Jump the Track: Chapter 1
chapter 1
When his alarm went off, Dean Winchester seriously considered just going back to sleep. The thought of getting up and having to deal with people today was almost unbearable. However, he knew he’d never get away with it. Especially not on the first day back at school after the summer break, and especially not when it was Sam’s very first day at Lawrence High School. Dean was responsible for getting his little brother there on time, and he didn’t like to think about what his parents would do to him if he screwed it up. Sighing wearily, Dean dragged himself out of bed and found some clothes to pull on.
He suspected that he had brought all of this on himself. There had been a time, not so long ago really, when Dean would have considered himself a pretty happy guy. He was good at sports, good at getting girls, good at socializing, not all that book-smart, but he hadn’t cared too much about that. He hadn’t cared too much about anything. He’d had a good life. If only he’d been able to retain that blasé attitude. But then there was that night, months ago now, which had changed everything.
They’d gone to Sam’s school for an awards evening. Sam had won a prize for some science project he’d done. Dean had always teased his little brother mercilessly for being such an enormous nerd, but he’d felt the same proud glow as his parents had when Sam’s teacher told them that Sam would go really far if he kept up working like he was. John had taken them all for ice cream afterwards as a treat, and Dean had listened to his brother talk animatedly about his dreams for the future. He’d realized that yeah, Sam was still a kid right now, but he was going to go far. He’d go to a good college and get a fancy job, and his life would mean something. It made Dean happy to think of Sam’s future.
It was then that he had made a mistake: he had started to think about his own prospects.
Dean had properly considered his future for the first time ever, and he saw… nothing. He couldn’t imagine any kind of life for himself after high school. What the hell was he good for? He did okay in class, but his grades had never been great and he knew in his heart that he wasn’t meant for college. He had no particular talents. He played football, which was fun and all but he knew he’d never be one of the best. The only thing he could think of that he could really do well was fix up cars. How far was that going to get him? He’d never be able to travel across America, doing random garage work as he went. It just wasn’t feasible. He’d never be able to get anywhere. All his friends, everyone he loved, all had potential. Dean, however, did not. He’d get a job at his dad’s garage, and he’d stay exactly where he was forever. Doing exactly what he’d always done. Forever. He’d never make his parents proud the way that Sam would.
It was then that a horrible thought had struck Dean: John and Mary knew all of this. They knew that Dean was never going to do much with his life, knew he was a failure. He thought of every time his dad had clapped him on the shoulder and said, “I knew I could rely on you, son.” He thought of the times John had had a spat with Sam, and had joined Dean on the couch with a sigh, saying “At least I know you’ll never give me trouble like that.” Dean had felt proud at the time, but he suddenly had a sneaking suspicion of the truth. His parents saw him as dependable, consistent, predictable. They knew he’d never change, never do anything else with his life. Even Mary had stopped nagging at him to study.
Dean knew that there were people who never did anything with their lives, but he’d never really thought that he’d be one of them. He’d just been enjoying life day-to-day, no thought to where it was leading. And sure, he liked his life, he liked living in Lawrence, but he’d always assumed that it wouldn’t be forever. He’d always imagined… something. That something was waiting for him in the big wide world, some kind of higher calling. He’d had these vague, wistful dreams of traveling, of earning lots of money with some unspecified job and taking care of his family, of meeting someone amazing who would understand him and who’d have crazy adventures with him. Those were just dreams, though; they were never going to happen. Even if he started putting in the effort right away, he wasn’t smart enough, wasn’t determined enough, wasn’t… anything enough.
Mary had laid a hand on his arm. “Are you okay, honey?”
Dean had looked at his mother, her eyes full of concern, and he’d forced a smile. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m good. Just… not hungry.”
John had made one of his lame jokes about Dean not being hungry being one of the signs of the forthcoming apocalypse, and they’d all moved on. He knew now that if that had been all there was to it, he would’ve gotten over it pretty quickly. He might have sulked for a couple of hours, but then he would’ve laughed it off, felt embarrassed for being so damn emo, and then just gone on like before. Dean was a positive guy at heart, and he’d never been one to dwell on things.
But then he’d gotten that text message from Kyle, a guy he knew from school. There was a party that night up at the college and Kyle knew a guy who could get them in. Dean should come along. This had lifted Dean’s spirits: a party was just what he needed to pick himself up. Beer, loud music, girls… It was a timely distraction. He’d told his parents that he was going to his friend Ash’s house to watch a couple of movies, and they’d said it was fine.
