Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/5079763.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Major_Character_Death, Rape/Non-Con,
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Supernatural
  Relationship:
      Castiel/Dean_Winchester, Bartholomew/Castiel_(Supernatural)
  Character:
      Castiel, Dean_Winchester, Sam_Winchester, Charlie_Bradbury, Kevin_Tran,
      Balthazar_(Supernatural), Gordon_Walker, Crowley_(Supernatural),
      Bartholomew_(Supernatural), Alastair_(Supernatural)
  Additional Tags:
      Dark, Bullying, Triggers, Cutting, Self-Harm, Abuse, Rape/Non-con
      Elements, Rape_Recovery, Trust_Issues, Depression, Depressed_Castiel,
      Bully_Dean, Homophobia, Verbal_Humiliation, Public_Humiliation,
      Homophobic_Language, Suicidal_Thoughts, Suicidal_Castiel, Graphic_Rape/
      Non-Con, Suicide, Grief/Mourning
  Series:
      Part 1 of Full_Length_Fics
  Stats:
      Published: 2015-10-26 Completed: 2016-05-15 Chapters: 19/19 Words: 32415
****** Life Can Do Terrible Things ******
by DestielAddicted
Summary
     Dean Winchester doesn't know why he hates Castiel, or why he bullies
     him, all he knows is that the kid probably deserves it. What he
     doesn't know is that Castiel gets enough of it at home, and plus
     some.
***** Chapter 1 *****
Chapter Notes
     There was a comment left on my work that made me think. I hadn't
     realized that I never addressed the issue in a note before, so I'm
     doing so now. Just because I'm writing about situations like sexual
     abuse, bullying, self harm, depression, etc, it doesn't mean that I
     condone it or excuse it in any way. Abuse is abuse and when I do
     write my darker fics, I try to be as realistic in the character's
     reactions as I possibly can, including their tendency for forgiveness
     (or lack thereof). My stories are tagged properly and if some of the
     issues are triggers for anyone, please don't read on. I'm not here to
     bring on panic attacks or cause any emotional trauma, I'm here to
     write, and I find myself attracted to writing the darker parts of
     life. In this story, the character abused deals with grief in his own
     way, as many of us do, but no matter how one decides to deal with
     trauma does not invalidate them or what happened to them. I didn't
     write this as a political statement or to be a bad person, I wrote it
     because my 15 year old self thought up a plot and made it into a
     (mediocre) fanfiction. But I'm slightly wiser now and I'd like to
     explain the situation thouroughly. Heed the tags, please, and keep
     the idea that we all handle trauma differently, and this is Castiel's
     way (as interpreted by me in this au, at least).
     I'll be adding some hotline numbers to the beginning of each chapter,
     just in case. Of there's anything you find wrong (morally) with this
     fic, please let me know so I can resolve the issue. Thank you.
     Suicide hotline: 1-800-273-8255
     Sexual abuse hotline: 800-656-HOPE (4673)
See the end of the chapter for more notes
September
Castiel always sat alone during lunch. He almost never ate though, he would
just sit in the library, rereading a book he'd read about four hundred times
already. Only sometimes would he find a new book to read from the thousands on
the shelves, easily accessible. His favorite and most visited shelf was the
science fiction one. It was his go-to section and it's where he checked out
most of his books from.
He would always wait in agony for the bell to ring beforehand, signalling
lunch, then dart out of his classroom, straight to the library to avoid any
unneeded conflict. He would head straight to the library, keeping his head down
and muttering apologies to anyone he'd run into along the way. They usually
called him a name, even with his apology, or they'd shove him back, twice as
hard. He tried to ignore those people. He'd done it everyday for the past two
and a half years, so it was palpable to say he had gotten the hang of it by
now. 
Now though, in the safety of the library, because the people he hated didn't
show up here unless they were forced to. He sat in one of thd back tables of
the library, reading one of the books he picked off of the science fiction
shelf. He'd left his favorite book at home - the one with the cracked abused
spine, broken in half by how often it was open - and he'd rather not call his
father to drop it off, he'd rather not make his father angry. He could just do
with a different book. It would only be for today anyways, then he'd be sure to
never forget it again, hopefully.
He didn't like to eat at lunch, ironically. He didn't like what the school
served, because to be honest, it was the stereotypical 'is this chili or did
they just find it in a pig trough' looking food. He steered clear of it unless
he was particularly hungry and just forgot to pack something. He didn't like
eating in front of people too often, it felt weird, like everyone was staring
at him - as if anyone would actually waste their time watching Castiel eat. It
was a stupid thought for him to have, but thanks to his anxiety, no lunch for
him.
The bell rang all too soon - it usually did whenever Castiel was just beginning
to feel happy and content - and Castiel let out a small groan. He closed his
book and set it back on the shelf, right by the other works of the same author.
Standing up and patting down his pants of imaginary wrinkles, he slung his
backpack over his shoulder and pushed his other arm through the opposite strap.
He waved a quick goodbye to the librarian, who offered a kind smile, the corner
of her eyes wrinkling up behind her glasses, and left.
He hated the school halls, so much.
People that Castiel hated, and that hated Castiel in turn, dominated the
already overcrowded hallways. The jocks shoved and pushed each other, some
clinging to their girlfriends waists and kissing them on the cheek, some just
hanging around with nothing better to do. The brightly colored hair teenagers
who wore all black and had rings and sticks and such pierced through their
nostrils or lips laughed and slung their arms around each other, walking to
their respective classes. The boys wearing glasses and Star Wars T-shirts
argued about something having to do with Star Trek, Castiel wasn't sure, he'd
learned to tune most people out a long time ago. But it was hard to tune them
all out at once. Should he ignore the football players today? Or maybe the Star
Wars/Trek obsessed boys - and girl?
...
He walked into his Algebra class in just under a minute before the bell rung.
Usually he got there sooner, but the group of boys in front of his locker
prevented him from getting his book, and Castiel wasn't about to interrupt
their oh-so important conversation about Lucas' new haircut or Jake's weight
lifting record. Lucas just got his hair bleached and trimmed, and Jake couldn't
bench press more than Dylan, he'd learned. He waited for at least a good four
and a half minutes for them to disperse, so he got the opportunity to hear a
few things.
Sitting down in his seat near the front of the classroom, he unzipped his
backpack and took out his red pen. Today was an easy day, they were just
grading tests. The teacher walked around and stopped in front of Castiel,
setting down a stack of papers before moving on to the next row. He took one at
random and passed the rest back. He picked up his pen and popped the cap off of
it, looking down at the name on the test.
Dean Winchester
Just his luck.
The teacher went over each problem thoroughly, explaining the amount of points
to give based on what the person put, and how to correct it. Castiel had a mini
victory in his mind as he graded Dean's test, because if he couldn't be
stronger than Dean, he sure could be smarter than him. Pretty much the whole
time he graded the other boy's test, he was biting his lip to hold back his
snickers. Only Dean could manage to get a nineteen percent on one of the
easiest tests they'd taken all year, and he wasn't even in honors like Castiel
was. Castiel pictured himself laughing at Dean to the boy's face, chastising
him and telling him how bizarre it was that he managed to make it to the
eleventh grade. Of course, these things would just remain in his head, he'd
never have the courage to actually act on them. He rather enjoyed not having
his ribs broken.
"Make sure you put corrected by at the bottom, then pass it up." The teacher
instructed after everyone was done grading.
Castiel had a mini heart attack then. Dean's paper was covered in red marks and
corrections, and if he knew Castiel had graded it, he'd surely beat the ever
living shit out of him. Castiel was aware of the person sitting behind him
nudging him with the papers and swallowed thickly, quickly writing his name at
the bottom of Dean's paper before anyone could get annoyed. The teacher took it
as he walked across the front of the room, along with the rest of the row's.
Good thing Dean wasn't getting his test back until Friday, that way maybe
Castiel could make it out of a beating and by Monday, Dean will have forgotten
about it completely. Right?
...
Castiel walked home, since his father was at work. He didn't have any other way
to get home, he lived too close to the school to be bussed, his brother was
somewhere in Colorado at some generic community college, and his mother was off
somewhere on the West coast. It was just him and his father these days, his
mother, Naomi, had left when he was younger, but his father had never told him
why, and she hadn't tried to contact him. He blamed himself seen it first
happened, but his father assured him that it wasn't his fault. He had said that
he was still their perfect angel and they'd both always love him.
He shuddered and shook the words from his mind. He had come to hate being
called that, it was ruined for him.
Bartholomew always claimed that Castiel wouldn't understand why she left. He
claimed it was a grown up thing, but even now that Castiel was seventeen -
barely seventeen, but still seventeen - and basically an adult, considering he
was more mature than most adults he knew, Bartholomew still wouldn't tell him.
It wasn't fair. He deserved to know if his mother hated him too. Gabriel, his
older brother, didn't even know. He never got to find out, not that he cared
really. Naomi was always disapproving of his choices. When he dyed his hair
pink during his phase in ninth grade, she sprayed him with the hose and
wouldn't let him come inside until all of it was out. She wasn't his favorite
person.
Castiel used to call Gabriel each day when the older Novak first left for
college four years ago. But, as the years went by, Gabriel had more and more
important things to do, whether it be hanging out with his girlfriend Kali or
do anything but study for his tests, the less they talked. They'd become
strangers before Castiel went into the tenth grade and he's gotten maybe two or
three texts since then. He didn't blame Gabriel though, he had a life, and he
didn't need to be dragged down by Castiel. Castiel accepted that he was left
alone with just his father.
Once Castiel was home, he unlocked his door and stepped inside. Bartholomew
worked until at least nine tonight so Castiel had until then to finish his
homework and chores. He got to work on them immediately, cleaning the bathrooms
in the house and straightening up the living rooms. When he was finished, he
grabbed and apple and headed up to his room, where he finished his homework -
which took him a good two hours and probably made him pull out about a third of
his hair - and afterwards, relaxed. He laid back on his bed, closing his eyes
and sighing. He must have fallen asleep because when he woke up, his father was
shaking him slightly and telling him to change into his pajamas. Castiel
obeyed, sitting up and checking the time on his phone, Bartholomew must have
just gotten home. He changed into his cotton-soft pants, trying to ignore the
fact that his father was watching, and laid back on his bed.
"Goodnight Castiel."
"Goodnight Dad."
Bartholomew clicked his tongue a few times.
"What did I say to call me when we're alone?"
There was a pause and Castiel looked at where his father stood, lingering in
the doorway.
"Good-goodnight...Daddy." He said, not meeting the man's eyes.
Bartholomew smiled and left the room, shutting the door behind him.
Chapter End Notes
     my_tumblr
***** Chapter 2 *****
Chapter Notes
     Suicide hotline: 1-800-273-8255
     Sexual abuse hotline: 800-656-HOPE (4673)
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Thursday was a good day. He had only been pushed into the lockers twice and a
teacher even caught Alastair, one of Dean's friends, right as he was about to
hit Castiel. The other boy left with a grumble and a glare when the teacher
ordered him to get to class, and Castiel adverted his eyes. He saw Dean a
couple of times in the halls during the day, but Dean didn't bother him. He
thought that was because of two reasons. Either Dean was bored of messing with
Castiel - which, oddly enough, made Castiel feel a twinge of sadness - or the
blonde boy was too busy with his own life and friends to take time to torture
Castiel. Whichever the reason, Castiel was happy, relieved, and bruise free by
the end of the day. He'd gotten home safely and was now eating dinner, mentally
preparing himself for the weekend. Thursday was a good day.
He was dreading the upcoming weekend though. A whole two days alone at home
with just his father scared him - no, it downright terrified him. It always
did. The same thoughts ran through his mind at the end of each week, but most
days, he tried to stay positive. Because summer was over and now Bartholomew
only had limited access to Castiel, and Castiel couldn't be happier. How he
managed to stay positive in his situation was beyond him.
He bounced his leg nervously under the dinner table as he sat, fork in his
hand. His father sat across from him, focusing more on his food than Castiel,
thankfully. They sat in silence as they ate, as usual. Bartholomew would
occasionally make small talk, such as asking Castiel how his day went or go on
about his own day. Castiel nodded along, pretending to listen. It was hard to
even just listen to Bartholomew's voice, it sent chills down Castiel's spine
whenever the man would lower his voice or ask Castiel a question, raising an
eyebrow quizzically at him. Castiel had learned to answer quickly and
eloquently.
"How is school going?" Bartholomew asked suddenly, startling Castiel out of his
thoughts.
Castiel put on a convincing smile that didn't reach his eyes and shrugged.
"Well, I suppose."
Bartholomew nodded solemnly, looking back down at his plate and continuing on
with his meal.
"I..." He cleared his throat to make sure his voice wouldn't waver. "I got a
ninety-three on...on my Algebra test." Castiel spoke up after a while, easing
the silent tension.
Bartholomew looked up again and smiled, a smile that showed pride in the boy,
as if he was a show dog of some sort.
"That's good Castiel, keep that up and Princeton will certainly accept you, if
they don't, I'll have to have a talk with them." he praised.
They continued on with their meal in silence. Unnerving silence.
...
"You've gotta be shitting me." Alastair chuckled breathlessly, shoving Dean's
shoulder.
Dean laughed along with his friend, taking a drag of the shared blunt between
his index and middle finger and coughing slightly. He was still fairly new to
smoking weed, but he liked it, it helped ease his nerves when nothing else
could. It helped him forget about John, about his crap grades, about the fact
that he fucking hated Alastair. At this point, the only reason he still hung
out with the other boy is because they have all the same friends, and also
maybe because he has some damn good weed. Dean wouldn't know the first place to
get drugs in this town.
"Don't hog it now, c'mon." Gordon said, snatching the small, white, twirled
paper from Dean's hand.
"Are you sure you didn't get an STD? I heard Talbot's a slut."
"Well, last time I checked, my dick is disease free." Dean said, shrugging.
"You free to check it n' see for yourself." He laughed, the others joining in,
except for Alastair.
Alastair shoved him and rolled his eyes, making a disgusted face.
"Don't go fag on us now, Alastair." Crowley added, blowing smoke into the
frustrated boy's face.
"Fuck you."
"I'm sure you would."
Dean stood up just as Alastair did. Alastair shoved Crowley and the heavier set
boy stumbled back a few inches, but kept his balance. Dean put a hand on
Alastair's chest to stop him as he lunged again at a smirking Crowley, his face
red with either embarrassment or anger, or both. He huffed and grabbed the
joint, looking out at the road as he drew in a breath of it, then handed it to
Dean and sat back down. Dean sat next to him and silence took over for a few
seconds.
"Speaking of fags, you guys see Novak crying the other day?" Gordon asked,
breaking the silence.
Dean scoffed and nodded.
"God, the dude can't take a joke." He said, shaking his head in disbelief.
"I'm not sure if calling him a 'cocksucking assfucker' is a joke." Crowley
said, looking at Dean with one eyebrow raised.
"It is, because there's no way he's the one doing the fucking. He probably
takes it up the ass." Dean said bitterly.
As if Novak could even figure out how to fuck someone, he's probably never even
seen a dick other than his own, let alone a vagina.
"The blunt's dead." Gordon said as he tossed it on the ground and stepped on
it.
"Oh yeah, Novak takes it hardcore for sure. Remember that day last semester
when he was limping?" Alastair joked, shoving his hands in his pockets.
Dean groaned in disgust. Castiel would be the bitch in a relationship, it's a
fitting role for him since he's so submissive. All he ever does is whine and
whimper when Dean and the others corner him. He doesn't fight back, he doesn't
tell anyone what happened the next day when he shows up with bruises. He's just
a little bitch who takes everything Dean and the others give him.
Pathetic.
Dean remembers that day, it was the day after one of the times just Dean and
Alastair had gotten to the raven-haired boy. They beat him pretty bad, but they
didn't fuck with his legs or anything that would have made him limp. Dean
pushed him down and Alastair kicked his stomach. At some point, Dean heard a
crack and Castiel was suddenly clutching his side. He stopped Alastair just
when he was about to kick him again, explaining that if they got pinned for
Castiel's broken ribs, they'd go to jail. Alastair was easy to trick. It's not
like Dean cared what happened to Castiel or anything, he just didn't need some
little snitch ratting him out and getting him a criminal record.
He definitely didn't feel a twinge of guilt when he and Alastair were walking
away, leaving Castiel whimpering and panting on the ground. He definitely
didn't feel a twinge of guilt when he glanced back and saw Castiel struggling
to get up, clutching his shirt where Alastair kicked him and balancing himself
on one shaky arm.
Well, maybe just a twinge.
...
Water poured down on Castiel's back as he stood in the shower. Every couple of
seconds, he let his anxiety get the best of him and looked at the door, making
sure the handle was still locked. He returned to his shower after checking for
the tenth time in the past six minutes, taking a deep breath and closing his
eyes. He wrapped his arms around himself, hot water calming him down and
effectively soothing his mind. Considering he was alone most of the time here,
Castiel considered this his second safest place to be, the first being in his
mind, barely.
