Hello! Yeah, so this is my first Destiel chapter fic. I'm actually really excited about it. So far it's about 25k words, which is about 7 chapters, I think. I'll probably update once a week or so. I don't want to get too ahead of myself and go without updating for weeks... Which is sort of what I'm doing with my Klaine fanfic. Oops...

Anyways, I'm really sorry about the summary. I'm so bad at writing them. But yeah, thanks for reading!

BTW, this is semi-based on the Notebook, but that won't even show up for a while. So push that to the back of your mind for the time being.

As always, enjoy :)

The air was cold and brisk that night as he walked along the road, but he didn't really care all that much. It was nice for him to clear his mind for once, and to not have anything to think about. Not that he normally had an abundance of thoughts on his mind, he just thought that it was nice to get away from everything, and everyone, every once in a while. He liked the time alone, when there was no one around he had to put up an act for or anything of such nature. He didn't have to act any sort of way, or say any sort of thing, he could just… be.

It wasn't that he had to act a certain way or do a certain thing often. He didn't have a necessarily sheltered personality, nor did he ever really feel the need to act a certain way in front of anyone. He was his own person, and for that he was grateful. Constantly, he'd look around and see all these people, people he'd known for years, acting and doing things to be a considered accepted or cool, but they weren't really themselves. He never had to worry about such things; people just liked him for some reason. He never planned for people to like him this much, but they just did. It wasn't that he was complaining or anything; life is always easier when there are people who like you. And hell, he liked being liked.

The point was, he wasn't like that. Not really. However, he did feel a strong urge to constantly not disappoint his family. John, his father, and Sam, his brother, were all he'd had. His mother had died when he was only four in a house fire in their old house, leaving him with barely any memory of her. His father worked a lot, not too much, but just enough so he could support his family. Dean was forever grateful for the fact that his dad was like that: always willing to work his hardest for his family. Though, he and his dad didn't necessarily get along one-hundred percent of the time, he was glad he had him; he was his father after all.

When it came to not getting along with their father, Sam was pretty much covered in that department. At times they could get on just fine, but others… Well, Dean had always suspected that the underlying problem between Sam and John Winchester—other than the fact that they were Winchesters—was that Sammy had always known where he was headed in life. The kid was only a freshman and he pretty much already had his life splayed out in front of him… And that scared their father. Hell, it scared Dean. The way John saw it, at least from what Dean could tell, was that Sam would eventually be leaving. Maybe it reminded him of losing their mother on a different scale.

He knew his father would never have to deal with him like that. Dean wasn't going anywhere, not that there was anywhere he could go. Dean wasn't exceptionally good at any kind of sport—not enough to go anywhere with it, at least—he was just Dean. He had a rough idea of how his life would play out: he'd barely graduate, get a full-time job at the mechanic shop down the road with his Dad, eventually marry some girl he was sort of, half-in love with, pop out a few kids and eventually, and after all was said and done, he'd die. Pretty simpler, so he thought. It was nothing like how Sam's life would play out, that was for sure, but he guessed it wasn't a big deal. He'd stay in Lawrence, he'd stay around his father, and… and that was that. That would be his life, and he was fine with it.

At least, that's what he hoped.

Waking up at six in the morning sucked, Dean decided as his alarm went off. He was tempted to turn the damn thing off and not even bother getting out of bed—what was the point, anyways?—but he didn't. He couldn't just blow off school for no reason whatsoever, his father's words, not his. Even though he did often skip classes and blow off some—if not most—projects and assignments, he usually made an attempt to actually show up to the hell-hole. Even if he did hate that place with all of his heart. Nothing good had ever came out of school for him; why should today be any different?

With a loud and maybe a bit over-dramatic sigh, Dean heaved himself out of bed and into his bathroom. He felt like a zombie, his movements being so lethargic and slow that he was barely even convinced he was even making them. Slowly but certainly surely, though, he managed to walk over to the shower, turn on the water—hot—and to get inside once his pajama bottoms were off and on the ground.

