Nothing Special. Chapter 1

Authors Note: I promise this is a destiel au. It will progress, just bear with me. I don't own Supernatural or any of the characters in Supernatural.

The heat of the day was starting to seep into the garage of B. Singer's Auto shop as Dean finished off a simple oil change. He could never understand why people paid someone else to do a 15 minute job, but he wasn't complaining. The people in this town and their entire lack of car knowledge kept food on the table, and Sammy in his fancy private school in the city. Dean looked at his watch, and saw that he had some time before he had to pick up his younger brother from school.

In the furthest back shed on the Auto shop's property was where Dean kept his supplies and current projects. He picked up his welding mask, and began to work on an iron griffon statue he was welding together. Before Dean was forced to start working more than 40 hours a week, his dad was alive, and he was still getting his art degree. There was nothing Dean enjoyed doing more than creating. Sometimes his pieces turned out terrible, and he threw them out, even though Sam would always pick them out of the trash and store the away, but in the past, he had actually sold large statues, like the one he was currently working on, for six hundred dollars. Dean hoped that some wealthy old guy would by his current project when he finished it.

Time passed by quicker than Dean had planned, and when he looked at his watch again, he saw that he was 30 minutes late for leaving. 'Shit.' Dean hated making Sam wait outside on the steps of his school while his friends all drove away on cars their parents paid for. Sam was disappointed when he didn't get a car for his sixteenth birthday, and he was even more disappointed when he didn't get one for his seventeenth birthday. It wasn't for a lack of trying on Dean's part. He tried to everything he could, but money was always an issue. So the brother's had to share an old pickup truck that Dean bought when he was sixteen. It ran like new though, Dean always made sure of that. He wasn't going let his brother's only form of transportation be a piece of shit.

With Dean speeding, it only left him 20 minutes late in picking up Sam. He found him on a bench with his best bitch face on. "Hey, man, look I'm sorry."

"I don't really want to hear it, Dean." Sam hadn't even looked up when Dean approached him. "You have no idea how embarrassing it is sitting here like a child waiting for their parents to pick them up."

"Sammy, I know it's hard, but I'm really trying." Dean felt ashamed that he couldn't give the kid more. Sam was graduating this next May, and he was heading off to college somewhere, there had to more Dean could do.

"Dean you've been trying for two years, no you've been trying since Dad died, but you've gotten nowhere." Sam finally looked Dean in the eyes while they walked back to the truck. His eyes were full of anger. Dean huffed as he got into the truck. The drive back home seemed longer than usual that day.

The next few days at work had been particularly hard on Dean. His guilt was a distraction, and he wasn't moving as fast as he normally was. Customers were getting frustrated and Bobby was in no mood to deal with Dean and his personal problems. Bobby had no issue telling Dean how much like his dad, John, he was becoming. So like every other problem Dean ever had, he sucked it up, ad ignored it. That was the way his dad taught him to deal with personal problems. If you couldn't punch it, you had to ignore it. It was the only way he knew how to deal with anything.

When Thursday approached, he couldn't have been happier to have a day off. Sam was going to spend the night with friends, so Dean decided to go out to the Roadhouse. It was a local bar that a few family friends ran. Ellen, the barkeep, was the wife of one of John's friends, was happy to greet Dean when he sat down at the bar.

"Hey, hotshot, your regular poison?" Jo, Ellen's daughter was the bartender tonight.

"Uh, yeah. El Sol." Dean nodded a greeting at the cute blonde. Normally he would be flirting up a storm with most women at her level of attractiveness, but he had known her way too long to think of her as anything more than a sister. When his beer was in front of him, he made no attempt to conserve it. With long gulps, he scanned the bar. As usual, it was just a bunch of hicks. He hated living in such a small town, but he couldn't afford to live anywhere else. For the past few days, all he could think about was how he was nothing special. He could barely provide the essentials for the last member of his family, and he was starting to hate the garage.

"Hey," Dean heard a sweet voice from his other side. When he swiveled around he saw a cute brunette sitting next to him.

"Oh hey," Dean responded, absent mindedly.

"I'm Lisa." The girl held out her hand, while a cocktail was in the other, she obviously didn't belong in the Roadhouse. Dean tried not to over analyze the situation and took her hand.

"I've never seen you here before, Lisa. I'm Dean." Smalltalk. Something Dean hadn't done since he dropped out of college. His social skills seemed a bit rusty, but the girl didn't seem deterred.

"I just moved here. I opened up a yoga studio down the road from here." That explained why a young woman was in a hick bar alone, and seemingly hitting on Dean. For the rest of the night, Dean talked to this new girl, who knew nothing about him and enjoyed his company. Five beers later, he was leaving the bar with her, and the rest of the night was a blur.

Dean's head was spinning, where the hell was he? He heard the faint buzz of his phone against the unfamiliar wood floor. Taking a moment to realize that the girl from the night before was still wrapped his naked body; he nearly missed the call.

"Uh, hello?" It was still hard for him to open his eyes.

"Yes, hello, is this Dean Winchester?" The man's voice was deep and rough.

"Yes, this is Dean. Who is this?"

"I am Castiel Novak from Saint Thomas Academy. I am Sam's history teacher and counselor," Dean's mind woke up at the name of Sam's school. Why was Sam's history teacher calling him at 9:30 in the morning? Dean's head came up with question after question before he responded.

"W-what happened? Why are you calling me? Is Sam okay?" Dean was now out of bed and swiftly finding his clothes. Lisa was awake and slightly confused, but when she saw Dean on the phone, she nodded in understanding.

"Dean, I need you to come to the school. The subject is urgent."