Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"Well, are the rumors true? Is the album about your hardships with alcoholism?” She asked, which made Dean take in a big breath. He never liked to admit what he was. He never wanted to say he was an alcoholic, but when you let yourself be in a drunken haze for nearly seven years what are you?

“Not all of it,” Dean said honestly. “Some of it is stuff I had written when I was with Alistair, but there are a few songs about that. Honestly I’m not scared about telling people I’m a recovering alcoholic. I’m more scared that because I don’t have the booze people won’t like me anymore.” Charlie nodded, making note of that on her note pad. Dean let out a held in breath, trying not to let his nerves get to him.

“Well I would find that hard to believe. You’re Dean Winchester,” Charlie said with a genuine smile, making Dean relax a little. “And if this is a new beginning, then so be it. I don’t think hotel owners would be against your decision to be sober.” That made Dean chuckle. It was a full laugh, ones he really only got with Sam now. He smirked and huffed another laugh.

 “Yeah, the name of the album is going to be called Turn the Page.”

On a long and lonesome highway, east of Omaha

You can listen to the engine moanin' out its one note song

You can think about the woman, or the girl you knew the night before.

1973. Omaha, Nebraska

            Dean clears his throat, the tour bus is blazing with the summer heat, and he wished for one moment that he had a god damn drink. The kind of drink that made him get a little mean, and even a little depressed sometimes. A drink that made him forget about everything that had gone wrong in his life, or his entire life if he wanted to be serious. Dean stopped his thoughts though when he flicked his gaze to see Sam fanning himself with a stray paper plate, a book in his hands. The older brother smirked a little before going to look back out the window. He was tense, it had been so long since he had been on a stage, out in front of people, singing. Dean was scared that no one would like him, would like the new and ‘improved’ Dean Winchester. What if they liked the singer that trashed hotel rooms, slept with whoever he pleased, and cussed out paparazzi every time they came around? What would he do then? Probably go back to a bottle, though Sam kept assuring him that he still had fans. That he had people who would love him no matter how he acted.

            Dean could believe that he guessed. If people didn’t want to see him then he wouldn’t have had a sold out show in the biggest arena in Nebraska. People had to at least care enough to spend twenty bucks for lawn seats. He sighed, his throat dry. Dean turned to Sam again and clicked his tongue. “We got anything cold on this thing?” He asked and Sam’s gaze flicked to look at Dean.

            “Depends on what you’re referring to. I’m sure that we’ve got Coca-Cola,” he said raising a brow. Dean rolled his eyes. He hated when his brother just assumed that he meant alcohol. He was nine months sober, he wasn’t just going to through that away when the bus got hot.

            “I’m thirsty Sam. Not sure if you noticed or not, but it’s like ninety degrees in here,” he said, grunting a little as he stood up and walked to the cooler they kept by the fold out table. He pulled off the lid, looking down at the iced beverages. Dean pulled out a Coca-Cola, popping the cap off on the table. He looked down at it, taking a sip as he walked back to his chair. Damn, not matter how hard he tried not to think about the alcohol he always ended up doing it. He let out a sigh and took another sip before speaking up again. “No matter how hard I try, I think I’m always going to taste Jack Daniel’s.”

            Sam sat his book down, looking over to Dean. “I’m sure you will, but as long as there isn’t any actual whiskey in it I’m sure you’ll be fine,” he said and Dean’s brows raised for a moment before he smirked.

            “I guess a phantom taste is better than the real thing. Health wise,” he said as he let out a slight chuckle, shaking his head as his brother narrowed his eyes. “Come on Sam, if I can never joke about it then I might as well be dead already.” Sam let out a long sigh and Dean smiled, resting back into his seat and trying not to think about the sweat that was starting to layer on his skin.

            “That’s the thing with you Dean, you’re almost thirty five, joking about your life isn’t funny when you’ve got a liver that looks like a raisin,” Sam said and Dean let out a groan.

            “Dammit Sam I might just leave you in Omaha if you keep talking about my health. You’re my kid brother, not my doctor,” he said, sipping his soda. “If I wanted to be reminded of my health I would have brought along Dr. Devereaux, because he is such a big ball of sunshine.” Which was a complete lie. Devereaux did his job, but he liked to insult Dean as he did it. It wasn’t a problem, he got Dean to drop the bottle, and he made him stay away from it. So Dean thanks him for that, he just wished he had better bedside manner.

