Archive of Our Own

Work Text

DEAN
Sitting in the back of the van, Dean contemplates his options. Honestly, he didn’t have many at the moment.The Kansas State Trooper is sitting on the bench in front of him, blocking the sliding door to his right. The luggage piled behind the back seat blocked the rear doors. Then there was the social worker and the driver (another trooper) to worry about. “All this fuss over a sixteen-year-old kid…” he grumbled just loud enough for the cop to hear. “Just here to make sure you’re safely handed over to the officials in Texas, kid.” The Trooper replied. Dean grunted and sank lower in his seat. The driver pulls into the parking lot of a McDonald's. As the four of them cross the lot toward the building, Dean scopes out his surroundings. They’re less than a mile off the interstate. They’ve been heading straight down I35 since Wichita and are close to Oklahoma City. If he could get away from these jokers in Oklahoma City, he could hitch a ride on I40 and make his way to either coast, east or west. Hell, he could get all the way to California if he wanted. He feels a tug on his sleeve and turns back to see the social worker standing beside him. “We’re gonna grab a bite, use the facilities, and get back on the road. None of us want to drag this out any longer than necessary.”Dean rolls his eyes and follows the other men inside. “Whatever.”Dean sneaks out the moment the three men are otherwise engaged. He knew his best bet would be when the cop went to the bathroom. He catches a ride and makes it about twenty miles west before he is on foot again. Thumbing his way along the two-lane highway, the cars are few and far between. So, when he sees a familiar white van speeding toward him, he takes off running through some farmer’s field. He doesn’t make it far. That damn trooper is in excellent shape and a pretty fast runner. The man tackles him, resulting in them both being covered in dirt. Well, that was his third attempt, once again ending in failure. The Trooper cuffs him and leads him back to the van. Dusty and out of breath, they climb in, and the Trooper detaches one end of the cuffs and secures it to the little ring fitted to the arm of the seat. Dean nearly forgot that this was a police-issued vehicle meant for prisoner transport. It had all sorts of anti-escape devices, like the stupid rings and barred windows. The driver cusses about the extra mileage and the traffic around Oklahoma City. The grumpy older man complains about a lot of things throughout the drive. An hour later, Dean complains about needing to use the bathroom. He’s ignored.Finally, about another half hour later - with him constantly grumbling and talking about pissing inside the van. The driver pulls off the highway at a rest stop. The Trooper uncuffs him and walks to the men’s room with him. “Dude, at least let me piss in peace. Unless you wanna watch… maybe you wanna hold it for me?”The cop scoffs and crosses his arms, leaning against the wall next to the door. “Just hurry.”Dean makes sure the door is closed and even goes into a stall, just in case. He really does need to pee. With all that talking about it, he was trying to get to the driver, but that backfired. A few minutes pass before the Trooper sticks his head in and checks on Dean. Dean’s gone. He’d climbed up on the sink and out one of the small windows.Dean is running full out when he hears the thud of heavy boots gaining on him. “Shit.” He veers off to the right and into a thicket, hoping the larger man will get stuck. It’s no use. Within minutes the man grasps his jacket and knocks him off his feet. They both land hard. Dean twists his wrist and scrapes his cheek on the rocky ground. “Dammit, kid. Would you stop doing that?” The Trooper wheezes out, trying to catch his breath as he sits up next to Dean. Dean doesn’t even fight when the cuffs go on again. Dean tries again just before they reach their destination. This time, the Trooper is onto him, and he barely makes it twenty feet. His last attempt is in the parking lot of the police station where the handoff is supposed to happen. The Trooper and social worker are talking to some big wig in a cowboy hat, and the driver is in his own world, leaning against the driver's door, playing on his phone or something. No one is looking his way. They just left him sitting in the van with the side door open. He looks around and casually slips out of the van. He takes a moment to stretch and act like he’s just trying to get the kinks out from the long drive. Still, no one acknowledges him. Taking a few steps toward the back of the van, he checks over his shoulder once more before walking behind it and heading for the edge of the parking lot. Checking behind him, no one is chasing him. He makes it to the sidewalk and takes a left. Once he gets past the edge of the building, he takes off running. He’s not sure how far he gets, but he doesn’t stop until it’s fully dark. He hides in an ally, falling asleep behind a large garbage bin. The following day, he hiked a bit further outside town. He was exhausted and starving. Pushing himself further, he noticed a truck stop and headed over. He went to the bathroom and cleaned up a bit, then used his innocent looks and not-so-innocent skills to get a uniform shirt and cap from the idiot shift manager. He busied himself clearing the tables and pickpocketing the customers. He snuck into the kitchen and grabbed some food, sitting in the stockroom to eat his fill for the first time in the past two days. It took a couple of days for the cops to track him down. They got lucky when some trucker caused a scene by fighting with another guy over a stupid lot lizard, and some do-gooder called the police. While one of the cops was interviewing the manager, Dean bumped into a customer who was leaving - of course, it was on purpose. He was stealing the guy's wallet. Unfortunately, the cop took notice when the man loudly apologized and tried to make sure Dean was alright. As soon as he met the gaze of the cop, the cop’s eyes widened, and Dean knew he was busted.  He tried to make a hasty retreat, but the cop was on his radio, and two others met Dean at the door. It was a short ride back to the police station. The ride to The Ranch was longer. The three-hour drive feels like a lifetime to Dean. The Sheriff doesn’t say two words to him. Dean figures he’s upset after their little tussle earlier. That’s what the guy gets for trying to shove him into the backseat of a squad car so roughly. Why do cops think they can treat people with no respect? Dean didn’t appreciate being pushed, so he reared back and head-butted the man. He didn’t see until later that he blackened the cop's eye.
