Dinner at 3 (Destiel AU)

Untitled Part 15

Slosh. Rinse. Squeeze. Slosh.

"Ouch!" I yipped as Dean finally put the wet cloth to my face. It seemed as if he'd been soaking, rinsing, wringing out, and re-soaking the thing for an hour. I quickly grabbed the cloth from his shaking hand and held it to my glaring face.

"Well... Maybe you shouldn't have gotten into a fight you dumbass!" He scowled under his breath turning back to the sink.

I let out a small sigh, usually I'd get the last word. No, I always got the last word. I had too, it was in my stubborn, angry nature to.

"Well, I'm sorry. I wasn't going to let the punk just walk around the planet being a dick to me and get away with it." I sneered, throwing the already caked in blood rag onto the ground.

He looked down at it with blank stare. Water mixed with red pooled out around it as it sat sloppily on the tile. Dean was smart, like me. He usually got the last word as well. But not this time.

Dean was the kind of guy that even if he was so beaten and bruised that he was bleeding from every part of his body and all his bones were broken, he'd still try his damned well best to get the last word in. So you can imagine my bewilderment when he stared at the rag as if it were a part of the floor. As if not a single thought was going through his brain.

I felt a sudden rush of hot seering anger go through me.

This was how I saw Dean: A plaid-clad super hero; strong, immortal , brave and even smart too. A tall, beautiful, perfect man whom could do anything he put his mind to.

So why the fuck was this guy staring a bloody dish rag slopped down on floor like a mindless idiot.

And then I realized. I may be a monster but Jon Winchester was the devil.

He wrecked my 2 best friends. My family.

I thought back to something I heard Dean's boss, Mr. Singer, said once. "Family don't end in blood, boy."

And he was right. It didn't.

It ended in 'y'.

Why.

Why the fuck do I love these people.

Why the fuck do I feel the intense need to walk on hot coals for them.

And Why in God's fucking name do I feel that I need to punch their real father in the face.

~

"Cas, stop! Get back in the damn house!" Dean yelled at me from the door frame. Soft rain started to pour from Washington's pale grey sky. I payed less attention to his words that the rain and less attention to the rain than the harsh gravel of my drive way cutting into my bare feet. "Cas! Please you're gonna get your self killed!"

"Good!"

There were a lot of things I didn't like. I didn't like the cold. I didn't like to be told what to do. I didn't like the rain. I didn't like my mom. I didn't like upsetting Dean.

I was doing a lot of things i usually don't like today.

Next thing I knew I was in a full sprint and Dean was pulling up next to me in his car.

"Cas get in the car." He groaned, gritting his perfect pearl white teeth.

"No, Dean. I'm fucking tired of this bull shit. I'm tired of the bruises. I'm tired of the lies and the lies and the lies and the fucking constant worry. I'm tired of constantly trying to decide whether or not I should help you and your brother or not. If I should tell some one. I'm going to confront your dad. I'm going to tell him that he's been treating you like shit for far to long. Because he has. " I huffed. running takes it out of you and it doeskin help to talk for a long time like that when you stop. Plus my lungs were burnt out from the amount of smoke I'd been sucking in half of my damn life.

I remember when I was five and I was in my grandparents garage because my dad was smoking in there and I wanted to be with him. I would always tell him I wanted to be like him when I grew up and he'd always nod his head in reply and suck in another breath of smoke. Now that I think about it my father was the reason I never like to take my coat off. If i'd leave it around he'd use it as a ash tray. Now that I think about it I didn't want to be like my dad, I wanted to be him. And now I am. A fucking maniac.

Dean looked at me with those green eyes with a look that made me feel like absolute shit for being who i am. The look that made me want to be a better person. I walked around to the other side of the car and opened the passenger door.

"Fine." And with that I got in the car.

The car ride was silent until he drove past my house.

"Dean, you missed it."

"We're not going there."

"Fine."

I crossed my arms around my chest and looked out the window. I haven't talked to my dad in a while. I wondered where he was. What he was doing.

"Can I use your phone."

"Sure...Why?"

"I need to make an important call"

To be honest I had my dad's number memorized since i was just a little kid because i'd thought about calling it so many times, and plus id seen it on so many child support checks I couldn't count. my mom had tried to hide it from me for a while but i was a snoopy little brat who never kept his nose in his own business.

Dial tone.

Dial tone.

Dial tone.

we're sorry but the person you're trying to reach has a full voice mail, please try again later.

I thrust the phone towards him and crossed my arms across my chest once again.

No one cared.

It didn't matter.

I was a failure,

and no one cared.

So I gripped the car door handle.

Squeezed tightly.

We were going down a highway now, maybe at a 50 or 60 miles an hour. No we were going 70. Over the speed limit, but Dean didn't care.

And neither did I.

or anyone else.

We were going fast enough, plenty of cars were racing by, and no body cared.

I'd be gone within 10 seconds.

No pain, no gain, isn't that correct?

So I squeezed the car door handle, and opened-