            Sam huffed, but rather than retort, he just went back to his book. Dean watched as his brother leaned back into the couch, crossing one leg over the other. After a few quiet moments Dean closed his eyes, leaning back into the chair he was sitting on and sipped his coke. It wasn’t long before there was a rhythm in his head, fingers tapping along to a slower beat. The singer opened his eyes, and a moment later and he was walking to the back room.

            It was where his bed was, along with little trinkets that you would normally find in a room. His guitar was there, still on the bed where he had left it. Dean climbed onto the musty old mattress, placing the coke on a little shelf that was by his pillows. As he moved he heard his brother walk to pull the screen to shield anyone from looking into the bedroom. Sam knew what Dean was about to do, and Dean was even surprised that he was doing it.

            Dean grabbed his guitar, palm sliding up the neck, fingers gliding past frets. His thumb struck a few strings, a smile widening. Almost perfectly tuned. Dean played a few more notes, turning the tuner mechanisms till it was in key. He hadn’t expected this, he hadn’t realized that he could even think of new notes and rhythms without some type of liquor in his body. Here he was though, and he was writing a song. He played a few notes, humming along as the words weren’t yet to him. But the music was there, and without much longer Dean was singing a few cords, working his fingers along the fret. After while of just playing, Dean started to hear the words. He grabbed his old leather note book that used to belong to his father, and he jotted down a few lyrics.

            It had been years since Dean had actually written a song about his hardships. About his life. When he was with his old manager it was always those songs that sounded like all the other guys. Dean never wanted to be like that, but whenever he actually sat down to write nothing would come to him. And once he got Jack and Jim to help him, well, then it was usually just gibberish. At least, to his manager it was. So Dean sang what they gave him, and his fingers would play the notes, but when the lights would go down, and Dean would see that he was just a person that could probably be copy and pasted. That was when his drinking got bad.

            Dean coughed, clearing his throat, and he called out to his brother. His fingers still worked along the neck of the guitar as he spoke. “Sammy! How much longer?” He called, back resting into the pillows and legs crossed at the ankles.

            “We got about another hour,” Sam called, obviously engrossed in his book by his tone. Dean nodded, even though his brother couldn’t see him, and he started up again. It was a song, an actual good and emotional song. It was a song with meaning and life, and Dean actually wrote it. He continued to play and write, anxiously waiting for them to arrive at the stadium. Maybe this was the song he was missing. Maybe this was the one piece in his new album that he needed. Dean played his noted, and he sang a little on the bus, smiling. He poked his head out of his room and looked to Sam.

            “Are we taping the show tonight?” He asked, raising a brow. Sam raised a brow, but he nodded.

            “Of course, it’s your debut back. Why wouldn’t we?” Sam said in return, and Dean just smiled wider.

            “I think the album for this is going to have a bonus track.” Dean walked out with the paper, showing it to Sam. “If I talk to the guys before the show I could do an acoustic of this. Just myself and the guitar. What do you think?” Sam looked at the paper, and he let out a small smile.

            “This is really good, and I like the name. I thought you were just doing that as an album name.” Dean shook his head.

            “I couldn’t think of the words till now.”

            “Check,” Dean spoke softly into the microphone, his eyes on the sound guy up a few rows from him in the stands. His eyes squinted as he watched the guy, turning a few knobs, flicking a few switches. “Check, check.” Suddenly his voice was ringing out through the arena, and Dean felt his stomach drop. This was happening, Dean was actually going to sing in front of an overcrowded arena again. He swallowed thickly and he closed his eyes. His hands were shaking and he cursed a little under his breath. In return it reverberated throughout the empty seats and Dean sighed. Yeah. A nice tall bottle of bourbon would be nice right about now.             

            No, Dean didn’t need alcohol to be a good musician. All he needed was the confidence to do what he wanted. Next he strummed his guitar listening to the notes echo throughout the stadium. The sound technician gave a thumbs up and Dean nodded to pull his guitar off of him. Just a few more hours and he’d be singing in front of a packed stadium. His stomach felt queasy, but at the same time he knew he was hungry as he headed back stage. “Sammy,” Dean called seeing his brother walked around a corner and into view. Sam raised a brow.

            “Yeah?” He asked, looking at his brother as he approached closer. Dean smiled a bit and rubbed the back of his neck nervously. The motion always made Sam narrow his eyes suspiciously. “What?”

