Suburban War - Chapter 5, Part 1
Now our lives are changing fast
Hope that something pure can last
~Arcade Fire, “We Used To Wait”
Twelve years old
The ease and happiness of Dean and Castiel’s first summer together bleeds into Dean’s first school year in Lawrence, as well as the following few years. Even though they don’t attend the same school, Dean and his friend see each other almost every day, and it’s enough to keep them happy, both rushing home each day after school, eager to tell the other anything new they may have seen or learned.
Before Lawrence, Dean hadn’t known what it was to have an extended family. He had grown up having only his immediate family surrounding him, only ever being able to rely on his parents and brother as his close-knit circle of support. But now, he’s beginning to understand the importance and necessity of letting outsiders into their family, of allowing himself to depend on and become attached to those not obligated to him by blood.
Accepting uncle Bobby, Ellen, Joanna Beth, Missouri, and Castiel into their lives was strange at first; at least it was for Dean. He had been so used to not allowing himself to become attached to people because he knew they’d be uprooting themselves and moving again soon. But now, now he can make plans with them, can talk to them of things that happened a few months previously and not have to explain what he’s talking about because they were there a few months ago. It provides a comfort he didn’t know he’d been craving.
The novelty of having a best friend does have its drawbacks, and Sam suffers the most from it. Dean knows he’s been brushing off spending as much time with his little brother as he did before moving to Lawrence, but he’s just been so wrapped up in the excitement of having a new friend that he avoids Sammy a lot of the time. Mary takes pity on them both, at first; pity on Dean for needing to spend time with his best friend, and pity on Sam for missing his big brother, and not having the good fortune of finding a friend of his own, aside from Joanna Beth, who more often than not claims she’s too big to play with little kids like Sam even though she’s only a couple years older.
Thankfully, one summer day Castiel unwittingly stumbles upon a solution to the problem. He and Dean run down the stairs and into the kitchen, where Sam is sitting at the breakfast table. Mary is attempting to get him to pay attention long enough to read a book, but he’s squirming in his seat, face already flushed with the heat of the morning. Dean and Castiel try to sneak through to the backyard, making as little noise as possible, but Sam spies them, and calls out, “Dean! Can I come? Please please PLEASE?”
He tries to jump from his seat, but Mary grabs his shoulders, holding him back. “Honey, I told you, you can’t go out and play until later. You need to practice reading right now, and your brother has other things to do.”
“But, mommy, I wanna play with Dean! He never plays with me anymore, I wanna go with him!” Sam’s eyes well up with fat tears threatening to spill over, his bottom lip quivering, and Dean stares at his little brother, his heart twisting painfully. Those stupid tears and that stupid lip get me every time, he thinks, standing there, not knowing what to say or do. He feels so guilty for not playing as much with Sam lately, but there’s no way they could go all the places they go if they’re dragging along a kid his age.
Castiel shifts beside Dean. “Sam, we’re just going up to the treehouse. We won’t be doing anything fun,” he explains, his stance awkward.
“I can go in the treehouse! Dad said I can go, right, Mom?” Sam pleads.
“But, Sam,” Castiel goes on, “we’ll be doing work and reading. And we were hoping you would work hard to learn to read good so that you can help us. We’re gonna need a lot of help with reading…stuff.”
Castiel looks at Dean, his eyes begging him for help. Dean doesn’t know what the heck he’s supposed to say to back up his friend, but then he gets an idea. “Sammy, we’re not supposed to talk about this, but uh…Cas and I are part of a secret club, and uhhh… it’s like, really important and really secret, and we want you to join and help us, but we need you to be able to read good first, okay?”
Dean holds his breath as Sam watches them across the table, chewing on his lip. The little boy wipes an errant tear from his cheek, and whispers, “What’s the name of the club?”
Well, crap. Dean’s good at thinking on his feet, but he’s not that good. He clears his throat a couple times to give himself a second to think, but before he can say anything, Castiel speaks up next to him.
“It’s called the Men of Letters club,” Castiel declares. “That’s why it’s so important for you to learn your letters, Sam. We do research and stuff, and you have to be able to read a lot for that. Because that’s the most important thing about the club.”
“Well, that and killing monsters,” Dean adds helpfully, thinking it would add some excitement to the story. Or not so helpfully, because Sammy wiggles out of his seat to cling to Mary, arms wrapped around her from behind.
“Monsters? There’s monsters?!” he cries, hiding his face into his mother’s neck. “Mom, Idon’twanttheretobemonsters!”
Mary glares at her older son, turning around to return Sam’s hug and soothe him. “Ssshhh, Sammy, Dean was just kidding, there’s no monsters! Right, Dean,?”
Dean rushes forward to grab his brother and pull him into a hug. “Yeah, Sammy, I didn’t mean it, there’s no monsters. Just…there’s mean guys that we call monsters because they’re so mean and ugly. But they’re just people, okay?”
Sam hiccups, and rubs his snotty nose onto the collar of Dean’s shirt. “Y-you mean like the Chris-Chris-tensons brothers?” he asks, hopefully.
Dean laughs and squeezes him tight. “Yeah, dude, just like the Christianson brothers. We can take care of them, right?”
Sam nods and rubs his eyes, sliding down to take his seat again at the table. He pulls open the notebook he’d been using to scribble his letters, and picks up his pencil. “I’m gonna learn to read and write good and then I can hang out with you and Cas and stop bad people, okay, Dean?” he says, looking up at his brother with hope.
Dean smiles down at him, and rubs a hand over his floppy hair. “Sure thing, pipsqueak.”
Sam dodges Dean’s hand. “Don’t call me pipsqueak,” he demands, annoyed. “I’m gonna eat all my vegetables and I’m gonna be bigger than you someday.”
Laughing, Dean turns to signal to Castiel to follow him out the door. “Whatever you say, pipsqueak!”
They climb their way up the tree and into the treehouse, Dean ahead of Castiel, turning around and reaching down to grab the books his friend is clutching. “Thanks for that, Cas,” he mutters.
“For what?” Castiel asks, confused. He crawls over to the window and pushes the glass up, closing his eyes to the breeze it lets in.
“For, y’know, helping with Sammy,” Dean answers. He sits down on the giant beanbag in the corner next to the bookshelf and opens up a battered copy of The War of the Worlds. “I kinda feel bad that I don’t hang out with him as much as before.”
“Before what?”
Dean shrugs. “Before, y’know, we moved here. I never really had any friends before now, I mean, not any that I liked hanging around a lot or anything.”
He can feel his friend staring at him, and he shifts uncomfortably, but it’s not as weird as it was before he got used to it. Now he just ignores it, or just stares back until one of them starts laughing or changes the subject.
“So, uh, you want me to read a scene out of here for you to draw, or you wanna go find something else to do?” Dean asks, changing the subject.
“Sure, I guess,” Cas replies. He pulls out his sketchbook, flipping drawings over to get to a blank page. Dean reaches over silently to pull the book from Castiel’s hands, and Castiel lets him without saying a word. It makes Dean feel fuzzy inside, knowing how much his friend trusts him, is willing to just hand over something so precious without a moment’s hesitation.