Most days, his mind was filled with memories of Dean's boot coming down onto
his stomach over and over again, or feelings of worthlessness and hopelessness,
or thoughts of what death offered him if he had the courage to actually kill
himself.
Some days though, he could simply tune everything out and listen to soft, calm
music in his head. He did this slot, whenever he wasn't doing anything else, he
was thinking. He was thinking about how he would off himself, if he ever got
the chance or courage to. His predicted way was that he'd go down painlessly,
because even seconds before his death, he'd be a wuss.
Castiel took a deep breath and opened his eyes, looking at the wall for a
moment before pressing his back against it and sliding down the length of it
until he was seated on the ground, water still pelting down on him. He rested
his chin on the tops of his knees, arms wrapped around his legs, hugging them
close to his chest. He closed his eyes again and let put a shuddering breath,
mind drifting off to his soft music.
Chapter End Notes
     my_tumblr
***** Chapter 3 *****
Chapter Notes
     Suicide hotline: 1-800-273-8255
     Sexual abuse hotline: 800-656-HOPE (4673)
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Sometime in the afternoon on the following Saturday, Castiel dropped a plate
while he was doing the dishes. He was washing the plates and cups and placing
them into their respective places on the rack in the dishwasher when one
slipped out of his hands and landed centimeters from his foot. He flinched, but
quickly glanced to the doorway. He had to clean it up. It wasn't a particularly
expensive plate, nothing that couldn't be replaced, but it set off
Bartholomew's rage nonetheless.
Castiel desperately tried to sweep up the shards of broken glass before his
father came downstairs, clinging onto to some hope that Bartholomew hadn't
heard the sound of it shattering. He didn't have very much hope, since it was
probably impossible to not hear it. He grabbed the broom by the fridge and
quickly sweeped the shards into the dust pan. His hand shook as he picked up
the small plastic pan and dumped the shards into the trash can, pushing some of
the other trash on top of it to hide the evidence. When he turned around to
look at the doorway, his father was standing in there, staring at Castiel.
"Did you drop a plate, Castiel?" he asked, his voice surprisingly, and
unnervingly, calm.
Castiel didn't like to lie, it just made his punishment worse.
"I...y-yes, I did. I...I cleaned it-" he started, motioning to the trash can,
his eyes wide with fear and throat tight as he swallowed the growing lump.
"But you dropped it?" Bartholomew interrupted, his voice more stern than
before.
He moved away from the doorway, slowly making his way towards Castiel, taking
short strides as he walked. Castiel would have moved, but he knew nothing good
came out of resistance. Bartholomew would just make his punishment worse for
him if he resisted. Bartholomew would make his punishment worse for any reason
at all, if he saw fit. Sometimes, just for the Hell of it, he'd worsen
Castiel's punishment anyways.
So he stood frozen in one spot, trembling when Bartholomew was close enough
that he could see the underlying anger in the man's eyes. The man gripped
Castiel's chin, squishing his cheeks and wrenching his head so he was forced to
meet his eyes. Castiel whimpered quietly, but swallowed it down to seem less
scared than he really was.
"Did. You. Break. That. Plate?" He asked slowly, clenching his jaw, clearly out
of patience for Castiel.
"Y-yes, I...I did. I'm...I-I'm sorry." Castiel said, his voice barely audible,
even to his own ears.
He could feel Bartholomew's breath on his face, the angle the man had his head
tilted at just in the line of his nose, from where he was breathing deeply. He
was obviously annoyed. He nodded and flickered his eyes over Castiel's face,
gaze lingering on the tears already forming in the boy's light blue eyes,
stinging his eyes and beginning to blur his vision. Castiel shivered,
swallowing a dry lump in his throat as his father inspected him. He braced
himself for the impact before it even came, but he still yelped in pain when it
did.
His jaw was released, but he wasn't allowed any time to recover from it before
Bartholomew's hand came down across his cheek. His head whipped to the side
from the force of the abuse and and brought his hand up to cover it. In a
matter of seconds, he felt a hand tangle in his hair, gripping a good patch of
it and yanking it to the side. He was forced to look into the older man's eyes,
which were dark and narrowed down at the younger boy. They stood silently for a
moment, but it seemed like an eternity to Castiel. His cheek throbbed, he felt
tears run down his cheeks from the slap, and he was trembling in fear.
"How are you going to pay for that? Hm?" Bartholomew asked finally, breaking
the silence. "Tell me exactly how."
Castiel knew from the connotations from Bartholomew's voice what he meant, and
Castiel sniffled. He blinked back the tears clouding his vision, looking away
in shame. He knew what came next. He didn't like it, but he didn't really have
a choice in it. The grip in his hair tightened and  made him speak finally, his
voice breaking.
"A-anything..."
Bartholomew glared still, and Castiel knew why.
"Any...anything, Daddy."
Without another word, or even a smile, Bartholomew grabbed Castiel's upper arm
and dragged him away from the kitchen, up the stairs, and down the longest hall
to his bedroom. He opened the doors and flung Castiel inside, closing and
locking them behind him. Castiel stumbled but managed to stay on his feet,
swallowing thickly and wiping his wet cheeks with the back of his hands. He
looked at his father and wiped his nose. Bartholomew gave his son a look, and
Castiel was nodding, unbuttoning his shirt. He undressed completely, staring at
the ground instead of meeting his father's eyes.
"I want you on your stomach." Bartholomew said simply, and Castiel obeyed.
Castiel wiped his eyes again before climbing on the large bed and laying on his
stomach, closing his eyes and letting his head fall on the mattress, the right
side of  his face against the sheets. He heard rustling after a moment, and
then the bed dipped behind him.
...
Dean laid in his bed in his room. He could hear his father crying one room over
and rolled his eyes. His father usually went through three stages when he was
drunk; confusion, anger, and sadness. On some special occasions, he was just
angry the whole time. It really didn't matter though, no matter what kind of
drunk he was, he was an asshole. He'd throw empty - sometimes full - beer
bottles at Dean and call him worthless, shove him and threaten him. He was a
shit parent, and it was apparently Dean's fault. So almost every night, while
his father got drunk, he'd play board games with Sam with the door locked. And
if his father did manage to get past the door, Dean step in front of Sam to
take whatever John had to dish out. Like Hell was he going to play a hand on
Sam.
"Dean?" Sam asked one night as they were playing YouTube videos on Dean's
phone.
"Yeah Sammy?"
"We're not the only ones right?" 
Dean furrowed his eyebrows and sat up from the bed, watching as Sam did the
same, setting the phone aside, video paused.
"What're you talkin' about?" he asked the younger boy, moving to sit across
from Sam.
Sam looked down and pulled at a lose thread on his pant leg, sighing through
his nostrils.
"Sometimes, I think about Dad, and how he is. Were not the only ones, are we?
Other people have this problem too, right?" Sam asked.
Dean hadn't thought about that before. He usually only ever thought
about his dad, and how much of an asshole he was. He knew that people all
around the world had to go through the same thing, if not worse. He knew some
people had both parents, who were both abusive, and he felt bad for them,
because he couldn't imagine Mary ever laying a hand on dither one of them, if
she were still alive.
"Uh yeah, I mean, it happens all around the world." Dean said, shrugging before
flopping back down onto his bed.
He started to think about the people at school, the people like Crowley, who's
dad left when he was young. People like that weird redheaded girl Charlie, who
he didn't know but he's never actually seen her dad around before, he hasn't
seen her mother either. People like Castiel, who probably have a perfect
life. Castiel probably has a mom and a dad. Hell, his dad is rich as fuck and
has been since old man Novak died a few years back. They live in a big house,
it isn't a mansion but it isn't a shack like Dean has. Castiel's probably a
spoiled brat, he deserves all the shit he gets. After all, he could hire a
personal body guard if he wanted but the dude's such a pussy he's too afraid to
tell anyone about Dean or the others in his group of friends.
Thinking about Castiel Novak and his perfect life made Dean angry, so he
decided that he'd teach Castiel a lesson on Monday.
Chapter End Notes
     my_tumblr
***** Chapter 4 *****
Chapter Notes
     Suicide hotline: 1-800-273-8255
     Sexual abuse hotline: 800-656-HOPE (4673)
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Castiel walked into school on Monday with new fingerprint shaped bruises on his
thighs and hipbones.
Clips and memories of the events that occurred on Saturday - and part of Sunday
since Bartholomew's football team had lost - flashed through his mind as he
headed towards his French class, cleverly choosing to avoid the area where he
knew Dean's friends would be hanging out, when they weren't behind the school
getting high. He sat down in his desk, resting his arms on his desk and letting
out a soft sigh. His behind and thighs were sore, Bartholomew wasn't merciful
like usual, he was angry, he was rarely angry. Whenever he took Castiel, it was
because he needed to relieve some stress or because he was drunk. He was only
rough when he was angry really.
Castiel had come to terms with the fact that it was his fault after Bartholomew
had been inside of him for at least an hour before he came and flung Castiel
out into the hall, slamming the door. It was his fault, it had to have been. He
dropped a plate, he made a mess and even though he cleaned it up, he should
have known better, he should have been more careful. He had time to think about
his actions while Bartholomew pinned him down onto the bed, shoving his face
into the mattress and ignoring his whimpers and cries of pain. It was his fault
for being ignorant and secretive.
On Sunday, it must have been his fault too. He was sitting in his room,
finishing up his weekend homework, when he heard his father shout from
downstairs. In a matter of seconds, Bartholomew swung his bedroom door open and
grabbed Castiel, taking him haphazardly against the wall, covering Castiel's
mouth to silence him. Afterwards, he left with a grumble back downstairs, not
bothering to close Castiel's door or even chance a glance back as the crying
boy hauled himself up from where he'd slumped helplessly to the floor.
He tried to push the thoughts, the memories, and the phantom pains away, but
they just kept creeping into his mind and torturing him. Bartholomew's hands on
him, whispering he deserved it, that he's worthless, that this is the only way
anyone would ever want him. Every insult there was to think up, Bartholomew
used to his advantage. That combined with the barely there lubricant - which
was merely Bartholomew's saliva soaked and impatient fingers - had him crying
silently, only bothering to wipe his eyes when tears blurred his vision. He
closed his door quietly and clicked the lock, bundling himself up in his
pajamas and sitting on the floor by his bed.
He stopped crying eventually.
Once he just couldn't physically cry anymore, he hugged his knees to his chest
and stared at the wall. He rested his chin on his knee caps and stared at the
white painted wall. His eyes stung from rubbing them so much and he had to
sniffle every so often to keep the snot in his nose, every ten seconds, it
seemed. Last night, like any other night, he'd hurt himself. He wanted to feel
something other than dread or worthlessness, he wanted to feel pain, but not in
the same way he felt it when Bartholomew used him. He wanted to feel adrenaline
rush through his veins at the touch of a burning hot hair clip on his arm or
the pinch of a blade. Which though, he couldn't choose. So he used both.
He snapped out of his thoughts when he heard the bell ring, and kids started
filing into the classroom. He scratched absentmindedly at his sleeve.
...
The library was closed during lunch, so he couldn't have the solitude he really
needed today, after a quite stressful weekend. He ended up finding a nice, cozy
spot underneath the stairs, away from the people standing and whooping and
laughing. How he despised them, they were all so happy and normal and carefree,
unlike himself. He sat down and kept his backpack on his lap, glancing around
nervously every so often. What was he afraid of? Dean and his friends wouldn't
get physical in the middle of the cafeteria, not while any of the staff could
easily see any commotion and easily send him straight to the principal's
office.
Of course, he couldn't avoid Dean forever. Friday, he got lucky enough to
escape the group of boy's and make it home without any bruises to hide. He
thought about this day over the weekend whenever he wasn't going anything else.
He worried himself so much to the point where he'd thrown up into the toilet.
His father tried to convince him to stay home, but Castiel would rather attempt
an escape from the group than stay at home with his father all day. Today, he
didn't have much hope in the same event happening, his life wasn't that good.
He couldn't help but look up when a pair of shoes stopped in front of him, a
pair of black Vans, laced up tightly. He lifted his gaze slowly, sighing in
relief when he saw Kevin Tran, and not Dean. Kevin was in his math class, and
one of the few people that Castiel didn't dislike.
"Uh, hey." Kevin spoke, scratching the back of his neck.
The boy's hair was a mess, his eyes tired looking like he'd been up all night.
"H-hello." Castiel replied, swallowing thickly.
Why was he nervous? Kevin was nice, Kevin had bullies, just like Castiel. This
had been the first time he had said a word to the dark-skinned boy and he
stuttered like an idiot.
"You looked...kinda lonely. Want some company?" 
Castiel couldn't help the corners of his mouth tugging upwards into a small
smile as he nodded. His suspicions of this being some sort of trick - which he
chastised himself for thinking, honestly Castiel, Kevin was a good guy, not
Dean - we're shot down almost as soon as they arose as Kevin took a seat beside
him. He heard scandalous sounding whispers from a few feet away, a few girls
whispered something about how Kevin had just commuted social suicide by sitting
with Castiel. He suddenly felt bad for the boy, he was just going to ruin his
life, just like he did everyone else's. He turned and was about to make some
excuse about his he forgot to turn something in and had to leave immediately,
when Kevin offered him a cookie.
The cookie looked lumpy and not at all like a cookie, but Castiel took it
anyways, giving Kevin a weird look.
"My mom's on this weird organic food only diet or whatever and she's trying to
impose it on me, it's not that bad tasting, but I'd rather have this bag of
Dorito's honestly." He explained.
Castiel took a bite of the cookie and shrugged, he was right. It wasn't that
bad.
"I've never seen you out here before, do you usually have first lunch?" Kevin
asked, taking a quick drink of water from his container, then screwing the lid
back on.
"Yes, I...I usually eat in um, in the library. It's...closed today."
Kevin nodded in understanding and smiled slightly at Castiel, jumping slightly
out of nowhere and setting his water down, as if he was just realizing the fact
that he'd never properly introduced himself.
"I'm Kevin Tran, by the way, sorry." he chuckled nervously, holding out his
hand.
Castiel took Kevin's hand in his own hesitantly, shaking it and meeting the
boy's dark brown eyes.
"I'm Castiel Novak."
"Like the angel?" Kevin asked, tilting his head.
Castiel's mother had an obsession with religion, and she went as far as to name
her three sons after angels. Castiel had always hated his name, he felt like it
was a personal insult. Michael and Gabriel were both named after archangels,
and Castiel's as just...Cassiel revised. It just proved that he was the lesser
important of the three, but he already knew that.
"Yes, my mother was very interested in religion and the archangels and such."
he said, offering Kevin a chip, which he took gratefully.
Just like that, the sun shone on Castiel's life in a single ray, like a gift
from God Himself. Kevin was a gift.
...
Castiel really didn't want to walk home today. He didn't want to go home to a
50/50 chance of an angry father - even though his father apologized to him this
morning for being so rough - and he definitely didn't want to run into Dean or
his friends, but he also didn't want to be alone for the next twenty minutes.
"Y'know, I might have gotten a nineteen on my math test, but I'm not stupid
enough to walk home, unprotected, unlike you." a voice behind him laughed with
amusement, a voice he couldn't forget if he tried.
"Too bad you're too stupid to get a ride home." Dean said, his hand on
Castiel's shoulder, gripping the fabric of his sweater tightly.
He spun Castiel around and smirked down at the wide-eyed boy, the brilliant
blue of his eyes flooding into Dean's vision like a river. He wasn't into him,
but Castiel had some of the nicest eyes he'd ever seen. They were like shining
sapphires, compared to his own dull, green ones. Castiel didn't find Dean's
dull though. To nothing of either boy's knowledge, they both had an equal love
for the other's eyes, but neither of them ever admitted it, nor ever would.
"I-I...I uh...h-have t-t-to g-"
"T-t-t-t-t-today junior!" Dean taunted, mocking Castiel's stutter.
Castiel stared at him dumbly for a moment, lips parted and cheeks flushed in
embarrassment at the outright teasing. Dean raised his eyebrows, waiting for
some sort of response, but found no sign of recognition in the searching blue
eyes. Had this kid never seen a movie in his life?
"Adam Sandler?...Billy Madison? What, ever heard of this thing called comedy?"
he asked, rolling his eyes in frustration.
Castiel looked away in embarrassment, glancing over Dean's shoulder to see that
his usual monkeys weren't trailing him and honing in on the torment. But want
exactly did that mean? Did Dean have something planned? Was he going to kill
him? Castiel let his mind race and he started to tremble. Was Dean possible of
murder? He was certainly possibly or torture, so what's murder to him, just a
step farther? An 'accidental' blow to the head?
"Hey, I asked you a question smartass. Answer, y'know, like you always do in
class." Dean's voice snapped, pushing Castiel's shoulder slightly, looking for
some sort of reaction.
Castiel just needed to buy himself some time, some time to think of a better
plan than running, because he knew damn well he couldn't outrun Dean
Winchester. No one could. There was a reason he was the best quarterback in the
district.
"Wh-where's y-your...your group?" he managed to say without too much pausing.