BOBBY
Hanging up the phone, Bobby walks down the hall from his office to the kitchen. He considers the information he received, mentally going over the rooming options, chore assignment possibilities, and any possible upset to the other boys that bringing in another sixteen-year-old might cause."Hey, boss," Benny greets him when he enters the kitchen.Bobby grunts in reply."Bad news on that call?" Benny asks, turning to face the other man. "Coffee?""Thanks," Bobby answers as he sits at the table.Benny pours him a cop and sits it on the table, taking the seat adjacent.Bobby takes a sip and sighs. "No, not bad news, not really. We're getting a new boy. They're bringing him down from Kansas.""Wow, Kansas, huh." "Yeah, they're sending a copy of his file. Should arrive tomorrow. Seems the kid had a rough time of it up there, and the judge felt that a change of scenery would do the boy good." "Hey, boss, you've got a good thing going here. I'm glad the CPS and, apparently, the judicial system see The Ranch as an option. Places like this are much better for these kids than jail.""I agree," he takes a drink of his coffee and then fills Benny in on what he learned from the CPS officer on the call, "Alright, so he's sixteen, so we can put him in the room at the top of the stairs. We have an open bed in there. He's an urban kid, so he'll need guidance with the animals, and he's probably never done a lick of farm work. The officer said that he's been in the system most of his life and has a tendency to be a flight risk." "So he's not too different from a lot of the boys who've come through here over the years." “Man, let's wait to judge til we get his file and leave the final judgment for when we meet the kid." "You're right, of course. Every kid's different."After dinner, Bobby retreats to his office and slides the thick file out of the large manila envelope. Carrying it to the den, he sits back and ratchets the footrest up on his recliner. He pulls his reading glasses out of his breast pocket and opens the file.He's about halfway through reading it when he feels a small hand gently rest on his forearm."Is that my file?” The boy asks timidly,"No, Alfie." Bobby closes the pages and smiles at the young boy. "This is the file for a new boy who will be joining us very soon." "Is he eight like me? Will he share my room?""Well, son, he will share your room, but he's older. He's sixteen.""Oh, like Joe."Bobby can see the disappointment in the kid's eyes. He's the youngest in the house by five years. "Yeah, like Joe. But that's okay. I'm sure you'll be a big help showing him around and teaching him the rules."Alfe embraces Bobby's arm with his thin little arms, laying his head on his shoulder."Yeah, 'cause I'm smart and nice and know my manners and the house rules. I can help him learn them too."Bobby chuckles and rubs the boy's head, mussing up his hair. "What's his name?" "Dean. Wanna see his picture?" Alfie smiles up at Bobby, "Yeah."It's a day later than expected when Bobby sees a white van pull into the driveway. He gives them a chance to park and unload. He leans against the front door frame; the screen door is wide open and resting flat against the wall.He has a moment to think of adding 'Fix the screen door' to the list of household maintenance items. Then he looks up from under his baseball cap to see a deputy and two other men walking up the steps with a kid who looks a bit younger than sixteen. He's kind of short but looks solid, not too skinny. His hair is over his ears and down in his eyes. And he's watching the ground as he walks. His wrists are in cuffs in front of him. Looking the kid over, Bobby can tell his clothes are too big, and his sneakers are worn out. Good thing they have a closet full of clothes of all sizes, but he's going to need shoes.Just as the kid reaches the top step, Bobby speaks, "That him? Kinda small for sixteen, ain't he?"The deputy frowns, "Small but slick. Little runt gave us a run for our money trying to get him here." Bobby opens the door and nods toward the interior, “Come on in."The deputy looks sternly at the boy before shoving him toward the door.Bobby grits his teeth to keep from saying anything.He leads them into the den, motioning for the boy to have a seat on the couch. The kid flops down, puts his foot on the coffee table, and glares up at the adults as they talk above him. The deputy knocks his foot off the table and the kid smirks.When the deputy finally removes his sunglasses, Bobby notices his bruised eye."Where'd you get the shiner, deputy?" The kid chuckles, "That's what you get for being old and slow." The deputy turns and fakes a punch, stopping mere inches from the boy's face. The kid freezes in fear. "That's what I thought, punk."The CPS officer pulls the deputy away and toward the door. "Bobby, we'll talk more once you get him settled." "Sure thing, Victor," he waves them off and turns back to the kid. He can already tell that he is going to be a hand full, but Bobby is never one to back down from a challenge. Besides, there was no better feeling than that of helping a boy reach his potential.Bobby's joy came not from running a ranch but from watching a kid grow from a scared child into a confident young man. The kids that came through his door always came from some sort of tragic past, and it was his job -- his mission -- his passion for helping each and every one of them to the best of his ability.He shook his head as he walked back into the den, bending to grab a paper clip off the file on the coffee table, "Not too smart, laughin' at him like that, boy.""Well, it was kinda funny. Why not laugh?"Bobby pointed to the kid's wrists, "Because you piss him off, and he leaves with the key." "Oh, right." he raises his hands, looking at the cuffs.Bobby sits on the coffee table, gently holds the boy's arm, and unlocks the cuffs with the paperclip. He's alarmed when he sees the bruises and scraps on his arms. "What happened here?" The boy jerks his arms back; Bobby can nearly feel the fear radiating off the kid."Fight with a werewolf." "Humph, werewolf, huh?" Bobby holds back a laugh."Well, Dean, my name is Bobby Singer, and this here is my Ranch. Now, I've already read your file and heard what that deputy and social worker had to say about you. Which is an awful lot of bull if you ask me." Bobby felt a ray of hope as Dean raised his head and looked at him with wide-eyed shock. Maybe the kid really did just need someone to believe in him. "I know you had a rough time back there in Kansas, but all that's behind you now, son. If you'll let me, I'd like to help you with a fresh start down here, wipe the slate clean, so to say." Dean stared at him for a long moment. Bobby knew he was being judged, knowing that intense look. This wasn't his first rodeo.He watched, keeping honesty and kindness in his own eyes and hope in his heart. Finally, Dean relaxed and smiled. He held out his right hand. Bobby took it in a firm handshake, "Nice to meet you, Bobby."
