When Dean turned eighteen he dropped out of high school at his father's insistence. After all, you didn't need a diploma to do their kind of work.

Dean had already been hunting for years, but now his father felt it was time to drop the pretense of being a normal person and having a normal life.

It broke Sam's heart to see his brother go, but Dean assured him that they would talk everyday, and that if Sam ever needed anything he would come home immediately, because nothing was more important than family.

Dean always traveled with his father, and together they were unstoppable.

After every hunt they would find a bar to celebrate. Dean was too young to drink, but he quickly discovered that flirting with the waitress always took care of that problem.

They had just finished exorcising a particular violent spirit. Dean had a deep cut above his eye, and John had a few bruised ribs, but they had both had worse, and were in high spirits.

"What do you think, Dean? Shots?"

"Bring it on, old man."

"I'm the one who taught you to drink, boy. You think you can beat me?"

With matching grins they lined their shots up, and started knocking them down.

Six rounds later, they were both feeling rather tipsy. Dean stood up. "I gotta go to the back. Be right back."

John nodded, and signaled the bartender for another drink. He watched as Dean made his way through the crowded bar until he disappeared from sight, and then turned his attention to the other patrons.

After fifteen minutes John began to feel a bit worried. As if on cue, Dean appeared, a huge smile covering his face.

"Hey, dad. So, uh, I'm getting a different room tonight."

John laughed. "Found some young thing, eh? Atta boy. Remember we're heading out early tomorrow." John watched his boy walk away. He tried to get a glance of the girl Dean had chosen this time, but the bar was too crowded, and soon his son was gone.

John was proud. His son always managed to find some beautiful woman to bring back. It was part of the hunter lifestyle, and Dean had it down perfectly.

The next morning John rose with the sun, and packed the car quickly. He checked his watch. Dean should have been there five minutes ago.

He sighed. Dean never could get up without someone dropping water on him. Casually he walked to the front office. There was a homely girl manning the desk, and with a few choice words, he had her blushing and offering him the key.

After looking around for a few minutes he managed to find the right door. It was odd, usually Dean would get a room close to him, but this time it was almost at the end of the complex.

Quietly he opened the door.

Dean's head was the only thing visible.

A lump shifted, and John saw a body was tightly wrapped around his son. John rolled his eyes, a grin spreading across his face at catching his son in such a vulnerable state. He put aside his original plan and decided to wake Dean up in a more civilized manor.

"Dean?"

They shifted.

"Dean?"

There was a sigh as the girl woke up. Of course Dean would sleep through that. He'd sleep through a bomb given half a chance. The beds other occupant started to sit up. The blankets slid back and…

That wasn't a girl.

"Dean!"

Dean leapt up, and leveled a pistol at his fathers head. "Dad?" He looked down and noticed his state of undress. He looked at the bed. "Oh. Fuck."

"You want to explain this to me?"

Dean lowered his gun, looking at the confused young man clutching the sheets tightly. He smiled reassuringly and murmured, "Maybe you should go, David."

"David? You're telling me that my son is a fucking faggot?"

"Dad it's not like –"

"Really? Cause it sure as hell looks like my son was in bed with a fucking guy."

"Yeah, dad, but –"

Before he could finish, John was in front of him. He struck his son as hard as he could. He'd hit Dean before, usually when he was drunk, but it was nothing like this.

Dean went down hard, his vision blacked out, and his ears started to ring loudly. As the world came back, he watched his father walk to the door. Slowly he pushed himself to his knees. John turned to look at him. "You are no son of mine." He slammed the door.

Dean sat back and wiped the blood from his lips. This was why he hadn't told his father. He knew this would be his reaction. He sighed and dropped his head into his hands. He'd actually been more worried about how Sammy would take it, but his genius of a little brother figured it out a long time ago. When Sam confronted him and then hugged him… Dean had never felt so relieved, so happy, so accepted. It had been the best night of his life.

He stood up and fished his cell phone out of his pants. He took a deep breath as the phone dialed. "Sam? Yeah it's – No, I'm – Sammy, I'm fine."

Sam held his phone tightly. He could hear the sadness in Dean's voice. No matter how much Dean tried to hide things from him, he could always figure it out. "What are you going to do, Dean?"