For a while, he just stood under the almost scolding hot water that was bursting out of the faucet and let it run over him. He'd never admit it, not to anyone in the world, but he kind of felt… lost. He'd constantly look around and see people going somewhere, and then there was him with his barely there life plan. He guessed it didn't bother himself too much, but sometimes—and not that he'd ever say it out loud—he dreamed of more. He didn't know what, though. Maybe that was his problem.

After his shower, he walked downstairs to find Sam eating breakfast—Lucky Charms, just like he'd eaten every day since he was three—and his father sipping on a hot cup of coffee. Coffee, that was what he needed. He poured himself a cup quickly and without saying anything to anyone else. Then again, it wasn't uncommon for Dean to be a complete recluse until he had his first cup of black coffee.

"Mornin' Dean," his dad said after a moment to let his son drink his coffee. John Winchester knew his son well, and he was definitely sympathetic with his not wanting to wake up in the morning; Dean couldn't put it into words how overwhelmingly thankful of that one particular aspect of his father.

"Mornin'," he responded through a half-yawn. He looked over at Sam and sniggered before grasping the Lucky Charms away from him as he was about to pair a second bowl. "Good morning to you too, Sir Charm," he teased.

Sam rolled his eyes and snatched the box away from his older brother. "Jerk," he muttered as he successfully poured himself another bowl.

"Bitch." Dean smiled and laughed a bit, ruffling Sam's hair just so he could watch him squirm away.

John laughed softly and shook his head a tiny bit at his sons' antics before downing the rest of his coffee. "Dean, when you're finished, I want you to come outside."

Before Dean could question his father, he was out the door. Dean raised his brow and looked over to Sam, who was still finishing his Lucky Charms. "Do you have any idea what that was about?" he asked. Sam just shrugged and took another bite, but Dean knew he knew; there wasn't a thing he didn't know about that kid, and he definitely knew when he was lying. "You do," he stated; it had supposed to be a question, but it didn't come out that way. "Come on, Sammy, tell me!" Dean exclaimed, his voice half-excited and half-nervous. Who knew what his father had up his sleeve.

"Can't," Sam said as he stood up to pit his bowl in the sink. "Dad made me promise."

"Promise what?" Dean questioned, knowing his voice was borderline overly enthusiastic. Not that he cared or anything.

"Just go outside and see, Dean!" Sam said, turning on the water to wash the few dishes in the sink.

Dean sighed and chugged down the rest of his coffee quickly before putting the up in the sink with the rest of the dishes, sincerely hoping Sam would just wash it for him. He doubted he would, and even if he did, he'd probably bitch about it, but either way, Dean wasn't planning on cleaning anything.

He walked outside to see what it was that his father had wanted to show him. His nerves were starting to eat him up inside, but he didn't let it get to him too much. Whatever it was, he had a feeling it was good, based on Sam's reaction. Or non-reaction, really.

"Dad?" he called out, rounding the corner of their small house—they'd had to move after the house fire, seeing it had burnt almost completely to the ground—and over the garage that sat a little ways to the left of their house.

"In here!" John called, but Dean couldn't see him because of the garage door, which was half closed.

Dean walked a little closer to the garage and fucked under the half-opened door to get inside. "Was their something you wanted to talk to me about, Dad?" he asked, seeing his dad leaning against the 1967 Impala that his father held so dear to his heart.

There was a large smile on John's face, which was honestly a rarity. Ever since their mother had died, his dad didn't smile that much. It'd already been fourteen years, and Dean still wasn't aware that his father was over his mother's death. Then again, do people ever, fully, get over a death of someone they love? He didn't think so. Not one-hundred percent.

John had the keys to the car in his hand, throwing them up and catching them repeatedly in his hand. "You'll be eighteen in a few weeks, right?" his dad said, his wide smile more of a knowing smirk now.

Dean raised his brown slightly. "Uh… yes, sir," he answered, his eyes falling from his Dad to the car his dad was sitting on, back to his dad. "Why?" His father's smile brightened even more as John threw the keys to the Impala over to Dean. He caught them quickly, and for a moment he just stared at them, as if his dad had thrown a gun at him. "W-why?" he repeated, his voice stuttering slightly because honestly, he couldn't believe what he was imagining his father was saying.