            “Any way we can get food?” He asked and Sam groaned, rolling his eyes.

            “I told you to eat on the bus!” He exclaimed, throwing his hands up. His brother sighed as well, looking down.

            “I want a burger, we can’t get burgers on the bus,” Dean said and Sam huffed, already moving to grab his jacket that was laid beside Dean and his acoustic guitar. Dean followed along with a warm smile.

            “Well, you can’t always get what you want Dean,” Sam said, smiling and looking at his brother as they slipped their jackets on.

            “Did you just Stones me?” He asked, laughing a little. Sam nodded proudly and chuckled along with his brother. They laughed and walked out of the concert hall, Dean’s unsettling stomach calming some just because he had his brother around. The singer was happy that he was able to fix his relationship with his brother. That Sam had been able to look past the rude comments and fights. Just as Dean was about to lit up a smoke he smiled to his brother. “Hey Sam?” His brother turned to look at him. “Thanks, for not leaving.”

            Sam’s smile turned a tad sad, but he still patted his brother’s back. “Of course,” he said, dimples penetrating his cheeks in a happier smile. “We’re family. Always will be.” Dean nodded and took a long drag of his cigarette, feeling the smoke fill his longs. He let out a long breath, seeing the smoke float from his mouth. Just as they were about to leave the concert hall, Dean was suddenly running into someone. He grunted a tad, and looked down at the woman, frowning. Judging by her press badge Dean wasn’t going to want to talk to her.

            Just as he held up his hand to tell her to go away, the girl was holding up her ID. “Charlie Bradbury, Rolling Stone Magazine,” she said, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose. Dean looked her over. Long red hair, thick rimmed glasses. He really didn’t want to do an interview right now, and Dean had a feeling that was exactly what Miss Bradbury wanted. “I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions.” Dean wanted to put up some resistance. He wanted to say no to the woman and tell her to fuck off, but he wasn’t that person anymore. Dean could be civil with people, and he could sit down and do an interview.  Especially if it was Rolling Stone.

            Dean forced a smile and then looked at his brother. “We were about to get food, if you’d want to join us you’re more than welcome to,” he said, turning to face Charlie yet again. She was cute, but she wasn’t Dean’s type. Of course, Dean didn’t really know what his type was anymore. He just knew that Charlie was in fact not it. She smiled greatly and nodded, slipping her little note pad into her back pocket. “I wouldn’t put that away, we’re going to walk and talk.”

            Charlie’s eyes went wide for a moment, before she nodded frantically and grabbed her notepad, tape recorder at the ready as well. “Right,” she said, and coughed to clear her throat. As they walked from the concert hall, Charlie spoke softly into her recorder. “Interview with Dean Winchester, today’s date is July, the twenty sixth, 1973. Mr. Winchester has agreed to do an interview with me.” She peeked over to Dean and he smirked.

            “Any time you want doll,” he said, and Charlie blushed a tad. She stuttered over her words a little, as if collecting her thoughts. Dean could tell though, he could tell she wasn’t interested in him, she was just surprised to be actually talking to someone famous. “Just get the gig?” Charlie looked down as they walked, Sam opening the door for her to leave the arena. Charlie smiled, thanking him.

            “Am I that obvious?” She asked with a little huff. Dean smirked all the same though, and he nodded.

            “Yeah, but don’t worry. I don’t bite,” he said walking behind her as started their journey to the diner. It was a little ways down the road, and Dean was happy they had the place blocked off. He really didn’t want to deal with a bunch of fans. “Hard. At least, not anymore.” Charlie turned to Dean and she nodded, letting him lead the way. They walked in quiet, Dean figured that the young girl was probably gathering her questions that she wanted to ask. She even stopped her tape recorder for the moment. He smiled and looked around a bit.

            The area of the city was small, and he liked what all the little shops were decorated with. As they passed a music shop he smiled, seeing a poster for his concert tonight plastered all over the windows. “You’re still big Dean,” Sam reassured, and Charlie looked up from her note pad, looking at the interactions between the two siblings. She narrowed her eyes a tad before writing something down quickly. Dean paid her no mind and went to look at his brother. He pushed him roughly and rolled his eyes.

            “Shut up,” he grumbled, sticking his hands in his jean pockets.

As they entered the diner Sam held the door open for Charlie and Dean. The journalist however took a step back and let Dean lead the way to their table. He picked a booth, always a fan of them, and slid into a seat as she sat on the other side. Sam sat next to her and opened up a menu.