VICTOR
Sitting in his new office, he rearranges a few items on his desk. He sets the pen holder closer to his monitor and straightens the large desk-top calendar. He recentered the nameplate - Victor Henriksen, Manager.He has worked in the social work and child welfare business since he graduated. His father wanted him to go into law enforcement like him and his father before him. Victor just never felt the pull in that direction. He knew he wanted to help people but from a position a bit less life-threatening. He had no urge to carry a gun. Even though he has been promoted to management level, he kept a handful of cases. Special kids and families that he had worked with from the start. Just a few he didn't want to part with. So Sue him, he's not made of stone, he has a heart.He reaches toward the corner of his desk and picks up the newest case transferred to his department. He has read through the file but has yet to assign the case to one of his social workers. He makes up his mind as he flips through the thick assemblage of documents. He knows who needs to handle this case.He does.He closes the folder and picks up his phone."Hi, Bobby. It's Victor."Not long after his new charge, Dean Winchester, a street-smart, hot-tempered, sixteen-year-old, had settled in at The Ranch; there was an accident, and Dean ended up hospitalized with a broken leg and a few other minor injuries.Once the boy was back home, Victor made a home visit to check on him and talk to Bobby. While he was there, the boy started screaming at Benny and went into a fit like none of them had ever witnessed.Watching and listening to what the frightened boy was saying, Victor quickly realized that a lot of information was missing from the case file. Victor spends weeks calling and emailing to gather Dean’s records from Kansas. There were obvious holes in the thin file he’d received from the Kansas CPS office. He spoke with clerks at the CPD, the police, and various facilities through which Dean had been shuffled. Generally, getting very little information from each source. But he built a bigger picture than he had when he started.Dean may have been a pain in Victor's… everything, but the kid still deserved fair treatment and the opportunity for a good life.Summer progressed, and Victor kept a watchful eye on The Ranch, on Bobby, the staff, the boys, and a special eye on Dean.Dammit, how did he let that boy get under his skin? It happens occasionally; some kid has some special spark that shines so brightly that it touches everyone around them. Dean was one of those special, amazing kids who could be exceptional if given a chance. Victor can see this; sadly, Dean can’t — yet.He hangs up the phone, leans back in his chair, and lets out a heavy sigh.Dean had run away. It was the first time since he had been placed at The Ranch.That was one thing that Victor had a hard time understanding. These kids, Who have no one and nowhere to go, insist on running from the decent homes that he and his team place them with. His department is one of the best; they do the work, background checks, home visits, and school visits. They do their best to make sure all the placements are safe and as comfortable for the child as possible. It baffles him why some of them are determined to get out -- get away. He knew Dean was a flight risk from the start, but he had settled in and seemed happy at The Ranch. He was doing well in school and had made a few friends.Victor didn't rest well that night. The following day he was just about to pick up the phone and call The Ranch when his cell phone rang. It was Benny. Bobby had found him and brought him home in the wee hours of the morning. Aside from a few scrapes and bruises from a fall, the boy was unharmed.Summer break was coming to an end, and things were ramping up for the new school year. His team made special visits to make sure their kids were doing well and ready to start school. It was especially important for those who would be moving up into a new school. Shifting from grade school to middle school or the significant change to high school are exciting and scary times for kids in any situation. Victor had three kids who were going to be seniors this year. Dean was one of them. He was proud of how well each of them was doing in school and had already been discussing options offered by the social service main office. Things like trade school and work programs. Their office had agreements with several businesses in the area that were dedicated to helping high school graduates get a start in the working environment. He knew Dean liked working on the vehicles at The Ranch and had already spoken with one of the auto repair shops about possible placement once Dean graduated. Once he had the details sorted, he would let Dean know. Just before school started, Victor received a call from Bobby to notify him that the sweet little girl Charlie was on flight A321 that went down outside Knoxville, Tennessee. Bobby let him know that Dean was devastated.Dean’s behavior rapidly declined. He began sneaking out, getting into fights — which he often lost and ended up pretty badly banged up — stealing and drinking. Victor made several visits to The Ranch and the school. He spoke with each of Dean’s teachers and many of the ranch hands. Out of everyone, Dean was the least cooperative.When Dean did an abrupt turnaround and unexpectedly returned to a more normal, well-behaved young man, Victor was cautious. Dean knew how to work the system, and his good student act may well have been just an act. The next few weeks went well, and Dean seemed to be his level-headed self again. That is until Victor received a call from the Sheriff saying that Dean had run away again, and this time he didn’t appear to want to be found.Over the next few months, Victor continued to investigate, hearing whispers of a kid matching Dean’s description being here or there. But every lead fell empty.Victor was sure that when Bobby died of a heart attack, Dean would come back. It didn’t happen, and there was no longer any news or here-say about Dean’s whereabouts. Dean was over eighteen now, and Victor no longer had jurisdiction. Still, it bothered him that he had lost this kid.