It had started out okay. There had been fewer girls there than Dean would have liked, but then he’d had a girlfriend at the time so it didn’t really matter. There had been drinks though and music, and Dean had got talking to some guys about horror movies, and whether the film industry’s current reliance on special effects was detracting from the quality of the genre. One of the guys had been smoking pot, and Dean had been getting lightheaded.
Dean could remember one guy - older than the rest - who Dean had been told was someone’s brother, in town for the weekend. He’d sat next to Dean, given him whiskey, made a joke about how Dean was so pretty that it didn’t matter that so few chicks had turned up. It had made Dean uncomfortable, but he’d laughed it off. It wasn’t the first time a guy had shown interest, and Dean knew how to deal with it.
“I’m Alastair,” the guy had said with a grin, handing Dean the bottle again.
It was then that Dean had started to lose track of the evening. He didn’t know where the guys he’d come with had gone, and he remembered insisting that he had to find them. Alastair had taken him out back for some fresh air. It had been cold, and Dean had stumbled down the back stairs outside the house. The other guy had caught him and held him up. Dean had felt heavy, like he couldn’t control himself, like he was made out of lead. He remembered Alastair leading him through the back garden in the dark, and…
But he wouldn’t let himself think about anything that happened after that. Ever.
From that day on, Dean had given up. Something had died in him. A few days after the party, he’d broken up with Cassie, the only girl he’d ever dated for longer than a couple of weeks. She was great, but she had big dreams of going to New York to be a journalist, and she was smart enough to do it too. She wouldn’t want to stay with some guy who worked at his dad’s garage. Besides, he no longer wanted her to touch him, not when she had that look in her eyes, like she actually cared about him. He couldn’t stand it now. What had really got to Dean was that she hadn’t even queried it when he’d told her it was never going to work between them - apparently she’d already figured that out.
He’d gone from being lackadaisical about schoolwork to not bothering at all. His teachers had gotten mad when Dean had failed to complete assignments and had given him detentions, but none of them had really cared. Dean evidently wasn’t worth fighting for.
After a month, he’d quit the football team. The coach had been pissed and some of the guys wouldn’t talk to him after, but they quickly found a replacement and Dean’s departure hadn’t made any real difference. Everything he did, everything he failed to do just proved to him that he’d been right. No one fought for him. No one expected anything more. No one noticed that all his smiles were now false, his eyes defeated. He was just Dean Winchester, and he’d always be there. Always.
…
When Dean finally appeared in the kitchen, he was grateful to find that there was still coffee in the pot. This was highly unusual when Mary was around, as Dean’s mom was a complete coffee freak. She blamed it on her job at the local radio station where everyone was always highly caffeinated. This was something that Dean shared with her - they both liked thick, syrupy black coffee and could drink it like water. When alone, they would disparage John, who took his with milk and two sugars. Dean liked it, having something to share with his mom, like a little club that only they were members of.
He poured himself a mug and leaned against the counter opposite his younger brother, who pulled a face.
“Ugh, I don’t know how you can drink that stuff.”
Dean snorted. “Oh, go back to your Lucky Charms, champ. Seriously, Sammy, couldn’t you move onto some more grown-up breakfast cereal?”
Sam shrugged. “I don’t care, I like it. Besides, not everyone cares about being cool.”
“Ha ha.”
At that point Mary Winchester rushed into the kitchen, trying to put in a pair of earrings. “I am so late!” she wailed. “Has anyone seen my-”
Dean handed her her purse which was on one of the kitchen chairs.
“Oh! Thanks, sweetheart.” She reached up on tiptoe to kiss Dean on the cheek. “Hm, who gave you permission to get so tall? Now, are you guys okay for today? Got everything you need? Sure? Dean, will you be all right driving Sam to school?”
Dean rolled his eyes. “Mom, I said I was the last ten times you asked. It’ll be fine.”
“Well, drive carefully, okay?”
“Of course! I’m not gonna mess up that car.”
Mary gave him an amused look. “I’d think you’d be more concerned about not getting your little brother killed.”
“Well… yeah, that too, but I have to prioritize.”
“Hey!” Sam mumbled through a mouth of cereal.
“Just kidding, short bus.”
Sam scowled half-heartedly.