Dean narrowed his eyes slightly down at Castiel.
"Decided to have you to myself today, why? Oh, oh sorry sweetheart, my friends
and I ain't into orgies." Dean chuckled bitterly, cracking his knuckles, they
made a popping sound that made Castiel jump and tremble in fear.
So he couldn't run, he couldn't fight, he couldn't fake a fainting spell
because honestly, Dean wouldn't just kick him while he's down, figuratively and
literally. What he could do was talk to him, or try to, up until Dean got fed
up with him and started throwing punches. Talking seemed good, it would at
least give him time to think of something else. He was smart, he could think of
something else.
"Wh-why? Why m-me?"
He knew the question was stupid. He knew it was a cliche thing to ask right
before getting the crap beat out of him. It's what all the victims asked in the
movies right before they were killed. But by the look on Dean's face, the one
that showed that he was thinking, it would do for now. Dean just looked stunned
for a minute, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion and he parted his lips to
speak, but closed them again. Castiel waited anxiously for an answer, hoping
the question wouldn't just be ignored in favor of violence.
"Because," Dean grabbed Castiel's collar and shoved him up against a tree,
making him drop his phone and book. "Because I can, because you're a little
pussy ass bitch who doesn't fight back, because it's probably the highlight of
your month honestly, take your pick. But most of all, because it's
so...much...fun."
Dean smirked at him.
"It's fun 'cause I get to hear you beg, like a bitch. I get to hear you beg me
to stop. 'P-p-please d-don't, don't h-hurt me Dean! I-I'm sorry, l-leave me
alone!'" Dean mocked, chuckling darkly. "God, you are so fucking pathetic."
Even though Castiel knew what Dean was saying wasn't a lie, it still hurt to
hear it.
"See this? This is why no one likes you, not me, not anyone at school, fuck, I
bet your parents hate you too." Dean taunted, removing his hands from Castiel's
collar and stepping back slightly.
Castiel felt tears sting behind his eyes and he sniffled, hearing Dean laugh
from in front of him.
"Yeah, go on and cry, faggot." Dean spat.
Before Castiel knew what was happening, Dean had landed a blow across his face
that had him stumbling to the side. He tripped over his own feet and whimpered
as he hit the ground.
"S'that what you sound like when you get a cock up your ass?" Dean asked, his
words laced with venom, like Castiel was personally offending him just by
breathing.
Dean imitated the whimper and went to kick Castiel's gut, but stopped short.
Seeing the boy flinch was just as good. He looked at the now crying boy on the
ground and and shook his head, spitting before he turned and walked off. That
felt good, it felt good to get his anger out. Castiel deserved it anyways, if
he was smart, he would have taken the bus home or something. He was asking to
get beaten.
Dean walked off to the parking lot, hearing his phone ringing just as he got
into the Impala.
"Hey Sammy...yeah I'm comin' right now, I just had to set somethin' straight.
Yeah, on my way." He said into he phone before hanging up and starting the car.
He drove past where he saw Castiel gathering his things and standing up,
laughing as he threw a half full McDonald's soda from the window. It hit
Castiel's shoulder and basically exploded, soaking his expensive looking
clothing.
Stupid fucking rich kid could just buy more anyways, then get on with his
perfect, white picket fence life. Asshole.
Chapter End Notes
     my_tumblr
***** Chapter 5 *****
Chapter Notes
     Warning: graphic self-harm, homophobic slurs, and humiliation. Read
     at your own risk.
     Suicide hotline: 1-800-273-8255
     Sexual abuse hotline: 800-656-HOPE (4673)
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Castiel felt his eyes prickle with tears as he walked - trudged, really - home
from where Dean had stopped him on his way home. He was sore and his shirt was
soaked with soda, the fabric starting to stick to his shoulder underneath. He
sniffled and wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, his chest quivering with
his ragged breathing. He wasn't crying because of the shirt, he had many more,
more than he knew what to do with. He was crying because, well, there wasn't
really one thing he could blame it on. It wasn't just Dean's treatment of him,
or just his father's treatment of him, or his overall horrible life.
There was that feeling again.
That feeling of dread and abandonment.
He didn't know what he preferred anymore, being alone and away from his father,
or having someone - anyone, really - with him, caring for him, even if it was
in his father's twisted way. He wiped a falling tear from his cheek as he
opened the door to his house, slamming it behind him and hearing the foundation
shake the slightest bit. He dropped his backpack and headed upstairs, ignoring
the calls from his father's housekeeper, her shouts in Portuguese lost in
translation as he locked himself in his room. He heard her grumble and
eventually just give up and probably continue cleaning.
He doesn't need sympathy.
He pulled his sticky sweater off and tossed it at the wall, sniffling and
blinking away the tears pooling in his eyes. He took in a shaky breath, looking
down at his bare chest and arms, shivering at the sight of the marks littering
his inner forearms. There were somewhat healed over, white burn marks. They
were in varying shapes, from a circular shape, the back of a spoon, to a spare
hair clip he'd found lying around. Among the burns were also horizontal cuts,
some white and healed over like the burns, some fresh and red and irritated. He
ran his thumb over them and sniffled.
He scrambled over his bed to sit on the floor by his bedside nightstand, back
pressed to the frame of his bed. He opened the drawer and peered inside,
pulling out the lighter and hair clip. The metal part of the hair clip was
black from being heated up so many time. He flicked the lighter to life and
watched the small fire tremble for a moment before he held the clip over it,
his hand shaking. He hissed when he pressed the metal to his arm, over one of
the previously healed marks. He looked away and screwed his eyes shut as his
skin burned. When he pulled it away, he looked down.
At first, there was nothing. Then, gradually, the skin started to blister up
and fade into a pinkish color. His arm trembled violently as he looked down at
the mark. He shoved the clip and lighter back into his bedside drawer and
slammed it closed. One tear slipped from his eyes and slid down is cheek, then
another, then another. Soon enough, he was trembling and crying into his hands.
It was just another day at the Novak house.
...
Dean waited for Castiel the next day, leaning against the boy's locker and
smirking, his arms crossed. He'd had so much fun yesterday, putting Castiel in
his place. He'd thought he'd make the little queer cry again today, since it
really wasn't that hard. He looked around every couple of minutes, looking for
Castiel. Dean's searching green eyes soon landed on a mop of black hair in a
stupid blue, expensive looking sweater. He'd have to ruin that one too, he
reminded himself. Castiel could just buy another one anyways.
"Tell me you watched Billy Madison." he said as Castiel came closer, noticing
how terrified the boy looked.
Castiel shook his head timidly, keeping his eyes cast downward. Dean groaned
and rolled his eyes, pushing himself away from the lockers so Castiel could get
to his.
"Listen, I need your help."
Castiel looked at Dean warily, slowly opening his locker, careful to keep his
fingers away from the door, in case Dean decided to slam it closed.
"My gym locker won't open even though I put the fuckin' combo in. Open it for
me." Dean demanded, leaning his shoulder against the lockers and looking over
at Castiel.
Castiel nodded slightly, not meeting Dean's eyes and not saying anything. (Was
he mute all of a sudden now? Because it's not like Dean's ever made fun of his
voice, just his smile, and his laugh, and the way his eyes crinkled up when he
did either of the things, when he did do them rarely, Dean's teasing only aided
in suppressing those actions further). He slowly put his calculus book in his
locker, his hands trembling in fear. Why hadn't Dean tried anything yet? Was he
waiting? Where were the others?
"C'mon then Cas." Dean said, earning a bewildered look from those big, stupid,
blue eyes.
He'd never called him Cas to his face before. He'd only done it when he was
talking about him to his friends.
Dean had to admit, Castiel had some pretty eyes. Boys aren't pretty, not
usually anyways, but Castiel was admittedly pretty. With his big, blue, wide-
blown ninety percent of the time, innocent eyes, his disheveled dark brown
hair, his fucking chapped lips; like seriously, has this dude never heard of
ChapStick? Dean wasn't into guys, and he'd never admit it out loud, but if
Castiel was a girl, he would have fucked him (her?) the first chance he got.
Dean walked down the hall, pushing past people as Castiel followed behind him,
his arms crossed over his chest almost protectively. It was understandable. He
pushed open the doors to the locker room, which was strangly quiet and
deserted. He walked over to his locker, towards the end of the third row, and
stopped, yanking at his lock. He looked back at Castiel, who was watching him
with wary eyes.
"I...I need y-your combination." Castiel spoke quietly.
"Nineteen, twenty one, o'four." Dean said simply, stepping back to watch as
Castiel sat on the bench in front of his locker, his long, slender fingers
working the lock. 
Dean took a moment to admire Castiel's concentrated face, how he darted his
tongue out, breathed slowly through his nostrils and focused his pupils on the
numbers. Dean wet his lips gently before looking to his left, glancing at his
friend hiding behind the shower wall. He nodded slightly, and his friend -well,
not really friend, since it was Alastair - rose, along with three others. The
four boys slowly walked over, and poor Castiel didn't even have time to look up
before he was yanked up by his collar. Castiel yelped as he was thrown against
the lockers, his back colliding with the cold metal. His lip quivered as he
took in the sight - Dean, Alastair, Crowley, Gordon, and Zachariah - the usual
people he saw in his nightmares.
Was this a nightmare?
He pressed his thumb against his inner forearm, digging it into the burn mark.
It wasn't a nightmare.
"Undress him." Alistair said, pulling his backpack away from Castiel.
Fear, no, not fear, terror flashed across Castiel's face.
"Ain't like that sweetheart, even if one of us were queer, no one would want
your ass." Dean spoke bitterly.
Castiel glanced at Dean, the look of betrayal - and fear, obviously - in his
eyes. He kept his gaze locked with Dean until Gordon and Zach grabbed his arms,
yanking him away from the lockers. Crowley stepped forward and yanked the boy's
sweater apart, buttons tearing off of the fabric and clattering to the floor.
Castiel gasped and fought against the arms holding him, to the most extent
possible, for a noodle armed wimp like him. 
"Dean, get the dress." Alastair directed, pointing to his gym locker.
Dean rummaged through Alastair's locker before pulling out a long, pastel pink
prom dress. Castiel's eyes widened impossibly more at the sight of the dress,
shaking his head violently.
"Please, n-no." he begged, his voice panicked and weak.
Gordon and Zach released their grip on Castiel so Crowley could pull his
sweater off, which elicited loud protests from Castiel. It was only a sweater,
what was his deal? They hadn't even got it off yet and he was crying and
begging. At some point, Dean was going to get tired of Castiel's preemptive
begging.
"No, no, no, please!" he shouted, fighting as Crowley yanked the fabric off.
Dean's eyes went wide, along with Crowley's. Green eyes danced over the scars
and white burns on Castiel's forearm, some old, some new. One noticeably pink
mark, in the shape of a hair clip or something, was blistered and irritated.
There were horizontal cuts all over too, some overlapping. There were some
white, some red, just like with the burns. The locker room was silent.
"Are you guys seriously shocked?" Alastair asked, cocking an eyebrow and
scoffing.
Castiel winced and looked away when Alastair grabbed his arm and shook his arm
in the general direction of where Dean stood.
"Oh no! The stupid faggot cuts himself! That's new!" He exclaimed
sarcastically, shoving Castiel against the lockers.
Dena watched Castiel cradle his arm close and stare at the locker beside him.
Gordon and Zach both swallowed thickly and shifted, clearly uncomfortable now.
This was what Castiel feared, not just the fact that they'd found out, or even
that Alastair had teased him about it, but now he'd gone and made everyone
uncomfortable. He just couldn't help himself apparently.
"What? Just because this pussy hurts himself, we're not doing this anymore? I
thought you guys were cool, tough." Alastair said.
"I am." Gordon said, taking a deep breath.
Gordon walked closer to Castiel, and Dean caught the slightly apologetic look
that flashed over the boy's face as he aided Alastair in undressing him the
rest of the way. Zach joined in after a while too and they pulled the dress
over Castiel's head. He'd stop fighting once his sweater was off. Fighting
wouldn't help in any way.
"Who knew you'd actually get dick?" Gordon had said, out of the blue.
Dean looked at where everyone else's gaze was now focused, another part of
Castiel's body was bruised. His hips were littered in dark fingerprint shaped
bruises, some yellow, some purple. Castiel looked even more mortified and
embarrassed by these than he did the marks on his arms.
"Dean, Crowley, help us get him outside." Alastair ordered, looking back at the
two.
Crowley looked over at Dean, raising an eyebrow. Dean just stammered, looming
for an excuse maybe? An apology? But to who?
"I won't help if he's hurting himself, I won't be charged in aiding his
suicide." Crowley said coldly, but Dean saw the look of remorse in his eyes.
Crowley turned and walked out, leaving Dean to find his own way out of the
situation. Alastair scoffed and grabbed Castiel's arm, yanking him forward, the
dress swooshing at the movement.
"You gonna help? Or are you a pussy faggot too?"
Dean clenched his jaw and took a deep breath before slamming the doors open. He
watched as Alastair and the others dragged Castiel out, seeing the boy trip up
on the skirt of the dress a few times as they led him out to the front of the
school. They stopped in front of the flagpole.
"Pink's a good color on you Cas." Alastair purred mockingly, tossing the skirt
and watching it flail in the wind before settling again.
Castiel whimpered as Gordon and Zach slammed his back against the flagpole,
holding his arms so that he couldn't get away, even if he tried. Dean watched.
Castiel wasn't even fighting anymore, he'd given up. He was just letting
Alastair and the other do what they wanted. Dean found himself rooting for
Castiel all of a sudden, like he was the tragic hero in a movie about to be
killed by the villain, except Castiel wasn't going to break free and take them
down.
"Rope." Alistair demanded.
Zach opened his backpack and pulled out a thick rope, handing it to Alistair.
Dean followed behind them blindly, his hands in the pockets of his leather
jacket, watching the scene with a hard set jaw. Alistair tied the pliant boy to
the flagpole and stood back, admiring his work. Dean could hardly bear to look
at the sight. Castiel looked broken.
"Now you look like the fairy you are. Just...one more detail." Alastair mused,
smirking as he grabbed Zach's bag.
"Dude, isn't this enough? What else could you-" Dean started, stopping short
when Alistair pulled a large dildo from the bag.
"Alistair." Dean barked.
This was enough. Tying Castiel to a flagpole in a dress was enough, why did
they want to shove a fake dick down his throat too?
"What? He'll love it." Alistair shrugged, dropping the bag and advancing
towards the helpless boy.
Dean almost stepped forward and rammed the thing down Alastair's throat
instead, but stopped himself. He planted his feet firmly on the ground and
looked away, biting the inside of his cheek. What made him care? It had to have
been the guilt. He knew he was - part of - the reason for the scars on
Castiel's arms. That's probably why he felt the need to protect Castiel now, to
prevent anymore scars. But he couldn't. He couldn't lose his reputation, not
when he's worked so hard for it the past couple of years.
Castiel protested, but Alistair shoved the thing so far down Castiel's throat
that Dean was afraid he was gonna choke. Castiel coughed and sputtered, shaking
his head as he tried to spit the thing out, but was unsuccessful. Alistar
laughed alongside Gordon and Zach, each of them doubling over and laughing
their guts out. Dean felt sick.
"Perfect." Alistair mused in between laughs.
Dean looked at Castiel, who squeezed his eyes shut tightly, his cheeks flushed
red and lips stretched around the synthetic dick.  Dean saw the tears running
down Castiel's cheeks, his chest heaving as he cried. 
That was when Dean realized he was going to Hell.
Chapter End Notes
     my_tumblr
***** Chapter 6 *****
Chapter Notes
     Suicide hotline: 1-800-273-8255
     Sexual abuse hotline: 800-656-HOPE (4673)
See the end of the chapter for more notes
As if on cue, it started to rain.
Once the boys had left, laughing and walking to the doors of the school so they
could get to their classes, rain started to pour down like an unfortunate
coincidence. He shuddered when he remembered their laughter, their insults,
their cruelty. He had closed his eyes, so he didn't see the way Dean's
concerned green eyes lingered on him before he headed inside, his mind heavy
with guilt. Although, he was sure that if he had seen it, he would have just
hated Dean more, because whatever the look would mean to Dean, would always
mean pity to Castiel.
He didn't know what came over him, but he just stopped. He gave up. He ceased
the fighting and wriggling against the rope. He stopped trying to get free. He
just stopped caring altogether. He just stopped. He stood limp against the flag
pole, the only thing holding his body up on his numb legs being the rope tying
him to the cold metal. His head was hung low as droplets of rain soaked into
his hair, dripping from the tip of his nose and the ends of the dark hair. He
was shivering, goosebumps having rise to and remained on his skin.
He didn't know what was worse. Was it the pastel pink dress he was currently
dressed in? Was it the toy shoved in his mouth, blocking that option of
breathing so he had to do so through his nostrils? Was it the fact that he
couldn't feel his fingers in the cold? Was it the fact that this was still
better than going home?
"Castiel!" he heard someone shout.
