More Personal Than Trainer.

Chapter one, Castelli somethin'

           "Dean, go," Sam begged. Dean groaned again, sinking into the couch and resting the ice pack on his eye. Dean closed his eyes, suppressing the pain. He didn't want Sammy to know how bad it really was. Dean's eyes opened again, looking over to his kid brother. Sam sat on the counter, looking down on Dean with his ever worried eyes. His shaggy brown hair was carelessly swept to the side, and his face was almost angry with Dean. It was worth it in Deans opinion, Sam didn't have a scratch on him. Dean, on the other hand, it was bad. All he let Sam see was the black eye, which was enough to make him worried. Dean hadn't had time to look but he could already feel the bruises forming all along his side. One of his toes felt like it was on fire and on his back were several lumps were they had kicked him.

          Dean. Dean Winchester. That was him. He and his brother Sam had been alone since Dean was fifteen, raising him by himself simply because both their parents were gone. Their mom died when they were kids, sending their dad, John, into an endless pit of despair and drinking. He wasn't violent, not even negligent until the later years. He still pretended to smile around his boys. Even though the love of his life died tragically in a fire, he tried to stay happy. He was a great man. Was. Eventually, the drinks made him distant, almost completely ignoring his boys.

          The day of Dean's fifteenth birthday, John had a present for him.

           Dean didn't know what to expect, so when his father placed a large coin into his palm, he was confused. Dean turned the cool metal disc in his hand and read the letters crowning the top; ONE MONTH! It read. Dean looked up at his father still questioning what it meant, when their eyes met, he realized. It all became clear, it was a sobriety chip. To think of it, he hadn't seen his dad drink for quite some time.

          He doesn't remember that day too well, the doctor said that could be a side effect of the head trauma.

          On the happiest day of Dean's life, it all went wrong. After John talked to him about how he was going to try to be a better man and father, John took him and Sammy to the store, saying Dean could pick anything he wanted. He picked a large pie from the industrial fridge. Dean remembered John saying he could get something else, but he declined, already having the best thing in the world, a dad trying.

         While pulling out of the driveway, John suggested going to Wendy's and eating real food before the pie, but Dean said no. He should have said yes. He would give anything in the world to change that decision. Within three minutes, John was dead. Dean didn't remember.

         People told him a drunk semi driver crashed into them. John died instantly and Dean's head got smashed into the window. Sam was okay, just some scratches and a bruise on the side of his arm. As stated before, Dean didn't remember much of that day, but he did remember that if he had said yes to going for food, John would be alive.

           After that, John's friend Bobby took them in, although they didn't see him much. There was a small garage on Bobby's property, which he let the boys stay in. Dean unexpectantly became the dad of a ten-year-old, broken kid. He started working with Bobby, quitting school and working until he passed out from exhaustion. Eventually, Bobby had enough and forced Dean to go back to school. Dean protested but Bobby said he could work part-time for the same pay, as long as he stayed in school.

          That was the cause of his current dilemma. Sam, now fourteen, was having trouble with bullies at school. He tried to hide it from Dean, but the scrawny kid couldn't lie to dean even if he wanted to. Dean feared for the end of the year, this being his last there, Sam would have to face them. It was a small group, six people in all but only two of them bothered Sammy. Dean protected Sam the only way he could, stepping in. Dean was strong, tall, well build, he could take out two easily, but whenever dean stopped them from hurting Sam, all six of them came, beating the shit out of him. Sam told him to stop, that he wasn't a kid and could defend himself, but Dean didn't listen.

         Sam then broached the subject of dean getting taught how to fight. Really fight, hard enough to take down ten people if he had to. Dean scoffed, ignoring the idea, but Sam didn't give up on it. He constantly begged dean to get a personal trainer, to no avail. He even found a guy close buy that was cheap enough. A Castelli somethin' or other. Dean said no of course, but know he didn't know. The fight today was bad, and dean obviously couldn't keep doing this.

         He glared at Sam. "Get the damn paper." He muttered like a petulant child. Sam offered a small smile, sliding off the counter and reaching above it. His fingers scrambled til they grabbed a neatly folded paper. He turned back and handed it to Dean. Dean snatched it from him, opening it and reading the contents. CASTIEL NOVAK, 683-235-2947. Was scribbled in Sam's handwriting. Sam stood impatiently. Dean looked up to see Sam folding his arms, waiting. "Tomorrow," Dean groaned, laying back on the couch and placing the ice pack on his face.

         Sam didn't say anything, just shook his head and went upstairs. Dean listened to the old house creaking under Sam's weight. Once he heard Sam's door close he awkwardly slipped off the couch, reaching onto the counter and gripping his laptop. Dean bit his lip from the pain as he leaned back onto the couch. He googled this 'Castiel' and from what he could tell, he was a liar. There wasn't much on him, but it did have his extensive amount of training in several forms of self-defense, along with many of offense. It was almost unbelievable, so Dean didn't believe it. There was no way this guy was that good, obviously lying. Dean scrolled down to see a picture.

         It was taken from afar, Castiel probably didn't know it had been taken. It wasn't the best quality but Dean could make out the angular face, the slight stubble, and dark hair. The Man was walking into a building of sorts, causing most of him to be obstructed. He wore a tan trench coat that hid his figure from view.

        Dean sighed, knowing he should at least see if he could reach him something, although he doubted it. 

                  I know, short. this will be a short story anyway, hope you enjoyed. 

                               -Author.