"I…I don't –"

"Call Bobby."

"What?"

"Dean."

Dean scowled at the floral wallpaper. "I don't want to lose everyone in my life today, Sam."

"Do it, Dean. What have you got to lose? You know dad's going to tell him. He needs someone to rant to."

Dean bit his lip. He was strong. He was brave. He was the best damn hunter out there. But this… he felt the dread in his heart. He felt alone. Why had he been so stupid? Last night he'd been walking to the back of the bar when he saw the most gorgeous… He'd almost died at the hunt, and he just needed to feel alive, and when David had agreed… And now there was all this fucking shit. He closed his eyes and just tried to breath. He unclenched his fist.

"Sammy."

"I know Dean. Do you want me to come find you?"

"No! Sam, no. You're doing so well in school. I just know Stanford's going to say yes."

"Dean, you're more important to me than that."

"Sam, I'll be fine."

"Then prove it, Dean! Call Bobby!"

"Alright, alright. Fine. I'll call him."

"Promise me, Dean."

"…I promise."

Dean hung up and stared at his phone. For a moment he contemplated chucking it at the wall as hard as was humanly possible. He settled cradling it dejectedly. After about five minutes he dialed. Bobby picked up on the second ring.

"I was wonderin' when you were going to call me, boy."

"Hi Bobby."

"I got a call from your dad."

Dean sighed. "Yeah, I figured. Well, bye."

"What the hell are you thinking, boy? Don't you hang up on me."

"Oh. Sorry, Bobby."

"Get your ass down here, Dean."

"What?"

"I've got a spare bedroom that you're welcome to, and you know Sam'll sleep better knowing you've got somewhere to go."

"Bobby… don't you care that…"

"Dean, I've known you your whole life; you're family and ain't nothing gonna' change that. Now either you get down here or I'll hunt you down and bring you back myself."

Dean closed his eyes, relief flooding through him. "Thanks, Bobby."

"Yeah, whatever ya idjit. Now get off the phone and start driving."

Dean gathered up the few things he had brought with him to the room. It wasn't much. All he had was a set of clothes and a gun. Despite himself, Dean couldn't keep the smile off his face.

The car was gone, of course it was gone, what did he expect? But he'd learned the life of a hunter well, and quickly hotwired an inconspicuous vehicle and set off. As he drove he called Sam to let him know where he was going, and by nightfall he was pulling into the old scrap yard. Bobby stood silhouetted in the doorway.

Dean parked. Even though they'd already spoken, he could not stop the apprehension that rose in his chest. He stood by his car, waiting for Bobby to make the first move.

Bobby did not hesitate. He was down the steps in one striding bound, and was beside Dean in three. He gripped the young hunter by the shoulders, and then brought him forward into a hug. Just as quickly he stepped back.

"What are you waitin' for, son? Let's get you inside."

The room Dean now called his own was actually larger than his old one. It was dominated by a large bed covered with an old quilt. To one side was an old wardrobe mounted with a dusty mirror. A window looked out over rusting heaps of cars.

Bobby cleared his throat. "Sorry it isn't much, son."

"No, Bobby. It's perfect."

"So, what are you going to do now?"

Dean turned, a little confused. "What do you mean?"

"Are you going to get your GED? Try to go to college?"

"Nah, it's too late for that. Besides." He winked. "I was never much good at it. Sammy's the educated one. I thought I could just work on cars."

Bobby grinned. "Well, you're welcome to any in the yard. You fix it up, it's yours."

Dean ducked his head. "I also thought maybe I'd keep hunting."

Bobby considered this. A hunter himself, he knew the pull the lifestyle had. "Alright, but I tell you what, you need call me every night so I know you're safe, and," He looked at Dean sarcastically. "You need to visit every now and then, you understand me?"

Dean grinned. "Oh Bobby, are you worrying about me?"

Bobby was not amused. "Some people actually care about you, boy, and you need to give us peace of mind. I know you call Sam every night. One more phone call won't hurt you."

Dean sobered instantly. "Of course I'll call, Bobby."

"Good. Now get your scrawny ass downstairs. I made pasta."

I promise Cas'll show up soon. He's in the next chapter actually.

This is my first time writing an AU, so tell me what you think!