Castiel turned his head, too cold and weak to actually lift it up, no matter
how much his neck was hurting. He felt his cheeks heat up significantly,
feeling like they were burning in contrast to the cold ran and wind numbing his
face. He didn't want anyone to see him like this. It wasn't as if he had a
choice though.
Thank God for Kevin Tran.
Kevin was running over, hoodie cast over his head to protect his hair from the
rain. Castiel envied him, and his hoodie, it looked so warm.
"Castiel, oh my God, what happened?" The olive skinned boy asked, looking up at
Castiel, eyes wide.
Kevin had a disgusted look face as he pulled the toy from Castiel's mouth,
tossing it to the ground and wiping his hand on his pants afterwards. He
quickly walked behind Castiel and untied the rope holding him up, allowing
Castiel to fall to the ground. Castiel whimpered when his knees hit the ground,
but managed to push himself up slightly, his arms shaking. Kevin aided him,
throwing an arm around Castiel's shoulders and helping him stand. He waited for
an answer, but didn't receive one. He got the hint when he saw tears forming in
Castiel's eyes. He dropped the subject for the time being and nodded, mainly to
himself since Castiel refused to lift his head to look at him.
"It's raining." Castiel said plainly, his voice hoarse.
"Obviously."
Kevin dragged him away from the pole with a groan and helped Castiel towards
the school, but Castiel refused to go in. He was still wearing the dress and he
really didn't need to give anyone another reason to torture him. Kevin instead
helped him to his - or rather, his mom's - car. He helped Castiel into the
passenger seat then darted around the car, quickly enclosing himself in the
small area.
"Heater?" he asked.
Castiel nodded and Kevin shoved the keys in the ignition hastily, turning on
the engine and cranking up the heater about as high as it could go. Castiel sat
silently, shivering from the cold.
"I've uh...got some extra clothes? If you want?" Kevin asked, offering Castiel
a small smile.
Castiel nodded greatfully. A stack of clothes were handed to him the next
moment, Kevin had rummaged through the back seat to find them.
"Someone always manages to 'accidently' dump food on me during lunch, so I
bring these just in case." he said as Castiel unfolded the clothing.
Kevin looked out his window, granting Castiel privacy to change. Castiel let
out a shuddering breath and peeled off the cold, sopping wet dress that had
stuck to his skin. He rolled down the window and tossed the retched thing
outside. He then rolled the window back up so the heat would stay inside the
car and shuffled to pull the sweatshirt over his head. His boxers were wet, but
Kevin didn't have an extra pair. He glanced at Kevin, who was still looking
away, and pulled off his boxers, quickly pulling on the dark blue jeans and
sipping them up. The clothes were warm, and he couldn't help but sigh at the
feeling of being somewhat dry.
He crossed his legs over on top of each other in his lap, like he remembered
doing in kindergarten. The position covered his bare feet, and immediately
started warming them. He glanced over at Kevin, his eyes darting over the
tanned boy's features. He was truly lucky to have made friends with Kevin. If
he hadn't, he'd still be tied to that pole, shivering and sobbing until he was
found.
"Thank you." he said, his voice small and timid in the silence of the car.
Kevin turned his head, satisfied that Castiel looked warm and comfortable,
under the circumstances, at least.
"No problem." Kevin said, shrugging one shoulder.
It wasn't that big of a deal really, he was just helping out a friend. A friend
that he would be sitting alone with everyday without.
"Do...do you wanna tell me what...what happened?" Kevin asked cautiously,
turning his body to face Castiel.
Castiel sighed, looking down at his hands seated in his lap. He blinked back
tears, wondering what he had done to deserve what happened to him today. They
came out of nowhere, for no reason. Maybe not for no reason, maybe he deserved
what happened. He deserved it for thinking Dean was actually genuinely being
nice to him. Since when has Dean Winchester ever wanted to talk to Castiel
other than when he's throwing insults at him, as well as punches and kicks?
"They...they tricked me." he started slowly, fiddling with his fingers. "He -
Dean, Dean Winchester - he w-wanted my help. I should...have known..." he
trailed off, disappointed in himself.
"What did he do?"
"He and h-his friends...they cornered me in the locker room and...a-and forced
me to wear the dress. Th-they tied me to the pole and...and they stuck th-
that in my mouth." he explained.
Kevin nodded, gripping the steering wheel tightly. It was times like these that
he wished he could be a better friend. He wished he was strong. He wished he
was courageous. He wasn't.
"I'm so sorry, dude." Kevin said. "God, they're such asshats."
Castiel nodded, combing a hand through his wet hair, tugging when it got
caught.
"Do you um...do you m-mind taking me home?" he asked, biting his lip.
Castiel didn't want to be here anymore, it left a bad taste in his mouth.
"Yeah...yeah, no...no problem."
...
Dean sat in his room, ear buds in and some song that was sure to bust his ear
drums out blasting through them. Sam was off in his room, doing homework,
unless he had finished already. He couldn't get the look on Castiel's face out
of his mind. The look of betrayal on his face when he realized he had been
tricked. The look of humiliation on his face when Alistair was laughing at his
scars. The look of complete and utter submission as he accepted what Alistair -
what Dean - had done to him.
All of it haunted him.
He replayed the scenario over and over again in his mind, the tricking, the
undressing, the tying, and the abandonment. Fuck. Dean knew he was fucked up
but not this fucked up. He just let his friends completely fucking torment
Castiel, and Castiel didn't even try to fight back. Why the hell didn't he
fight back? Yeah, he's weak, but he could have screamed or something.
Dean shook his head. Castiel must have wanted them to torment him. It's
probably the highlight of his day whenever Dean and the others mess with him.
Castiel had no life, he probably likes the attention. He must like it, because
it could have screamed. He should have screamed. Why didn't he scream? Why
didn't he punch anyone? Dean wished now that Castiel had punched him. He would
have deserved it. But no, Castiel just took it all.
It wasn't Dean's fault that Castiel was fucked up. Dean didn't tell Castiel to
cut himself. Dean didn't tell Castiel to burn himself. Castiel did that all to
himself, it was completely his choice, his idea, his will. Why did Dean still
feel like shit then?
"Dean?"
Sam opened the door and looked at Dean, who removed his ear buds and sat up,
leaning against his headboard. He shoved his phone into his jeans pocket and
nodded to Sam. Sam walked in and closed the door behind him carefully, making
sure he didn't wake John.
"What's up Sammy?" he asked, trying to push the thoughts of Castiel out of his
mind, because Sam needed him.
"I'm hungry." Sam said with pleading eyes, working Dean over.
Dean rolled his eyes, groaning and standing up.
"Alright, but it's Mac and Cheese a la mode tonight." he said with a cheesy
French accent, pushing Sam in the shoulder playfully.
"Do you even know what a la mode means?" Sam asked, smiling.
Dean thought for a second, then put his hand over Sam's face and pushed him
back as he opened the door and walked out. Sam followed behind him and closed
the door quietly.
"Shut up, you smartass." Dean muttered, walking into the small kitchen.
Sam seated himself on the island, sticking his tongue out at his older brother.
"Jerk."
"Bitch."
Sam was right, Dean didn't know what a la mode was. He ended looking it up on
his phone when he didn't think Sam was looking, but he was.
"It means it's served with ice cream."
"Shut up." Dean grumbled, shoving his phone in his back pocket.
Although it sounded disgusting, Dean didn't mind having a little ice cream with
his Mac and Cheese, it wasn't half bad. He made sure it was chocolate, Sam's
favorite.
"Can we go to Bobby's after dinner?" Sam asked, looking up from his plate at
Dean.
"Did you finish your homework?"
"Of course I did. Did you?" Sam asked, raising an eyebrow.
Dean rolled his eyes and cleaned off his plate, rinsing it.
"We'll go after you finish eating." he said, purposefully avoiding Sam's
question.
Sam smiled and ate his food, Mac and Cheese first, then the ice cream
separately. Bobby's car yard was a few miles away, nothing Dean couldn't
handle. He'd walk there with Sam almost every day when his dad would come home
drunk, cleverly avoiding any unnecessary beatings. Dean slung his arm around
Sam's shoulder and talked with him as they walked, mainly making fun of him for
being so smart, but Sam knew how proud Dean was of him, even though he covered
it up with insults and names.
"Theatre? No way!" Dean said, shaking his head.
"It's required in order to graduate Dean, you should take it next year before
it's too late." Sam explained, furrowing his eyebrows.
"Man, you do not want to spend your freshman year next year stuck in a theatre
class." Dean said, chuckling. "It's for nerds."
"Theatre people are cool, and they accept people for who they are, the ones in
my middle school are at least."
Dean sighed and looked down at his little brother, about to say something else.
"Plus, all the hot girls take theatre." Sam said surprisingly, a smirk tugging
at his lips.
Dean smiled and whistled, shaking his head in disbelief.
"Well, I'm convinced."
Sam laughed and threw his head back, running a hand through his hair. Sam's
hair was getting longer, but it was still manageable. What wasn't manageable
was how fast he was growing. He was still in seventh grade and he was already
hitting his growth spurt. He was already as tall as Dean's shoulder.
"You should join then." Sam said.
Dean shrugged and looked forward as they walked, not providing an answer. Sam
frowned slightly but didn't suggest anything further. Once they got to Bobby's
house, they were welcomed inside and Bobby ruffled Sam's hair on the way in. He
grabbed Dean's shoulder and looked at him with wide eyes.
"That kid's gettin' tall, he'll give you a run for your money." He said.
"Tell me about it." Dean chuckled in response, closing the front door behind
them.
Chapter End Notes
     my_tumblr
***** Chapter 7 *****
Chapter Notes
     Warning: graphic self harm, skip over it if easily triggered.
     Suicide hotline: 1-800-273-8255
     Sexual abuse hotline: 800-656-HOPE (4673)
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Castiel sat alone in his room after Kevin had dropped him off at his house and
returned to the school. He had no reason to hide, after all, unlike Castiel. He
wondered, would he ever dare to return to school after today? Sure, nobody had
seen him, thanks to Kevin, but could he really face Dean and Alastair and the
others after today? They had seen his scars, and by now had probably told at
least half, if not the entire school. It wouldn't be a secret anymore. It
wouldn't be something he finally had to himself. The counselors would know, the
principal would know, his teachers would know. He'd probably be called in for
some sort of therapy.
He didn't want therapy. He didn't want pity. He wanted it to stop.
He stared at the wall, eyes blank. He felt tired and numb. He could hardly move
his limbs, and when he did, they felt like dead weight, like they were almost
too heavy to lift. He was mentally drained, he'd been thinking about what
happened earlier for the past two and a half hours. What if they contacted his
father? It wasn't like Bartholomew didn't already know about his scars, it
would be hard to miss them in their situation. He never really brought them to
attention, only when he was punishing Castiel for something stupid would he
point them out, grabbing his arm and forcing him to look at them, calling them
ugly. He often said they turned him off, so he'd take Castiel on his stomach
most of the time so he wouldn't have to see them.
Castiel shared his father's opinion. They were ugly. From the thin, horizontal,
red and white scars, to the white burns, they were ugly. He hated looking at
them, not only because of that, but also because they reminded him of how weak
he was. Sometimes he looked at them just for that reason, to remind himself how
pathetic he was. He didn't know why he did, maybe to justify why he'd never
fight back, another it be against Bartholomew or his school bullies.
He looked down at his arms, letting his eyes linger on the marks, all varying
in length and size, as well as time they'd been healing. He stared at them for
a while, just staring, his mind blank. When he finally did look up, the urge
bled into his mind. The urge to make more, despite how much he hated the ones
he already had. He opened his nightstand drawer and pushed around for the
pencil sharpener blade, picking it up and looking at it for a moment. He turned
it over between his thumb and index finger, sighing softly. He was so tired of
this.
He swallowed and looked down at his arm again, finding a space that wasn't
already used on his skin. Most of the wounds were higher up on his inner
forearm, near the crease where his arm bent at the elbow. Less were by his
actual wrist, he rarely cut there, he was always so afraid he'd cut too deep
and bleed to much, but live anyways. He was more afraid of surviving than
dying, really.
He pressed the edge of the blade against his wrist, staring at it, where it
pushed against his skin, but didn't break the surface quite yet. It made more
sense to him to do this to himself when he had first started out, years ago. It
made sense to want to control something in his life; to control at least some
of the pain he felt. He could control a small portion of it, and it made him
feel better, at the time. It doesn't work anymore. He just feels numb now when
he does it, but he can't seem to stop.
He sighed and pressed down harder against his skin, sliding the edge across his
wrist. At first, there were just small, red droplets squeezing from his arm. It
quickly became a line trickling down his arm. He made a few more cuts, going
through the same process until his vision got darker and darker, which wasn't
good. He abandoned the blade and pushed himself up from the floor, whimpering
and holding his wrist tightly as he made his way to the bathroom. He held his
arm under the faucet and turned on the water, watching blood wash down the
drain, mixed with water.
He chewed anxiously on his chapped bottom lip, peeling some of the top layer of
skin from it with his teeth. He glanced up at himself in the mirror and glared,
blue eyes burning into each other. He hated what looked back at him. He hated
how it held its arm under the water, like he did. He hated how much it looked
like him. Although, he mostly hated how it didn't have to endure the same pain
as him. He hated how people didn't know what he really was, underneath the posh
sweaters and shy personality. He hated how no one would care, even if they did
know. He hated how, somehow, in some way, his mind drifted to Dean.
He hated Dean Winchester. He hated how Dean hated him, for no apparent reason.
What did Castiel ever do to the boy anyways?
Before he could register what he was doing, he was carving letters into his
other arm, on the outer side since the inside was littered with them, and the
letters would be unrecognizable. He wasn't cutting as deep as before, but the
force was enough to easily make out the letters. After rinsing off his arm and
turning the sink off, he was undressing and turning on the shower. Clothes
discarded in a matter of seconds on the floor, the bathroom door locked, he was
in the shower.
Of course he felt compelled to glance at the door every so often. The fear of
his father walking in and taking advantage of his vulnerable state never left
his mind. He shampooed his hair lazily before rinsing it out and letting the
hot water somewhat clean his physical wounds. He then stepped out of the shower
and wrapped a towel around his body, hurrying off his room and closing the door
behind him. He locked the door, just as a precaution. Dressed, bandages wrapped
around his arm, and under the covers minutes later, his eyes closed and he
sighed tiredly.
It felt like the fresh wounds were seeping right through the bandages, and he
placed his hands on them. He was ashamed of himself. Why did he carve Dean's
name into his arm?
...
Much to Dean's protests, Bobby demanded that they go to school the next day. 
Dean teased the older man as he drove both Dean and Sam to their separate
schools, only managing to get lost twice along the way. Dean just wanted to
stay at Bobby's all day, not go to school. He was still confused about his
guilt and he needed some time to ponder over it. Castiel was burned into his
brain, the image of the trembling, terrified boy seared into his thoughts. He
knew he was at fault for most of, if not all, of Castiel's cuts and scars.
He felt bad, obviously, but also confused. Was his school life so bad that he
had to go and do that? Was he really that affected by the bullying? Why was he?
He was rich, he could have anything he wanted, he could go to private school.
He had a pretty good life, if you ask Dean. Maybe the bullying really was too
much. There really couldn't have been anything else that he had to deal with,
or was there?
The halls were nearly empty when he got into the school, since Bobby had
insisted on dropping him off before most of the teachers were even there. He
sighed out of boredom, walking around and reading a few flyers about clubs and
dances on the walls. Hands shoved in his pockets, he slowed to a stop in front
of the theatre. One of the double doors was open and he shrugged before walking
inside, hearing distant voices becoming clearer. Sam said the theatre kids - in
his middle school at least - were cool. Why not try to make some new, non-
douchey friends? He needed ones that didn't laugh at people who cut themselves
as if it were a joke.
"Are you kidding me? Hell yeah I'm gonna see it!" he heard a voice say
enthusiastically.
He walked in further, making sure he was quiet in case the person was doing
something important and didn't need to be disturbed. He leaned against the back
wall, watching two figures on the stage moving around. He squinted, attempting
to see who the voice belonged to. A short, red-headed girl who he had
recognized as Charlie. From the gossip around the school, she was apparently
the first lesbian in the school who was open and very unashamed of her
sexuality. She shoved a taller, blond boy in the arm playfully.
"Yes well, I heard it's not going to be as good." the blond boy said, his voice
laced with a strong British accent.
"Shut up, it's gonna be awesome! The new Vader is obviously Luke, he wasn't
shown in the trailer." Charlie explained.
She jumped down from the stage, her feet landing on the floor with a thud. The
blond boy followed after, a bit more gracefully, and grabbed his backpack.
"You and your theories." he grumbled.
"I swear to Spock it's true, I'll bet you twenty bucks!"
"You're on, it's going to be fun, taking your money. Like candy from a baby who
has a bad dye job." the boy laughed.
She punched his arm again, this time harder. He just continued laughing as she
went on her way out of the theatre, using the back entrance. The boy followed
after her, shaking his head and chuckling to himself.
