I Don't Want Your Photograph (Destiel)

"Turn And Face The Strange"

Changes - David Bowie

It was a daily thing; the ache in the back and neck. A thing that was a constant reminder of exhaustion from traveling on the road and being in discomfort sitting or laying in the seats of the old 1967 Chevy Impala. Even when they weren't traveling Dean could feel the exhaustion. The ache in stiffened joints and the smell of stale fries that were trapped underneath the seats.

Dean stretched his arms outwards, lacing his fingers in the process and bringing them forward, away from him. He cracked his knuckles his young primed body popping quietly as he stretched. He had been woken up to his ecstatic little brother that sat in the back seat of the Impala.

Sam beamed at him, eager to get inside the house. Sam climbed out of the car, leaving the door open, and ran with his tattered, dingy, orange duffel bag to the rickety, graying porch. John Winchester was renting the house for a while since he finally managed to find work.

Dean turned to his father that had called him over to the trunk of the car, he climbed out of the Impala and closed the passenger door. "Sir?" he looked to his father.

"Help your brother inside and take this case inside," John ordered, his voice low.

"Yes, sir." Dean lifted the suitcase from the trunk, avoiding eye contact as he took the keys from his father.

Dean looked at the house. It was a small, family-sized, white, two-story house. The white paint had begun to turn a dingy gray and had a few chipped spots off the wood siding. The porch was bowing and shaking beneath his weight as he walked up the steps towards the door. Guess this would be home for the while, maybe a week at tops.

He sighed as he set the case down and fiddled with the keys to unlock the door. The key stuck in the lock, as expected, it hadn't been used in years at the most. Finally, he managed to get the door unlocked and set the keys of the windowsill. Sam ran inside and up the stairs, most likely choosing his room.

Dean carried the suitcase in and stood in the doorway, getting a whiff of the musty mildew, and settled tar covered walls. Most likely from the previous renters of many years before that had smoked, slowly shading the walls yellow-brown with smoke.

"Common, Dean, outta the way."

Dean moved out of and from the doorway giving his father room to enter with a load of boxes. Dean went up the stairs, suitcase in hand, he steered himself away from the master bedroom and turned to the nearest room, which was empty. Sam knew their constructed rules; Always take the room furthest from dad's. It's a just in case matter of escape for the two of them, in case John gets off his I'm-Drunk-Off-My-Rocker moods.

They had always managed to end up in Sioux Falls. John had a few friends that lived around that could check on Dean and Sam while he was at work or away on one of his benders. Bobby Singer was regularly the one to do it. Dean was always at ease with the older man.

Bobby had come over that evening to help the Winchester's unpack and put necessities in place. He had even checked the plumbing since there was a leak in the bathroom faucet, allowing Dean to help because as he put it "Even idjits need to know a way around rusting pipes."

Dean was always relaxed when it came to working with his hands, he especially liked working on cars. He learned everything about cars that he could between Bobby and John. At one of his old schools he ended in the Auto-Tech classes and was working his way to being a licensed mechanic, but that changed when they moved away a week before his test. It had infuriated him, but he never told his dad his plan, not like the man would care anyway. So it was just another thing he would "let go".

He was handing Bobby tools this time around though, so he ended up twiddling his fingers or rubbing the tools until Bobby asked for them.

"What's eatin' ya, kid?" Bobby's voice woke him from his thoughts, "Ya seem antsy." he looked at the man under the sink, then looked away again. Dean fiddled with the wrench in his hand, the metal cool against his fingers.

"School," he mumbled, staring at the greasy grooves on the tool. Bobby huffed and sat up from under the sink.

"Ya' know you can talk to me," Bobby trailed off, "Is it about your daddy?"

Dean shook his head and sighed, "Just tired."

"Mhm," Bobby hummed, "Well, whenever you wanna talk about your old man, talk." he grabbed another tool and moved the pipe to the side, "You can go on to your room, take a rest."

"You sure?" Dean checked Bobby's face for another order for a new tool or to see if it was a joke.

"'Course I'm sure, you've been traveling for about a week, and you ain't doin' no good being in here twiddling your thumbs and bending my tools." Bobby barked a tease, a gleam in his eye.

Dean smiled lightly to Bobby, "Thanks, Bobby."

"Now go on, ya idjit."

Dean stood and left the bathroom. The bathroom he knew he would be scrubbing down the next day. Not because he had to, but because who knew when the last time it had been cleaned and God knows who had lived there before them.

He entered his room, dust was settled on the bedframe and old dresser that was left over from the last family. Today was productive in travel, fixing and unpacking, but he never slowed down enough to actually unpack anything in his room. He opened his window to let some air in and just decided to spread a blanket down across the full-sized bed and lay on it, he wasn't much for covers anyway, he was sure he'd be warm enough in his hoodie. He laid out in a supine position, staring at the popcorn ceiling.

The window behind him drafted in an orange-tinted light through old, white-yellowed, sheer curtains from the light pole by the driveway, giving him a detailed view of the textured wall. The wind outside whistled and howled as it passed the house and through his window making the curtains float around him, allowing some gray-blue moonlight in. He let out a deep breath and had inhaled back in cool, dust-filled air.

Maybe tomorrow he'd be able to go into the small town and walk around the square after he cleaned up. He and Sam could look for a diner restaurant and hang out while their dad was away. He might even be able to get a job before school started out, meet some students if any hung around the town. Maybe tomorrow will be more at ease for them both. Maybe tomorrow would be different. Changes are hopefully happening here.

JUST FOR FUN:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eQfc5bmyGeY

^^^SPN Crowley Singing "Changes"- David Bowie

((-This, so far, is a preview of what I'm working on. I may post it on ao3 and Tumblr later on, just curious how it'll work out on Wattpad. Thank you.-))