CHARLIE
"Dude, it took hours to fix the chicken surround and patch up the coop. That fuckin' loser made a real mess." The taller boy said."He's such a city boy, and Bobby treats him like he's special or something." Replied the boy with red hair and blotchy skin."Man, it's not fair that we had to fix his mess. What's so special about that Kansas freak?” Asked the boy that Charlie couldn’t see; he was blocked by the candy display.Charlie hid by one of the arcade games and listened to the boys as they laughed and cursed, talking about a new boy at The Ranch. She was intrigued. It was unheard of that a kid was shipped in from out of state to live there.As usual, Charlie spent the summer working at her dad's arcade. It was a great place to hang out. Most of the kids in town spent their free time there. The boys from The Ranch were no different, but the new kid never came with the others. Not once all summer. She had learned that his name was Dean and that he would be a junior this year. She smiled; they were the same age. Charlie decided to search him out and see what he was really like once school started.A few times, she had seen Dean in town with Bobby, usually helping with some shopping. Man, was that kid a grumpy Gus. There was always a disagreement between them. Dean was always either cursing a blue streak or sulking. The kid seemed miserable.Charlie arrived early on the first day of school, excited to be back. She kind of loved school and enjoyed learning new things. She was in advanced classes and had been since they were first offered in seventh grade, she could have skipped a couple of grades, but she preferred to stay with her peers. However, with her advanced studies and a few summer classes at the local two-year college, she already had all the necessary points to graduate.She had already sent her requests to her top choice Universities and was just waiting to hear back. She knew sixteen was not the right age for her to go to Uni; she felt she needed one more year to feel comfortable in her own skin and mind for such a change.This would be her last year of high school, and she wanted it to be a great one.Sitting off to the side near the windows, she watched as the other kids in her homeroom filtered in. Chatting and laughing with friends they hadn't seen since last school year. She waved, spoke to a few people she knew, and smiled back at others.Just as the bell rang, a boy with scruffy hair and baggy jeans walked in. He glanced at the teacher, who pointed to the only empty seat -- two places in front of Charlie. He slumped into the seat and curled into himself, not looking around at all.Roll was taken, and Charlie now knew for sure that this was the new kid, Dean Winchester. She observed him off and on in the halls that morning, and by lunchtime, she was determined to show this new kid that not everyone was as petty as those boys from The Ranch.She found him sitting alone in the cafeteria. She kept an eye on him as she got her tray and made a beeline toward him. The kid was so focused on his food that he didn't notice her until she plopped down beside him, and her tray collided with the tabletop.He jumped and glared at her. She smiled. He frowned. She noticed that he'd barely touched his food."Hi. I'm Charlie. We have homeroom and English together." And so the seeds of a beautiful friendship were planted.During the second week of school, Dean hits on Charlie, obviously because he thinks that's what every girl wants from him. It had all felt rather forced, and his actions didn’t match the way he had acted up until this time. Charlie tried to play it off, but when he traced his hand up her thigh a little too far, she punched him square in the mouth -- giving him a fat, bloody lip. After that incident, they both quietly divulged that they preferred their own kind. That is to say that Charlie only liked girls, and Dean, though he had been with girls, preferred boys. They would sit on the bleachers together and watch the football and cheer practice. Charlie going on and on about soft breasts and long legs on this girl or that, while Dean was practically swooning over the jocks and all those muscles. Both agreed that gym class was a high point of the week, if only for the changing rooms and open showers.The two of them sat together at lunch every day, Charlie helped Dean with his homework, and he was always there to listen when she needed a shoulder to lean on. As the school year progressed, their friendship grew stronger.By spring break, they were inseparable. They helped each other try to pick up dates at the Mall or the arcade and then teased about kissing and going all gaga over their choices and their crushes. Neither was all that successful in actually picking up a date. They always left together when it was time to go home.When they were poking around in the barn and found some old bicycles in disrepair, Charlie was blown away by Dean's ability to figure out how to take those parts and rebuild two complete and sturdy bikes. He'd even learned how to use the welder to ensure the structure of the frames. Charlie was smart, like genius level, and could make magic happen with any computer she sat down in front of. But Dean was smart in the way he could picture a problem in his head and come up with a solution that no one else even thought about. That kid could fix anything mechanical, and if he read a construction design once, he could easily build just about anything.Now, Charlie wasn't a loner. She had friends at school and knew most of the kids who hung out at her dad's arcade. She may not have been in the popular circle, but she fit into many other groups and was never really afraid of being herself. But until she met Dean, she'd never experienced the thrill of having a best friend.Her curiosity about the 'new kid' grew into deeply caring about him. They shared secrets that they would never tell anyone else.He felt more like a brother than just a friend.Even when he broke his leg at the beginning of summer, they spent hours together playing board games or reading. They still managed to trek out to their favorite spot and hold court in their imaginary world of Moondor. She trusted and loved him and knew he felt the same toward her. She knew in her heart that they would always remain best friends, no matter what.The day she received her acceptance letter to MIT, she questioned his support for the first time. The way he got angry confused her. He shouted and tossed things about in his room, flailing and kicking the bed with his freshly un-casted leg. Afraid he was going to break his leg again or something else in the room, she tried to calm him down. He didn't calm down."You should just leave! I don't even know why you hung around all summer anyway. You could already be at your big fancy college making friends with rich college pricks." "I stayed because you're my friend! You were hurt, and this was our last summer together to get to be plain ole kids. I was going to tell you sooner, but with everything that happened, I just couldn't --" "Yeah, well, now I ain't got a busted leg, no cast, no more excuses for you to