Theatre people sure are strange.
...
Castiel didn't show up for school today.
Dean had a sinking feeling in his gut. What if Cas killed himself? What if
yesterday was the day he was finally pushed over the edge? What if his last
thought was how everyone would know about his scars? What if he knew Alastair
would give him an even harder time now? What if he cried before he did it - if
he did it? Dean scrubbed his hands over his face, sitting in his seat in his
Chemistry class. It wasn't hard to let his mind wander when he saw Cas' empty
seat.
This was the only class they had together, and Dean always used it to silently
torment Castiel. He'd flick things at him, snicker whenever he mumbled an
answer to himself sky, too afraid to raise his hand to say it aloud, he'd even
gone as far as faking a cough and sneaking in a few choice words directed at
the boy. The worst thing he'd ever done to Castiel - in this class, at least -
was turn up the heat on the burner he was working with once. Nothing too bad
happened, thankfully, but the sleeve of his lab coat was singed and his project
was ruined. Dean luckily wasn't caught, and Castiel must have been too afraid
to report him, so he blamed it on himself. He failed that project and ended up
having to sit out on a week's worth of experiments until he learned the rules
of safety.
Dean sighed, only now realizing how much of a dick move that was.
"The fag probably killed himself, did everyone a favor." he heard someone
grumble next to him.
Dean turned his head, his eyebrows knitted together in shock, but also an odd
sense of protectiveness. He didn't recognize the person who sat next to him,
not really anyways. He'd seen him around school, noticed him sitting next to
himself for most of the semester, but he never really bothered to learn the
guy's name.
"What?" the guy asked when he noticed Dean's glare on him.
Dean hadn't even realized he was glaring.
"The fuck is your problem? You think that's funny? You think someone killing
themself is a joke? What if it was your brother or sister? Or your mom or dad?"
Dean asked, turning fully in his seat to face the obviously scrawnier guy.
"Uh, well-" the guy flushed. "I dunno, I mean, I heard Alistair-"
"Fuck Alistair, suicide isn't fucking funny." Dean snarled, nearly reaching
over and grabbing the guy's collar to shake some sense into him, but restrained
himself.
"S-sorry, I...I didn't mean-"
Dean scoffed and turned away, not letting the guy finish his sentence.
"Think before you speak, dipshit." He spat angrily.
He only realized the irony of what he said after he said it, considering he had
never thought before he spoke, or acted for that matter.
Chapter End Notes
     my_tumblr
***** Chapter 8 *****
Chapter Notes
     Warning: graphic rape scene that starts off the chapter, so if you're
     easily triggered, please skip over.
     Suicide hotline: 1-800-273-8255
     Sexual abuse hotline: 800-656-HOPE (4673)
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Castiel whimpered each time the headboard hit the wall, head turned to the side
and arms tied together above him. He squeezed his eyes shut, biting the inside
of his cheek to keep himself quiet. Bartholomew didn't like him to make too
much noise unless he permitted it, and he hadn't.
"You're gonna lie down and shut your whore mouth, and take what I give you."
Bartholomew had ordered, his voice raw and angry.
Yesterday, Castiel had made a decision without thinking about the consequences.
Today, he was paying for it.
"Ungrateful little shit." The man spat, punctuating his words with a hard
thrust.
Bartholomew was holding Castiel's shoulders, pinning him down onto the bed to
immobilize him completely as he used him.
"It's one thing to spread your legs for some teenager's little cock behind my
back-" he said, leaning down and stopping his movements to whisper in Castiel's
ear. "-but cutting his name into your arm? That's just ignorance."
Castiel whimpered in pain as Bartholomew started slamming into him again at a
brutal pace. Castiel felt tears stream down his temple and the side of his
face, soaking into the bed spread below him. The mattress creaked beneath him
as Bartholomew continued with his thrusts, grunting and groaning from where he
was on top of Castiel. There was a few times where he'd get so angry he'd
release one of Castiel's shoulders just to smack the exposed skin of Castiel's
ass. Castiel bit his lip to keep from crying out in pain whenever his father
did so.
He'd woken up this morning, having completely forgotten about his arm when he
walked downstairs. He usually didn't bother to cover his arms when he was at
home with just his father, he had no reason to, Bartholomew would just see them
soon enough when he would shred Castiel of his clothes. He didn't think twice
when he walked downstairs, still in his short sleeved pajama shirt, and greeted
his father, who was sat at the breakfast table reading the newspaper. He went
to make cereal, opening the fridge to get the milk, then he felt his father's
hand clamp down on his wrist. He only remembered the previous night when he
felt pain shoot throughout his arm as his father dug his fingers into the cuts.
"Who's Dean?" His father had asked, a sadistic and irritated smile on his face.
Of course Castiel hadn't told him the truth, that he'd carved the name of the
boy that had been tormenting him for years into his arm out of frustration.
That would just spark a debate with the school about how they go about managing
their bullies, and make the bullying even worse. When he didn't answer,
Bartholomew had come to his own conclusions anyhow.
"A boyfriend? Hm? Isn't that a little obsessive, Castiel? Cutting a boy's name
into your arm?"
Castiel looked down at the ground, trembling now, because he knew what was
going to happen.
That's what led to this - this searing pain he was feeling. Bartholomew was
almost never gentle, because the only time he really did this was when he was
punishing Castiel. He'd punish him for the littlest things, like breaking the
plate. Once he even punished Castiel for making his bed the wrong way.
Afterwards, he made Castiel redo it while he was still crying and trembling.
He'd never been able to get used to gentleness, it was so rare. It was sad,
Castiel longed for the gentle times, when Bartholomew would tell Castiel he had
his mother's eyes and take his time stretching him, so it didn't hurt. It
always hurt, from the first time until now, Castiel had only orgasmed a handful
of times, and was always chided for it.
"Look at that, it seems like you like Daddy's cock, don't you?" Bartholomew had
told him each time he managed to reach release himself. "Lick it up, clean up
your mess you whore."
Castiel gripped the sheets beneath him tighter, trying to choke back the sobs
racking his body as he remembered each one of Bartholomew's hurtful words, all
the while listening to the ones being hurled at him now.
"Fucking little cockslut, I bet you'd take any dick you could get. Wouldn't
you? That's so dirty, Castiel, you disgusting skank. You want cock? I've been
meaning to call over some of my friends, I could charge them a thousand a turn,
you'd like that, wouldn't you? Being pimped out like the whore you are?" His
father threatened, smacking the back of Castiel's head angrily.
Castiel sobbed and shook his head desperately, biting down on the blanket to
quiet himself. He didn't want to anger his father even further.
"Then who's dick do you want? Hm? Use your words and maybe I'll take mercy on
you, if you're convincing enough."
Castiel turned his head, closing his eyes as he struggled to get words out
through his sobs.
"On-only y-yours, D-D-Daddy." He stuttered, feeling Bartholomew speed up again.
"I onl-my want y-yours."
It seemed to be enough for Bartholomew, because he was stilling and tightly
gripping Castiel's hips. He held the boy in place as he came inside of him,
groaning and cursing. As usual, when he was done, he got up and took a shower,
leaving Castiel a mess on the bed. He never invited Castiel to shower with him,
and Castiel was grateful for that, even though the only reason was because
Bartholomew insisted that Castiel should be left to feel filthy and used,
because he was. He still preferred that over showering with his father.
With a whimper, he was pulling himself up and turning onto his back. His legs
were like jelly, and he was still panting, trying to catch his breath. He sat
up and scooted backwards until his was leaning against the headboard, closing
his eyes. Blanket cuddled close to his chest, covering as much of his body as
possible, thoughts of disgust for himself raced through his mind. Bartholomew's
words were there too, torturing and haunting him.
"Get up and get out of my sight." he heard his father's voice say from a few
feet away.
He opened his eyes and saw Bartholomew standing in the doorway, a towel in his
hand and shower running, getting warm. Castiel swallowed thickly and nodded,
turning so his feet were on the ground. The wood underneath was cold from the
AC being on and the coolness shot up through his legs as he stood, dropping the
blanket. He quickly gathered his clothes and hurried out, ignoring the slight
limp in his step. He closed the bedroom door behind him and let out a shaky
sigh, a tear slipping down his cheek. From down the stairs, the cleaning lady
looked up, her eyes sad and guilty as she watched the young boy limp back to
his room pathetically.
She wished she could do something.
...
Dean spent most of the school day wondering what could have happened to
Castiel, not wanting to accept the fact that the douchebag in his chemistry
class might have had the right idea about him. He didn't want to think that. He
didn't want to be responsible for someone's suicide. He didn't even want to be
partly responsible for it. He could hardly deal with the fact that Castiel hurt
himself, and that he was why, well, he and his friends. It felt to Dean like a
flip had switched inside him when he saw all the scars and marks on Castiel's
arms, as if each one was personally his fault.
He knew the feeling of true guilt now. He felt guilty for bullying Cas. He felt
guilty for ever even choosing him as a target in the first place. He remembered
the first time he saw Castiel, how the boy looked so innocent, so normal and
doe-eyed. He remembered the first time he talked to him, freshman year in
French class. He remembered looking and Cas and guessing that he was smart, so
he'd asked to copy his homework. He chuckled at the memory of Castiel
stuttering and blushing just from Dean talking to him, handing over his
homework easily with a shy smile. Of course Dean ended up forgetting it at his
house the next day, so Castiel had to redo the whole thing and turn it in late.
He felt like shit for that, but Cas didn't seem bothered by it, so he didn't
pay too much attention to it. For the next few days in the class, he'd always
see Castiel glance at him and just for shits and giggles, he'd wink at the blue
eyed boy, knowing fully well how flustered it got him.
Dean also remembered the first time he messed with Cas. It was a good week or
two after the homework mishap, in the locker room when they were getting their
lockers reassigned. He remembered seeing Castiel glancing around at the
different lockers, trying to find his. But a few times, the searching blue eyes
would stop briefly on some guy's half naked form, and his cheeks would turn a
new shade of pink. Dena didn't know why he said anything, but he did. He meant
for it to sound more teasing than anything, but the other guys in the room took
it further.
"You a fag or somethin'?" He asked Cas as he pulled his own shirt off, seeing
the boy's frantic eyes land on him.
Castiel obviously couldn't help but glance at Dean's chest in the process and
that's what started his downfall. The boy next to Dean saw him and stepped
forward, shoving Cas' shoulder.
"Fagboy wants some dick!" The boy called out, laughing.
Dean would later get to know him as Alastair, a junior who was doomed to repeat
senior year, twice. Dean saw the flash of fear in Castiel blue eyes as Alastair
shoved him again. Luckily, the coach came in before things could escalate.
"Fags like him need a separate locker room, to stop the eye rape." Alastair
spat.
"Don't be a bigot and get dressed." The coach said before showing Castiel to
his locker, a few rows down.
Dean had started that. It was his fault.
"You're quiet." Sam said suddenly, snapping Dean out of the memory.
"Hm?" He asked, shaking his head. "Oh, yeah, tired." He half-lied, he was
pretty worn out, but only from thinking about Cas all day.
"No, not 'tired quiet', you're like...'upset quiet'. What's wrong?" Sam asked,
cocking his head to the side a little bit.
Dean didn't answer, he wasn't gonna talk to Sam about his feelings, he
couldn't. He was a role model to this kid. If Sam knew Dean bullied someone to
a point where they probably killed himself today, he'd never talk to him again.
He couldn't let that happen, Sam was all he had. He had to remain being Sam's
hero, and probably Castiel's too, if he was still alive.
Chapter End Notes
     my_tumblr
***** Chapter 9 *****
Chapter Notes
     Suicide hotline: 1-800-273-8255
     Sexual abuse hotline: 800-656-HOPE (4673)
Dean parked near the back of the school parking lot and stepped out, hugging
his jacket around himself as the cold wind hit his face. He slammed the car
door shut and crossed his arms, heading towards the school doors. He walked in,
winking at one of the freshman girls that waved to him, smirking at the way she
blushed.
Before he could explain why, he found himself looking around for Castiel. Maybe
to apologize, maybe to ask him to not involve the cops or the principal, he
couldn't really explain his reason. He walked past the hall where he usually
noticed Castiel standing at his locker, looking through and pulling books out.
Not that he watched Castiel at his locker or anything.
He just couldn't help but notice the boy, he walked past his locker nearly
every morning, how could he not notice the kid? He leaned against the wall
opposite Castiel's locker, waiting for the boy to show up. Hopefully, he wasn't
still sick. If he was, that would just make one more thing Dean would have to
apologize for.
He sighed in relief when he saw Castiel walking towards his locker, dubious to
Dean's presence since his back was turned. He watched Castiel open his locker
with those same slender fingers he'd been fascinated with when he watched
Castiel open his gym locker. Best not to think about that Dean, bad memories
stay in the past.
He finally pushed himself from the wall and made his way over to Castiel, hands
stuffed in his jacket pockets. Once he was behind the boy - with barely enough
breathing room he might add - he opened his mouth to speak. He furrowed his
eyebrows and closed his mouth again as Castiel pulled his phone out of his
pocket and unlocked it. Dean couldn't help it, curiosity killed the cat. He
looked over Castiel's shoulder at the text he'd received.
Bartholomew: Don't be late coming home, my date didn't go well.
Dean read the text, wondering who Bartholomew was and why he felt the need to
tell Castiel about his date.
Castiel: Yes father.
He read Castiel's reply and nodded, obviously it was his father, who else would
it be. He heard Castiel's phone vibrate in his hand but couldn't keep reading
the boy's texts, he was enough of a douchebag as is.
Did he just admit that?
"Uh, hey." he finally said after minutes of standing behind Castiel like some
creep.
Castiel jumped and turned around, clutching his phone. Fear and anger - but
mainly fear - flashed across those oceanic blue eyes and he slammed his back
against the lockers, squirming.
"Relax." he said, scratching the back of his neck. "I won't hurt you."
He knew that Castiel had no reason to trust him, Hell, if he was Cas he'd just
kick Dean right in the family jewels. He'd said that last time he talked to
Castiel too, then left the boy to be humiliated and degraded. Now, standing in
front of the trembling boy, close enough to see the terror in his eyes, he
couldn't help but wonder why he ever hated him, why he ever bullied him.
"Uh, anyways...I'm...I'm sorry...about last time." he said, struggling to meet
Castiel's eyes.
Castiel didn't say anything.
"With the...the dress and stuff. I didn't...I didn't plan on Al bringing
the...the thing, ya know...that he put in your...mouth."
Why was it so hard to talk? Why did his throat feel so dry? He bit his lip as
he looked at Castiel, their eyes locking momentarily before Castiel looked
away. He expected something, maybe a 'Why would I believe you?' or maybe 'Go
fuck yourself'. Nothing. Castiel just shoved his phone in his pocket, closed
his locker, and walked off.
Dean was gonna have to try harder.
...
Castiel sat with Kevin in the library during lunch, showing his new friend the
wonders of sitting in a quiet room with no one trampling you or spilling food
on you. He sat across the table from Kevin, listening to the boy talk
enthusiastically about some new game system his mom got him for his straight
A's.
He tried to concentrate on Kevin's words, he really did, but he couldn't help
that his mind drifted off to what had happened earlier, how Dean had came to
him at his locker. He looked down at the table, smiling slightly. He felt proud
of himself. He didn't cry, he didn't beg for mercy, he didn't let Dean win this
time like usual. He walked away, he did the right thing - for once - and walked
away.
"Hey man, you okay?"
Castiel looked up, eyes wide.
"Hm?"
"You're like...in a trance. What's up?" Kevin asked, taking a bite of his
hamburger, if that's what you'd call a hamburger.
"I'm fine, just...thinking."
Kevin could pick up on the fact that Castiel was obviously lying, but he didn't
ask about it, Castiel didn't seem to like to talk about his troubles.
"You should join the theatre club." Kevin said suddenly.
Castiel cocked his head to the side.
"Well, I have a friend in there, Charlie, she's pretty cool. She's funny,
pretty, spunky, and-"
"It sounds like you have a crush on her." Castiel said, smiling slightly.
"And lesbian."
"Oh."
Kevin laughed and shrugged.
"If I could I would man, she's amazing. You should talk to her, I'll even join
with you." Kevin said, taking a drink of his water bottle.
Castiel nodded, anything to get home late.
***** Chapter 10 *****
Chapter Notes
     Suicide hotline: 1-800-273-8255
     Sexual abuse hotline: 800-656-HOPE (4673)
Castiel held his books tightly as he walked into the school theatre with Kevin.
A girl with vibrant red hair - notocable enough to be distinguished from where
Castiel stood, across the large room - pranced around the stage. A man took her
hand and spun her around, nearly flinging her off of the stage.
"C'mon." Kevin urged, walking ahead and offering Castiel a small smile.
Castiel took a deep breath, fingers gripping the sides of his books as he took
a rigid step forward. He loosened up with each step he took, following Kevin to
the stage until the boy stopped and hopped up onto the elevated wood. He held
out a hand, smiling down at Castiel while the girl and guy behind him turned to
look, curiosity etched into their features. Setting his books down on the
ground next to his backpack, he took Kevin's hand and heaved himself up.