“Have a good day, love,” Mary said, planting a kiss on the top of Sam’s head. “Don’t be nervous; you’re gonna do great.”
“Thanks, Mom.” Sam grinned at her as she picked up her keys and hurried out of the kitchen.
“C’mon, Sammy,” Dean groaned. “Let’s get this over with.” The thought of going into school, being around all those people again, made Dean’s flesh crawl, but there was no way he was messing things up for Sam.
“It’ll be okay, Dean,” Sam said, looking up at his older brother with large brown eyes that were way too perceptive for Dean’s liking.
He forced a grin. “Sure they will! Nothing to be nervous about - you’ll do great. I mean, for someone as nerdy as you, high school’s gotta be, like, Mecca or something. And if anyone gives you shit, I’ll come kick their ass.”
Sam made an unattractive snorting sound. “Dean, I can take care of myself.”
“Oh, come on. What’s the point of having a big brother if you can’t use them for intimidation purposes? Although, once they find out you’re related to me, the girls will be all over you. That’s gotta count for something.”
“Sure, Dean,” Sam sighed, tying his sneakers. Dean thought it was a bit rich that Sam was already unimpressed with Dean’s status as resident school stud. The kid really was a massive nerd.
Sam tugged lightly at the sleeve of Dean’s jacket, and Dean glanced down at his pale, serious face. “It really will be okay, you know.”
Dean swallowed, suddenly aware that Sam knew. Not everything of course, but he knew that something was eating away at Dean, and it bothered him. Dean hated himself for that; he didn’t care what he had to suffer, but the last thing he wanted was to cause his family grief over it. Especially Sam. “Let’s go,” he grunted, tearing his eyes away from his brother’s innocent face. Something was twisting painfully in his chest, and the house was suddenly too small.
Dean led the way outside, digging his hand into his jacket pocket for his car keys, resolving that he would make an extra special effort to keep his guard up, particularly where his little brother was concerned.
…
Despite getting to school early in order to make sure that Sam found his new home room okay, Dean still managed to be late for his first class of the day. He skulked to the back of the classroom, ignoring the disapproving look of Miss Bishop, his English teacher, and found a seat next to his friend Steve. ‘Friend’ might be too strong a word for it. He hung out with Steve and his friends occasionally. People like Steve were fun to be around. More importantly, people like Steve weren’t going to leave. Steve was none too bright, shiftless and lazy, and he, like Dean, would be tied to Lawrence forever.
“Dude!” Steve whispered. “Dude! Where the hell were you Saturday night? It was wild! College girls, man!”
Dean grinned. “I had… other plans.”
“You sly dog. Don’t tell me you hooked up with Lisa Braeden again!”
Dean laughed softly. He hadn’t seen Lisa in weeks and had spent Saturday night working a late shift at the garage, but he wasn’t going to let Steve know that.
“Oh, man! She is so hot. Her boyfriend’s gonna kill you when he finds out.”
“Pfft. No he won’t. Besides, he’s not gonna find out. It’s not serious with Lisa - we just hook up occasionally. You know me; I like to keep my options open.”
Steve laughed. “Dude! Hey, you gotta meet me and the guys behind the bleachers later. We’re gonna need details.”
Dean felt suddenly good. People like Steve made it possible for him to kid himself that he was worth something. They went along with the Dean’s game. They helped him play the character he had devised for himself so well, and when he was pretending Dean didn’t feel the emptiness in his soul so keenly.
He leaned back in his seat, the front two legs off the floor a little, and surveyed the room. It occurred to him that he’d already seduced three of the girls in this class, and the thought made him grin. He might not be destined to be anything special, but he was going to leave Lawrence High as a legend. Never mind that none of those girls still talked to him.
His eyes, still absently scanning the classroom, suddenly snapped into focus when they lighted upon someone he was sure he’d never seen before. There was a boy sitting at the front of the room with his back to Dean. He must be new. There was something about the kid that caught Dean’s attention, something in the way he was sitting up so straight, intently focused on whatever crap Miss Bishop was saying about their summer assignments that Dean hadn’t bothered to even look at. Dean thought he looked funny, almost like he’d tried to look smart yesterday, but he’d been to bed in his clothes since and hadn’t bothered to change. He was wearing a tan trench coat with the sleeves pulled up a little so that Dean could see the dark jacket he was wearing underneath. His hair was a mess. Dean found himself wishing that he could see the boy’s face properly, and suddenly regretted being late. A smile crept across his face as he looked at the new kid. He was so damn focused, like the English class was the most compelling thing he’d ever experienced. No one, not even the nerdiest kids, were sitting that rigidly. Dean saw that the boy’s foot was tapping nervously.