pity me and stay in this piss-ant town and all the losers like me."Charlie was so tired of Dean's inability to understand her need to go to university. So tired of his catastrophizing and self-deprecation and selfishness. They had had many arguments about her going to college, and he always turned it around to her leaving and never coming back."You are such a shit! Everything isn't about you, Dean! This is my dream! I've worked hard in school all my life. You knew I'd been spotted and interviewed by college recruiters. Dean, it's MIT. I can't pass this up." Dean leaned against the dresser and hid his face in his hands. Charlie waited him out. She hoped that maybe he understood and could support and stand beside her as her best friend as he did so often."But," he slowly moved his hands away from his face and let them hang by his sides, "what about senior year? What about us? You're only seventeen, and you're leaving for M l-fuckin-T."Thoroughly put out, Charlie groaned and flopped on the bed next to Dean's. She had been trying to get her point across for over an hour. She was tired of it. Why couldn't he just be happy for her? She lay there, staring at an old dark spot on the ceiling -- probably from a water leak. She could feel Dean's eyes on her. She could feel the tension, thick and heavy, in the room. It was almost a physical wave coming off Dean. He started to pace the short path between the rows of beds. She peeked at him. He was frowning and clinching his hands in fists at his sides, releasing them then repeating as he moved from one end of the room back to the door. He did this three times before he stopped a few feet from the door, near the foot of his bed. "FINE!" He screamed. Frightening her with the volume and suddenness of it. She sat up and faced him as he continued. "Just... Fine. Go to college and be happy. I'm better off on my own anyway.” He grabbed a plaid shirt and stormed out the door.She jumped up and followed. Calling out to him from the top of the stairs, "Dean! Where are you going?" "Out?" He yelled as the screen door slammed behind him.Benny tried to soothe her while Bobby went out to look for Dean. It was late, verging on early morning when Bobby returned with Dean. It took several days, but Charlie was persistent. She wanted her best friend back. She needed him to be okay. She couldn't leave with him still angry with her.She finally got through his thick skull and convinced him that his senior year would be alright without her there. Reminding him of a few other friends he had made last year. She made him laugh when she groaned about the fact that he would be a senior while she was starting all over as a freshman.Charlie was thrilled that Dean was allowed to go to the airport to see her off. they sat in the back of the car and whispered and snickered just like old times. When they were close to the airport, and a low-flying plane came in for a landing, Dean's eyes went wide, and he was plastered to the window."Are you sure you wanna do this? I mean, a giant metal tube hurtling through the sky with all that fuel. It's a freakin' death trap. Couldn't you-" "No, Dean. I would not prefer to take a bus. They are not safer than flying."She watches as Dean slumps in the seat and watches worriedly out the window. He reaches over and takes her hand, she gives it a squeeze, and he relaxes minutely. Charlie looks at her best friend, he is more nervous just thinking about flying than she is, and she's the one actually getting on the plane. When they reach the area just before security, where only passengers are allowed, Dean hesitates to let go of her hand.She smiles up at him and pulls him into a big, rib-crushing hug."I love you, Dean Winchester. I always will. We're forever friends. Now, I want you to be good and make new friends at school this year.'' She pulls back and squeezes his bicep, stretching up onto her tiptoes; she kisses his cheek, "Keep your phone on because I'm gonna be texting you until we have to turn off our phones - then again as soon as we land in Atlanta, then Boston." There is an announcement about her flight boarding soon, "Aw, damn, I gotta go."Charlie hugged and kissed her family and ruffled Dean's hair before running down the concourse to security.
DEAN
The flames licked up the walls like a hungry beast savoring its favorite meal. Dean could feel the heat as he choked on the smoke. It burned his eyes even as he cried for help. He felt hands on his back, pushing him toward the exit. The screaming seemed to be all around him and inside him. The hands were persistent as he stumbled down the stairs, but he no longer felt them as he ran across the room to the door.The flashing lights nearly blinded him when he managed to open the door and fell out onto the wooden floor of the porch. He crawled as fast as he could, tipping and once again falling as his hand reached out but found nothing to land on. When he hit the concrete path at the bottom of the stairs, he was suddenly in the grip of very different, much larger, glove-covered hands. He was lifted smoothly into the strong arms of a large man wearing a face shield. Dean cried with relief when he realized that this man was a fireman. He could still feel the heat and began coughing, choking on smoke and tears.Dean jerked and slammed into the wall, banging his forehead and hand against rough brick. He gasped and choked on his own spit as he woke suddenly. There was no fire. It was dark. He was alone and suddenly very cold.He trembled as he sat up and squinted, rubbing his eyes and surveying the disheveled contents in the musty basement. It had been the first location he found to hide out in when he finally made it to Austin. There were rats, he could hear them, but it was a place to rest -- out of the weather and out of sight of the cops.It had only been a couple of weeks since he left The Ranch. He wasn't sure if anyone would still be looking for him, so he had to keep to the shadows for a while longer. He figured Bobby would probably search for him for a few days, then cut his loss and get back to business with the ranch and the other boys.He had overheard a couple of cops talking the other day - he'd nearly walked right into them but stopped at the mouth of an ally before they noticed him. They were discussing Henriksen. That damn CSP caseworker was trying to track Dean down. Shit, he still had a few months til his birthday. Maybe the guy would get bored and drop the manhunt.Dean wished he had packed some warmer clothes so he could layer up more at night. Even in Texas, the nights are damn cold in December. During the day, he could stay warm by hanging out in a few different pool halls or bars. He had to move around a lot and tried not to draw attention because that damn Henriksen was still asking around for him. Deep down, Dean knew he was better off on the street than back in the system. Youth homes weren't safe, and no foster wanted an asshole kid about to turn eighteen.He wished the CSP agent would just drop it so he could quit looking over his shoulder all the damn time. Keeping off the cops' radar was enough to worry about. Dean