Dean flips through the sketches slowly, his eyes roaming over each drawing, even the ones he’s seen before. More often than not, there’s some aspect of flying in each picture, whether as a bird or insect as the subject, or with birds flying in the background, and “Hey, Cas, why do you draw flying stuff so much?” Dean asks.
Castiel squints as he leans over Dean’s shoulder, looking down at the drawing in his hand. “I dunno,” he says with a shrug. “I just like flying stuff. Sometimes I wish I could fly,” he adds, his voice wistful and sad. “I dream about it a lot.”
“Do you ever fall?” Dean questions.
Castiel shakes his head. “No, I never have. It’s really fun when I dream I’m flying. I don’t ever feel like I have to worry about falling.”
Dean shudders. “I hate flying. One time, we almost crashed when we were flying to Florida. It was awful.”
“Yeah, but that was on a plane. I bet you’d like it if you had wings and could fly yourself,” Castiel says, rolling his eyes.
“Oooh, could you draw me with wings? I bet that’d be badass!” Dean exclaims.
Castiel shakes his head. “I’m not very good at drawing you. Maybe some other time, okay?”
Dean tries to hide how much this hurts his feelings. Castiel seems to draw everyone else but him, and it makes him feel jealous of those other people, and wonder why his friend doesn’t want to draw him. “Sure, I guess,” he shrugs.
He starts to read the book in his hands, but he can’t seem to concentrate. The burgeoning heat of the day presses against his skin, making him groggy and cranky, so he reaches over to the bookshelf and pulls down another of Castiel’s sketchbooks, this one so full that he had to get another to continue his hobby. Some of the sketches have pulled loose from their bindings, so Dean has to be very careful as he looks through the pages.
The detail of each sketch never fails to take Dean’s breath away. Even at such a young age, Dean can recognize that his friend’s talent is exceptional. Cas is able to capture both the strength and delicacy of everything he draws, somehow showcasing the soul and very essence of each one perfectly. There are pictures of grasshoppers, frogs, turtles, fireflies and other insects that Dean has managed to catch for him. There are various drawings of the huge oak trees they climb on their adventures through the woods behind Dean’s house, as well as the creek at various water levels, depending on how much rain has fallen recently.
They’d gotten in the habit of telling stories to each other when it’s raining and there’s nothing to do, or when Castiel is spending the night at Dean’s house and they’re up way past when Mary had yelled at them for the thousandth time to go to sleep. But after the first few times they’d done storytelling, it became an unspoken agreement that Dean would tell the stories and Castiel would draw them. When Dean saw how good the pictures were, he saw it as a challenge to think up better and more outrageous stories, narrating tales of jungle safaris, mountain treks over undiscovered territories, chasing monsters and saving the world from evil. After Castiel’s first ride in the backseat of John’s Impala, he always seems to find a way to include Dean’s favorite car in the adventures, too.
Dean carefully places the sketchbook back on its shelf, and leans back against the floor. He stares up at the ceiling, listening to Castiel’s pencil ghost across the page, and it’s not long before he closes his eyes, and dozes off. He wakes what feels like only a few minutes later, but when he peeks out the window he notices the sun has moved higher in the sky, and the heat in the treehouse is starting to become oppressive.
“How long was I out for?”
Castiel glances up from his book. “About an hour, I think.”
Dean sits up, rubbing a hand across his face. “Jeez, we need to get out of here and find something to do, or I’m gonna go crazy.”
Dean and Castiel typically have no problem finding something to keep them busy and happy in their free time, especially during the summer months. But there are those days where nothing seems to satisfy Dean’s tendency towards restlessness or the feelings of wanderlust that overcome him at the oddest moments.
And this is looking to be one of those days.
Dean is tired of traipsing through the same woods and over the same fields that they’ve seen almost every day for the past year. He shoots down every suggestion for something to do that Castiel provides, and snaps so harshly at his friend that he knows he should apologize, but he just doesn’t have the patience for it; besides, words are cheap when what would really make it up to him is finding something fun to do.
After an unappealing lunch of Kool-aid and turkey sandwiches, Dean grabs Castiel’s sleeve and drags him out the front door. “Come on,” Dean mutters. “We gotta find something to do or else I’m gonna scream.”
“We could always go back to my house and find something else to read,” Castiel says, climbing onto his bike next to Dean.
“No way,” Dean scoffs. “I’m not in the mood for Missouri to stare at me and tell me I’m doing everything wrong.”
Castiel sighs as he begins to pedal, staying close behind his friend. “She only acts that way because she likes you, you know.”
Dean snorts, looking over his shoulder. “She’s sure got a crazy way of showing it.”
He leads them both down the end of his street, taking a left as if he were heading towards Castiel’s house. But instead of taking the next right, he continues on, straight to the end of that road, and back towards the outskirts of the neighborhood. Neither one of them has ever gone this far away from their homes before, and the further they go, the less they see of any homes or other people. What were wide, sleepy streets lined with houses turn into rougher pavement with open, overgrown fields on either side of the road.
Dean spies a dirt path to his right, winding long towards a thicket of woods a few acres away from the road. He makes a sharp turn onto the dirt without thinking much beyond it being something different, finally, and he glances over his shoulder to make sure Castiel is still with him.
“Dean, where are we going?” Castiel yells out behind him.
Dean looks back at his friend and grins. “I dunno! Kinda cool, right?”
The path gets bumpy, filled with holes, and rocks, and clumps of dirt that slow the boys down. When the path turns into the woods about a half mile down the road, Dean pulls to a stop. He wipes the sweat and grime from his forehead with the hem of his shirt, turning to find Castiel doing the same.
“Whaddya think? You wanna keep going and see where it leads?” Dean asks.
Castiel squints, trying to see into the forest where the path snakes through. “ I don’t know…I didn’t see any no trespassing signs on the way here,” he ventures.
Shrugging, Dean puts a foot on his bike pedal and kicks off. “I say we go for it. If anybody yells at us, we can just say we didn’t know.”
Castiel grunts in agreement beside him, and they begin their trek further into the woods. It’s barely a forest, at first, what with the sunlight beating mercilessly through the leaves. The trees and shrubs are thinned here on the outskirts, new growth not doing much in the way of shade. But the further they go, the denser the vegetation gets, and Dean breathes a sigh of pleasure when they become encased in the shadow of the tree canopy overhead. It’s quite a bit cooler here in the midst of the deepest part of the woods, the air damp with the smell of moss and dirt, but the path is harder to navigate, weeds and overgrowth blocking the way, so the boys jump off their bikes, choosing to walk them the further in they go.
A half hour later, Dean begins to notice the trees thinning above them, as rays of sunlight begin to beat through the leaves. What remains of their path curves to their left, and Dean gasps as they are suddenly thrust out of the forest and into a clearing, the sun blinding after being so long in the dark of the forest. As his eyes are adjusting to the sudden light, Dean has to rub a hand across his face, and then he almost pinches himself because he can’t quite believe what he’s seeing. There, about one hundred feet ahead of them, is a lake. A wooden pier juts out into the water, and tiny insects buzz lazily across the surface.
