tw: suicide mention, depression

word count: 574

Dean kept his eyes on the pavement, repeating over and over again self-directed orders not to cry, not to make this harder on Caleb than it had to be, not to make a scene in front of the entire airport drop off line, to be a man like his father wanted.

A heavy sigh passed the lips of the man in front of him.

"Come on, Deuce."

He blinked hard in a decisive order against the water stinging his eyes and finally forced his gaze up to his friend's.

"You say the word and I will not leave."

"Don't be an idiot, Damien." He knew the older man would see straight through the forced-casual tone, but he put it on anyway. "Unless you want your hide on my dad's wall."

"That would require him to actually get a semi-permanent place," Caleb replied with the ghost of a smile. "So that would be a plus."

"No one wants a settled-down Knight and you know it."

"Yeah, if you say so." A hesitation, a return to soberness. "But I'm serious, Deuce."

"So am I." He allowed his eyes to drop for just a second before forcing them back up. "I'll be fine."

The psychic frowned at him for a long moment, but finally exhaled in defeat. "You better be."

The words were thick with barely-withheld moisture, and as he said them, he pulled Dean into a tight hug.

The younger man buried his face in his shoulder and, just for a moment, allowed his persona of strength to melt away.

"And if you're not," Caleb murmured into his hair. "You call me. Promise me."

"I promise," Dean whispered, not sure if he really meant it.

They held that position for another long moment before Caleb finally pulled back, his eyes undeniably wet.

A hand run through Dean's hair was reminiscent of years long gone, and the younger man tucked it away to tease him about whenever he saw him next and he wasn't struggling not to be a total girl himself.

"Hey," Caleb said quietly. "It gets better."

Now, Dean really did allow his head to drop as his eyes filled for real. He didn't trust himself to speak, so he just nodded at the concrete.

"I mean it, Kid. That's my promise."

"Thanks, Damien," he managed. "I'll try to remember." A deep breath. "Text me when you land. If you die in that thing, I'll be pissed."

That brought out a sad little laugh. "You and planes, Deana. But yeah. Will do."

"Thanks."

The older man took a deep, shaky breath of his own and finally straightened. "I love you, Kid." A final squeeze to his shoulder. "Call me if you need me."

Then, he picked up his duffle off the sidewalk, turned around, and walked away. It was clear with every step, he was forcing himself not to turn around.

It was a painfully familiar scene, but Dean tried not to let himself think about that.

Instead, he turned away in his own right, climbed into the Impala, and drove back to his brother.

And that's it for this one. Thank you all so much for reading. As usual, your feedback will single-handedly bring back my will to live, so please let me know what you think.

Since this appears to be a full-blown series now, I think I'll definitely at least write a part or two when Sam leaves for Stanford, but there may be something in between this and that. If you have any requests, please drop them. Love you all lots, God bless.

- Line