            “Just pretend I’m not here,” he said, already letting his eyes fall across the menu. Dean rolled his eyes a little bit.

            “Start taking notes. He follows me around like a lost puppy to make sure I don’t Irish my coffee,” Dean said, earning him a kick to the shin. He hissed in pain and glared at Sam, which just resulted in the younger Winchester to snicker. Charlie nodded, flipping open a tiny little notebook and scribbled across it immediately. “You have the recorder, so why take notes?” Charlie stopped for a moment, knocking her pen across the linoleum table.

            “I uh, I like having two different sources for my writing. I mean, sure, taping it is great, but at the same time I can put some things in my notes that the recording doesn’t get,” she said, which made Dean raise a brow. She knew that meant to continue with her explanation, so she showed him her note pad. Written across it in frantic writing was a few words. ‘Dean Winchester is close with his brother Sam.’ “The recording won’t say that to me when I go back in for review. It won’t tell me if you smile while you talk or if you’re actually answering with some sincerity. So the notes help as well.”

            Dean sat back in his seat. “So you like to be thorough?” He asked, resulting in her to nod her head. Dean nodded back as well and crossed his arms over his chest. “Well, then get on with it Velma. I’m an open book.” Charlie frantically nodded and flipped a few pages back on her notepad, adjusting her glasses.

            “Well, first off,” she started, clearing her throat and setting the tape deck on the table. “What made you come back?” Dean clenched his jaw. What did make him come back? He’s been battling the bottle for over four years now, and just as he gets a handle on his life he’s back to the stage. The place that lead him to the bottle in the first place.

            “Honestly?” He asked, Charlie nodded. “I don’t know Miss Bradbury.” He leaned forward, crossing his arms over his chest. “I came back because I’m broke, and performing on that stage is the only thing I know what to do.”

            “So, if you weren’t having financial issues you wouldn’t have come back?” Dean took a second to think that out. He still thinks he would have come back. Dean enjoyed being on the stage, it was what it lead him to that freaked him out the most.

            “Don’t get me wrong, I live to sing on a stage with people screaming my name,” he said, watching as a waiter was at a booth behind Charlie. The man hadn’t so much as looked at him, and it was a little confusing. Almost everyone in the joint had given Dean a few stares, but this guy? Not a glance. “But the pressure it put on me to be at the top of my game every single time I performed? And to have the…. Persona of being the party guy? Well, that’s what nearly killed me.” He can remember crashing hotel rooms like it was yesterday. He can remember throwing a chair out a balcony window and being banned from any of the Marriotts in the entire United States. “My old manager didn’t help with it either.”

            “That was another thing I wanted to touch on,” Charlie was quick to say, but was interrupted by the waiter who had yet to look at Dean walked to the booth.

            “What can I get for you guys this afternoon?” He asked, finally glancing at Dean. He didn’t wear a name tag, but his voice was deep, almost raspy, and Dean was a little hooked on how it sounded. But something was off. They guy didn’t widen his eyes, and he didn’t say a single word to Dean. About anything.

            “My brother will have a coffee and a bacon cheeseburger,” Sam responded, which caused Dean to realize that he and the kid had been staring at each other for several moments.         

            “Yeah, yeah I do,” he said, breaking the gaze. He looked down at his unopened menu and then watched as the kid, he looked about eighteen or nineteen, take the rest of the orders. Dean thought it was strange though, the kid didn’t have a name tag. When Dean went to look at those green eyes again the guy was turning around and heading for the kitchen. Which yet again left Dean a little dumbfounded. “I…”

            “That guy had no idea who you were,” Charlie said, a little surprised herself. “Not at all.” She blinked a few times with Dean, before she continued her question. Dean though, his mind was still on those emerald eyes, how they had no recognition in them at all. Dean thought he was internationally famous, and he at least figured he’d be big in the town he’s performing in, but apparently not. “Regardless, you’ve previous Manager, Alistair.” Dean swallowed thickly. He hated hearing that man’s name. What was he supposed to do though? Everyone who knew Dean knew about the terrible things that Alistair did to him. “In an interview he did for Newsweek last month, and in that interview-“

            “I read it, I know what he said,” Dean snipped. He wanted to get the Alistair question over as soon as possible. “My past manager led me down the road I just got off of, and he can deny it all he wants, but he did. He made me sing cookie cutter rock music, and he bought me every drop of alcohol I consumed. He made sure I was drunk so I would sing his stupid god damn songs and I wouldn’t sing mine.”