"She's yours," his dad said, getting off the hood and walking a tad bit closer to his son. "I know how much you love this car, Dean. I was going to wait until you actually turned eighteen," a soft chuckle as he shook his head, "but then I decided it'd probably be better that you have her beforehand."

Dean Winchester was speechless. And that never happened. His stares went from the keys, the car, his father, back to the keys, the car, his father before he managed to form words, somehow. "You-you're giving me your car." It was a statement, and just as earlier, he hadn't meant it to be. He couldn't believe it. The car… the Impala was all his.

John nodded and clapped his son's shoulder, still with that smile on his face. "Take good care of her, Dean," he said, squeezing Dean's shoulder once before pulling it away and starting to walk outside.

"Dad, thank—"

Dean had started to thank his father in a way that would have probably been long, rambly, and embarrassing for the both of them. "Don't mention it," his father cut him off, saving them both the time and trouble. "And take your brother to school!" he called out as he continued to walk.

Dean was almost one-hundred percent sure that he'd completely deafened Sam, just riding to school. He'd turned up the music as loud as it went and practically scream-sang all the songs. He could feel the frustration radiating off of Sam, but he didn't care. It was his car. His car. He couldn't get over the fact that his father had given him the Impala that he'd always held so close to himself. But he did, and now it was his. His. He wasn't sure he'd ever be able to wrap his arms around that fact. He was so excited his could barely contain himself.

The exact moment he parked, Sam opened the door and nearly bolted out of the car. "God, you almost killed us with that speed," he grumbled.

Dean laughed heartedly and ran his hand across roof of the car. "C'mon, man. You loved it," he exclaimed, still through his laughter. "And I really wasn't going that fast. Only about—"

"Eighty in a forty-five mile per hour zone, yeah," Sam said, but Dean knew he was just teasing now. Even if he wasn't, there was no way anyone could pull him out of this mood. He felt like he was walking on sunshine. He'd never had his own car before, and for his first car, hell, if it were to be his only car he'd be happy for ages.

"Man, I love this car!" he exclaimed, finally pulling himself away from it so he could walk himself into school. "I can't believe Dad gave her to me."

"He'd been planning to for ages," Sam announced as they walked into the double-doors that lead to the hallways of Lawrence High. "He was going to wait till your turned eighteen, but he changed his mind."

"Why?" Dean asked, not that it even mattered.

Sam shrugged and stopped at his locker. "Don't know."

Dean smiled anyways, patting Sam on the back once before smiling widely. "I'll see ya later, Sammy."

"Don't call me—"

Before Sam could finish his useless argument, Dean started walking to his first period class. It wasn't that he wanted to be there, because honestly he'd have rather been anywhere else than in history, but he had to tell his friends about everything. He still had a hard time believe that his dad had actually given him his car, and that was after he'd driven it to school. Maybe telling someone else, other than Sam who had already known, he'd finally get it to settle in that that was his car.

Obviously, Dean was on cloud-nine. He'd loved his father's—his—car since he could remember. He was positively ecstatic, and he'd planned on telling Jo and Ash, his two best friends, about it the second he saw them. He walked over to their three desks that sat in the back of the room. He was still kind of surprised that the three of them had managed to be put into the same lass together, happy and honestly relieved, yet still surprised. He didn't think too much into it though, he didn't really like to look a gift horse in the mouth.

As he made his way to his seat, not bothering to look anywhere but at his seat in between Jo and Ash, he couldn't think about anything other than how they'd react. He was positive that Ash would go crazy and beg him to let him drive it, even though that would never in a millions years happen, and Jo would be jealous that her mom was making her save up for her own car, but secretly be happy for him. All in all, he was really excited he'd decided to get out of bed this morning; imagine if he hadn't—

Before Dean saw it coming, he ran right into something, rather, someone. The impact was kind of hard considering Dean had been walking so fast and barely bothering to pay attention at all to anyone or anything around him, thus, knocking himself and whoever he'd just tan into over. The fall wasn't too bad considering Dean caught himself on the desk next to him. The other guy, well, he fell right on his ass, his books and the small backpack he was holding on the floor with him. It was one of those moments in which Dean really felt like a dick.