was smart and had set up a few places around town to sleep at night, not returning to the same spot two nights in a row. He also steered clear of homeless encampments. He'd seen the cops raid those groups and wanted no part of that mess. It didn't take him long to learn which places were best for handouts, which didn't ask questions, and when the do-gooders came around or opened the church halls to the less fortunate. When he spotted Henriksen at one of the shelters, he knew he had to stay away from all the shelters or other facilities for a while. So, he kept to his hiding spots. There was this one kid who washed dishes at the bar on the corner of 3rd and Red River who sometimes had leftovers for him. Even if the food was cold and half eaten, it was better than digging it out of the bins out back.Hustling pool helped get him some cash, but he quickly learned how to make even more money by hustling in a completely different way. Dean wasn't innocent, not by a long stretch. He knew he had a look about him, and he knew he looked younger, softer than many guys his age. He knew he was a total twink, and he also knew how to play that to his advantage.The first month or so, he watched the prostitutes, learning their tricks. He thought the women were pretty cool with the way they played up their assets. He noticed how different it was with the boys a few blocks over. Most of them didn't play coy. They were gruff and raunchy, and they fought a lot amongst themselves. By spring, Dean had a few regular customers. He still preferred to stay separate from the other boys and had to be careful when hanging around the girls. After having a run-in with a crazy pimp who accused him of stealing customers, he did not want or need a second lesson in prostitute manners. It took him nearly a week to heal from the first one.Still, he liked some of the girls, and they adored him. They called him their little prince and cooed over how pretty he was. Between hustling cards, pool, and himself, Dean often had enough money to get a room for a night or two in one of the cheap motels.By early summer, a couple of the girls he'd become friends with rented him a room in their house. He was there a few months before their boss found out and threatened to kill him for stealing his business. Once again, Dean was back on the streets.Dean had developed some skills to stay alive while living rough. One of his unique skills - other than being the prince of fellatio - was not getting caught by the cops, or at least nothing that got him tossed into jail. He listened to the talk in the motels and on the streets. Dealers and pimps always talk too much. Dean quickly switched into his innocent street urchin mode and hid when he heard anything about a raid or bust about to go down. He had plenty of hiding spots around town whenever he needed to hide from the cops or the world.His anxiety and nightmares got worse while he was living rough. He might have been free of the CSP, but everything was scary, and so many people were out to hurt him he had to stay on guard all the time. If it wasn’t the other hustlers, it was the pimps or angry johns, plus there were always the cops; it seemed that he was fighting or running every day.There were good days, the days the clinics, churches, and other do-good groups came out to do their Christian duty and help the poor. These groups visits always meant free shit. Dean looked younger than his age, and even after he turned twenty-one, the youth groups treated him to free food, clothes, and sometimes a hot shower and a decent bed for the night. The free clinic was always good for plenty of condoms, health checks, and drugs.  Getting Triple C, Pseudos, or whatever the clinics brought was super easy. Unlike some of the others, Dean didn’t steal — much — from those who came to give handouts. Groups who were mistreated or robbed too often stopped bringing the free shit.All Dean had to do was flash his pretty smile and blink up at them with his puppy eyes, and he could get extra helpings of just about anything. Faking — or exaggerating — a cough got him loads of cough meds. Because the good people who came to help usually brought cough and cold meds, pain relievers, and sometimes random things like Dramamine. Those god-fearing-do-gooders had no idea they were an addict's best friend.Dean liked to curl up in one of his hidey-hole and get lost from the world — taking some Triple C or getting high on a bunch of Dramamine that he saved up for when he didn’t have the cash for weed or heroin. Cold meds were great for that pumped-up feeling on days he wanted to get shit done. When he did have money, he spent most of it on drugs, knowing that he could easily get free food.Sometimes he’d get a job washing dishes or as a laborer on a construction site. Always being paid in cash, right along with the illegals — which were thick in Texas. He couldn’t get a legal job anyway because he didn’t know his social security number and didn’t have an address. He also worked in a few of the local strip clubs, mostly cleaning, but every so often, he’d get a chance to jump up on the stage and strut his twink-ass for some decent money. Nobody cared if he was twenty-three or thirteen; they liked his pretty face, round ass, and his cock — no one even cared about his scars once his cock was out. The lighting in most of those places was too poor to see much detail anyway.Dean was on the streets for almost seven years before he finally got busted with something that would stick. Prostitution. The cops got slick this time. That damn undercover let Dean finish him off before pulling out his badge and arresting him, along with several others. The bastard had even tried to get Dean to go natural and leave off the sleeve — which Dean would have no part of; no glove means no love.The cops were pleased with their haul, taking in about twenty prostitutes that night. The women were all tossed into one holding cell and the guys into another; of course, there were more women than men. It might have been better to keep all the prostitutes together; the boys had it rough in jail. Those redneck-drunk-and-disorderly jerks already in the cell had no qualms about beating the shit out of the queer boy prostitutes. Of course, they also wanted to be serviced by those same queer boys. What the hell is wrong with hetero-hillbillies?Things might have gone differently if only that local redneck hadn’t tried to force himself on Dean the way he did. The others in the cell either cheered for the bastard or taunted Dean to fight. Dean fought and lost, gaining a dislocated shoulder and a concussion. He was moved to a separate cell after a visit to the hospital for his injuries. By the time he returned to jail, most of the other prostitutes were gone. There was no one to post his bail, so he remained in jail even after the rest of the inmates made bail and were released. That’s one perk of having a pimp. Dean was all alone in a cell for the next week, supposedly awaiting arraignment. But the awful things that happened during that week were worse than what he dealt with working the streets. He couldn’t