Yeah I really have no excuse. I am so, so sorry. This one is really short but I've got nine mostly done already.

Dean's father, John Winchester, was reading a newspaper when he finally came home at the end of his first week. John didn't look up when Dean came in, and, hoping to sneak past him, Dean walked silently into the hall and shut the door as gently as he could. Just as he was going upstairs, however-

"So I hear you got detention." John said. It was quiet, but conveyed power nevertheless. Dean sighed to himself and said

"Yes, sir." John didn't say anything. Dean slowly walked over to the couch opposite the armchair his father always sat in and sat, expecting some sort of lecture. John didn't say anything, just turning the page. They sat there in silence for a little longer before John put aside the newspaper and looked at Dean for the first time since he came in.

"You promised it would be better." Dean immediately rose to the challenge, saying vehemently

"It will be! It already is!" John Winchester just sighed and said

"Mouthing off a teacher on the third day?" Dean felt the anger stir inside him and raised his voice.

"He was a bully!" John looked sternly at his son.

"It doesn't matter. I told you, you have to keep your head down. No excuses. Now have you done all your schoolwork?" Dean wanted to keep arguing, but knew it was pointless.

"Yes, sir," He said moodily. John picked up his newspaper again and opened it.

"Then go downstairs and train until dinner." Dean stood up and went to the basement door. He made his steps deliberately heavy as he went downstairs, grumbling under his breath. Firmly shutting the soundproofed door, he walked over to the rack of guns on the opposite wall.

The whole basement was decked out for training. There were dozens of weapons, a small shooting ranges, and pads and punching bags for hand to hand. Dean put on his ear muffs and checked the pistol. He settled back into his shooting stance and expertly let off six shots at the body outline on the opposite wall. He grimaced at the imprecise scatter of shots and reloaded his gun. He reset the range with a new outline and squared his shoulders, preparing to fire his weapon again. Suddenly, the cell phone resting on the beat up table rang out. Dean jumped, then flicked the safety on and set the gun down. Striding across the room, Dean picked up the phone and, with a swift motion, answered it.

"Hello?" he answered. Technically, he wasn't supposed to answer his father's phone, but technically, his father was supposed to have his phone on him at all times.

"Hello, John? I need your help." Dean pressed the phone against his shoulder and started cleaning his weapon robotically.

"This is his son, Dean." The voice sounded exasperated when it next spoke.

"I don't care, I just need someone here now." Dean rolled his eyes and abandoned his gun and cloth for a pen and pad. He scribbled down the address and hung up the phone. He pulled out his phone and pulled up the address on a map. It was only a few miles away. He glanced at the clock, then the gun on the table. He hesitated only a second more before grabbing the gun and several knives and stowing them in a battered knapsack. He got holy water and tucked the flask in his pocket. He took the stairs up two at a time and shouted through the house that he was going out and would call. He grabbed his keys and headed out to his car, throwing the bag in the passenger seat. He leaned over and opened the glove compartment, pulling out the huge box of salt and lighter fluid he kept in there. He checked his pockets for his bic, then pulled out of the driveway and headed to the address.

When he arrived, the door was splintered ominously, hanging off it's hinges. Dean cut the engine and prepared his gun. When we was ready, he slunk out of his car and approached the house cautiously. He could hear something moving around inside and flicked his safety off.

The demon got him far too easily. His gun was knocked out of his hand before he could even get a shot off, and he barely managed to cut the demon before he was restrained. He did manage to splash a bit of holy water on her, which is the only reason he knew it was a demon, but it didn't even slow her down. Dean was tied to a chair, with much shouting and struggling, and then the demon picked up the knife that Dean had used. A chill of fear went through Dean's veins and even though he hated himself, he still screamed when the demon slashed a cut across his hand.

He wasn't ashamed to be crying at this point. The demon had left, taking that hated knife with her, giving Dean a few minutes without the taunting. In a moment of weakness, Dean tipped his head back and started to pray. He summoned the thought of Cas's shimmering wings and begged for it to just stop, to please let him live through his idiodic mistake. The cuts on his hands and face ached, throbbing for his attention, and his tears mingled with the blood.

Cas was reading on his bed when the voice echoed through his head. "Please, someone help me. Please save me." It took him a few moments to identify the voice as Deans, and only a millisecond after that to spread his wings and fly.

Dean's head was lowered when Cas arrived. He heard a flap of wings and raised his head wearily. When he saw Cas, wings flared, fists clenched, looking like an avenging angel even in his pyjamas he almost couldn't believe the sight. Cas dropped to his knees in front of Dean, one hand coming up to touch his face. To his utter embarassment, Dean let out a sob at the gentle touch, leaning into the warmth of Castiel's hand. Cas stood and ran over to the table in the corner that held Dean's backpack. He dug through it for a few seconds before coming up with a knife. He went back to Dean and sawed through the tape holding him to the chair. However, he could only get through one hand before the door opened and the demon came back in. At the sight of Cas in his rumpled pjs and bare feet, she stopped mid-taunt. Deans stomach dropped, his heart seized with cold, and for a moment he just wanted Cas to get out of here and leave him behind-but that was before he registered the demon's expression. She was staring at this small teenage boy with fear, and that was when Cas threw the knife.

He weighed it in his hand for a second, gauging the balance, before throwing it expertly. It spun end over end before landing with a solid thunk in the demon's chest. She stepped backwards with the force of it, but otherwise failed to react. Blood started to soak through her shirt. She hurled forwards and launched herself at Cas. The only thought that had time to go through Dean's head was Wow, Cas is a good fighter, before it ended. Cas ended up behind her, with his hand over her mouth, pulling her head back. Light shone from her eyes and between his fingers before she slumped over. Cas jumped back, blood splotching his pajamas, and looked down in shock at his own hands. He met Dean's eyes for just a second before retrieving the bloody knife abandoned by the demon on the floor. After freeing Dean, the knife clattered from his hands and Dean went in for the hug.

If you want to see what I've been doing instead of writing this, pm me and I'll link you to my novel!