            “So your new album, the one you’re releasing tonight?” She started, scribbling down her notes. Charlie didn’t look at all offended by how Dean had been speaking to her. Maybe she would make it in this world after all. “It’s all from your mind correct? You wrote every song?” Dean smiled, finally something he wouldn’t mind talking about.

            “Yeah, ever since I dropped Alistair I’ve been writing my stuff, what I wanted to sing,” Dean said, feeling a little proud in the album that he created. Ever since Sam had taken over Dean had been able to do as he please. As long as it didn’t involve Jack, Jim, or Jose. “So what I’ll be singing on stage tonight will be available in the record stores tomorrow.” Charlie smiled and she looked down, flipping through her pages again.

            ‘Well, are the rumors true? Is the album about your hardships with alcoholism?” She asked, which made Dean take in a big breath. He never liked to admit what he was. He never wanted to say he was an alcoholic, but when you let yourself be in a drunken haze for nearly seven years what are you?

            “Not all of it,” Dean said honestly. “Some of it is stuff I had written when I was with Alistair, but there are a few songs about that. Honestly I’m not scared about telling people I’m a recovering alcoholic. I’m more scared that because I don’t have the booze people won’t like me anymore.” Charlie nodded, making note of that on her note pad. Dean let out a held in breath, trying not to let his nerves get to him.

            “Well I would find that hard to believe. You’re Dean Winchester,” Charlie said with a genuine smile, making Dean relax a little. “And if this is a new beginning, then so be it. I don’t think hotel owners would be against your decision to be sober.” That made Dean chuckle. It was a full laugh, ones he really only got with Sam now. He smirked and huffed another laugh.

            “Yeah, the name of the album is going to be called Turn the Page.”

Chapter Text

As he approached he heard Dean laugh, and he felt his chest flutter a bit. That was peculiar. Usually he barely glanced at the customers, barely even tuned them in unless he was taking orders. Dean’s laugh though. It was nice, and for some reason, it made his chest warm. Castiel plastered on a fake smile and approached the table. Another laugh come from Dean and Castiel ignored it, focusing on the task at hand, focusing on work. “Alright, who ordered the salad?” He asked, trying to sound peppy, though it came out a little flat due to his voice. He looked to see the man sitting across from Dean raised his hand. “And the burgers?” Both Dean and the red head raised their hands. Castiel smiled and handed them out, before looking at the three of them. “Well my name is Castiel, and I’ll be your sever for the rest of the evening. If you need anything just let me know.” He let out another weak smile.

When he finally looked at Dean. Really looked at him. He think he understood Beth. This man. He was….. Well, Castiel wasn’t sure what he was. He just knew that he couldn’t look away. Normally that would be weird, and usually some rude comment was made. But there were no words spoken, and that was only because Dean was staring right back at him. Both of them looking at each other like they were trying to figure one another out.

I hurt myself today

To see if I still feel

I focus on the pain

The only thing that’s real

Castiel doesn’t realize he’s screaming until he can feel his nails digging into his head. He doesn’t realize he’s crying until he tastes salt in his mouth. His eyes open suddenly and he searches around the room, trying not to see fellow cots, or other soldiers. It takes several large and shaky breaths before he can collect his thoughts, before he can realize that he’s not in that wretched country anymore. His entire body is shaking, and for a few moments he thinks he’s having a heart attack, until his alarm goes off again, making him nearly jump out of his skin.

Castiel glances over to the clock and quickly shoves it off the little excuse for a bed side table. It crashes onto the floor with a loud thump, and for a brief moment it reminds him of Gabriel. The young man placed his hand over his face, expelling the thought of Gabriel from his mind. The appendage slides down his face slowly, and after a few more ragged breaths he’s standing up. After all, he has a job to do.

He walks to his closet, the one place that doesn’t have clothes strewn about, and lets out a long sigh. He forgot to do the laundry last night. Of course, he had other things that he was doing, but he should have gotten a load done before getting high. Castiel groaned, running a hand through his greasy hair, and he heads towards the bathroom. If he freshens himself up then his clothes won’t smell that bad. Right? At this point Castiel didn’t even care. His head was aching and his body was shaking. He just wanted to do something. He needed to distract himself.

