Old Habits Die Hard (Destiel)

Chater Ten

A/N:
I just want to say, I don't like how they wrote Mary in the actual show. I decided to make Mary more present and loving toward Dean because he deserves it. Plus I think it adds more to the story in a sense.
Also, when you comment on any of my stories it immediately brightens up my day, so thank you :)

"Is it because you're gay?"

Dean looked up at his mother, stunned. His heartbeat was in his ears, and for some reason as soon as he heard say the words he wanted to cry.

His gut reaction was to deny.
Deny deny deny.

But his mom would know he was lying.

He chose his words carefully. "Im not gay. I like woman, I just...I-" his voice broke a little. "I like men too."

Dean felt hot. He had never admitted that before-not to anyone. Him and Cas kissed that one time but it was so eventful, he couldn't think about it.

Mary looked at her son, she was proud. She somehow knew that took a lot for him to say. "You know we love you right, Dean?"

Dean nodded, teary eyed.

Mary continued. "Is that why John hit you? You told him?"

Dean got even more scared. He put his hands in his hair and tugged lightly. "Can we talk about this later? It's so early in the morning for this."

Mary smiled. "Ok. But we need to talk about it later, promise?"

"Sure mom."

*
John put his stuff down in the drowsy motel room. It smelled old and rotten. The torn wallpaper had stains he couldn't identify.

The covers on the single bed were blue and not very well done.

John immediately got salt out of his bag and poured it on behind all the doors and windows. It was a force of habit at this point, some could even call it OCD. He did it to each and every motel, hotel, shack and more.

It was dry in Kansas. He decided to go grab some ice before plotting what he was going to do about Castiel.

John threw on his jacket, grabbed the bucket and made his way down to the ground floor.

As John was grabbing ice, he heard footsteps behind him.

First slow, then fast. He knew it was an attack.

But before he could turn around and point his gun, he was unconscious.

*
John got jolted awake by a sharp pain through his forehead. His vision hazed for a moment, but came back fairly quickly. A man stood before him, and John's brain got to work.

Six foot tall. Indian. Clean shaven. Short hair. In an expensive brown suit. Obviously no kids. Irons his clothes. Probably works in business.

John went through his own mental notes over and over while the man just stared at him. He was a few feet away, hands in his pockets.

John himself was strapped to a chair. Iron shackles were binding him. He cursed under his breath. He wasn't getting out of this chair any time soon- and his wrists were already bruising.

"Not a talker huh?" The guy huffed.

He didn't respond. Instead John squinted his eyes at the man and made himself look bigger, more threatening.

"Fine." He continued. "Let's cut right to the chase. This is an angel blade." He unsheathed a long silver blade from his jacket. John had never seen anything like it, but he knew it was well made.

"You, me and this angel blade are going to know each other quite well, John Winchester."

The hunter sucked in a breath, he was terrified.