"Hiya there stranger." The perky redhead chirped.
"Hello there." The boy said almost at the same time, eyes scanning over
Castiel's body shamelessly.
It made Castiel uneasy, but because he'd never been looked at quite like so.
The girl nudged the boy beside her, furrowing her eyebrows at him.
"Keep it in your pants Balthazar." She said, her tone playfully chastizing.
"Hey guys, this is Castiel." Kevin introduced.
"Your parents named you after an angel too, then?" Balthazar asked, crossing
his arms in amusement.
"My...my mother...she was very religious." Castiel said, for once not
stuttering in the presence of people.
He should get an award.
"Woah, deep voice, I'm Charlie." Charlie chuckled, but not in an intimidating
or mocking way.
More like in a friendly way.
"So, you guys here for Theatre Club?"
Kevin nodded and slung his arm around Castiel, and Castiel surprisingly didn't
flinch at the contact. He felt his phone vibrate in his pocket and took it out,
seeing his father's name light up on the screen.
"If you gotta be somewhere-" Charlie started, but Castiel cut her off bravely.
"No," he said, his voice a little too eager. "No, it's...my father, it...i-it
can wait."
Charlie nodded, smiling softly to ease Castiel's nerves.
"Kay well, Balthy here was-"
"Never call me that." Balthazar snapped, but smiled none-the-less.
Charlie smiled.
"He was showing me how to dance even though I can dance way better than him."
"I was teaching her how to ballroom dance, which is actual dancing, unlike that
awful video game you play that teaches you to 'dance'." Balthazar nudged her
with his elbow.
She tolled her eyes and smirked, moving her arm rigidly as she started dancing.
"What? Like this?"
"Please stop."
"Oh, what? I can't hear you over the music, gimme a beat DJ Tranny-Tran!"
"That sounds-" Kevin started.
"I have realized my mistake, just start beatboxing!" She laughed, moon-walking
backwards.
Castiel laughed as Kevin started beatboxing into his hand, bobbing his body up
and down and imitating a scratching record. He felt something brush against his
hand, taking it firmly and raising it up, he glanced over.
"Would you like to learn how to dance like an adult?" Balthazar asked, eyes
twinkling as one flicked closed for the slightest second, a wink.
Castiel swallowed thickly, eyes flashing downwards as he felt his cheeks heat
up. He felt himself be tugged forward in the gentlest way, his chest pressed
against Balthazar's. Balthazar's hand left his, letting it fall to his side.
Two hands wrapped around his hips, fingertips barely pressing into Castiel's
hipbones.
"Tell me how I haven't noticed you around school before?" Balthazar asked,
raising an eyebrow down at the blue eyed boy.
"I...I don't....I-"
He was silenced by the movement of him being tugged to his left slightly as
Balthazar turned, pulling Castiel up so he stood on Balthazar's toes. Balthazar
apparently didn't mind that Castiel was scuffing some seriously expensive
looking shoes.
"I smell an OTP." Charlie said, looking at the two with a wide, toothy grin.
...
Castiel was walking home, having endured Theatre Club without incident, meaning
no panic attacks. Today was a good day, but he knew it wouldn't be once he got
home. He knew his father was going to be beyond angry, beyond enraged,
downright livid. It made sense, when did Castiel ever even have a good day
anymore?
He was mentally preparing himself for the moment he would get home and get his
punishment. He told himself that even though he'd never had it very badly since
the abuse started, maybe, just maybe, out of the goodness of his heart,
Bartholomew would take mercy on him.
Maybe he'd slap Castiel around or grab his hair and smash his face into the
wall.
Maybe he'd take his time numbing Castiel with pain so he would barely feel him
slide in.
Maybe he'd let Castiel eat dinner and sleep on a bed instead of outside.
Castiel was looking forward to that, that would be a good day. That would be
good. That would be tolerable. Good.
"Cas?"
Castiel jumped at the sound of his name, clutching his books to his chest and
turning to look at the shiny black Impala cruising slowly on the road beside
him.
"Hey, you okay?" Dean asked, leaning over the middle seat to look out the
passenger window at Castiel, speaking loudly over the engine.
Castiel's breath hitched. Despite his nervous demeanor, he wanted to laugh. He
wanted to laugh at the idea of Dean asking him if he was okay, because he'd
never expected to hear those words from Dean Winchester's  pink, plump lips. It
seemed so domestic and friendly, it set Castiel's nerves on fire. Dean
Winchester was not friendly.
"You gonna say somethin' or stand there undressin' me with your eyes?" Dean
asked, smirking, but not like usual, not in a cocky way.
Castiel furrowed his eyebrows slightly and decided he'd get enough abuse from
his father once he got home, so he turned and kept walking. He heard the
Impala's engine grow louder and then stay at the same volume as Dean followed
beside Castiel.
"Hey, I'm just kiddin'. C'mon." Dean said, his voice surprisingly gentle.
Castiel didn't say anything, but took a deep breath and hurried his pace.
"Hey!" Castiel jumped at the obvious irritation in Dean's voice and turned,
trembling.
"You need a ride?" Dean asked.
Castiel tilted his head, narrowing his eyes in confusion.
"It's hot out, and you're walking home in a damn cardigan or whatever the hell
that's called, let me drive you." Dean offered.
It was hot out, and Castiel was starting to sweat. No, no.
Don't trust Dean. Castiel told himself.Look where that's gotten you in the
past.
He cringed at the memory of his last encounter where Dean seemed friendly.
"N-no, th-th-thank you." He said, turning and hurrying across the crosswalk.
He heard the tell-tale sound of the engine beside him in a matter of seconds,
Dean had made a U-turn and was still following Castiel. This must be a good
prank he's planning, why else would he be trying so hard to earn Castiel's
trust.
"Cas, c'mon. You don't gotta tell me where you live, I'll drop you off a block
away if you want, or whatever." Dean insisted, irritation clear in his voice.
Serves him right. If he wanted to fuck with Castiel, he was going to have to
work hard.
Castiel kept walking, not looking back as he stared ahead.
"Seriously man? You're one stubborn S.O.B, y'know that?" Dean asked, trying to
sound playful.
"L-leave me alone." Castiel finally said.
"I'm sorry."
Castiel stopped walking, turning to look at Dean, who was poking his head
through the passenger window.
"What?" He asked.
"What? I'm sorry? Yeah well, I am. I mean, I didn't mean for Alistair and them
to go so far...y'know, with the..."
"The hazing?" Castiel asked, surprised with himself at how confident he
sounded, even though he was trembling terribly.
"Yeah...that." Dean said, biting his lip awkwardly.
Castiel took a deep breath and turned, walking on.
"Cas? Cas!" He heard Dean groan as the Impala growled and he surged forward,
pulling up on the sidewalk just the slightest bit.
Good thing Castiel was the only one on the sidewalk at the moment.
"Dammit Cas." Dean snapped, getting out of the car.
Castiel took a few steps back as Dean approached him, his legs turning to
jelly. Dean stopped just a few inches away, fists balled at his sides.
"Stop being so fucking stubborn and get in the Goddamn car, let me be nice to
you!" Dean yelled.
Castiel actually yelped in fear and rushed to the passemge door, flinging it
open and getting in. The door creaked as he shut it, quickly buckling himself
in and hugging the books tightly to his chest.
His chest was tight, his teeth were clattering against each other, and he felt
bile rise in his throat. He closed his eyes, breathing in, then out, then in,
then out, through his nostrils. He let out a shaky breath, body trembling
slightly, barely aware that Dean was now sitting in the driver's seat and
looking over at Castiel with confusion and concern.
"Cas? Shit, shit I'm...I'm sorry." Dean said, his voice sounding panicked.
Castiel barely heard Dean over the ringing in his ears. His stomach twisted and
flipped and turned, the sharp ache returning in his abdomen, the one he usually
got during his panick attacks.
"Shit, shit, shit." He heard Dean mutter, then sigh. "What do I do? Cas? What-
what do-"
Castiel bit down hard on his lip, not caring as he felt the sharp tingling
feeling, then the skin of his lip spilt and the blood drip into his mouth. He
jerked backwards against the seat as the car moved forward, the engine loud as
Dean sped down the street. He didn't even realize he was sobbing violently
until the passenger door was open and Dean was pulling Castiel out of the seat,
muttering a string of curses and apologies.
***** Chapter 11 *****
Chapter Notes
     Suicide hotline: 1-800-273-8255
     Sexual abuse hotline: 800-656-HOPE (4673)
Shit.
Shit.
Dean didn't mean to give the kid a fucking heart attack.
He didn't even realize he was that scary. Well, he probably should have, since
Castiel was terrified of him. But that isn't the issue right now. The issue is
that Castiel is flipping out and breathing weird and crying and looks like he's
about to throw up.
Dean stumbled out of the driver's seat and rushed - nearly sliding over the
hood of Baby, but deciding against it - to the other side. He flung the door
open and leaned over Castiel's lap, unbuckling the seatbelt and hauling the guy
out of the car. Castiel, barely able to move his legs, leaned on Dean for
support, clutching his stomach and whimpering pathetically.
"Help!" Dean shouted as he practically dragged Castiel into the emergency room.
A nurse rushed over and lifted Castiel's chin, looking over the bleeding lip
and tear tracks on his cheeks and probably assuming he'd gotten into a fight.
She, and a few other nurses, supported Castiel's weight as they sat him down in
a wheelchair and hurried off, Dean following behind quickly because there was
no way he was leaving Cas alone after he'd caused this.
...
Dean chewed nervously on his lip as he watched the nurses hold Castiel down -
not that it was really necessary because Castiel wasn't even fucking fighting
or resisting - and inject his neck with something that sure as hell calmed him
the fuck down. Once he was relaxed against the bed and sedated, the group
disbanded, leaving the nurse that first arrived to help alone with Dean.
"What happened?" She asked, walking around the bed and unwrapping some plastic
from a small needle.
"I uh...I freaked him out. Scared him and he started like...flippin', cryin'
and stuff." He explained, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly.
"What about his lip?" She asked, confused.
"He bit it, he uh...he does that a lot."
She nodded and ushered Dean over.
"I need you to take his sweater off so I can inject the IV." She said,
motioning to Castiel's torso.
Dean nodded, hands quickly making use of themselves as he unbuttoned Castiel's
sweater and wrapped his hand around the back of his neck. The drug they gave
him must have made him turn to stone, because he seemed a lot heavier now than
when Dean pulled him from the car. Dean wrapped his arm around the back of
Castiel's neck, holding him up as he removed the blue sweater with one hand.
Thankfully, Cas was wearing a white T-shirt underneath so he wouldn't have to
take that off too.
He heard the nurse's sharp intake of breath, looking over to see her eyes dance
across Castiel's arms. Dean leaned him back against the hospital bed and stood
back, looking at Castiel's arms. He felt like he was going to throw up. There,
on - technically, in - Castiel's arm, was Dean's name, carved into his skin.
The nurse collected herself and stuck the needle into Castiel's right arm, who
just whimpered at the pain and turned his head away. Dean cringed and looked
down at the ground, sure, he can handle blood, but not needles. Hell no.
"Was he foaming at the mouth or experiencing any blackouts?" She asked, her
voice now shaky, fiddling with a machine by the bed.
Castiel watched her every move with big, doey eyes.
"N-no, just...crying." Dean said, eyes transfixed on Castiel's arm, reading his
own name over and over.
God, Dean was such a piece of shit.
"Okay, I'll be right back, keep an eye on him." She said, scurrying off.
Dean grabbed a chair and pulled it up next to the bed, swallowing thickly as he
sat down. He licked his lips, hand coming up to wrap around Castiel's left
wrist and pull it closer to the edge of the bed, now looking at the letters
upside down. Castiel seemed to register what was going on, because he retracted
his arm and held it close to his chest, like he'd broken it.
"Cas..." Dean whispered.
Castiel turned his head away from Dean, making a small sound of protest, as if
to say 'I don't want to talk about it' and so Dean shut up. He bit his lip,
wanting to reach out and run his thumb over the word and just apologize for
fucking the dude up so badly. He didn't care if it sounded gay or not, he
wanted to hug Cas, he wanted to hug him and apologize for everything he'd done.
"Cas, I'm sorry." He said, eyes flickering over Castiel's relaxed form.
It took Cas a minute to respond.
"No."
Dean nodded, even though Castiel wasn't looking at him and therefore couldn't
see him.
The nurse walked back in a while later, coming over and feeling Castiel's head.
"Can you speak?" She asked.
"Yes."
"Tell me what happened." She said, removing her hand and helping Castiel sit up
until his back was rested against the wall.
"It was a panic attack, I'm fine." He explained, hand going to pull out the IV,
but she stopped him.
A panic attack? Thank God. Dean thought he gave the guy a heart attack, he
thought he killed him.
"Triggered by what?" She asked.
Without hesitation, Castiel answered.
"Stress, schoolwork, etcetera."
Dean furrowed his eyebrows, that is not true.
"Alright well, what's your name?" She asked, sounding a bit deafeated, and
unconvinced.
"Castiel Novak."
Cas seemed calm, not just because of the drugs either, calm like 'I've done
this way too many times' calm. The nurse raised her eyebrows, looking shocked.
"Bartholomew Novak's child? CEO of Sandover?" She asked.
Dean saw the way Castiel's Adam's Apple bobbed as he swallowed, hand gripping
the sheet beside him.
"Yes." He answered, voice strained.
Dean furrowed his eyebrows, Castiel's behavior seemed way too familiar.
"We'll contact him and have him pick you up." She said, not giving Castiel time
to answer before walking off, puling the curtain closed as she did so.
Castiel looked like he was about to have another panic attack.
"Cas?" Dean asked.
"Hm?"
"You...you need some...coffee or? Something?"
It wasn't his fault he wasn't good in these situations.
Castiel chewed on his lip, which hadn't even healed from the previous abuse
done to it. He nodded, hands clutching and unclutching the sheets rhythmically.
Castiel looked like he was trying to keep himself in check instead of bursting
out crying again, or throwing up.
"I'll be right back." Dean said, patting Castiel's back and standing up.
...
Dean was walking back to Cas' makeshift room with two cups of coffee, a few
packets of sugar, and two stirring straws tucked behind his ear when he heard a
voice. He stopped and looked down the hall, seeing Castiel backed up against a
wall, looking utterly terrified, even more so than when he looked at Dean. Dean
wanted to storm up and push whoever had Cas pinned, but heard their harsh
whispering.
"You think you can get rid of me, you little prick?" Dean heard the other
person say.
He disappeared behind the corner and listened, eyebrows knitted together. The
other person was a man.
"N-n-no S-Sir." Came Castiel's reply.
"Don't give me that stuttering shit, you know what you've done. Coming here,
parading those ugly...things...around for people to see. I have a reputation to
uphold and I don't need my whiny bitch of a son ruining that."
Ah, so it was Bartholomew then, Castiel's dad. Funny, he sounded alot like John
right now.
"S-sorry Sir."
"You will be, you little shit. Once we get home, you'll be sorry for a week,
won't be able to sit down right, I'll make you cry so hard you lose your voice.
Next time you try to get rid of me, I'll shove myself so deep in you you won't
walk for a month." Bartholomew threatened.
Dean saw red. Bartholomew was...he was worse than John. Yeah, sure, John was a
drunken asshole who occasionally put the beat down on Dean, but this guy? This
guy was worse than Lucifer himself. The way he spoke, the things he said, it
made Dean want to throw up. Castiel's father was raping him, along with beating
him and possibly even being the main cause of those scars on Castiel's arms,
other than the one that was obviously Dean's fault.
"Get in the fucking car, I'll sign you out." Bartholomew said.
Dean nearly charged at the dickwad when he heard the tell-tale sound of a hand
smacking across a cheek, followed by a whimper. Footsteps grew distant as
Bartholomew presumably walked off, leaving Castiel alone in the empty corridor.
Dean heard Castiel breath in shakily, stopping himself from crying, then walk
towards where Dean was eavesdropping.
Dean swallowed thickly and pushed himself away from the wall, tossig the coffee
in the trash and turning to meet wide, frightened blue eyes staring into his
own.
***** Chapter 12 *****
Chapter Notes
     Suicide hotline: 1-800-273-8255
     Sexual abuse hotline: 800-656-HOPE (4673)
"Dean," Castiel said, trying to pull his arm free from Dean's grip. "Dean, st-
"Hurry up." Dean interrupted, pushing his way through the hospital's side
doors, towards where he'd parked Baby when he first pulled up during Castiel's
panic attack.
With the most courage he's had all day - possibly ever - Castiel yanked his arm
away from Dean. Dean slowed down and turned to face Castiel, dumbfounded.
"You know I'm not gonna let you leave with him." Dean hissed after a few
seconds, his voice low, eyes darting to the people walking past them and giving
them weird looks.
"Why? B-because you're the only person who's...who's allowed to hurt me?"