He showers slowly, ignoring the scars on his chest. They only made him remember. As he looked down at the water, watching it slosh down the drain, he sees a murky brown pour down for a few moments before it’s clear again. Castiel should probably see someone for his condition, but who the hell could fix him? He was just another soldier for no one to worry about. As he exits the shower he sighs, grabbing his clothes and heading out.  He grabs his name tag off the dresser and clips it to his somewhat dirty shirt. Castiel doesn’t dare look at the mirror before he leaves, just runs a tired hand through his hair and heads out. There was never any need to look in a mirror. He knew what he looked like, he didn’t need the reminders of his time in Vietnam, and those just happened to be on his cheeks and forehead.

The warm air hit his cheeks and he trembled a bit as he was reminded of the jungle, of the shit covered stakes and the napalm ridden soldiers. Castiel took out his cigarettes, popping one in quickly and lighting up without a second thought. His nerves diminished with each inhale, and as he arrived at the diner he was relieved that he wasn’t shaking anymore.

Castiel looked down the road before he entered the diner, seeing a line of people stretched down the sidewalk that seemed to be coming from the stadium. His brow scrunched together. What was going on there? Hell if he knew. He walked into the diner without another thought, smiling over to his manager and finishing off his fag. “Hey Beth, sorry I’m a bit late,” he called out to her, suddenly feeling a pair of eyes on him. Castiel looked around, before finding the pair of green eyes on him. He narrowed his eyes, before looking away and going to get ready for work.

“Oh it’s fine honey, you have to apologize to Andrew,” she said with a warm smile, which Castiel returned. He was so thankful for Beth. He’d come into the diner a few months prior looking for a job, and the second she saw Castiel’s scars she handed him an apron. Ever since then his health has been improving, and he can thank Beth’s maternal instincts. “You’re waiting tables today. I got Drew in the kitchen.” Castiel nodded and walked around the counter to tie his apron on. His eyes flicked over to the man that had been previously staring at him and he nudged Beth.

“Who is that?” He asked, pointing to the gentleman that seemed to be receiving some sort of interview. Beth turned to look and her eyes went wide. It reminded Castiel of a deer in headlights, but he didn’t dare say a word about it.

“You don’t know who that is?” She asked and Castiel raised a brow, looking to her. He shook his head, crossing his arms over his chest.

“You do?” He asked and her eyes just went wider. Castiel only tuned to look back at him. “Okay, then who is he?”

“That’s Dean Winchester,” she said and Castiel just shrugged his shoulders. “You don’t know who Dean Winchester is?”

“Should I?” Castiel looked at her again, watching as she pulled up a flyer from underneath the counter. Beth handed it to him and he glanced down at it. “Okay, so he’s some singer. So?” Beth just rolled her eyes, and Castiel could feel he wasn’t going to wait any tables any time soon. Not when Beth learned that he didn’t know who this supposed Dean Winchester was. It wasn’t like Castiel was given the opportunity to learn about celebrities or anything of that nature. The only famous person he knew about was God, and maybe his son Jesus, but that was it.

“Well, he just came back from a three year stint at rehab.” Castiel nodded, and he listened to Beth, watching as the supposed Dean Winchester joked with his party and smiled like he had not a care in the world. Though, and he may have imagined this, he could have sworn their eyes met for wait felt like a minute.

Castiel was tired, and he was sweaty. They had been moving through this river for what seemed like ages, but they couldn’t leave tracks. Sargeant Morningstar had been adamant about not leaving tracks because of the muddy marshes surrounding them. Only problem was that their next checkpoint wasn’t in the river. So what would they do then? They were going to end up leaving tracks anyway, regardless if it was a mile long or a couple feet. Castiel ran his fingers through his hair, letting out a long, exhausted sigh. He felt some shove him and he grunted, glaring over at one of his fellow platoon members. “What?” He asked, his voice scratchy due to its minimum use. Castiel didn’t like to talk, he really didn’t see the purpose in it. Not when most of the friends he had were dead and he wouldn’t be around long enough for the other guys to even care. No, Castiel was out of here in three months, and he was practically counting every second. He glared at Gabriel, one of the few men that had been with him the entire time on Vietnam.

“Nothing, you looked like you were brooding,” Gabriel said, smiling, which in return made Castiel smile. Gabriel always had a way about him to calm everyone down, to get them to smile and laugh. Castiel shook his head.