“So, Henry James,” Miss Bishop said.
Dean reluctantly shifted his attention to her. He supposed he should at least look like he cared, seeing as it was the first day back. Besides, she was wearing a tight-fitting sweater, and Dean had always been partial to cougars.
“Not perhaps the easiest of reads, but I hope that you’ve all at least made an attempt.” Miss Bishop’s eyes flickered over to where Dean and his fellow miscreants were sitting at the back. “Don’t worry,” she added, talking to the new boy. “Everyone was asked to read The Wings of the Dove over the summer and we’re discussing it today, but you’ll be able to join in next lesson.”
“I’ve read the book,” the boy said, and Dean was surprised by how deep and purposeful his voice was. He’d half expected him to sound timid.
Miss Bishop looked pleased. “Oh, you have? Well, perhaps you could start us off then. Was there anything you found particularly interesting about the novel?”
The boy thought for a moment. “I liked… how if you think about the plot as separate from the novel itself, it could sound quite trivial. It could easily have been made into a melodrama, but James didn’t do that. It wasn’t just through his convoluted use of language, it was… I liked the way that all the big moments, the most significant things that affected the characters profoundly, were never actually described. We, the readers, heard about them second-hand, if you will, as if they happened off-stage. It was very clever.”
There was a short silence following the speech.
“Well!” Miss Bishop said, a faint smile playing on her lips. “That’s very astute. Would anyone else like to share their thoughts?”
“Who the hell is that?” Dean whispered to his friend.
Steve shrugged. “New guy. I heard he was home schooled; one of those weird religious families. Can you believe he actually wore a tie to school? And get this: his name’s Castiel. Seriously, who calls their kid something like that? Man, he’s not gonna last a week.”
Dean didn’t reply.
…
Things started to look up at lunch time. Dean sat with Jo, Pam and Ash, his three closest friends, and for a while he managed to forget the black cloud hanging over him.
Jo wrinkled her nose in distaste at the sight of Dean’s cheeseburger. “Ugh, do you realize what that crap’s doing to your arteries?”
Dean rolled his eyes. Of all his friends, Jo was the person he felt closest to. He’d known her ever since he was seven years old and she and her mother Ellen had moved to a house across the street from the Winchesters. John and Mary had invited them over for a barbeque. Jo had been this tiny little blonde thing, and Dean remembered that she’d sulked the entire time because her mother had made her wear a dress. Dean, being a brat and sensing an easy target, had teased her about it. Jo had responded by pushing him into the fish pond, Dean had pulled her in right after him, they had both been thoroughly told off for it, and the two of them had been best friends ever since.
“This is good food, Harvelle,” Dean said. “The food of champions. You’re just-hey!” He swatted her hand away. “You don’t get to bitch about my diet then steal my fries. That’s not how it works.”
“I don’t care if you end up dead from a cholesterol-induced heart attack,” Pam cut in. “Can I have some fries?”
“Oh, you can have the whole lot, baby,” Dean said, returning her provocative leer.
Jo snorted with amusement. Dean and Pam always flirted with each other but it never went any further than that. Dean said it was because they had too many years of friendship behind them and he hated the thought of her getting hurt because of him. Pam, however, claimed that it was because Dean couldn’t handle a woman like her. Secretly, Dean agreed.
“You’re a lucky man, Winchester,” Ash said, his grin lazy. “They never fight over me like that.”
“What can I say, dude,” Dean replied, eyeing the questionable school mashed potato that Ash had inexplicably opted for. “You should have gone for the fries.”
Ash, by all rights, should not have been there. He was a year older than the others and already had a place secured for him at MIT, but his abysmal grades in English had prevented him from graduating, and his refusal to get up in time for summer school had left him doomed to repeat senior year. Dean was secretly grateful. Ash would have been the first person to leave, and it was nice to delay the inevitable even for a little while. It was nice to make-believe that they’d all gone back to a year ago, back when Dean still had his innocence.
“So, Dean,” Jo said interrogatively, making Dean recoil a little in spite of himself. In a few years, Jo was easily going to be as terrifying as her mother. “Are you coming with us to the game on Saturday? Or do you have an appointment to conduct douchebaggery with Lawrence’s resident loser brigade again?”