He could feel everyone's eyes on him, but it didn't really bother him that much. He sighed and looked over to the kid across from him, who had just managed to get up and begin to gather his many books and papers. Dean, realizing it was all kind of his fault, started to help. "Hey, sorry about that," Dean said as he began to stand up. The guy, who was still trying to make sure he'd lost nothing else, looked up to meet Dean's gaze. For a moment, Dean was speechless. He looked at him and had no other thought than damn, his eyes are really fucking blue. He looked at the unknown-boy, who was still on his knees, on the ground, for a few moments without saying anything whatsoever. Neither of them did. They both just kind of… stared for a moment or two before snapping out of it.

"It was not your fault." The guy stood up and took the books and few papers that had fallen astray that Dean had handed him. His voice was deep and sort of gruff, and it wasn't at all what Dean was expecting. He wasn't small or scrawny, per se, but he wasn't exactly tall or gruff.

Dean shook his head a little bit and handed him the last book he'd dropped. "Nah, man, it totally was. I'm sorry, I really wasn't paying attention." Dean was expecting the other guy to say something, anything really, but instead he just nodded and looked away from Dean and walked up to the front of the room to sit down.

For a moment, Dean just stood there, and stared at the guy. He didn't seem… normal. Not in a bad way, though. Just in a… weird way. For one, he was wearing a trench coat, and a tie. Dean couldn't remember seeing anyone wearing a tie to school since seventh-grade for picture day. He didn't know why, but there was something about him that made him wonder, wonder about everything about that random kid who'd he'd just knocked on his ass.

For a moment, Dean just stood there and stared at the back of his mystery stranger, trying for some unknown reason to take in as much information about him as possible.

Eventually, the bell that started first period rang and everyone scurried to their seats, including Dean. For a moment he was almost sure he'd hit his head when he fell, because he'd forgotten everything about everything except for his stranger. He couldn't figure out why the hell he was so intrigued with him, they'd only said a few words to each other, anyways. There really wasn't any reason to give what's-his-face a second thought. But that didn't stop him from thinking about him throughout most of Mrs. Watson's extremely boring lecture on the French Inquisition. He'd managed to convince himself the only reason he was still thinking about the boy was because he was new. They didn't get a whole lot of new students, anyways.

"Dean!" He was forced out of his thoughts by Jo prodding him in the side with her mechanical pencil. "What the hell are you thinking about?" she questioned in a harsh whisper, considering the teacher was still talking.

Dean was still a moment as he peeled his eyes off of the back of the boy in the trench coat, and over to his friend. After a second, he gave her one of his signature charming smiles. "My car," he whispered.

Ash's head turned to face them both at the mention of a car. "You're what?" he asked, luckily still in a whisper, but still a little louder than necessary.

"Quiet, will ya?" Dean whispered, his smile turning into a joking smirk. His mind reverted from his mystery stranger back to his car. His car. His baby. He was still in shock. He'd always assumed his dad would give it to him some day, but he'd always assumed he'd have to do a shitload of work to get it. He never could have guessed his dad would just hand him his car over. "My dad gave me the Impala. She's all mine." There was so much pride coming from Dean's voice, he could practically feel himself glowing, but he didn't care. It was the first time in an extremely long time that he felt truly happy.

"Awesome!" Ash said, his voice drawing out a little towards the end. Dean swore he sounded like a stoner half the time. "Can I dri—"

"Don't even finish that question, Ash," Dean cut him off, sending him a glare. "No one's driving my car. No one. Especially with your driving skills."

The three laughed softly before noticing that their teacher was starting to send glares back to them. They straightened up in their desks and looked back up at her, pretending to pay attention again. Well, for all Dean knew, Jo and Ash could have very well been paying attention again. Dean on the other hand, let his mind drift off, as he did in most classes. He wasn't ever able to completely focus on anything when it came to school. He paid enough attention to get by with C's, high D's and the occasional B, never anything higher than that. He was fine with it though. It wasn't like he was ever going to college or anything like that. And he was… fine with that too.