Slipped Angles

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters. I do not make any profit with this story.

Additional Warnings/Info: referenced alcoholism, underage drug use, Bobby's alter ego, age difference, slow burn, dean smokes, light dom/sub (rated M for later), mystery, bad parenting

Chapter 1



„Dean!Wake up."

Ugh. Sammy's voice. Not something you'd want to hear first thing in the morning.

Ignoring his little brother, Dean grunted and rolled over on his stomach, the coil spring of his old mattress unpleasantly poking him in rather adventurous places. Still better than getting up, though.


Dean opened his eyes with an eye roll, blonde fringe shagging into his eyes, and found himself face to face with Sammy. Definitely not something you'd want see first thing in the morning, either. Sammy had an angry look on his face, and before Dean had a chance to ask him what was even going on, Sam grabbed his shoulders and started to shake him violently.


„What the hell, you bitch!" Dean shouted. "I'm literally looking at you, so no reason to go mental like that!" Dean easily pushed Sam off of him and Sam, dramatic as always, screamed in pain as he landed on the cold wooden floor of their cottage.

„Ouch, Dean! You hurt me! I'm just trying to—"

"Stop crying, Sam, it's your own damn fault. It's Saturday morning, okay, and the sun isn't even up yet, so shut up and let me sleep! Just go and play outside or something, weirdo."

That said, Dean grumpily fell back into his soft pillow, pulled the blanket over his head and mumbled something else Sam couldn't quite figure out, probably death-spells on him. Sam let out a frustrated sigh. It wasn't like he'd expected anything else from Dean after all, whom he'd by the way unsuccessfully tried to wake up an hour ago already.

"It's Monday morning, Dean, not Saturday."

"So what, it's Monday morning! Summer holidays, Sammy. Every day's friggin' Saturday morning."

"Sure, Dean."

Sam sighed dramatically.

"And can you explain to me, just why would I get up at six am and try to wake you up—still trying, by the way, even though you're being a total jerk—if this was just a regular day?"

"Don't know, don't care."

Sam was so close to giving up. After a moment of silence, he simply clapped his hands.

"All right. Fine, Dean. So, have fun sleeping through the first day of the school year, but I don't wanna be late."

All at once Dean's body stiffened under the sheets.

He pulled them away in the blink of an eye to take a second look at Sammy, patiently sitting on the floor, proudly bitch-facing at him.

„Sonofabitch", Dean realized. „Oh god, no. No, no, no."

Sam was pleased by the devastated look on Dean's face, which usually only appeared either totally cool or cheeky to please his seemingly countless girlfriends.

"So, you coming or what?"

Dean yawned, and laboriously sat up in his bed like an old man. Groaning. Bones cracking. He forced himself to start slogging towards the bathroom, though getting out of bed alone took him a try or two.

"I guess. Aw, fuck this. Only yesterday I was still enjoying my freedom, changing the world, really, and now this pointless crap again. How did this happen, Sam?"

Sam just raised his brows, watching Dean, unimpressed.

"By changing the world you mean binge-watching The Wire while stuffing yourself with seriously scary amounts of mac and cheese?"

"Well, I gotta start somewhere, right?"

"Yeah. Right. Well, at least you got one thing right over the holidays. You actually studied math—like crazy. Seriously, that was pretty awesome of you, Dean. So I guess you deserve all the mac and cheese in the world."

Dean involuntarily blushed. Goddammit. He stopped, turning to Sam with sleepy eyes.

"Damn straight—about the mac'n'cheese bit. But just to get this clear, I studied like a normal person. I don't do like crazy."

"Yeah, whatever." Sam shrugged. "I'm just saying that Mr. Novak must be a great private tutor. I mean you've basically lived with him for the past weeks. You can count yourself seriously lucky. He's gotta be as patient as an angel."

Dean froze in the door frame, rubbing his neck. Blushing harder.

"Y—yeah. I guess he is." Dean smiled, shyly. "I mean he's a really cool guy. Heh. A little weird, though, and pretty dorky, but—"

"Dean. Hurry up already, we're late as hell!"

Dean rolled his eyes, slipping into the bathroom.