling Dean over as he did so. He opened the door, and Deans heart almost sank – the middle aged, greying man appeared to be alone. Was he really going to get upset about not being able to interact with a boy he'd never met? He'd almost walked away, when he realised he was being introduced to this ‘Chuck’.

“And this,” The man said, stepping to the side slightly, “-is my son. Castiel, come and say hi to Dean here.”

Dean looked up to meet eyes with the boy. He was wearing a white button-up shirt, and smart trousers, and Sonny was right – he did look like a miniature adult. He glanced away as to break the stare that was getting awkwardly long, Sonny and Chuck had already moved inside.

Dean half smiled. “Dean.”

The other boy cocked his head to the side slightly, as if he didn't believe him. “Hello Dean, my name is Castiel.”