Castiel snapped, anger filling blue irises.
"Because he's a fucking  rapist , Cas, that's why." Dean said, wincing at how
harsh his voice sounded.
"And you care why? I thought I deserved this? I thought I deserved all the
bullying I got, from you, from your friends, what's one more person to fear?"
Castiel asked, his voice breaking as he crossed his arms, sweater forgotten
somewhere in the hospital.
Dean felt a tightening in his chest at Castiel's words, how could someone
just...give up? How could someone fall so hard and just keep letting people
kick them over and over and over?
Because he's broken.
Dean sighed, scrubbing his hands over his face and shaking Crowley's voice from
his thoughts.
"Let me take you to my uncle's place, he'll take care of you. Please Cas, we
can talk about this there, please." Dean begged, clasping his hands together
and nearly buckling to his knees in front of Castiel.
Castiel looked back at the hospital, throat rippling as he swallowed, bottom
lip trembling.
"It won't matter, I'll have to go home at some point, prolonging the...i-
inevitable will j-just...just make it...worse." He said, his voice cold and
even robotic sounding, like he's told himself this over and over.
The thought made Dean want to throw up.
"No, we'll...we'll call the cops." Dean said, running a hand through his hair
and stepping forward. "Please, please Cas." 
Castiel turned his head to look at Dean, then - much to Dean's amazement -
pushed him back slightly.
"This is a trick, you're tricking me." Castiel said, walking backwards
cautiously.
"No! No its..." He groaned. "I swear, I swear to God its not a joke or
anythin'. I wouldn't joke about this, this is serious."
Castiel narrowed his eyes slightly, searching Dean's face for any sign of
deceit.
"I don't believe you."
"I know, but...Cas please. Please?" Dean begged, cringing at how pathetic he
sounded, how whiny he sounded.
He dropped to his knees, throwing his dignity out the window as he looked up at
Castiel, who's eyes were blown wide in confusion.
"I know I'm asshole, okay? I know. But I'm not gonna let you keep hurtin'
yourself."
"So that's it then?" Castiel asked, eyes glimmering with what were probably
tears. "You...feel sorry for me?"
Dean wasn't going to lie, of course he felt bad. All this time, he was just
assuming Cas lived the perfect white-picket-fence life, a mom and a dad, weekly
hundred-something dollar allowance. He was wrong. He was way wrong.
"Or are you just pretending to bear my existence out of the goodness of your
heart?" Castiel asked, his voice shaking, like he was ready to break down any
minute.
"What? No, I-"
"Save your breath, th-there's no point in...in p-pretending that...that you c-
care, just...just go." Castiel said, not even noticing the wetness pouring down
his cheeks.
Dean felt useless. He wanted to help Cas, he wanted to help and make up for how
much he's put the kid through, the name-calling, the torment, the scars. He
wanted to apologize for all of it and take it back, but he couldn't. Hell, if
he hadn't pointed Cas out freshman year, Alistair and the others would have
probably just left him alone.
Castiel turned and started walking away from Dean, heading back towards the
hospital. How could he even imagine that going back to...to his monster of a
father, would make things go away? They're not going to go away, Hell, Dean's
already made it worse by dragging Castiel out, Bartholomew would probably think
that Castiel tried to run off.
Everything Dean does just fucks things up in the worse way possible.
He watched Castiel walk into the hospital, his hands visibly shaking as he
raised one to wipe his tear-stained cheek. Dean stumbled to his feet and
followed him, hot on Castiel's heels. He grabbed the boy's shoulder and turned
him so he was facing Dean, giving Dean the chance to see just how tired Cas
looked, he could tell how much Cas wanted to give up just by the look in his
eyes.
"What do you want to be when you grow up?" Dean blurted out the first thing
that came to his mind.
Castiel sniffled, eyes narrowing in confusion at the question. He swallowed and
looked away, wiping his cheeks with the heel of his palm.
"A therapist."
Dean nodded, hands still perched on Castiel's shoulders, holding the boy arms
length away.
"Why?" Dean asked, a plan forming in that fucked up mind of his.
Castiel looked a little caught off guard at first, like he didn't expect Dean
to care about his life or his thoughts.
"I...I want to help people." Castiel answered, his voice just above a whisper.
"How?"
Castiel's answer came easier now.
"I...I want to...help. I want to...be able to tell them that...that they can
get better. They can be happy, it...it wouldn't be easy...but it could be
possible."
Dean couldn't help but smile a little, not caring that he felt his eyes sting
with what were probably tears.
"How are you gonna do that if you're dead?" Dean asked, blinking and feeling a
tear slip out of the corner of his eye and trail down his cheek, past the bow
of his lip and into his mouth.
Castiel looked up at him, Adam's Apple bobbing.
"You can't help people if your dead, Cas. You go back home with...him, and
you're gonna end up killing yourself if he doesn't. Can't you see it? You can't
put yourself through that anymore, you gotta stay alive. Stay alive for
yourself, live your life." Dean rambled, stopping finally to breath.
Castiel's eyes darted down to the ground, his shoulders bouncing as he
sniffled. He wiped his eyes with the back of his wrist and nodded.
For a second, Dean swore he saw the slightest hint of a smile twitch at the
corner of Cas' mouth.
"Okay." Cas nodded. "Okay, l-let's..."
Dean nodded and didn't even think twice before lacing his fingers with
Castiel's and heading towards the doors again.
He didn't care if it seemed gay, for once.
***** Chapter 13 *****
Chapter Notes
     Suicide hotline: 1-800-273-8255
     Sexual abuse hotline: 800-656-HOPE (4673)
Dean knocked on one of the spare bedroom doors in the hallway, a concerned
Bobby and Sam standing behind him, lingering and eyes watching curiously for
the door to open.
"Cas? You...decent?" He asked, holding the clothes he'd taken from his bedroom
on the opposite side of the hall, a sweatshirt and some plaid bottoms he'd had
since he was like, fifteen.
"Yes." Came the reply a few hesitant seconds later.
Dean opened the door and poked his head through, eyes finding Castiel's easily.
He walked in, shutting the door behind him - cutting off the nosey Bobby and
Sam from seeing inside - and walking over.
"I uh, got you some clothes from my room." He said, setting the pile next to
where Castiel sat on the bed.
The bed dipped as Dean sat next to Castiel, but still giving the dude some
space because he obviously still hated Dean. Dean even hated Dean right now.
"Thank you." Castiel said, eyes trained on the floor by his feet.
Dean nodded, biting his lip and letting his eyes flicker over Castiel's arms.
He couldn't really help it, as old as some of those scars looked, they looked
so painful. It made him wonder why Castiel made himself bear it so much, didn't
it hurt like a mother? Dean couldn't even imagine what it felt like to burn
your own skin until it scabs your inner arm up so much you can barely see skin
in the sea of slices and burnt white tissue.
"You're wondering if it hurt." Castiel said, snapping Dean from his thoughts.
Even though it was definitely a statement, a question mark hung in the air,
because Castiel may have been wrong. Dean may have just been observing the
pathetic displays of emotion, or not even looking at them all together, but
instead to ground or, you know, something interesting.
Dean looked back up at Castiel's face, which was still tilted towards the
ground, eyes still focused intently on something appareninteresting about the
hardwood floor.
"I know they did." Dean said.
Castiel didn't say anything.
"When did you...?" Dean asked, voice trailing off, as if to leave it open for
an answer or to just be ignored completely, either would be fine.
He doubts Cas wants to talk about his scars to the one person who caused half
of them anyways. He wouldn't want to if he was in the same position, that's why
he could hardly ever stand being in the same room with his father, acting like
the previous day of yelling and bruising hadn't happened.
"When I was fourteen." Castiel said, his voice so quiet Dean could hardly hear
him, causing him to lean in slightly to hear better. "I said...w-when I was
fourteen."
Dean nodded, biting this inside of his cheek to stop himself from asking
anything stupid. They sat in silence for a while, Castiel staring at the
pattern on the floor and Dean twiddling his thumbs in his lap. Occasionally,
Dean would glance over and catch sight of his own name on Castiel's arm,
reading it and hating himself a little more each time he sounded it out in his
head. He suddenly hated the name and wanted to change it. He'd always liked the
name James, like James Hetfield from Metallica, now that dude knew how to be a
decent human being, unlike Dean.
"When did you...do that?" Dean asked, nodding his head towards Castiel's right
arm.
Without breaking his staring contest with the floor, Castiel slowly pulled his
arm to his chest, cradling it carefully and thankfully hiding the hideous word.
"I should get dressed." Castiel said, his voice cracking, eyes faltering for
the shortest second as he glanced at Dean out of the corner of his eye.
Dean nodded, understanding.
"Yeah, okay uh, I'll...come get you when dinner's ready." Dean said, patting
the bed in the stony silence of the room before standing and walking over to
the door.
He walked out without another word, closing the door quietly behind him with a
click.
...
Dinner was ready after about ten minutes - Bobby made hamburgers and Dean hoped
Castiel liked hamburgers - and Dean kept his promise, walking over to Cas' door
and knocking softly. He heard a sniffle and a soft sigh before the door was
opened and Castiel was smiling softly.
"I smell hamburgers." Castiel said, eyes meeting Dean's.
As pretty as Cas' smile was - and Dean was not going to contemplate on why he
thought a dude's smile was pretty - it didn't quite reach his eyes. It didn't
take Dean very long to determine that it was fake. Dean had become the king of
fake smiles, since he had to keep up a reputation at school and all. Castiel
closed the door as he walked out and past Dean, their chests brushing slightly
in the narrow hallway.
Dean turned his head and watched Castiel walk out and into the livingroom,
having changed into a pair of plaid pajama pants - Dean's - and a black sweater
with sleeves that stretched slightly over his hands, exposing just his
fingertips - also Dean's. He'd expected that Castiel wouldn't want any
attention drawn to his scars in front of Bobby or Sam, so he'd gotten something
with long sleeves for him. Even though Dean was upset about Castiel's obviously
fake smile, he couldn't help but bite his lip at the sight of Castiel wearing
his clothes.
He walked out of the hall and into the kitchen sometime later and joined the
others at the table, taking a seat at the end, between Sam and Cas.
"You ain't religious, are ya? We don't say grace or nothin'." Bobby explained,
looking at Castiel.
"I am, but it's fine, I won't impose on you." Castiel said, his voice sounding
oddly even and collected.
Bobby shrugged and started eating, along with Sam. Dean picked up the hamburger
and took a large bite before looking at Castiel, wiping his mouth as he chewed.
Castiel's eyes seemed to light up the slightest bit when looking down at the
food. He picked it up - sticking his pinkies out - and took a bite.
Sam was bragging to Bobby about his grades in school while Dean kept his eyes
fixed on Castiel, trying to watch for some kid of...something. The change in
demeanor was enough to practically give Dean whiplash. Castiel glanced up at
Dean through his eyelashes, licking a bit of ketchup from his lips as he
furrowed his eyebrows in confusion at Dean.
Dean wasn't gay.
So why the Hell did he feel his dick twitch in his jeans at the look Castiel
gave him?
"Boy," he heard Bobby say, snapping him out of his trance to look at the old
grump. "Stop oglin' your boyfriend and eat your food, didn't cook it for
nothin'."
Both Castiel and Dean felt their cheeks heat up, turning a bright pink.
"He's not - I'm not - no, okay?" Dean said, dropping his burger and running his
hands through his hair. "I'm not gay and I definitely ain't pining for Cas."
Dean glanced at Castiel, seeing the hurt look on the boy's face and started
gaping like a fish, a stupid, idiotic, insensitive fish. He stuttered slightly,
looking to say an apology.
"That's why you're staring at him like you wanna-"
"Shut up Sam." Dean scolded, eyes burning holes into the side of the smug
little bastard's head.
"Whatever boy, you know I don't judge so-" Bobby started, standng and tossing
his plate into the trash.
"I'm not gay!" Dean screeched indignantly.
"I'm...going to go to sleep." Castiel said, clearing his throat. "Thank you for
the meal."
Castiel good up, tossed his plate in the trash, and hurried off down the hall
back to his temporary room.
"Better go comfort your boyfriend." Sam teased, ducking his head from  Dean's
hand as he tried to smack the back of that mop of hair.
***** Chapter 14 *****
Chapter Notes
     Suicide hotline: 1-800-273-8255
     Sexual abuse hotline: 800-656-HOPE (4673)
"Cas?"
Castiel bit his lip as he heard Dean's voice from the other side of the door.
"C-come in." He managed to say, quickly wiping his eyes with the backs of his
hands.
Dean twisted the doorknob and cracked the door open slightly, just enough to
see Castiel sitting on the bed.
"I said co-"
"Relax, I heard you." Dean said, stepping in and closing the door softly.
Castiel looked up, his eyes puffy and red from crying. He looked back down at
the ground quickly, licking his lips and letting out a shaky breath.
"Hey, uh...sorry if Sam made you feel-" Dean started, shifting on his feet.
"It isn't that." Castiel's gaze shifted around the room, looking anywhere but
at Dean.
"What is it?" Dean asked, furrowing his eyebrows and coming to sit next to
Castiel on the bed, just a fraction of an inch closer than before.
Castiel noticed the proximity.
"Nothing, it's...it's not important." Castiel said, tugging at the sleeve of
Dean's sweater he wore, wishing he could curl up into the fabric and disappear.
Dean most likely didn't buy it.
"Okay, you can tell me later. How about you tell me why you were pretending to
smile earlier, before dinner?" Dean asked, fingers tracing patterns on the
sheets absentmindedly as he looked at Castiel, waiting for a response.
Castiel looked away, eyes trained on the wall now as he mustered up the courage
to respond.
"I didn't...want them to feel uncomfortable." He rushed out, not wanting to
waste Dean's time by stuttering, he did enough of that.
Dean was silent, probably expecting more of an answer than that. Castiel
sighed.
"I've...become accustomed to adapting my behavior as to not irritate anyone or
make them feel like they should pretend to care." Castiel explained, tearing up
again.
God, he was such a wuss.
"You pretend to be happy, so people won't ask you what's wrong?" Dean
summarized, tilting his head as he watched Castiel.
"Yes."
The room was quiet for a moment, the only sound being that of Castiel's
slightly ragged breathing.
"Cas?"
"Hm?"
You're so pathetic. You deserve to die. Why are you even still here? Why don't
you just kill yourself already? No one wants you. You're just a burden. You're
just-
"What's wrong?"
Castiel furrowed his eyebrows at the question, of all the things he was
expecting Dean to say, that wasn't one of them. How is he supposed to answer
that? What isn't wrong? He felt himself tearing up, because even if Dean was
just doing all of this out of guilt, or just doing it to mess with Castiel
later and use his weaknesses against him, it felt so fucking good to have
someone to at least act like they care.
No one has cared, no one has acted like they cared, for so long, if not ever.
He turned and faced Dean, losing all of whatever he composure he had left and
burying his face in Dean's chest, shaking violently and sliding his hands
underneath Dean's arms, clutching his shirt and crying into his shirt.
He couldn't find the engery to care if Dean was going to laugh at him for this
later because seconds later, he felt arms wrap around his torso and pull him
closer until Castiel was sure he was sitting on Dean's lap.
Castiel didn't care.
"Nobody cares." He sobbed, tugging at Dean's shirt until he was sure he was
going to rip it. "Why doesn't anyone care?" He asked, his voice cracking
indignantly, making him sound whiny and pitiful.
Hands were on his back, one up by the back of Castiel's neck, holding his
against Dean's chest, the other holding the small of his back even, rubbing up
and down.
"They j-just think th-they c-c-can...hurt someone over and o-over and over
until they can't anymore because...because I'll be d-dead and they'll
just...just m-move on and pretend I never existed and th-that...that I didn't
h-h-have feelings-"
"Cas, you gotta calm down." Dean interrupted, resting his chin on the smaller
boy's shoulder.
Castiel took a few deep breaths, still trembling and clutching Dean's shirt
tightly. Dean didn't mind, in fact, he welcomed the treatment, fuck this shirt,
he had plenty of shirts.
Fuck this shirt.
He rested his forehead on Castiel's shoulder, just holding him, sitting there
and holding him and not giving a flying fuck about how gay it was because who
the fuck even cares? So what if he does like Cas like that? There's no problem
with that.
It's ironic how he's saying that now but probably just last week he would have
made fun of Castiel for being gay.
But the thing is, Dean doesn't feel gay.
Because he isn't.
He's not gay, he doesn't like dick, he's a full-fledged player of the other
team because chicks are just...awesome.
But this is Cas.
And for some reason, he feels like he can relate to Cas so much, he feels like
he can be with Cas.
He could tell Cas about his dad abusing him too, because Cas isn't alone.
He could tell Cas about his mom.
He could go to the park with Sam and Cas.
He could kiss Cas.
And hug Cas.
And whisper to him that he cares and it's gonna be okay.
He can totally be gay for Cas, even though he's not gay.
"No one...no one would even...m-miss me." He heard Castiel mutter, noticing
that he'd calmed down quite a bit.