Dean looked away guiltily; he knew he’d been neglecting his friends all summer. “No, I’ll be there,” he mumbled.
“See, I think it’s my fault,” Pam sighed dramatically. “Dean can’t stand to be around me anymore because the simmering sexual tension’s just getting too much for him.” She kicked him playfully under the table.
“See, I was just about to say the same thing,” Ash said.
Dean laughed. He was grateful that none of them were pushing the issue; he wasn’t sure he’d be able to explain what was going through his head in a way that any of them would understand. How sometimes it’s better to spend time with people you don’t give a shit about because they could never hurt you. How sometimes you felt dirty and ashamed, and like you didn’t deserve to be around good people. He leaned back in his seat and listened to Ash’s stories about ‘accidentally’ hacking into the school’s online records database, and Pam offering to do a psychic read on Jo’s new boyfriend. He let time wash over him, liquid golden, until the bell rang and he had to get back to class.
…
Dean had a new math teacher, and by the end of the first class with him, Dean had decided that math would be one of the classes he would not be attending very frequently this year. The guy had seemed okay at first. Kind of cocky, but then new teachers always were before the student body wore their enthusiasm away. He announced to the class that his name was Mr. Henriksen, and then he launched into a lecture about trigonometry or something that Dean was sure would’ve been quite compelling to someone who still gave a crap about all this. Dean, however, did not, and he quickly zoned out.
Michele Steele was wearing a fairly sheer blouse and Dean could see her bra through the back of it. He was well past the stage where this would have been an exciting revelation, but even so it’s enough to keep him entertained for a good twenty minutes. And then he thought about his car. It had been making a weird noise on the way to school that morning, and Dean thought it had something to do with the exhaust. He’d have to take a look at it when he got home. He hoped he wouldn’t have to tell his dad, because Dean really wanted to prove to John that he could take care of the Impala by himself…
Dean’s train of thought was slowly interrupted by the realization that Mr Henriksen was standing right in front of him. He looked up.
“You,” Henriksen said. “Dean Winchester, right? Would you like to show the rest of the class how to calculate the surface area of the triangle on the board correct to three significant figures?”
Dean smiled, faking bravado. “Nope.”
Henriksen raised his eyebrows. “And is that because you still don’t understand how, despite my explaining it three times, or because you haven’t been listening to a damn word I’ve been saying all lesson?”
Dean didn’t reply. Henriksen was gazing at him steadily, and he had to force himself not to look away. There was no way he was going to be intimidated by some asshole of a teacher who thought he knew what Dean was about.
Finally, Henriksen sighed and looked away. “See me after class, Winchester.”
Dean balled his fists under the desk. Great. Another stupid lecture from a stupid teacher who didn’t know what the fuck they were talking about. To be fair, Henriksen was new and hadn’t figured out that Dean was a hopeless case yet. He’d learn.
When the bell rung, Dean reluctantly made his way to the front of the class. He crossed his arms in front of him, refusing to look up, assuming a casual stance.
“So I had a look at your record, Dean,” Mr Henriksen said. “It’s something I like to do before I start with a new class. I like to know who to look out for.”
Dean sighed. He did not have time for this.
“You were interesting. See, until around February last year, you were doing just fine. Not top of the class maybe, but you were on course for a good pass. And then you started dropping out, failing to complete assignments. You had to do some re-sits which you barely scraped through. Now, I’ve met some stupid kids in my time, believe me, but you’re not one of them. I can tell.”
Great. Dean had managed to get himself a teacher who wanted to save him. That was just peachy. He looked up at Henriksen insolently. “No offense, Sir, but you’re wasting your time. I don’t care, okay? I don’t care. I’m not gonna go to college, I’m not gonna get out of this town… hell, at this point I doubt I’ll finish up the year. So save your energy for the kids who actually have a future to plan for, yeah?” He turned to leave.
“You think I give a crap about that?” Henriksen said, surprising Dean into turning back. “I’m not some touchy-feely I-wanna-be-your-best-friend teacher, okay? You want that, go to the school guidance councillor. If you want to piss away your life, go right ahead. What I won’t tolerate is someone being rude enough to not pay attention in my class when they’ve got a brain in their head. And yeah, maybe seeing someone throw their education away gets to me a little. I’m getting paid to get all of you through this year, and if I do that then I’ve done my job right. And I am going to get you all through. Now don’t let me catch you slacking off again.”
