Only Yours

Chapter 1

Dean sat frustrated with the newspaper opened in front of him to the classifieds section. He had read over all of the adds countless times, but was hoping this time he would see the perfect job with the pay he needed that he had missed. He rubbed at the stubble growing from his chin in frustration, because nothing listed met what he was looking for. A dark tendril curled in the back of his mind, trying to get him to notice it, he ignored it. 

Sammy, his younger brother, just got accepted to Stanford University. Dean couldn't be more proud of Sammy, he had basically raised him since their mother died, and their father became a raging alcoholic. Dean always did what was necessary to get Sammy where he needed to be in life, and for the past couple of years they had been doing very well for themselves. Dean was only 25 and owned his own house that he paid for with cash, it wasn't anything fancy, just a modest two story with a white picket fence encircling the property, the kind of house him and Sammy should have grown up in. Sammy had a brand new all black Audi, that instantly made him one of the more popular boys at school. Dean kept his fathers 69 Impala, but rebuilt it from the ground up, making it shine as though it had just came off the car lot all those years ago when his dad had first bought it. Dean worked at his uncles auto shop, because he loved cars, not because he needed the money.

But now he needed a better job with more income and he couldn't find one and he was starting to panic. He always knew Sammy was smart and would outshine his whole family academically, but he never even considered he would get into a school like Stanford, but he did. And in a month he'll be graduating from high school and going off to this big expensive prestigious college, and he wanted to become a lawyer of all things. Dean wanted what was best for Sammy and taking out a bunch of school loans and starting out his career in debt was not what he deserved. 

Dean turned the page in the newspaper and an ad for a local strip club was glaring up at him. He closed his eyes as the dark tendril started to coil around his brain reminding him of his past. Being a stripper would be easy, no one to touch you or tell you what to do, just an eager crowd cheering you on and throwing a few bucks on the stage. To be a stripper would be simple enough, but the money still wasn't there. Dean stepped back from the kitchen counter the newspaper was placed on and rested his hands on the top of his head, while he exhaled a big breath of air.

There are no jobs for a high school drop out like himself that will pay him the kind of money he needs right now. His savings and his small income from the shop would last him and Sammy comfortably for a while, but to pay for college materials and classes, he could get Sammy through a semester and that just wasn't going to cut it. He remembered being in a similar dilemma 6 years earlier when his dad had finally and fully abandoned them. Before he would send them a little cash here and there and stay with them for a few months at a time before dissapering. But then one day he left and neither he or any money ever showed up again, and Dean had to step up and become the provider. He was already working a full time job after dropping out of high school, but it never made the ends completely meet for him and his brother, he had to take on a different job, one he despised, but it made him a lot of money fast. It has been three years since he quit and he never looked back, except for when this dark tendril in the back of his mind would pull him back to his memories, and then he would usually drown that tendril in alcohol until he passed out, and it would retire into the back of his mind for a little while longer. 

Dean turned for the steps and walked to his bedroom. He sat down on his bed and pulled open the drawer to the nightstand sitting beside it. There he fished around for an address book now covered in dust due to years of it being neglected and buried away. This book was full of contacts he hoped to never have to call again, he pulled a business card out and stared at the name and number engraved into the paper. He had to make the call. He could endure this job long enough to get Sammy through college, how long did it take to become a lawyer anyways? Dean leafed through the pamphlets Sammy had thrown at him that morning with all his future college information and then immediately threw them across the room when he saw in big bold letters 7 years. Seven freaking years and he had enough to pay for a semester maybe two, so he had to commit to this job for at least six years. He ran his hands vigorously threw his short dirty blonde hair and sighed. 

He picked up his phone and dialed a number he never thought he'd have to call again, after a few rings and a few chewed off fingernails a sultry voice came through the phone "You have reached the office of Mr. Cowley, owner of The Gates of Hell, how may I assist you?"

"This is Dean Winchester, I need to speak to Crowley." Dean mumbled into the phone.

"Dean Winchester? Well, well, didn't think we'd be hearing back from the likes of you after the way you left us on such unsettling terms, come crawling back to us, eh?" The woman said with a hint of triumph in her voice.

Dean stood up from the bed and slapped his hand against the wall to support him as his anger already started to rise in him, "Rowena, just put your damn slime-ball of a son on the phone now!" Dean snapped.

There was a small giggle before some unusually pleasant waiting music sounded through his phone. Dean closed his eyes and waited for the man he most loathed to answer his call. 

"Dean-o, my friend, long time no see, and how are you doing, pet?" Crowley said jovially into Deans ear.

"I'm not your pet or your friend Crowley, if your own mother had just died I wouldn't even call you then, but I need to discuss a possible contract with you." Dean shot back to the man.

"Oh Dean don't toy with me at the beautiful prospect of my mother dying, you know its a dream of mine." Crowley laughed.

"Cut the shit Crowley, I need to have a meeting with you to talk about possible employment." Dean was getting agitated by the exchange.

"You've already blown through all that money from last time? You are one luxurious living squirrel, pet." 

"No, I haven't just blown through it, but something that I don't need to discuss with you has came up and I need to make a lot of money and soon." Dean finally said a little defeated. Crowley gave him a time to come down to the club to meet with him and talk about the prospect of employment. Dean pulled the covers up to his shoulder still fully clothed and looked at Sammy's senior picture framed on his bedside table as he drifted off to an unsettled sleep where the black tendril took over, conjuring up images of tears, pain, leather, and shame.