“Yeah? Well I gotta look at your face all day, how else am I supposed to react,” he replied, and this time Gabriel rolled his eyes, chuckling a little.

“Whatever Cassie, you know this is the best face you’ve ever seen. At least, that’s what your girlfriend told me,” he said, which in return made Castiel snort, continuing his shaking head. A girlfriend, that was rich. Castiel didn’t date, nor was he even supposedly allowed to yet. In his parents’ eyes he was old enough to go to war, but not touch a girl’s hand.

“Yeah? And how is she? Cause I’ve never met her,” Castiel joked along with Gabriel. Their conversation went on like this for several minutes. Every now and again Castiel would look up at the sky, wishing that instead of some forested drab blue it was a bright sky filled with little puffy clouds. Vietnam never looked like that though. The air was always thick, and on the days that it was sunny there was never a cloud in the sky. It didn’t take long before a piercing sound echoed in his ears. Castiel immediately dropped down into a crouch, hearing someone just splash down beside him. He looked down, seeing the muggy water before him turn a dark shade of maroon. Castiel didn’t have time to think about what was going on when another shot pierced the splashing. He could hear Lucifer shouting something, but he couldn’t quite make out what as the shots continued to fire. Eventually he just started to follow the group, heading for cover opposite of the shots. Another few shots rang out before they stopped, Castiel with the rest of the group minus the person who was laying in the water dead.

“Johnson?” Lucifer barked, bringing Castiel back to reality. The blue eyed man looked towards the sergeant and then around the group. “Dammit.”

“Johnson is in the water sir,” Bartholomew said beside Castiel, letting out a huff as he checked his ammo bag of his M79. Lucifer held up his hand, looking over the rock they had all huddled behind. Castiel just pulled back the firing pin of his M16, making sure he was ready in case they needed to fire. The shooting had subsided, but he knew that it had to be long from over.

“Alright,” Lucifer said as he pulled back, looking over his men who were drenched and tired. “Gabriel and Inias, stay here and set up the M60.” The men nodded and Castiel looked at them for a moment, before hearing his name called. “Castiel and Bartholomew, group together and advance towards their position when I give the signal.” Castiel nodded, looking at Bartholomew and seeing the man nod towards him. “Samandriel, you come with me and we’ll advance on them as well.” Lucifer looked over again, before signaling for everyone to get into position. As Castiel crouched with Bartholomew, he made sure yet again that his weapon was ready to fire.

The forest had grown quiet around them, the sound of rushing water being the only noise minus the occasional shake of the trees. Castiel and Bartholomew headed west as Lucifer and Samandriel headed east. They crossed the waters slowly, making a minimal amount of noise possible.

“How much longer you got?” Bartholomew asked Castiel quietly, loading a round into his M79, which Castiel didn’t think he would use, but accepted that anything could happen at this point. Castiel clenched his jaw and looked at Bartholomew for a moment.

“Three months,” he said, looking along the path of the trees. “You?” Bartholomew had been transferred into Lucifer’s squad after Castiel had been a month in. So Castiel didn’t really know of his origins. Just knew that he’d been here about as long as Castiel had.

“Five,” he said, making Castiel give a slight nod. This was usually how his conversations went. Never much more past ‘how much longer?’ Which was fine with him. He would get in the least amount of communication with people as he could. No reason to get attached. Several shots popped through the air, and Castiel was quick to raise his gun, seeing in his peripheral vision that Bartholomew had done the same.

Suddenly there were voices, and Castiel shot into the brush, not giving another moment to think. He heard cries and he continued forward, watching as Viet Kong fell out of the brush. Lifeless. His heart rate was up, and he could hear himself panting, but he continued forward. Castiel had a job to do, and damn anyone who tried to get in his way. He wasn’t going to die in this God forsaken jungle. He was going to leave, and hopefully he was going to live a normal life when he was home. Though he knew that was a long shot. He’d seen how other soldiers didn’t came back all in one piece.

When the bodies stopped falling, Castiel let out a long breath, looking to Bartholomew as he inched towards the bushes. Everything seemed to quiet down around them. There was no gun fire, no shouting, and Castiel wasn’t too sure if he liked that. When things were this quiet it tended to go south pretty fast, and just as if the world knew about the silence, a loud shot through the trees, making both Castiel and Bartholomew flinch. He thought the shooting was over for the time being. Castiel didn’t take a moment to think, he just ran to it.

