Chapter Text
Lebanon, Kansas, the Bunker.
The thing is, when Dean searches for the file under his bed, it’s automatic. God is dead, and his best friend just crashed through the roof of the shitty old Lincoln he fixed up while waiting for Jack to appear again. He found it a few years ago when they were still sorting through the Bunker’s archives. The Hideout.
Hawkins is a quaint little town two hours away from Indianapolis. The Hideout is the town's only bar. He drove by it once, while he and Sam were on a case in Michigan. He hadn’t told Sam why he took the exit to the town. Likewise, he got an odd look for it, but Sam said nothing. Dean slowed down to look at its outside, to take in the rotting siding and the dirty windows. He jokingly asked if Sam would like a drink. Sam thought it wasn’t a good idea to be drinking at ten in the morning.
It wasn’t a thick file, fifteen pages, and a rubber-banded stack of pictures of patrons' long deceased. Some were drunk, others posing for the camera, unaware of the danger headed for them. He looks at those pictures every once in a while. It wasn’t called The Hideout back then, but the lettering was so smudged that he couldn’t tell what it was called until he looked up the address. The place didn’t fare well. From the glance he got of it and the pictures online, the outside wasn’t well taken care of, and while there aren’t any of inside, he can assume it’s about the same. There was a phone number left, however. He calls it that night, alone in his bedroom with his best friend across the hall.
He’s alive. Cas is alive and hasn’t said anything about what happened that day. Dean knows he is the one who should bring it up, not Cas. Dean should apologize for not saying anything that day, and for not saying anything now. But he can’t seem to find the words. Every time he tries to say something, something in his throat tightens, and he looks away. He can’t, and he doesn’t know why. How could he convince the sonofabitch to retire with him if he can’t even talk to him about what happened?
All he wants is to be able to talk to the guy, but he can’t, and he doesn’t know how to fix it. Fix his stupid, fucked up brain that can’t even return an ‘I love you’. Maybe this can carry him through it. Maybe this bar and a house could calm him down enough that he’ll be able to get the words out. Maybe.
But, he is going to quit, for real, this time. Finally, he’s going to retire from hunting to work an old, rotting bar back to life, hopefully with his best friend and his kid (if Jack wants to help, that is. Kid’s got a lot on his plate). Maybe the offer alone would convince him. Dean could buy them a house, with a yard big enough for a garden, and a swing set, maybe. He thinks Jack would like a swing set.
There are only a few listings around Hawkins when Dean looks that night, but there is one that catches his eye the most. It's a small, three-bedroom house with a finished basement. There is some damage to the roof, and several of the floorboards and bricks are missing or loose around the fireplace, but it’s nothing a little elbow grease can’t fix. Dean scrolls over the pictures a few times. It has a nice yard. Miracle huffs when Dean shows him, snuffling at his computer screen. Dean scratches his ear and leans back in his chair.
“What do you think, bud? That somewhere you’d like to live? An actual house?” Dean asks in a whisper, petting over Miracle’s soft fur. He huffs, pushing his head into Dean’s lap. It would cost a lot, but when did that ever matter? As he shuts down his laptop for the night, he thinks about how to convince Cas, let alone Jack. Sam will be happy, he knows, but Dean’s a little scared (not that he’d admit that out loud), of what Sam’ll say when he realizes the place is hours north of the bunker.
He gets ready for bed with Miracle trailing him, pulling out a worn t-shirt and the plaidist pair of pajama bottoms he owns, he climbs into bed, rolls onto his side, and slips into a fitful sleep.
—*—
Baltimore
Tomorrow, I am leaving for Baltimore
Where it won't bother me, bother me, not in
Baltimore
—*—
Hawkins, Indiana, the Hollands residence.
The last box thumps as Dean sets it down, and he winces. He was getting too old for this, his back hurt, and he could see Jack in the backyard already making a mess with Miracle. Sam and Eileen are unboxing things in the little kitchen, and Cas has just walked outside to join Jack. His knee throbs.
The living room is alight with the sun, it streams through the large windows, unfiltered by curtains or shades. It paints the beige walls yellow, giving a new life to the old furniture Dean dragged in here. He can’t wait for it to feel like home. He can’t wait for his kid or best friend to call it home. He knows the Hollands left the house in a bit of a rush. They had been waiting almost a year and a half for the house to sell, still living in it, so Dean had been surprised how quickly they had moved out. It was no trouble they told him, they wanted to get out of the town quickly anyway.
He didn’t have to guess why. The town had been hit by a few tragedies at this point, that boy going missing, the Holland's daughter dying in that ‘chemical’ leak. The strange rotting of the pumpkin fields. The whole town was strange, but it didn’t seem like their kind of strange. Not yet, at least. Something thumps, a less-than-smooth glide, and Cas steps in from the sliding glass door on the other side of the room. He looks around at the boxes momentarily before his eyes land on Dean. His head tilts, and he smiles, and it feels like Dean’s heart is pounding out of his chest.