“Whatever,” Dean mumbled. “Can I go now?”
Henriksen sighed resignedly. “Yes, you can go.”
Dean stormed out of the room, paying very little attention to where he was going, and promptly crashed into someone in the corridor.
“Sorry,” Dean bit out, forcing back a fresh surge of irritation at people who got in his damn way.
“It’s all right,” the other person gasped, and Dean realized that it was the new kid, Castiel. He was crouched on the floor trying to pick up the books he’d dropped when Dean had collided with him.
“Here, lemme help you,” Dean said gruffly, stooping to gather up some stray sheets of writing paper. He wasn’t in the most charitable mood, but he felt sorry for the guy. He was new, and if that morning’s English class was anything to go by, he was a complete geek. That and the way he dressed, the way he spoke, the fact that he’d been home-schooled and probably never had to deal with anything like this before… Steve had been right - he was going to get the crap bullied out of him.
“Thank you,” Castiel said, the sincerity in his voice making Dean look up.
Castiel was looking at him, really looking, and he had the bluest eyes Dean had ever seen.
“That was very kind of you,” Castiel said.
Dean blinked; he realized he’d been staring back. “Uh, no problem.” He shoved the papers he was holding unceremoniously at Castiel, got up and walked away.
…
Dinner at the Winchester house was always a slightly chaotic affair. Mary would occasionally refer to it as ‘feeding time at the zoo’. Dean thought that with two grown men in the house, plus a boy whose appetite rivalled theirs, she had a point.
John had made his famous spaghetti bolognaise to celebrate the fact that not only had Sam survived his first day at high school, he’d actually managed to enjoy himself. Dean was starting to despair of the kid. Still, he was happy that Sam was getting on, and he was quite content to lose himself in the cheerful conversation of his family.
“I’ve got loads of classes with Andy,” Sam told them (and Dean was not going to tell him that he had tomato sauce on his chin). “And our history teacher’s really cool. He’s gonna take us on field trips. Oh, and there’s this really funny girl called Ava I met in Spanish. There’s loads of extra stuff I’m gonna sign up for. I definitely want to join math club and the debate club. I’m thinking about doing something with the track team, but I don’t know how much time I’ll have.”
Their mom smiled indulgently. “It sounds lovely; I’m sure you’ll do just great.” She reached out with a napkin and wiped Sam’s chin.
“Mo-om!” Sam protested.
“Sorry, sorry!” Mary held her hands up. “I keep forgetting you’re all grown up now. Hey, at least I don’t do it in public.”
“How was your day, Dean?” John asked.
Dean had been wondering how long it would take for the attention to turn to him. His heart sunk a little; he was such a disappointment compared to Sam. “Oh… you know. Fine. School.”
John huffed a laugh. “Well, thanks for being so forthcoming, son. I feel much more informed now.”
Dean sighed. “Oh, well, we’ve got ourselves a new math teacher who’s kind of a jerk.”
“Mr Henriksen?” Sam cut in. “I liked him.”
Dean nudged him irritably with his foot under the table, prompting Sam to give him what Dean liked to call ‘Sammy’s bitch face’.
“Anyway,” he said pointedly. “Apart from that, there’s nothing much to tell. Regular school, you know. Oh, we’ve got a new kid,” he said as an afterthought, not really sure why he was telling his family about this. “He’s kinda… weird. Apparently he’s part of a really religious family and he was home-schooled. The poor guy’s called Castiel. His last name’s weird too, kinda foreign-sounding. Del- Da-… I dunno.”
“Oh!” Mary exclaimed. “Delacroix?”
“Maybe.” Dean shrugged. “How come?”
“Well, he’s probably related to Reverend Manuel Delacroix.” She looked at the blank faces of her husband and sons. “He’s a preacher, pretty famous now. He’s got slots on most of the religious channels. Some members of his family moved to Lawrence about six months ago; they’ve been causing quite a stir amongst the Christian communities in town. I think they’re planning on setting up their own church once they get a solid congregation. We ran a story on them at work a while back.”
Conversation quickly shifted away from the subject of Castiel’s family. John told them about a customer who’d been giving them all grief at the garage for not being able to get new engine parts in quick enough, Mary tried to get them all to all agree on a date for going to visit her parents, and Dean pushed all thoughts of school and the strange new boy out of his mind.
Chapter 2