Bring It On Home- A Destiel AU [COMPLETED]

Chapter 19

Sam didn't know it yet, but he was about to tip over the dominoes in Dean's life.

New Year's Eve, and he was waiting in the airport for his flight, taking advantage of the free wi-fi and looking at stupid shit on YouTube. He'd had access to his computer for the past three months but no internet, and it was like - like being Rip Van Winkle. He had a lot to catch up on.

Dean called, inquiring about his flight. "Everything's on schedule," Sam assured him. "No heavy precipitation on your end, just lightly snowflake-y, so I should be coming in at about six pm your time. If you leave your place at five you should be golden."

Dean cleared his throat and paused awkwardly. "About that. Sammy, I was thinking... it might be easier if you just caught a taxi out here. Don't worry, I'll pay the fare."

"What?" Sam asked. "It's an hour drive. That's going to be expensive as shit, Dean. What have you got going on that's so important?"

"Nothing, I just..." He sighed. "Okay, I'll be straight with you. The reason is... because the last time I drove out there... When I was dropping off Bobby, I stopped to fill up on gas, and - this guy was holding up the place -"

"Holy shit, are you alright?" Sam exclaimed.

Several others in plastic chairs turned to look at him.

"Yeah, I'm fine," Dean answered. "I actually... I kicked his ass. But he shot this woman, and she's okay too but - afterward I felt like shit and I don't think I can handle that happening again so I really don't want to come out there and I know that doesn't make sense but I'm sorry." The last bit came out in a rushed stream.

Sam got a strange hollow sensation in his stomach and he asked Dean, "Was it in a Texaco?"

Silence. "How did you know that?"

An uncontrollable laugh bubbled out of Sam. "Dude, you're internet famous. You've gone viral."

"What?" Dean's voice jumped an octave. "I specifically asked Officer Mills not to release my name -"

"No no, your face is blurred out," Sam interrupted, "but some local news channel aired a segment on the 'Texaco Hero' with footage of some badass 'who has requested to remain anonymous' beating the shit out of a wannabe thug and you've got, like, 2 million hits on YouTube."

"Shit."

"I thought I recognized Dad's moves. Thought maybe the guy was a former Marine or something, that they all fought the same way." Sam chuckled and ran a hand through his hair. "Freakin' A, Dean, I go to rehab for 3 months and my brother becomes Batman! The - the fucking zipties, Dean!"

"This is bad, Sammy." Sam could practically hear him pacing. "What if somebody at work sees this video? I can't let this get out."

"What, that you're a hero?" Sam asked incredulously. "Besides, I'm your brother, and even I didn't recognize you."

"No, but once I told you, you knew it was me." Dean sighed. "And whether or not I was justified - which frankly, I'm not sure that I was - it makes me look [at best] like a violent vigilante, and at worst some kind of thrill seeker..."

"Look, Dean, you're freaking out over nothing. And take it from a college dropout lawyer-wannabe: yes, you were justified." Sam snorted. "He fucking shot someone, Dean. Anything is justified. See you in a few hours."

....

The flight came in a half-hour early, thanks to a tailwind or something like that. Sam considered calling Dean and letting him know, but decided against it. It was his turn to show up unannounced.

It wasn't until the taxi pulled up in front of the beige house with dark windows and no car in the driveway that Sam began to consider the folly of his decision. But hey, couldn't be more than half an hour before Dean came home, so he just dragged his suitcase up to the door and plopped down on top of it to wait.

He tucked his hands into his pockets and shivered. Miserable weather out here. California was better.

The door of the house to the left of Dean's opened, and a man stepped out. His thick black hair ruffled in the wind, a five o'clock shadow dark on his face, and he had buttoned farmer's overalls over a Christmas sweater. Also, he had cowboy boots. He stared at Sam and put a cigarette to his mouth.

Sam waved.

The man wandered over, stopping every so often to dislodge the snow from his boots. As he came closer, Sam could see that the cigarette was unlit.

"Hi," Sam said, smiling. "I'm Dean's brother, Sam." He stood up and put his hand out.

The man ignored the offered shake and squinted. "He's out of milk."

Sam slowly lowered his hand. "And I'm guessing you're Castiel."

"James Novak," the man said. "But I'll allow it."

"What's this about milk?" Sam asked.

Castiel or James Novak or whoever he was tucked one hand into his overalls and looked Sam over carefully. "Who was she?"

Sam frowned. "Who was who?"

Castiel stared at him, not blinking at all. "The girl who died."

Sam started, gulped, and stopped breathing all at once.

Castiel just kept staring.

And Sam chuckled painfully, the kind of chuckle you make when someone socks you in the shoulder, and admitted, "You're going to have to be more specific."

Then Castiel smiled, not a mean or mocking smile but a sympathetic one, almost camaraderie, and he said, "I'd like to show you my photography, Sam."

"Wh-what?" Sam stammered.

"There's candy in my house," Castiel offered. "Lollipops."

"Lollipops," Sam repeated disbelievingly.

Castiel snapped his fingers and shook his head. "That only works on Dean and small children. I keep forgetting." Then he smirked and pocketed his cigarette. "Oh, come on, Sam. You're dying to know. Come have a look." And then he turned and walked back toward his house.

Sam blinked, watched him go for a second, and then followed.