Dean looks back at his friend, whose eyes are wide in disbelief. There’s an old, beaten-down cabin teetering on its tiptoes in a small clearing to the right, looking as if one stiff breeze will make it come crashing down. Dean nudges Castiel, nodding towards the cabin, and they wordlessly agree to walk over and check out the building. Peeking through the window tells them that no one has been here in quite some time, dust and cobwebs having claimed possession of the interior. They quickly lose interest in the building, choosing to walk to the edge of the lake. Dean kneels down, letting his fingers run through the clear, cool water below them.
“You know what I’m thinking, Cas?”
Castiel turns his head to look at him, a slow smile creeping along his face. “It sure is hot today.”
“Yep. And you know what I like to do most when it’s this hot?”
Castiel looks back out across the water. “No. But I know what I like to do.”
Dean grins at his friend. “And what’s that?”
Castiel raises an eyebrow and side-eyes Dean. “You jump, I jump?”
The sneaky bastard doesn’t even finish his sentence before he’s off and running, and Dean whoops as he runs after him. They both reach the end of the pier and jump into the water at the same time, clothes and shoes be damned.
********************
That same evening, as Castiel and Dean are finishing up supper at Castiel’s house, they ask Missouri about the lake and surrounding land. They figured since she’s lived in Lawrence all her life, she’d know who owns the place and why it looks so abandoned, and they are not disappointed.
“Ah, that’s old man Joshua’s place, God rest his soul,” Missouri says, wiping down the kitchen table.
“Who was he?” Castiel asks, after Dean prompts him by kicking him under the table.
Missouri sighs. “He was a sweet, lonely old man who liked to keep to himself and his garden. He loved those flowers and trees more than he did his own self, I think.”
“Did he always keep to himself?” Dean can’t help but ask.
Missouri sits down at the table with them, shaking her head. “What I heard was that he was a preacher for a long time, but he and his family never stayed in one place for long. He and his wife and little baby girl moved here when that child could barely crawl. They lived in a house not far from your’s, Dean.”
“What happened to them?” Castiel asks.
Missouri goes quiet, a look of sadness on her face. “That poor man…their house caught fire one night, they say it was a faulty electrical outlet or some such thing. He lost his wife and his baby girl, pretty much lost his whole world. I believe he must of lost that faith of his, too, and I can’t say as I blame him. No one should have to experience that much pain, the soul just can’t hold it all in.”
Dean’s chest hurts. This story is just awful, and he wonders if they were disrespectful today by going on this man’s property and swimming in his lake, laughing and goofing off.
Missouri sighs, folding the dishcloth in her hands. “He gave up his profession and the church. Bought that piece of land out there, and kept to himself from then on. He only ever came into town for groceries and supplies, never stayed or talked to anybody. My momma took me out to his house one day when I was about your age,” she continues, nodding at Dean and Castiel. “She’d baked an extra pecan pie, thinking she’d take it to him, try to draw him out into social circles again. I’ll never forget that day. His garden was full of roses, all of them the most beautiful, purest white you’ve ever seen.”
“Why all white?” Castiel whispers. Dean glances at his friend, noticing that he seems as enthralled as Dean feels.
“Ah, he told my momma they were his wife’s favorite,” Missouri says, eyes sad. “Said it made him feel closer to her, like maybe she was looking down and smiling at him.”
Dean clears his throat. “So, uh, what ever happened to him?”
Missouri stands up, and walks back into the kitchen. She begins to wipe down the counter and places dishes into the sink. “He passed on and joined his wife and baby girl about ten years ago, I believe.”
Castiel goes over to help Missouri rinse the dishes, Dean not far behind. “So who owns that land now?”
“I’m not sure if anyone really knows for sure. Rumor was Joshua had a distant relative who inherited it, but we’ve not see them, if so.”
Castiel hands the dirty plates to Dean, who begins to load them into the dishwasher. “So, that land and the cabin and the lake just sit there, with nobody taking care of it?”
“Mmm hmm, pity, isn’t it? That poor man’s sadness bled so much into that land, and now all it knows is ghosts and memories.”
Dean and Castiel share a look, but they don’t say anything in response. Dean sleeps uneasily that night, thinking of the unending pain and loneliness Joshua must have endured for so long.
The next morning, he rises earlier than usual, heads downstairs, and jumps on his bike after bolting the pancakes his mom made for breakfast. Even though it’s early morning, the heat and humidity are already almost unbearable, so he pedals faster to kick up a breeze.
Castiel is awake and dressed when Dean arrives at his house, and they say their goodbyes to Missouri before rushing out the door. They already know where they’re going even without discussing it, and after a half hour of riding along, dodging insects and harsh sunlight, they find themselves back in front of the hidden lake.
“Dean, I was thinking…” Castiel pauses, chewing on his lip.
Dean notices the look of uncertainty on his friend’s face. “Yeah, Cas? What’s up?”
Castiel reaches into his backpack, pulling out a pair of work gloves. “I asked Missouri if I could borrow some of her work gloves. I…I don’t like thinking of Joshua’s garden being so neglected. I’d like to try to weed and clear off the land around the cabin and some of the lake, if I can.”
Castiel glances quickly at Dean, and looks away, eyes darting across the water. Dean shrugs, failing to keep the smile off his face. “You didn’t bring an extra pair of gloves, did you?”
He can feel Castiel watching him, and looks up to find surprise on his friend’s face. “So, you don’t mind helping me?” Castiel asks.
“Nah, it’ll be fun, I think,” Dean replies, shrugging. “Besides, it means we can swim and fish every day, too.”
Castiel grins and nods in agreement.
They spend the rest of that summer visiting Joshua’s place a few days a week. Dean helps Castiel clear away the weeds in what was obviously the garden next to the cabin, and along the shore closest to the building. In their second week there, Dean lets his curiosity get the better of him, and figures out a way into the cabin without breaking the door down. It’s his first time ever trying to pick a lock, but it comes so naturally to him it feels like he’s done it a thousand times before. Once inside, he walks through the cabin, examining everything thoroughly, which doesn’t take long considering it’s basically just three rooms - a den/kitchen, bedroom, and bathroom.
There’s no electricity or running water, of course, and some of the furniture seems to be falling apart from rust, mold, mildew, or disuse. There’s probably at least several inches of dust on everything, and Dean wouldn’t be surprised if several species of animals lived in there. But what seems to affect Dean the most is the overwhelming feeling of loneliness through the home.
For the rest of that summer, while Castiel is weeding and clearing out the brush by hand, Dean cleans and straightens up the cabin. They’re both aware that the jig could be up at any moment, the danger of being caught out here tending to someone else’s property looming over them all the time. But the way they see it, it gives them something to do during the lazy hot summer days when they’ve tired of everything else. “And it’s not like we’re damaging the place,” Dean declares. “We're adding some value to it.”
Every afternoon, after they’ve worked up a sweat and an appetite, they take a break to scarf down the sandwiches and sodas that Missouri or Mary had packed for them that morning, then race each other to the lake, jumping off the pier and cooling off in the clear water. Some days, Dean will drag along a couple of fishing poles, and after searching for crickets and worms to use as bait, he’ll prop himself at the edge of the pier, feet dangling in the cool water. Castiel will sometimes slide up next to him, grabbing a pole and reeling the line, but more often than not, he’ll just pull out his sketchbook and draw.