His gun was raised, and he could hear Bartholomew behind him as they approached the second group, Samandriel and Lucifer. The only problem was, Samandriel was on the ground, and Lucifer was shooting his .45 into the woods. From Castiel’s view it didn’t seem like he was hitting anything. As they approached Lucifer continued to shoot until his pistol just gave off little clicks, signaling that the clip was empty.

“What happened?” Bartholomew asked, as Castiel rushed down to look at Samandriel. The kid had been shot in the eye, his other one just blankly staring at the sky. Castiel pressed two fingers against Samandriel’s neck, but he knew it was futile. The kid was dead. Fuck. Sure, Castiel hadn’t gotten close with him, but he always seemed keen on talking to Castiel. He always asked questions when they were at base camp, and they’d shared night duty a few times. That was it though, and Samandriel had basically only been in the group for two months.

“I don’t know, suddenly there was a shot, Samandriel hit the ground, and by the time I looked for the culprit there wasn’t anyone there,” Lucifer said, though Castiel caught something in the voice. Something that just didn’t sit right with him.

“So what? A sniper?” Bartholomew questioned, and Castiel watched as Lucifer shrugged his shoulders.

“If it was I think we’d all be dead, because I have no idea where he is,” the sergeant replied, reloading the clip and sliding it back into place. He cocked his pistol and they all looked at Samandriel. “Alright, who has the radio?”

“Johnson did,” Castiel said, finally adding into the conversation. His eyes stayed on Samandriel’s, studying his face. How could someone have this good of a shot? How could they get it dead in the center if they weren’t that close. He looked up at Lucifer, watching him curse under his breath. Could…. Could Lucifer have done it? No. No that was crazy, there was absolutely no reason for the sergeant to have shot Samandriel. The kid was as innocent as possible. If someone even mentioned the word pussy his face would flush and he would get all awkward.

“Well,” Lucifer said, drawing Castiel from his thinking. “Let’s gather them up and call in a med evac. Do you know how to use a radio Bart?”

“Yeah. I’ll call it in,” he said, Castiel looking at Samandriel’s eye, or what was left of it, one last time and going to hoist him up. None of this made sense, but Castiel couldn’t do anything about it. He didn’t have the power to do so. 

 “So his blames his manager for the root of all of his problems,” Castiel said, after listening to Beth for what felt like forever. Even though in actuality it was probably more like five minutes. She nodded, but sighed.

“His manager was no good though. The man’s in jail after several of his clients came out and told people about how he kept them around. All of them were either drunk or druggies,” she said, and Castiel narrowed his eyes. He sounded like a bad enough man. Castiel looked back to the table and he then looked to the table.

“You know,” he said, about to start some touching moment before Beth patted his shoulder.

“Just do your work Cas, you’re taking over Drew’s shift. Which means that you’re delivery the food to Dean Winchester himself,” she said, making Castiel roll his eyes.

“I’m sure he’s a normal person just like you and me,” he mumbled, going to check the order sheets for the table that Dean was sitting in. He would still never understand the appeal of fame. So everyone knew your name. What was so great about that? Then they would be harassed by paparazzi and most likely have no private life. Where was the glamour in that? Castiel wasn’t sure. “Just the burgers and the salad?” Castiel looked at Beth and she nodded. He gave a small smile before heading to the table. The food being placed on a larger plate and carried by his hand.

As he approached he heard Dean laugh, and he felt his chest flutter a bit. That was peculiar. Usually he barely glanced at the customers, barely even tuned them in unless he was taking orders. Dean’s laugh though. It was nice, and for some reason, it made his chest warm. Castiel plastered on a fake smile and approached the table. Another laugh come from Dean and Castiel ignored it, focusing on the task at hand, focusing on work. “Alright, who ordered the salad?” He asked, trying to sound peppy, though it came out a little flat due to his voice. He looked to see the man sitting across from Dean raised his hand. “And the burgers?” Both Dean and the red head raised their hands. Castiel smiled and handed them out, before looking at the three of them. “Well my name is Castiel, and I’ll be your sever for the rest of the evening. If you need anything just let me know.” He let out another weak smile.

When he finally looked at Dean. Really looked at him. He think he understood Beth. This man. He was….. Well, Castiel wasn’t sure what he was. He just knew that he couldn’t look away. Normally that would be weird, and usually some rude comment was made. But there were no words spoken, and that was only because Dean was staring right back at him. Both of them looking at each other like they were trying to figure one another out.