Dean tries to smile back, but Miracle and Jack come barreling behind him, covered in dirt. He’s laughing as he skidded to a stop on the brand new rug Dean just bought, spilling mud and grass all over it. He knows he’ll have to clean it later tonight, but Dean smiles, laughs, and ruffles the kid's hair, pushing him toward the bathroom. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Cas bending down to run his hand through Miracle's shaggy hair, and a piece of grass falls off him. He gives the dog a small smile, not unlike the one he gives to Jack.
He leaves the little living room behind, smiling faintly and intent on readying the boy for a take-out dinner. Dean takes Jack’s face in hand, and gently scrubs the dirt and grass streaks away. Jack giggles, talking a mile a minute about how big the yard was, how much space Miracle had to run now, and how green things were starting to get again. Jack loved spring. He loved all the flowers, the animals, and the bees. Dean doesn't have to wonder where he got that from.
He gets Jack all cleaned up and gets him a change of clothes. He even puts Jack’s shoes next to the washer to remind himself to clean them later. The kid somehow managed to get grass inside his shoe sole. Dean will maybe have to take him shoe shopping; there might be a hole in one of them. Jack chats as they walk into the kitchen, switching topics at random points, about the halls, his new room, and anything that popped into the kid’s head.
Sam and Eileen are washing all of the silverware that Dean bought when they walk into the kitchen, talking amongst themselves. He pushes Jack towards them. Jack smiles, says hello in his slightly mechanical voice, and picks up a towel to start drying the silverware at Sam’s instruction. Dean stands in the doorway for a moment.
The kitchen is one of his favorite rooms in this house. It’s spacious, the counters are a nice shiny black with dark wood cabinets, and the walls are painted a beautiful navy blue. When he was first looking at the listing, he would have thought the dark colors would have made it even harder for the singular window to bring in any light, but he was wrong. The sun pours through the large window above the sink, and it brightens the space right up. They don’t even have the lights on. But what he loves the most about it, is the small island in the middle of the room. It’s a lot smaller than the one in the bunker, but he can just imagine all the things he could do with that extra space.
There is enough space on one side for some stools. The counter is deep enough, and he can see Jack spinning back and forth on them, eating a bowl of that sugary cereal he promised Sam he wouldn’t eat. Speaking of eating…
“You guys want something from the local pizza place, or you gonna find something else?” He asks, leaning against the doorway. He gets a hum from Sam. Dean watches as he taps Eileen’s shoulder and signs to her carefully. She nods and signs something back. Sam nods back, patting her arm before grabbing another towel from who knows where and wiping his hands off.
“We could go for pizza. Eileen said that she’d share the meat lovers with you.” He smirks, his side pressing into Eileen’s. Dean snorts, shaking his head. Something touches the small of his back and he jumps. Turning slightly, he sees Cas as he passes through the doorway, into the kitchen. Cas stops at Jack’s side, taking the plate from him. Jack chirps at the sight of him, happy to start a new conversation with his father. Dean stands in the doorway watching them, jolted from his relaxed lean. He doesn’t know how long he stands there, staring at Cas’s back.
He isn’t wearing his trenchcoat or his suit. It’s… nice, to see him in comfortable clothes, jeans, and a sweater he saw in the thrift store a while back. It’s blue, with small flecks of green here and there, weaved into the fabric. He even swept his hair back from his face, and Dean could see his stubble getting longer. He looks good. He looks good, and Dean should talk to him. Dean should say something, tell him that he looks good and that Dean would like to be able to kiss the stupid little smile off his face-
“-ean? Dude.” Sam calls stirring him from the funk he seems to have worked himself into. Dean blinks and clears his throat. Sam is making a face, and beside him, Eileen is smirking (Oh shit). Jack and Cas haven’t seemed to notice his little space out, still caught up with their conversation about the bees in the area (of course they are). Dean shakes his head and clears his throat again, desperate to get away from his thoughts suddenly.
“Pizza? Pizza. Great. I’ll- I’ll be right back.” He spins, turning sharply out into the hall again in search of his car keys. Oh shit. He feels flushed, hot from head to toe. Dean has looked at Cas before, of course, he has, and it’s not like Cas looks any different than he did a few years ago- except for the crow's feet around his eyes, the slight bulk he has built from hunting, the light tan he got from working outside the bunker recently- Okay. Enough. He pats his pockets, anxious to get away from Eileen's knowing stare and Sam's confused face. He can still hear the murmurs of the group down the hall as he collects his keys from a small bowl that sits next to the garage door.
Baby starts with a rumble, and Dean doesn’t think that he has ever been so grateful for the car in his life.