These hazy, golden afternoons become some of Dean’s favorite memories, staring out at the sun’s rays dancing across the water, listening to Castiel sigh next him, the whispering scritch scritch scritch of his pencil across the paper a comfortable reassurance of his presence.
********************
In the spring of seventh grade, John approaches Dean one evening after he’s said his goodbyes to Castiel and watched his friend pedal down the driveway. As he turns to run upstairs and shower, he feels his father’s hand on his shoulder. “Hey son, hold up a minute. I was wanting to talk to you about something.”
Dean smiles up at his father. “Sure, dad. What’s up?”
John guides him over to the sofa in the living room and gestures for him to sit down. “Well, uh, I was thinking. This summer will be the last year you’ll be eligible for little league, and I thought maybe you’d be interested in giving it a try.”
Dean raises his eyebrows in surprise. “Baseball?”
John smiles and nods. “Yep. Remember how much you liked it back east?”
“Well, yeah. But, that was different.”
“How so?” John asks, frowning.
“I dunno,” Dean shrugs. “Back there, I didn’t really have much else to do. But now I’ve got Cas, and we have a lot of fun.”
The frown on John’s face deepens. “Dean, do you have any friends in your own school? I never hear you talking about anyone, and the only kid that ever comes over is Castiel.”
“Yeah, I’ve got friends there,” Dean admits, adding, “But none of them are like Cas.”
John smiles slightly and leans back in his chair. “Son, I just think maybe you should try to do more with kids at your own school sometimes. Fit in more with them, especially since you’ll be getting to high school soon.” He winks. “Trust me, you’ll want to fit in somewhere in your school once you get there.”
“Yeah, I guess,” Dean agrees, chewing on his lip. “I mean, I did like playing baseball before.”
John nods his head and stands up. “So, you want me to go sign you up for it this weekend?”
Dean nods, still not quite sure what just happened or why. “Sure, I guess,” he says, unfolding himself from the couch and walking towards the stairs.
His father slaps him on the back. “This is great, Dean. It’s gonna be fun to see you out on that diamond again. I bet the coaches are gonna love you. Are you excited?”
“Sure,” Dean replies, walking up the stairs. “It’ll be cool.”
And it is cool, Dean must admit to himself after he sails through tryouts and lands on a team with Victor Henrickson, a kid he knows from his English class. He really had forgotten how much he loved playing, and had forgotten how good he is at it, too.With Dean batting lead-off and Victor as clean-up, they become an unstoppable force, and the only thing more fun than batting is their partnership at short stop and second. No one is better at smack talk and psychological warfare, and between the two of them they get more outs than the rest of the team combined.
That summer before eighth grade is an adjustment for Dean and Castiel, because it’s the first time either one of them has something to distract their attention from each other. During tryouts, Dean begs Castiel to try out too, hoping they’ll somehow land on the same team, but Castiel refuses. He claims it’s because he doesn’t care for or understand the competitiveness of sports, but for some reason, Dean is convinced it’s because Castiel is afraid he won’t be any good at it since he’s never played before. He knows that if Castiel would just try it, he’d be good at it; hell, he’d probably be even better at it than Dean, given how the dude is able to pick up new skills and tricks so effortlessly that it makes even Dean envious. And as much as it pisses Dean off to admit it, Castiel could outrun him any day of the week.
Dean rags on his friend about baseball so much that one day Castiel has had enough, throwing the rocks he’d been collecting across the creek and turning to Dean behind him, eyes dark with anger. “Dean, why won’t you leave this alone? Why do you want me to play so bad?”
Dean can feel his face turning red, and he exhales as he looks down at his muddied shoes. “Jesus, Cas, I don’t know, okay?! I just…if I go off and do this, what are you gonna be doing while I’m playing?”
Castiel rolls his eyes, exasperation painted across his face. “Gee, Dean, I don’t know, whatever will I do without you,” he replies, sarcasm dripping from his voice.
It surprises Dean how deeply that cuts into him, and he’s pissed to feel tears begin to well up in his eyes. “Fine, Cas. Whatever. You go off and do what you want then. I’m sure you’ll find someone else you’d rather hang out with anyways.”
He drops the bag he had slung across his shoulder, full of leaves and rocks he’d found along the way. “Here, you can take this crap. It’s all shit for you to draw, anyways.”
Dean turns around quickly, not wanting Castiel to see the tear that’s threatening to slide down his cheek. He wipes it away as discreetly as he can, taking a few steps towards the wall of the ravine.
“Dean, wait!”
Castiel yells for him to stop, but Dean’s had enough of this. He’s not gonna beg Castiel to stay with him. Dean’s never lived in one place long enough to lose a friend like this, but he at least knows it’s not cool to keep clinging when it’s obvious the person wants to leave.
He feels a hand snake around the curve of his elbow, grasping his arm and pulling him back. “Dean, will you just stop for a second?”
“Look Cas, I get it, okay?” Dean growls. “You wanna go find other friends, that’s fine with me. I knew you’d probably find someone at your school you liked better anyways. No big deal.” He tries to brush off Castiel’s hand, but the boy’s grip is firm on his arm.
“Is that what you think this is?” Castiel asks, eyes squinting.
Dean shakes his head. “What else could it be, Cas?”
“Um, maybe just that I don’t want to play baseball.” Castiel stares at him for a moment before continuing. “Dean, I don’t make friends easily. But when I do, I hang onto them. I’m not going anywhere.”
“But we’re not gonna be able to hang out as much as we used to,” Dean complains. “Maybe I should just quit baseball.”
Castiel huffs. “Just because you’re playing baseball doesn’t mean we won’t hang out much. Besides,” he adds, “it’s not like the season is long. It’ll only be for a couple months.” Castiel releases his hold on Dean’s arm, and walks over to a fallen tree trunk, taking a seat as he pulls a couple sandwiches from his backpack. He hands a plastic-wrapped PB&J to Dean, keeping one for himself.
Dean unwraps his sandwich, the feeling of panic and dread slowly releasing its hold on his stomach. “I just, I don’t like change, is all,” he mutters. “It’s been nice staying in one place and having the same friend the past couple years.”
Castiel chews his sandwich, staring at Dean thoughtfully. “I’m not going anywhere,” he murmurs, voice low.
Dean looks up from his sandwich, and meets his friend’s gaze. “Me neither,” he replies.
It feels good to be able to say that, and for once know that he’s telling the truth.
All of Dean’s fears of Castiel drifting away because of baseball are relieved once Castiel begins attending his games and practices. Dean’s teammates tease him about it at first, calling Castiel his “fan club” and asking him if Castiel asks for his autograph and stuff. But as soon as they see Castiel’s drawings of the games, making them look way cooler than they could ever hope to be, they all stop, instead begging him for pictures of their own. Dean watches his friend fondly as he interacts with each of the players in his own unique, unaffected way, and he proudly agrees when his teammates go on and on about how awesome Castiel is.
And whenever he’s on the field, he finds himself glancing up at the bleachers, taking comfort in the steadfast presence of his friend bent over a sketchbook, drawing and patiently waiting for the game to end.