even fight back because there was no way he would strike a cop. The nightly rapes were more than he could handle. He got his hands on a sharp piece of metal and cut both of his forearms bad enough to need medical attention again. His wounds looked like a botched suicide attempt, and his actions got him in front of the judge again.The judge deemed him unfit for regular jail and sentenced him to the Ladybird Center for Mental Health for an eighteen-month term, to be reviewed at the end of the time served. If Dean’s mental state improved, he could be released, and if not, he could face lockup in the state hospital.Dean was angry at the judge -- at everyone -- at life. He screamed profanities and fought the officers taking him back to his cell before moving him to the mental health center. He took his anger out on anyone who came near him for the next two days, and he tore at his flesh when he was alone. The police were unsure how to deal with him and were relieved when the orderlies came to pick him up. The Center staff brought sedatives, and after a two-hour fight from Dean, the meds finally kicked in, and the orderlies wheeled him out to the ambulance to deliver him to The Center.During Dean’s first two weeks at the Center, he was in a secure, solitary cell with no furniture and padded walls and floor. The doctors were waiting for him to lose some of his anger and get the fight out of his system before starting a medication routine. After the second week, Dean was begging to be let out. He couldn’t stand being cooped up with only his thoughts and memories to keep him company any longer.His memories were too frightening. The drugs would be better. Once Dean was in his own room, he continued fighting and cursing the orderlies and anyone who dared say anything to him.  He tore up his room and found ways to self-harm. Eventually, his room was stripped bare, and he had only a mattress on the floor for the next two weeks. The orderlies even took the door off his bathroom. After Dean punched the mirror, they took that away. Dean knew how to fabricate a weapon out of just about anything, leading to the removal of towel bars and curtain rods.By the end of his second month at the Center, Dean stopped fighting so much. He also stopped talking. There were days that he had to be restrained and force-fed by a feeding tube because he refused to eat. Those restraints were his undoing; the mere sight sent him into a fit. Being restrained or even the threat of being restrained for his behavior was worse to him than being locked in solitary confinement. The orderlies learned quickly that Dean was stronger than he looked. It took two men to hold him and a third to get him locked down.The main reasons for this treatment were fighting, refusing to take meds or to eat, breaking things, self-harm, and, well, any other misdemeanor they deemed to warrant his restraint. Some of the orderlies seemed to get a thrill out of frightening and restraining him.The fact that Dean wouldn’t talk made it even more difficult for staff to find the best way to treat him or discipline him for unwanted behavior.Self-harm was the most significant crime Dean could commit at the Center. But it wasn’t fair — they didn’t understand — they didn’t have the need — the need that urged Dean to use his sleight-of-hand mastery to abscond with a mislaid razor blade when he visited the barber for his shave. Dean wasn’t allowed even to use an electric shaver without supervision and had to be shaved by a clod of a barber who worked at the Center. How anyone could do a lousy job with an electric razor was beyond Dean’s comprehension. If Dean was extra nice to the guy, he would sometimes let Dean shave himself — which felt terrific. This day was one when he played saccharine-sweet and sucked up to the guy’s ego by complimenting and bragging about his skills. (gag- all lies) But, it distracted the idiot while Dean slipped the single-edge blade into the waistband of his scrubs.The thrill of having that little tool tucked away was almost as exhilarating as actually cutting. Dean knew he couldn’t hide it long, so he planned to finish the job that same day. It had been weeks since he bled. The need was almost worse than the withdrawals from heroin. No, this was worse in its own way. Cutting had been with Dean most of his life, and drugs were just an escape, a waste of time. He could do without drugs — his body may hurt for a while when he stops, but drugs are meaningless. Cutting is everything; it takes him where no drugs ever could. But cutting was a big gamble here. If he got caught, it meant restriction, restraints, and time in the infirmary. That gamble sent his pulse racing, and he knew he had to do it.His counselor kept trying to help him, urging him to contribute during group sessions or participate in activities. But Dean would sit silently through group and pout, turning away from activities and games.One day during group session, they had two special guests; Dick Roman, the director of the Center, and a local artist.  Dick introduced the artist and announced that he would be teaching them art classes.Dean was excited about the art classes; it was something he had always wanted to do. But by now, he had withdrawn to the point that he couldn’t even look up at the man while he was talking to the group.When the artist gifted the group with notebooks and instructed them to personalize them, Dean wanted to shout for joy — thank the man — smile, laugh, jump up and down — or even hug him to thank him for the gift. He did none of that; he sat quietly and held the book tight against his chest.Dean held the black sharpie in his hand and stared at the plain tan cover of the book.What if he messed up? What if he drew something stupid? If he didn’t do this right, would he get kicked out of the class? Would the artist take back the book?Maybe if he did something simple… just his name, yeah, he could put his name for now and get more instructions in art class. So he uncapped the pen and made the downward stroke for the D. His hand started to shake, and he stared at the mark on the otherwise clean cover. Shit… what if putting his name is wrong? The artist had all kinds of drawings on his book.Dean stood up and paced a few steps to and fro next to the table, glancing at the book and the pen. Taking a deep breath, he sat down and printed his name in the upper right corner of the front cover. He let out a sigh and opened the book to the front inside cover, and wrote -PROPERTYOFDEAN WINCHESTERHe closed the book and laid the pen on the table; then, he took the book to his room and put it in his sock drawer; for safekeeping until the next art class.Dean thought about how the artist acted and reacted to being in a room full of nut jobs. The guy was cool and calm and seemed in control; he was friendly and gentle with his words and actions. He definitely had a pleasant voice… and eyes. Dean replayed in his mind the moment that their eyes met — over and over.Dean had been mesmerized by those big blue eyes. The fact that he had to wait another four days to sneak another peek at the artist made Dean grumpy.
