Beat The Devils Tattoo

Chapter 1 End of an Era

Chapter 1 end of an era

Chapter Text
The same year that Dean took up smoking, Castiel and Jimmy Novak left town in the dead of night, leaving only a note on paper torn from a calculus notebook that read "New York" in Jimmy's bold, hard print and a scribbled "sorry" in Castiel's cursive on their parents round wooden dining table. They took Castiel's beat up black '73 Cadillac Fleetwood, which was more rust than anything, and disappeared.

Life went on.

Dean was unaware of what had caused the decision that they made to flee, but he said nothing. He chain smoked his way through a freezer bag of marijuana, and never touched the stuff again after he woke up from the most horrific nightmares he'd ever had. Sam settled into his bedroom with him to make sure he didn't try again, and John just clapped him on the shoulder and went to work when he heard that Dean had surfaced.

And, when he was a bit more rational, Dean did too.

oOo

It rained on the day that they buried him, but Dean didn't feel particularly sad. He mostly felt angry, and when they walked away from the grave, he felt eyes on him. Sam walked on his right, holding the umbrella, his left side empty. Behind him, the rest of the club walked back to the bikes, and as he lit up, he watched the smoke curl into the air. John was dead, the club was his, and there would be hell to pay for his old man's stupidity.

"Meet you at the house," Sam muttered, peeling off and handing him the umbrella. Dean's lips curled back in a silent snarl when he saw Ruby Masters leaning against a tree in all black, her hair pulled back and the yellow and black mustang parked nearby. Benny stepped up to his side as they headed for the bikes, and Dean nodded his acceptance and approval.

The main, ranking members of the club climbed onto their bikes, and Dean nodded to Bobby to lead them out. Benny stayed beside him, waiting for Dean to calm down enough to talk to him.

"I want her dealt with," Dean said once he'd finished off the cigarette. "I want Sam out of her clutches."

"So do I, brother, but you and I both know that Sam's got to come to that sweet little conclusion by his own big self. Push too hard too fast, we both know he'll swan dive right off the deep end," Benny said, his voice a low drawl. The trees above them rattled with the raindrops hitting their leaves, and as Dean bitterly looked over the cemetery slowly emptying of people, he wished, not for the first time, Castiel was still there.

"I know," he muttered. "You comin' round tonight?"

"Am I getting laid tonight?" Benny countered, twitching an eyebrow up. "Because I love you, boss, I do, but I can only tolerate so much drinking, you know that."

Dean grunted, folding up the umbrella. The shower was starting to clear, anyway. "I know. And no, I suppose you won't be. Think I might make it an early night anyway. With the wake, and Sam..." his voice trailed off, and he viciously shook his head. "I can't do people right now. In more ways than one."

That got a chuckle out of Benny, who went and climbed onto his bike. It was an ugly, ancient thing that had been warped and twisted until it barely resembled the original 1950 Panhead it was. The paint was mottled, a weird mix of blue, green, and brown that changed in the light, and the leather had been painted an ugly, bloody red. More than one person had remarked on what a sin it was that the bike was so fucked up, with useless winding piping and the strange color and leather, but Benny had never explained himself, and no one had ever quite dared ask where it had developed all the embellishments.

Dean watched him ride away, and slowly turned back to his own bike. He'd dusted off the old Impala for this, and ran a fond hand over his father's first before climbing on. Sam's hideously red Ducati Monster was parked nearby, but he was still chatting up Ruby and probably sharing hair care secrets, so he climbed on and shot away. The rain wasn't vicious now, not hardly drizzling, so he ignored the visor and headed for home.