********************
Next...
Hope that something pure can last
~Arcade Fire, “We Used To Wait”
Twelve years old
The ease and happiness of Dean and Castiel’s first summer together bleeds into Dean’s first school year in Lawrence, as well as the following few years. Even though they don’t attend the same school, Dean and his friend see each other almost every day, and it’s enough to keep them happy, both rushing home each day after school, eager to tell the other anything new they may have seen or learned.
Before Lawrence, Dean hadn’t known what it was to have an extended family. He had grown up having only his immediate family surrounding him, only ever being able to rely on his parents and brother as his close-knit circle of support. But now, he’s beginning to understand the importance and necessity of letting outsiders into their family, of allowing himself to depend on and become attached to those not obligated to him by blood.
Accepting uncle Bobby, Ellen, Joanna Beth, Missouri, and Castiel into their lives was strange at first; at least it was for Dean. He had been so used to not allowing himself to become attached to people because he knew they’d be uprooting themselves and moving again soon. But now, now he can make plans with them, can talk to them of things that happened a few months previously and not have to explain what he’s talking about because they were there a few months ago. It provides a comfort he didn’t know he’d been craving.
The novelty of having a best friend does have its drawbacks, and Sam suffers the most from it. Dean knows he’s been brushing off spending as much time with his little brother as he did before moving to Lawrence, but he’s just been so wrapped up in the excitement of having a new friend that he avoids Sammy a lot of the time. Mary takes pity on them both, at first; pity on Dean for needing to spend time with his best friend, and pity on Sam for missing his big brother, and not having the good fortune of finding a friend of his own, aside from Joanna Beth, who more often than not claims she’s too big to play with little kids like Sam even though she’s only a couple years older.
Thankfully, one summer day Castiel unwittingly stumbles upon a solution to the problem. He and Dean run down the stairs and into the kitchen, where Sam is sitting at the breakfast table. Mary is attempting to get him to pay attention long enough to read a book, but he’s squirming in his seat, face already flushed with the heat of the morning. Dean and Castiel try to sneak through to the backyard, making as little noise as possible, but Sam spies them, and calls out, “Dean! Can I come? Please please PLEASE?”
He tries to jump from his seat, but Mary grabs his shoulders, holding him back. “Honey, I told you, you can’t go out and play until later. You need to practice reading right now, and your brother has other things to do.”
“But, mommy, I wanna play with Dean! He never plays with me anymore, I wanna go with him!” Sam’s eyes well up with fat tears threatening to spill over, his bottom lip quivering, and Dean stares at his little brother, his heart twisting painfully. Those stupid tears and that stupid lip get me every time, he thinks, standing there, not knowing what to say or do. He feels so guilty for not playing as much with Sam lately, but there’s no way they could go all the places they go if they’re dragging along a kid his age.
Castiel shifts beside Dean. “Sam, we’re just going up to the treehouse. We won’t be doing anything fun,” he explains, his stance awkward.
“I can go in the treehouse! Dad said I can go, right, Mom?” Sam pleads.
“But, Sam,” Castiel goes on, “we’ll be doing work and reading. And we were hoping you would work hard to learn to read good so that you can help us. We’re gonna need a lot of help with reading…stuff.”
Castiel looks at Dean, his eyes begging him for help. Dean doesn’t know what the heck he’s supposed to say to back up his friend, but then he gets an idea. “Sammy, we’re not supposed to talk about this, but uh…Cas and I are part of a secret club, and uhhh… it’s like, really important and really secret, and we want you to join and help us, but we need you to be able to read good first, okay?”
Dean holds his breath as Sam watches them across the table, chewing on his lip. The little boy wipes an errant tear from his cheek, and whispers, “What’s the name of the club?”
Well, crap. Dean’s good at thinking on his feet, but he’s not that good. He clears his throat a couple times to give himself a second to think, but before he can say anything, Castiel speaks up next to him.
“It’s called the Men of Letters club,” Castiel declares. “That’s why it’s so important for you to learn your letters, Sam. We do research and stuff, and you have to be able to read a lot for that. Because that’s the most important thing about the club.”
“Well, that and killing monsters,” Dean adds helpfully, thinking it would add some excitement to the story. Or not so helpfully, because Sammy wiggles out of his seat to cling to Mary, arms wrapped around her from behind.
“Monsters? There’s monsters?!” he cries, hiding his face into his mother’s neck. “Mom, Idon’twanttheretobemonsters!”
Mary glares at her older son, turning around to return Sam’s hug and soothe him. “Ssshhh, Sammy, Dean was just kidding, there’s no monsters! Right, Dean,?”
Dean rushes forward to grab his brother and pull him into a hug. “Yeah, Sammy, I didn’t mean it, there’s no monsters. Just…there’s mean guys that we call monsters because they’re so mean and ugly. But they’re just people, okay?”
Sam hiccups, and rubs his snotty nose onto the collar of Dean’s shirt. “Y-you mean like the Chris-Chris-tensons brothers?” he asks, hopefully.
Dean laughs and squeezes him tight. “Yeah, dude, just like the Christianson brothers. We can take care of them, right?”
Sam nods and rubs his eyes, sliding down to take his seat again at the table. He pulls open the notebook he’d been using to scribble his letters, and picks up his pencil. “I’m gonna learn to read and write good and then I can hang out with you and Cas and stop bad people, okay, Dean?” he says, looking up at his brother with hope.
Dean smiles down at him, and rubs a hand over his floppy hair. “Sure thing, pipsqueak.”
Sam dodges Dean’s hand. “Don’t call me pipsqueak,” he demands, annoyed. “I’m gonna eat all my vegetables and I’m gonna be bigger than you someday.”
Laughing, Dean turns to signal to Castiel to follow him out the door. “Whatever you say, pipsqueak!”
They climb their way up the tree and into the treehouse, Dean ahead of Castiel, turning around and reaching down to grab the books his friend is clutching. “Thanks for that, Cas,” he mutters.
“For what?” Castiel asks, confused. He crawls over to the window and pushes the glass up, closing his eyes to the breeze it lets in.
“For, y’know, helping with Sammy,” Dean answers. He sits down on the giant beanbag in the corner next to the bookshelf and opens up a battered copy of The War of the Worlds. “I kinda feel bad that I don’t hang out with him as much as before.”
“Before what?”
Dean shrugs. “Before, y’know, we moved here. I never really had any friends before now, I mean, not any that I liked hanging around a lot or anything.”
He can feel his friend staring at him, and he shifts uncomfortably, but it’s not as weird as it was before he got used to it. Now he just ignores it, or just stares back until one of them starts laughing or changes the subject.
“So, uh, you want me to read a scene out of here for you to draw, or you wanna go find something else to do?” Dean asks, changing the subject.
“Sure, I guess,” Cas replies. He pulls out his sketchbook, flipping drawings over to get to a blank page. Dean reaches over silently to pull the book from Castiel’s hands, and Castiel lets him without saying a word. It makes Dean feel fuzzy inside, knowing how much his friend trusts him, is willing to just hand over something so precious without a moment’s hesitation.