ELEANOR
Eleanor Visyak’s position as the head counselor didn’t leave room for many patients; she had a great team of counselors to work with the patients at the Ladybird Center for Mental Health. They saw both in and out-patient cases.Turner James was given the new patient, Dean Winchester. Turner was great with almost anyone, and young men seemed to open up to him easily. Eleanor thought him a good fit.Dean was a tough case, and if it hadn’t been for his self-harming tendencies, he would have been sent to the Texas state correctional hospital. Turner dealt with Dean’s attitude and abuse for a full three weeks before he requested to be relieved; it was just too much and was distracting him from other patients. Eleanor decided to take the case herself instead of assigning another of her counselors — partially because she didn’t want too many changes in the man’s care and partly because she found him to be an exciting challenge.This Dean was strong-willed and fought all attempts of care when he first arrived, it took two weeks of solitary confinement — seeing only the orderly who brought his meals, Turner, and the doctor or nurse — to get him to calm down enough to let him be around the other patients. During his first few weeks, he had to be restrained or sedated for them to complete a medical examination or even get him to bathe. He ate fast and hid food in his room, fighting the orderlies when they tried to take it away.Not long after Turner handed the case back to Eleanor, Dean made an abrupt change and fell silent. Eleanor feared he might attempt suicide and put him under twenty-four-hour watch. There were moments of self-harm but never anything life-threatening.Eleanor watched Dean’s actions and interactions with others at the Center, especially when he didn’t think she was around.Even without speech, he tended to display an air of authority around most of the other patients and showed defiance toward staff. There was an underlying sense of fear; he didn’t appear to trust anyone.While watching the patients in the day room, Eleanor made notes of the occurrences and mannerisms of those in the room. She played particular attention to Ed, Harry, and Dean’s interactions.Dean was sitting in his usual window seat when Ed and Harry wandered over and began an animated conversation. Dean didn’t appear to be interested and attempted to ignore the duo. Harry pulled a chair close to Dean’s and leaned close, talking to him quietly. Dean shook his head and tried to move away when Harry gripped his forearm. Dean’s eyes widened, and he looked down at the hand on his arm, jerking out of the other man’s grasp. He stood and glared at the still-seated Harry; leaning close, he snarled, and Eleanor could almost hear a growl. Dean shoved past the two men and stormed to the other side of the room, huffing as he sat on the couch in front of the TV, bringing his legs up, wrapping his arms around them, and resting his forehead on his knees.Eleanor knew Dean had significant issues with touch. This young man had been hurt regularly; he feared retribution yet balked at authority.His self-harming tendencies were apparent when he would pick a fight with a larger, angrier patient, taunting them until he got hit, then both of them would get disciplined. This unfortunate attitude was Dean’s regular m.o. for almost nine months.During group sessions, Dean was completely non-verbal and non-attentive. When in private sessions, he would sometimes answer with a few mumbled words or a nod or shrug of his shoulders. There were no freely shared thoughts or information.On the day that Castiel Novak was introduced to the group during a session, Dean appeared more interested than usual and extremely protective of the journal gifted by the artist.The introduction of Castiel into Dean’s schedule was a turning point in his treatment. Dean still didn’t speak for several more weeks but eventually spoke to the artist. It took a few more weeks before he began to use his words in other therapy sessions or to speak to other patients.Eleanor feared Dean might have been fixating on Castiel, which could prove harmful if the artist wasn’t aware, careful, or unreceptive to the man’s psychological needs.Castiel had not only exceptional artistic talent and ability to teach; he had an uncanny ability to get through to each of the patients in his class. No matter their emotional duress, he treated them as equals and was able to cater to their individual needs. When it came to Dean, there seemed to be a unique bond between the two men. Eleanor tried to warn Castiel not to become too attached to Dean, but they became fast friends, and Dean showed a level of trust toward Castiel that she had not witnessed before.The more the two men were together, the closer they grew. Their friendship slowly became more than just friends. Castiel shared with Eleanor how much he cared for Dean and felt a love for the man he had never felt for anyone before.In a separate, private session, Dean admitted to Eleanor that he really liked Castiel and wanted to be able to date him, even if that was only time spent together here at the Center.The love between them was apparent, and Eleanor agreed to let them — carefully and under an agreement to continue to be open and honest during counseling sessions — become an item.It was beautiful to watch their love for each other grow. To see how Dean allowed simple touches from Castiel - a gentle hand rubbing his back or lying on his knee, holding hands as they walked along the paths in the gardens. Dean would stare openly at Castiel with a smile on his lips while Castiel was teaching the art classes, often causing the artist to stumble over his words. Eleanor had to admit it was cute witnessing the two love birds shyly stumble on the edge of romance like two teenagers. She had the joy of watching Dean blush when he leaned close during lunch one day and kissed Castiel on the cheek.Dean became more and more open and eventually was able to spend time away from the Center with Castiel. His behavior was so different than it was during the first few months he was alone in the clinic, back when he was fighting everyone, causing himself harm, and refusing all attempts for help or assistance. Eleanor remembers the time, not long before Castiel came to begin his classes, when Dean had stolen a razor blade and was cutting his leg and was caught by one of the orderlies. The confrontation had turned into an all-out battle, and two orderlies had to restrain Dean while the third shot him full of sedatives so they could get him to the infirmary. Now though, watching him laugh and talk with medical staff and other patients was like night and day. The true spirit of Dean was finally shining through.When it came time for Dean’s eighteen-month sentence hearing, Castiel was there.Dean was released under his own recognizance, and a month later, the two men took a vacation that was only short of a honeymoon by the lack of a marriage certificate.Eleanor is still Dean’s therapist. Dean and Castiel both have regular sessions, together and separately. She knows that Dean is not ‘cured.’ There is no cure for mental illness. He will need to deal with this for the rest of his life. However, it is beautiful to see how the mind can heal and change over the course of time and with positive treatment. Love may not be a magical cure-all that leads to happily-ever-after, but it is a wonderful tool to have in one’s arsenal. The love and care received from another individual can be the turning point that sends someone down the path to a fuller, more manageable life. Love, kindness, and acceptance are positive ways that anyone can use to show another person that they matter and are essential in the world.