A/N: Aloha friends, sorry for the long wait but as it turns out Uni is VERY demanding lmao. Also I got myself a boyfriend so if you're wondering what I'm doing while I'm not updating, it's him.

OK BACK TO THE SHIT STORY SORRY FOR KEEPING YOU WAITING ILY

Time crept slowly onwards, covering New York in a thick blanket of snow and Christmas cheer. It was the end of November, meaning that hearty carols and children's laughter filled the air. A time that was, generally, full of love and happiness. Not, however, for everyone.

It was the 29th of November. Dean Winchester sat alone on his couch, empty beer bottle in hand, staring blankly into the darkness. It was nearly midnight, and once again he couldn't sleep.

They had no new leads on Cas' whereabouts, nothing to go on, nowhere to look. Sam was forcing everyone to stay positive; something will turn up, there must be some kind of explanation. And although Dean really did try to soak up the positive vibes, his bed was still empty and cold every night, and he had given up all hope.

The media was still all over the scandal of famous Dean Winchester's affair. Some papers focused on the juicy gossip surrounding his sexuality; what did it mean, exactly? How many other gay affairs had he covered up? What did Lisa think? Do you, dear reader, still have a chance with New York's sexiest man?

Other papers took a more helpful angle, printing Cas' details and keeping the search going, applauding Dean for his courage and strength throughout this difficult time. And the Financial Times wrote page after page on Dean's failing company, how there were dark days ahead, and if Mr. Winchester didn't save them soon, they'd be bankrupt by Christmas.

Ultimately, Dean found he didn't much care for the wellbeing of his old industry. They'd been quick to offer him his job back, buckling under the financial struggle and bad press. Dean had turned it down, several times, and had eventually stopped taking their calls. Sure, it would be sad to see the company go down after everything he'd put into it, but Cas had never seen him as a finance kind of guy anyway.

So instead of getting into the local festivities, Dean once again found himself moping about the house day in, day out, waiting for something. Anything. He checked the papers every morning in case of possible sightings, listened to the afternoon news on the radio and flicked through various news stations in the evening, looking for the channel that would declare Cas safe and sound. No channel ever did though, and so Dean found himself pacing the apartment late at night, scribbling down new desparate ideas; places to search, people to ask, places Cas would've gone.

Several times, Dean had considered trying to contact the Novaks, in case they could help with the search. However, something was holding him back. He knew Cas wasn't his family's number one fan, and going off what he knew it was a tense family to be a part of. But something was just putting him off. Maybe because Cas always looked so much older, tireder, sicker, when he spoke of his family, or maybe because when Dean asked about his childhood Cas' face would go pale and he would mutter something about it being standard, unimportant, before turning to hide behind his easel. No, Dean had a gut feeling that Cas wouldn't appreciate getting his family involved.

"Well, what else do you know about them?" Sam had asked when Dean had voiced this worry to him one afternoon before a radio interview. Dean had shrugged. "I know Cas didn't get along with them. He used to talk in his sleep, something about his old man…"

"Maybe they would be able to give us the names of a few places Cas could be?" Sam had pressed, scratching behind his ear with a pencil and watching Alice and her friend Katy playing by the TV. But Dean had shook his head. "Cas was homeless by choice, Sam. They can't be anything but bad news."

As Dean recalled the conversation held with his brother almost a month ago, he felt the weight of dread sink to the bottom of his stomach and settle there. Cas would never run back to his family, and would never return to their lifestyle willingly, that much he'd made clear. But why?

Without realising what he was doing, Dean made his way through the apartment to the office and loaded up his computer. It just didn't make any sense...Cas was the most patient, tolerant person he knew. What the hell did his family do to make him choose a life on the road over his own flesh and blood? And more importantly, why hadn't Dean asked these questions earlier?

His mind whirring, Dean typed Novak, Illinois into the search engine, and scanned the results eagerly. There were a few articles linking the Novak family with their Priesthood, listing all of their religious contributions and the active role they had in the community. Scrolling through, Dean paused with the mouse hovering over an image on the front page of an article. Six young boys stood outside a church, wearing overalls or dungarees, and holding tools, smiling big toothy grins at the camera. Their father, presumably, stood behind them, a hand on the shoulder of the oldest boy, who looked to be perhaps ten years old. However, it was the youngest boy who interested Dean. No older than five, the boy held the hand of a brother barely older than him in his right hand and a small hammer dangled from his left, the left brace of his dungarees falling slack down past his shoulder. He was staring with a look of wonder at a point just beyond the camera, lips parted in a slight smile and a smudge of dirt across his right cheek. Dean couldn't help but smile. Even as a child, Cas stood out against his statue-like siblings and stern, unsmiling father. The caption below the photo read:

Daddy's Little Helpers: The Novak boys help their father and the rest of the community to make repairs to the old village church.

So Cas hadn't been exaggerating about the religion thing. Dean bit his lip and clicked off the article, scrolling down, looking for something that would give him a head start, that would settle the uneasy feeling in his stomach. More articles popped up; the births of Cas' younger siblings announced in the local paper, the money they all raised for the church, or for some sort of charity. Getting bored, Dean was about to turn off the computer and retire to bed, defeated, when he found it.

Tragedy Strikes For Local Family: Beloved Wife and Mother Found Dead In Family Home.

Clicking on the old report, Dean familiarised himself with the details of the death of Cas' mother. She had been found in the woods behind the house, with a broken arm and a bruised, swollen neck at a sickening angle. There were signs of a fight; broken fingernails, bruising on her arms and torso, scratches here and there. It was reported as a murder, for sure, and the police launched an immediate investigation. That was where it got interesting. Scrolling down, Dean discovered the final article covering the incident.

BREAKING NEWS: Lucifer Novak Found Guilty of Murdering Mother In Cold Blood.

Dean's mouth dropped open in shock as he learnt the cold hard facts. Damning evidence against Lucifer had been supplied by his own father, who was "devastated, heartbroken, and in shock." There was a photo of the entire family at the bottom of the article, and Dean felt a pang of sadness. Cas' mother was beautiful, not looking at the camera but smiling down at one of her youngest, and clearly adored by all her children. Their father stood behind her, stoic and emotionless, the complete opposite of his wife. No children stared lovingly at him as the photograph was taken.

Dean shut off the computer, feeling uneasy, and began to pace. He didn't blame Cas for staying quiet about his past; the whole ordeal must have been traumatising, losing your mother to a sibling like that. But something felt off, Dean didn't know what, but something wasn't right. Whenever Cas spoke of his father it was with the deepest hatred in his eyes. Maybe he blamed him for his mother's death in a way.

Dean wanted, no, needed answers. His mind settled, he returned to the computer and, after a little research, started writing up an email that would get him in a lot of trouble.