Dean flips through the sketches slowly, his eyes roaming over each drawing, even the ones he’s seen before. More often than not, there’s some aspect of flying in each picture, whether as a bird or insect as the subject, or with birds flying in the background, and “Hey, Cas, why do you draw flying stuff so much?” Dean asks.
Castiel squints as he leans over Dean’s shoulder, looking down at the drawing in his hand. “I dunno,” he says with a shrug. “I just like flying stuff. Sometimes I wish I could fly,” he adds, his voice wistful and sad. “I dream about it a lot.”
“Do you ever fall?” Dean questions.
Castiel shakes his head. “No, I never have. It’s really fun when I dream I’m flying. I don’t ever feel like I have to worry about falling.”
Dean shudders. “I hate flying. One time, we almost crashed when we were flying to Florida. It was awful.”
“Yeah, but that was on a plane. I bet you’d like it if you had wings and could fly yourself,” Castiel says, rolling his eyes.
“Oooh, could you draw me with wings? I bet that’d be badass!” Dean exclaims.
Castiel shakes his head. “I’m not very good at drawing you. Maybe some other time, okay?”
Dean tries to hide how much this hurts his feelings. Castiel seems to draw everyone else but him, and it makes him feel jealous of those other people, and wonder why his friend doesn’t want to draw him. “Sure, I guess,” he shrugs.
He starts to read the book in his hands, but he can’t seem to concentrate. The burgeoning heat of the day presses against his skin, making him groggy and cranky, so he reaches over to the bookshelf and pulls down another of Castiel’s sketchbooks, this one so full that he had to get another to continue his hobby. Some of the sketches have pulled loose from their bindings, so Dean has to be very careful as he looks through the pages.
The detail of each sketch never fails to take Dean’s breath away. Even at such a young age, Dean can recognize that his friend’s talent is exceptional. Cas is able to capture both the strength and delicacy of everything he draws, somehow showcasing the soul and very essence of each one perfectly. There are pictures of grasshoppers, frogs, turtles, fireflies and other insects that Dean has managed to catch for him. There are various drawings of the huge oak trees they climb on their adventures through the woods behind Dean’s house, as well as the creek at various water levels, depending on how much rain has fallen recently.
They’d gotten in the habit of telling stories to each other when it’s raining and there’s nothing to do, or when Castiel is spending the night at Dean’s house and they’re up way past when Mary had yelled at them for the thousandth time to go to sleep. But after the first few times they’d done storytelling, it became an unspoken agreement that Dean would tell the stories and Castiel would draw them. When Dean saw how good the pictures were, he saw it as a challenge to think up better and more outrageous stories, narrating tales of jungle safaris, mountain treks over undiscovered territories, chasing monsters and saving the world from evil. After Castiel’s first ride in the backseat of John’s Impala, he always seems to find a way to include Dean’s favorite car in the adventures, too.
Dean carefully places the sketchbook back on its shelf, and leans back against the floor. He stares up at the ceiling, listening to Castiel’s pencil ghost across the page, and it’s not long before he closes his eyes, and dozes off. He wakes what feels like only a few minutes later, but when he peeks out the window he notices the sun has moved higher in the sky, and the heat in the treehouse is starting to become oppressive.
“How long was I out for?”
Castiel glances up from his book. “About an hour, I think.”
Dean sits up, rubbing a hand across his face. “Jeez, we need to get out of here and find something to do, or I’m gonna go crazy.”
Dean and Castiel typically have no problem finding something to keep them busy and happy in their free time, especially during the summer months. But there are those days where nothing seems to satisfy Dean’s tendency towards restlessness or the feelings of wanderlust that overcome him at the oddest moments.
And this is looking to be one of those days.
Dean is tired of traipsing through the same woods and over the same fields that they’ve seen almost every day for the past year. He shoots down every suggestion for something to do that Castiel provides, and snaps so harshly at his friend that he knows he should apologize, but he just doesn’t have the patience for it; besides, words are cheap when what would really make it up to him is finding something fun to do.
After an unappealing lunch of Kool-aid and turkey sandwiches, Dean grabs Castiel’s sleeve and drags him out the front door. “Come on,” Dean mutters. “We gotta find something to do or else I’m gonna scream.”
“We could always go back to my house and find something else to read,” Castiel says, climbing onto his bike next to Dean.
“No way,” Dean scoffs. “I’m not in the mood for Missouri to stare at me and tell me I’m doing everything wrong.”
Castiel sighs as he begins to pedal, staying close behind his friend. “She only acts that way because she likes you, you know.”
Dean snorts, looking over his shoulder. “She’s sure got a crazy way of showing it.”
He leads them both down the end of his street, taking a left as if he were heading towards Castiel’s house. But instead of taking the next right, he continues on, straight to the end of that road, and back towards the outskirts of the neighborhood. Neither one of them has ever gone this far away from their homes before, and the further they go, the less they see of any homes or other people. What were wide, sleepy streets lined with houses turn into rougher pavement with open, overgrown fields on either side of the road.
Dean spies a dirt path to his right, winding long towards a thicket of woods a few acres away from the road. He makes a sharp turn onto the dirt without thinking much beyond it being something different, finally, and he glances over his shoulder to make sure Castiel is still with him.
“Dean, where are we going?” Castiel yells out behind him.
Dean looks back at his friend and grins. “I dunno! Kinda cool, right?”
The path gets bumpy, filled with holes, and rocks, and clumps of dirt that slow the boys down. When the path turns into the woods about a half mile down the road, Dean pulls to a stop. He wipes the sweat and grime from his forehead with the hem of his shirt, turning to find Castiel doing the same.
“Whaddya think? You wanna keep going and see where it leads?” Dean asks.
Castiel squints, trying to see into the forest where the path snakes through. “ I don’t know…I didn’t see any no trespassing signs on the way here,” he ventures.
Shrugging, Dean puts a foot on his bike pedal and kicks off. “I say we go for it. If anybody yells at us, we can just say we didn’t know.”
Castiel grunts in agreement beside him, and they begin their trek further into the woods. It’s barely a forest, at first, what with the sunlight beating mercilessly through the leaves. The trees and shrubs are thinned here on the outskirts, new growth not doing much in the way of shade. But the further they go, the denser the vegetation gets, and Dean breathes a sigh of pleasure when they become encased in the shadow of the tree canopy overhead. It’s quite a bit cooler here in the midst of the deepest part of the woods, the air damp with the smell of moss and dirt, but the path is harder to navigate, weeds and overgrowth blocking the way, so the boys jump off their bikes, choosing to walk them the further in they go.
A half hour later, Dean begins to notice the trees thinning above them, as rays of sunlight begin to beat through the leaves. What remains of their path curves to their left, and Dean gasps as they are suddenly thrust out of the forest and into a clearing, the sun blinding after being so long in the dark of the forest. As his eyes are adjusting to the sudden light, Dean has to rub a hand across his face, and then he almost pinches himself because he can’t quite believe what he’s seeing. There, about one hundred feet ahead of them, is a lake. A wooden pier juts out into the water, and tiny insects buzz lazily across the surface.
Dean looks back at his friend, whose eyes are wide in disbelief. There’s an old, beaten-down cabin teetering on its tiptoes in a small clearing to the right, looking as if one stiff breeze will make it come crashing down. Dean nudges Castiel, nodding towards the cabin, and they wordlessly agree to walk over and check out the building. Peeking through the window tells them that no one has been here in quite some time, dust and cobwebs having claimed possession of the interior. They quickly lose interest in the building, choosing to walk to the edge of the lake. Dean kneels down, letting his fingers run through the clear, cool water below them.
“You know what I’m thinking, Cas?”
Castiel turns his head to look at him, a slow smile creeping along his face. “It sure is hot today.”
“Yep. And you know what I like to do most when it’s this hot?”
Castiel looks back out across the water. “No. But I know what I like to do.”
Dean grins at his friend. “And what’s that?”
Castiel raises an eyebrow and side-eyes Dean. “You jump, I jump?”
The sneaky bastard doesn’t even finish his sentence before he’s off and running, and Dean whoops as he runs after him. They both reach the end of the pier and jump into the water at the same time, clothes and shoes be damned.
********************
That same evening, as Castiel and Dean are finishing up supper at Castiel’s house, they ask Missouri about the lake and surrounding land. They figured since she’s lived in Lawrence all her life, she’d know who owns the place and why it looks so abandoned, and they are not disappointed.
“Ah, that’s old man Joshua’s place, God rest his soul,” Missouri says, wiping down the kitchen table.
“Who was he?” Castiel asks, after Dean prompts him by kicking him under the table.
Missouri sighs. “He was a sweet, lonely old man who liked to keep to himself and his garden. He loved those flowers and trees more than he did his own self, I think.”
“Did he always keep to himself?” Dean can’t help but ask.
Missouri sits down at the table with them, shaking her head. “What I heard was that he was a preacher for a long time, but he and his family never stayed in one place for long. He and his wife and little baby girl moved here when that child could barely crawl. They lived in a house not far from your’s, Dean.”
“What happened to them?” Castiel asks.
Missouri goes quiet, a look of sadness on her face. “That poor man…their house caught fire one night, they say it was a faulty electrical outlet or some such thing. He lost his wife and his baby girl, pretty much lost his whole world. I believe he must of lost that faith of his, too, and I can’t say as I blame him. No one should have to experience that much pain, the soul just can’t hold it all in.”
Dean’s chest hurts. This story is just awful, and he wonders if they were disrespectful today by going on this man’s property and swimming in his lake, laughing and goofing off.
Missouri sighs, folding the dishcloth in her hands. “He gave up his profession and the church. Bought that piece of land out there, and kept to himself from then on. He only ever came into town for groceries and supplies, never stayed or talked to anybody. My momma took me out to his house one day when I was about your age,” she continues, nodding at Dean and Castiel. “She’d baked an extra pecan pie, thinking she’d take it to him, try to draw him out into social circles again. I’ll never forget that day. His garden was full of roses, all of them the most beautiful, purest white you’ve ever seen.”
“Why all white?” Castiel whispers. Dean glances at his friend, noticing that he seems as enthralled as Dean feels.
“Ah, he told my momma they were his wife’s favorite,” Missouri says, eyes sad. “Said it made him feel closer to her, like maybe she was looking down and smiling at him.”
Dean clears his throat. “So, uh, what ever happened to him?”
Missouri stands up, and walks back into the kitchen. She begins to wipe down the counter and places dishes into the sink. “He passed on and joined his wife and baby girl about ten years ago, I believe.”
Castiel goes over to help Missouri rinse the dishes, Dean not far behind. “So who owns that land now?”
“I’m not sure if anyone really knows for sure. Rumor was Joshua had a distant relative who inherited it, but we’ve not see them, if so.”
Castiel hands the dirty plates to Dean, who begins to load them into the dishwasher. “So, that land and the cabin and the lake just sit there, with nobody taking care of it?”
“Mmm hmm, pity, isn’t it? That poor man’s sadness bled so much into that land, and now all it knows is ghosts and memories.”
Dean and Castiel share a look, but they don’t say anything in response. Dean sleeps uneasily that night, thinking of the unending pain and loneliness Joshua must have endured for so long.
The next morning, he rises earlier than usual, heads downstairs, and jumps on his bike after bolting the pancakes his mom made for breakfast. Even though it’s early morning, the heat and humidity are already almost unbearable, so he pedals faster to kick up a breeze.
Castiel is awake and dressed when Dean arrives at his house, and they say their goodbyes to Missouri before rushing out the door. They already know where they’re going even without discussing it, and after a half hour of riding along, dodging insects and harsh sunlight, they find themselves back in front of the hidden lake.
“Dean, I was thinking…” Castiel pauses, chewing on his lip.
Dean notices the look of uncertainty on his friend’s face. “Yeah, Cas? What’s up?”
Castiel reaches into his backpack, pulling out a pair of work gloves. “I asked Missouri if I could borrow some of her work gloves. I…I don’t like thinking of Joshua’s garden being so neglected. I’d like to try to weed and clear off the land around the cabin and some of the lake, if I can.”
Castiel glances quickly at Dean, and looks away, eyes darting across the water. Dean shrugs, failing to keep the smile off his face. “You didn’t bring an extra pair of gloves, did you?”
He can feel Castiel watching him, and looks up to find surprise on his friend’s face. “So, you don’t mind helping me?” Castiel asks.
“Nah, it’ll be fun, I think,” Dean replies, shrugging. “Besides, it means we can swim and fish every day, too.”
Castiel grins and nods in agreement.
They spend the rest of that summer visiting Joshua’s place a few days a week. Dean helps Castiel clear away the weeds in what was obviously the garden next to the cabin, and along the shore closest to the building. In their second week there, Dean lets his curiosity get the better of him, and figures out a way into the cabin without breaking the door down. It’s his first time ever trying to pick a lock, but it comes so naturally to him it feels like he’s done it a thousand times before. Once inside, he walks through the cabin, examining everything thoroughly, which doesn’t take long considering it’s basically just three rooms - a den/kitchen, bedroom, and bathroom.
There’s no electricity or running water, of course, and some of the furniture seems to be falling apart from rust, mold, mildew, or disuse. There’s probably at least several inches of dust on everything, and Dean wouldn’t be surprised if several species of animals lived in there. But what seems to affect Dean the most is the overwhelming feeling of loneliness through the home.
For the rest of that summer, while Castiel is weeding and clearing out the brush by hand, Dean cleans and straightens up the cabin. They’re both aware that the jig could be up at any moment, the danger of being caught out here tending to someone else’s property looming over them all the time. But the way they see it, it gives them something to do during the lazy hot summer days when they’ve tired of everything else. “And it’s not like we’re damaging the place,” Dean declares. “We're adding some value to it.”
Every afternoon, after they’ve worked up a sweat and an appetite, they take a break to scarf down the sandwiches and sodas that Missouri or Mary had packed for them that morning, then race each other to the lake, jumping off the pier and cooling off in the clear water. Some days, Dean will drag along a couple of fishing poles, and after searching for crickets and worms to use as bait, he’ll prop himself at the edge of the pier, feet dangling in the cool water. Castiel will sometimes slide up next to him, grabbing a pole and reeling the line, but more often than not, he’ll just pull out his sketchbook and draw.
These hazy, golden afternoons become some of Dean’s favorite memories, staring out at the sun’s rays dancing across the water, listening to Castiel sigh next him, the whispering scritch scritch scritch of his pencil across the paper a comfortable reassurance of his presence.
********************
In the spring of seventh grade, John approaches Dean one evening after he’s said his goodbyes to Castiel and watched his friend pedal down the driveway. As he turns to run upstairs and shower, he feels his father’s hand on his shoulder. “Hey son, hold up a minute. I was wanting to talk to you about something.”
Dean smiles up at his father. “Sure, dad. What’s up?”
John guides him over to the sofa in the living room and gestures for him to sit down. “Well, uh, I was thinking. This summer will be the last year you’ll be eligible for little league, and I thought maybe you’d be interested in giving it a try.”
Dean raises his eyebrows in surprise. “Baseball?”
John smiles and nods. “Yep. Remember how much you liked it back east?”
“Well, yeah. But, that was different.”
“How so?” John asks, frowning.
“I dunno,” Dean shrugs. “Back there, I didn’t really have much else to do. But now I’ve got Cas, and we have a lot of fun.”
The frown on John’s face deepens. “Dean, do you have any friends in your own school? I never hear you talking about anyone, and the only kid that ever comes over is Castiel.”
“Yeah, I’ve got friends there,” Dean admits, adding, “But none of them are like Cas.”
John smiles slightly and leans back in his chair. “Son, I just think maybe you should try to do more with kids at your own school sometimes. Fit in more with them, especially since you’ll be getting to high school soon.” He winks. “Trust me, you’ll want to fit in somewhere in your school once you get there.”
“Yeah, I guess,” Dean agrees, chewing on his lip. “I mean, I did like playing baseball before.”
John nods his head and stands up. “So, you want me to go sign you up for it this weekend?”
Dean nods, still not quite sure what just happened or why. “Sure, I guess,” he says, unfolding himself from the couch and walking towards the stairs.
His father slaps him on the back. “This is great, Dean. It’s gonna be fun to see you out on that diamond again. I bet the coaches are gonna love you. Are you excited?”
“Sure,” Dean replies, walking up the stairs. “It’ll be cool.”
And it is cool, Dean must admit to himself after he sails through tryouts and lands on a team with Victor Henrickson, a kid he knows from his English class. He really had forgotten how much he loved playing, and had forgotten how good he is at it, too.With Dean batting lead-off and Victor as clean-up, they become an unstoppable force, and the only thing more fun than batting is their partnership at short stop and second. No one is better at smack talk and psychological warfare, and between the two of them they get more outs than the rest of the team combined.
That summer before eighth grade is an adjustment for Dean and Castiel, because it’s the first time either one of them has something to distract their attention from each other. During tryouts, Dean begs Castiel to try out too, hoping they’ll somehow land on the same team, but Castiel refuses. He claims it’s because he doesn’t care for or understand the competitiveness of sports, but for some reason, Dean is convinced it’s because Castiel is afraid he won’t be any good at it since he’s never played before. He knows that if Castiel would just try it, he’d be good at it; hell, he’d probably be even better at it than Dean, given how the dude is able to pick up new skills and tricks so effortlessly that it makes even Dean envious. And as much as it pisses Dean off to admit it, Castiel could outrun him any day of the week.
Dean rags on his friend about baseball so much that one day Castiel has had enough, throwing the rocks he’d been collecting across the creek and turning to Dean behind him, eyes dark with anger. “Dean, why won’t you leave this alone? Why do you want me to play so bad?”
Dean can feel his face turning red, and he exhales as he looks down at his muddied shoes. “Jesus, Cas, I don’t know, okay?! I just…if I go off and do this, what are you gonna be doing while I’m playing?”
Castiel rolls his eyes, exasperation painted across his face. “Gee, Dean, I don’t know, whatever will I do without you,” he replies, sarcasm dripping from his voice.
It surprises Dean how deeply that cuts into him, and he’s pissed to feel tears begin to well up in his eyes. “Fine, Cas. Whatever. You go off and do what you want then. I’m sure you’ll find someone else you’d rather hang out with anyways.”
He drops the bag he had slung across his shoulder, full of leaves and rocks he’d found along the way. “Here, you can take this crap. It’s all shit for you to draw, anyways.”
Dean turns around quickly, not wanting Castiel to see the tear that’s threatening to slide down his cheek. He wipes it away as discreetly as he can, taking a few steps towards the wall of the ravine.
“Dean, wait!”
Castiel yells for him to stop, but Dean’s had enough of this. He’s not gonna beg Castiel to stay with him. Dean’s never lived in one place long enough to lose a friend like this, but he at least knows it’s not cool to keep clinging when it’s obvious the person wants to leave.
He feels a hand snake around the curve of his elbow, grasping his arm and pulling him back. “Dean, will you just stop for a second?”
“Look Cas, I get it, okay?” Dean growls. “You wanna go find other friends, that’s fine with me. I knew you’d probably find someone at your school you liked better anyways. No big deal.” He tries to brush off Castiel’s hand, but the boy’s grip is firm on his arm.
“Is that what you think this is?” Castiel asks, eyes squinting.
Dean shakes his head. “What else could it be, Cas?”
“Um, maybe just that I don’t want to play baseball.” Castiel stares at him for a moment before continuing. “Dean, I don’t make friends easily. But when I do, I hang onto them. I’m not going anywhere.”
“But we’re not gonna be able to hang out as much as we used to,” Dean complains. “Maybe I should just quit baseball.”
Castiel huffs. “Just because you’re playing baseball doesn’t mean we won’t hang out much. Besides,” he adds, “it’s not like the season is long. It’ll only be for a couple months.” Castiel releases his hold on Dean’s arm, and walks over to a fallen tree trunk, taking a seat as he pulls a couple sandwiches from his backpack. He hands a plastic-wrapped PB&J to Dean, keeping one for himself.
Dean unwraps his sandwich, the feeling of panic and dread slowly releasing its hold on his stomach. “I just, I don’t like change, is all,” he mutters. “It’s been nice staying in one place and having the same friend the past couple years.”
Castiel chews his sandwich, staring at Dean thoughtfully. “I’m not going anywhere,” he murmurs, voice low.
Dean looks up from his sandwich, and meets his friend’s gaze. “Me neither,” he replies.
It feels good to be able to say that, and for once know that he’s telling the truth.
All of Dean’s fears of Castiel drifting away because of baseball are relieved once Castiel begins attending his games and practices. Dean’s teammates tease him about it at first, calling Castiel his “fan club” and asking him if Castiel asks for his autograph and stuff. But as soon as they see Castiel’s drawings of the games, making them look way cooler than they could ever hope to be, they all stop, instead begging him for pictures of their own. Dean watches his friend fondly as he interacts with each of the players in his own unique, unaffected way, and he proudly agrees when his teammates go on and on about how awesome Castiel is.
And whenever he’s on the field, he finds himself glancing up at the bleachers, taking comfort in the steadfast presence of his friend bent over a sketchbook, drawing and patiently waiting for the game to end.
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