He rubbed the small of Castiel's back and pulled away from his shoulder
slightly, turning his head and looking into irises bluer than the Atlantic
Ocean.
"Shut up." Dean murmured, shaking his head the slightest bit and moving his
hands to Castiel's waist, fingers splayed over the strip of skin exposed from
now Castiel was leaning over Dean's body.
Dean flicked his eyes down to those Goddamn chapped lips, watching a flash of
link dart out to wet them, then disappear again. He'd never kissed a guy
before, but Castiel's lips looked so tempting that he just had to.
He leaned in, pressing his lips against Castiel's, fluttering his eyes closed
and letting the sensation of another dude's lips on his overtake him.
It wasn't so different from kissing a girl, a little bit of a rougher texture,
yeah, but the same rules applied.
He squeezed Castiel's hips gently, urging the boy to kiss back because so far,
Castiel's wasn't responding at all. He was sitting there like a lump on a log,
stationed in Dean's lap, Dean's mouth on his, but not doing anything. Dean
wondered if he'd made a mistake, if he'd come off like he was just looking for
a quick gay experience with some random slut he'd found and pretended to be
nice to in order to seduce, because that's probably what it seemed like to Cas
right now.
Dean was kissing him, and Castiel didn't know how to react.
How do you react to something like that?
***** Chapter 15 *****
Chapter Notes
     Suicide hotline: 1-800-273-8255
     Sexual abuse hotline: 800-656-HOPE (4673)
Contrary to what Dean thought, Castiel's lips felt soft, soft like a pillow, or
a feather, or something else that's soft. Dean isn't good with analogies.
He'd thought they'd feel like sandpaper against his own, what with how chapped
they were, not that Dean thought about kissing Castiel often.
Because he didn't, no way.
But now, with Castiel pressed against him and his hands on Dean's shoulders,
the warmth from Castiel's radiating onto Dean, seeping through fabric and
possibly even skin. Dean's cheeks felt warm with what was probably a blush,
because he was basically embarrassing himself here. Castiel still wasn't
kissing back.
He pulled away gently, subconsciously licking the taste of Castiel from his
lips. He cleared his throat awkwardly, hands still planted on the trembling
boy's hips, holding him in place. Castiel's eyes were off to the side, staring
at the wall, his cheeks just as red as Dean's. After a few agonizingly quiet
seconds, Castiel broke the sentence, his voice hoarse.
"Wh-why...did you do that?" He asked, furrowing his eyebrows.
He didn't look angry, but confused instead, like he was questioning his life
choices.
"Uh..." Dean cleared his throat, moving one hand from Castiel's hip to run it
through his hair, a nervous habit of his.
He glanced at Castiel, who still refused to look at him. He couldn't blame him
really, it was confusing. Dean, who had bullied both verbally and physically
for the past two years, had just basically threw his heterosexuality out the
window for the broken blue eyed boy he was supposed to hate.
"That...that was...kissing?" He said, his voice raising slightly at the end, as
if it was more of a question than a statement.
Castiel glanced at Dean out of the corner of his eye, the flash of blue caught
by Dean's eyes as he slowly snaked one arm around Castiel's waist, pulling him
impossibly closer. Castiel didn't protest so he took it as a green light.
"Why? Because you feel bad for me?" Castiel asked, voice breaking the slightest
bit like he was holding himself back from crying.
"No! No, 'course not, well, I mean, I do feel bad, for everything, but,
y'know...not for that. I just...I dunno man, you just-" Dean paused, stumbling
over his words like he'd forgotten how to talk.
He waited a few seconds, just looking at Castiel. He raised his hand and gently
ran his thumb over the curve of Castiel's jawline, trying not to see the way
the boy flinched slightly, like he was expecting something rougher. Dean
threaded his fingers into Castiel short, ruffled, brown locks and turned his
head slightly, blue eyes flashing upwards to meet his. He leaned in, to touch
their lips together again or maybe to just get closer and touch their foreheads
together, some sort of contact.
He definitely  didn't feel a pang in his chest when Castiel wriggled out of his
grip and pushed Dean away by his chest so he was flat on his back, laying on
the bed. Castiel scrambled to stand up and nearly tripped as he ran out the
bedroom door, and most likely the front door as well. Dean jumped up and
followed him out, watching as the boy slid past Sam, who was passing by with a
glass of water. Dean bumped into his little brother and cursed, but not at Sam.
"Cas, wait!" He called out, but the boy was already out the door.
"What's going on?" Sam asked, watching Dean chase after Castiel.
"Nothing, go to sleep Sam."
Dean swung the door open but of course he just had to remember that Bobby's
cabin was out by the park, right next to a patch of trees that provided a
perfect hiding place for someone running away, in the dark.
It was raining too.
...
Castiel wasn't at school the next day. How could he come to school and face
Dean anyways, after what happened? Dean tried to brush it off, but he couldn't
help but wonder if Cas was out alone somewhere in the town, or worse, back
home. If Cas was home, that would mean that he wasn't safe, he was gonna get
punished for not coming home in the first place, which was Dean's fault
anyways. He considered going to the Novak house, but that wouldn't do any good
even if Cas was there, because that would just piss his dad off even more,
plus, he didn't know where Castiel lived.
He brushed it off and tried to imagine that Cas was crashing in some motel
outside of town.
But Castiel didn't show up the next day either, or the next, or the next. After
a week or so, Dean couldn't take it anymore, Sunday afternoon, he drove around
town, just surveying the town for any sight of Castiel walking around, hoping
to get lucky and catch a glimpse of him.
He didn't.
The next day, after school, he didn't have much luck either.
On Tuesday, people started to talk, they started saying that he killed himself,
but Dean didn't want to believe it, so he looked for him again.
As he was driving around Tuesday evening in the dark, deserted streets on the
outskirts of town, listening to his dad's favorite ACDC cassette. He'd been
searching most of the day, he even managed to fit a little bit in before school
started, just because he couldn't handle not knowing where Castiel was. He had
gotten up at three, because he'd woken up at two due to his drunk ass dad
stumbling in from the bar.
He pulled on some clothes and his shoes, grabbing his dad's car keys once he
was passed out in his room, face down in his own vomit. Dean hadn't batted an
eyelash at it, he'd seen it enough times to become accustomed to it. He checked
on Sam once before setting his baseball bat next to Sam's bed, just in case.
Just in case.
While he was driving down the road, he thought he had caught a glimpse of
someone walking alongside the road, someone wearing a black sweatshirt and
frayed blue jeans, someone who looked an awful lot like Castiel.
He swerved and made a U-turn, stopping the car at the edge of the grass by the
road, then stumbled out, leaving the door open because he couldn't find it in
him to give a shit because holy shit here's Cas.
"Cas!" He called out.
When he looked around, he felt like he was disoriented. He was just here. Cas
was just here. Dean stood in the empty road, looking around, the tall trees on
the side of the road towering over him. The Impala's headlights shone a few
feet ahead of the car, the for still left open and abandoned. The road was dark
other than that, dark and deserted.
Dean looked at the ground, clenching his jaw and swallowing thickly. He got
back into the car, slamming his hand on the steering wheel before driving off
again, the engine roaring.
***** Chapter 16 *****
Chapter Notes
     Suicide hotline: 1-800-273-8255
     Sexual abuse hotline: 800-656-HOPE (4673)
Castiel had never been homeless before.
Well, technically, he wasn't homeless now, he was able to go back home if he
pleased.
As long as he didn't mind his punishment once he did.
He had walked along the dark trees, conveniently placed by Bobby's cabin, which
played on his side as he tried to distance himself as far away from Dean as he
could. He knew Dean had given up following after him after a while because he
stopped hearing the boy's voice shouting his name. He didn't really expect Dean
to chase him for so long.
Or at all.
Because, for the past few years, Dean had emotionally, mentally, and physically
tortured him. He'd tricked Castiel into a false sense of security, aided his
asshole friends in the public humiliation he experienced, and beaten him
multiple times, all to regain what power he didn't apparently have all of the
time.
If he had to admit it to himself, Castiel might have liked Dean in the
beginning of high school, he might have had a crush on the leather jacket
wearing trouble maker with brilliant emerald eyes and plump, kissable lips,
because who wouldn't? But he soon realized that liking Dean wasn't an option
for him, not when Dean and his followers tormented him because he was gay or
nerdy or whatever the Hell their reason was.
But he found that unliking someone isn't so easy. Even with the glances he'd
received from Dean promising a beating or something other, he found himself
entranced by green. Even with smirks sneaked behind the teacher's back, laughs
and jokes at Castiel's expense, he found Dean's laugh intoxicating.
It didn't help with his self-esteem.
Because, having a big gay crush on the boy that caused you to carve his name
into your arm? It isn't healthy.
He remembered the first day he met Dean Winchester, before he knew how cruel
the boy really was. He'd sat next to him in French class, and Dean asked to
copy off of his homework, and then forgot to bring it back the next day.
Castiel redid the homework, because it was a small price to pay for being able
to talk to Dean, even if no talking was really done on his side.
He also remembered the first day Dean called him a name, it wasn't too long
after the homework incident. They were in the locker room and as Castiel was
looking around, trying to find his locker, he may have let his eyes linger on a
few back muscles of one of his fellow classmates - not Dean, since he was fully
dressed - and Dean had caught him. The whole lockeroom looked at him when Dean
laughed and shouted at him, asking him if he was a fag 'or something'. Castiel
denied the accusation, but Dean just shook his head, making a disgusted face
and telling him that 'fags like him need a separate locker room, to stop the
wandering eyes'.
Castiel cried that night for an hour or so, glad his father was working
overnight.
The first time Dean had hurt him physically was sometime in the middle of the
school year, just after the beginning of the second semester. It had caught on
around school - thanks to Dean and the others - that Castiel liked boys. Most
people were accepting, but they did nothing to prevent the bullying that
followed, they just watched.
He'd been fixing a few things in his locker, making it neat, when the door
slammed shut and nearly took his finger off, but he pulled it away just in
time. Dean had been leaning against the locker next to his, looking cocky as
ever, having just met Alastair and no doubt picking up smoking by the way he
smelled. He asked Castiel a weird question, if he was the one 'taking the dick
up his ass or giving it', as Dean put it, and when Castiel tried to explain
that he wasn't 'taking' anything, that he wasn't having sex - which wasn't
entirely true since his father had been sexually abusing him for a few years by
this time, he had no choice in it - Dean backed away with a horrified
expression and announced to everyone around that 'he didn't want Castiel coming
onto him' and suggesting sex. Castiel tried to explain that he wasn't doing
that, that he was answering Dean's question, but Dean shoved him back. Dean
called him a queer and struck him in the gut, causing Castiel to double over.
Long story short, he stopped having his crush on Dean sometime in tenth grade.
So why was he feeling so confused about Dean kissing him? It was wrong, because
Dean had done all these terrible things to him, he didn't mind that Dean wasn't
gay, or that maybe he was experimenting and chose the wrong person to do so
with. Dean's lips were so soft, and his hands so warm on Castiel's hips,
holding him and stroking his thumbs over his skin. Dangerous thoughts.
...
Castiel had gone back to his house while his father was at work the next day,
skipping school - for once - to get some things he'd need if he was going to be
a runaway. He wasn't surprised when his father hadn't reported him missing to
the police, that would attract negative attention to a public figure like him.
He'd probably made up some story about Castiel going to his aunt's house for
the week or something to keep people at bay.
Castiel didn't care.
He gathered his things in a backpack, some spare clothes, bathroom supplies,
his phone charger, though he'd have a hard time finding somewhere to charge it.
He'd grabbed his savings packet hidden underneath his mattress, stuffing it in
there too. It was full of the money he'd saved up in the past six years,
nearing around $5,000. Birthday money, allowance from his father, Christmas
money from distant relatives who only seemed to care about him during the
holidays, he'd saved all of it up, being rich helped.
He changed into some casual blue jeans he'd found in the back of his closet and
wiped his eyes, sniffling as he headed out, leaving his house key behind since
he wasn't planning on returning.
...
Motels were cheap, he'd figured out. He was able to stay in motels for little
money, with almost no questions asked why a teenager was on the streets and not
in foster care or with his parents. He liked the fact that people didn't care,
for once.
He'd charged his phone in the room and gotten some good sleep, at least twelve
hours or so, he'd been tired from crying and walking so long, at the same time.
Once he did wake up, he felt weird, not being in school while school was in
session. He ignored the feeling though, and decided to stay in all day, mainly
just playing on his phone, checking his father twiiter on occasion to see if he
had anythng to say about Castiel's 'trip to his aunt's house'. There was none.
However, he had hundreds of texts from his father, unanswered because he didn't
see them due to the incident and trying to focus on running away. He scrolled
through the texts and found himself becoming more and more frightened with each
one, trembling by the time he'd set his phone down.
Come home.
Castiel, if you aren't in my car in five minutes I swear to God.
I'm waiting.
Where the fuck are you?
Castiel, I'm not kidding.
Get your ass to my car, you ungrateful little prick.
I'm at reception, I won't go home until I find you somewhere in this fucking
hospital.
Did you leave with that little shit weasel that brought you here?
Some were old, most were new.
Castiel, if you come home now, I'll take it easy on you.
You think im lying?
Come home right now.
I swear Castiel, if you're not here in twenty minutes or less...
You're with Dean, is that it? What, is he inspired by your arm art?
You're sucking that boy's dick, aren't you? That's why you won't reply to your
father. Fucking whore.
You munipulative little asshole, after all I've done for you...
The messages only got more and more hateful and Castiel cried in the shower
just thinking of what twisted things his father were to do to him if he had
gone home. He wasn't going to go home. Ever.
...
Castiel's thought drifted to Dean one night, a few days after he'd first run
away, as he was laying in the motel bed, wearing Dean's sweater, even though it
wasn't helping his situation.
He wondered if Dean was still looking for him, if he had even started in the
first place. He probably didn't, but Castiel liked to pretend that Dean at
least tried to care about his disappearance. He wondered if Dean was regretting
kissing Castiel, regretting ever taking him in and being nice to him, because a
lot of good it did him. He wondered if Dean wanted his clothes back anytime
soon. Because, in all honestly, he wasn't ready to give them up.
One night, at least eleven or twelve days after he'd ran away, he had just
gotten out of the shower when he heard his phone go off. He knew it was most
likely another hurtful, degrading text from his father, but he opened it up
anyways, because he was curious as to what horrible thing he had to say about
Castiel today. He'd gotten daily texts from his father, telling him how
ungrateful, greedy, slutty, and disgusting he was, he'd gotten used to the
abuse and only cried for about twenty minutes yesterday.
Fuller Peaks Inn.
He let out a shuddering breath, feeling tears sting at his eyes as he tossed
his phone on the bed and dressed quickly, not bothering to dry his hair since
it was raining outside anyways. He left his phone and even his bag, only
bringing with him Dean's sweater and his own pair of black jeans as he sprinted
out of the motel room, crossing the parking lot and quickly walking down the
side walk, looking over his shoulder every so often. He glanced at the sign
once before continuing on towards Bobby's house.
Fuller Peaks Inn.
***** Chapter 17 *****
Chapter Notes
     Suicide hotline: 1-800-273-8255
     Sexual abuse hotline: 800-656-HOPE (4673)
It was raining that night.
Dean was sitting on the couch, Sam asleep next to him, head thrown back onto
the couch, sitting uowright, book still open in his lap from studying. Bobby
was asleep too no doubt, either that or doing whatever the Hell old people did
in their rooms. A rerun of Friends was saying on the living room TV and Dean
was watching it, it had come on while he was channel surfing and he just left
it on.
A crack of thunder sounded outside but Dean's eyes stayed fixed on the TV, not
really paying much attention to it. He hadn't found Cas. He'd looked and
looked, not noticing how consumed he'd became with it. After about a week, he
gave up, much to his dismay. Castiel didn't want to be found so Dean didn't try
as hard as he should have. As much as he wanted to bring the idiot back here,
to safety, to shelter, Castiel didn't seem to want that or else he would have
come back by now.
Of course he considered the possibility that Castiel was dead, either caught by
Bartholomew or offed himself. He didn't like the idea, but he knew it was a
strong possibility. He knew it was likely.
He sat in the dark living room, eyes trained on the TV distractedly, hands on
his thighs tiredly. He'd gone to school, people had noticed that Cas was gone -
which pissed Dean off because that's when they sure started to care, or at
least pretend to, not when he showed up and just avoided everyone and
everything. They started talking. Obviously the most popular belief was that he
committed suicide, and Dean noticed people sneaking glances at Cas' empty seat
in the class they had shared, muttering something about 'the poor kid being
bullied into it'.
Dean wanted to punch them, because they could have done something, they could
have said something, they should have. Dean should have. Dean should have just
left Cas alone in the first place. All of it was Dean's fault, if he would have
just left Cas alone then he, at the very least, wouldn't have had as much
bullying to deal with. Dean thought back to how he used to see Cas, how he used
to get so angry whenever he looked at him because Cas had this perfect life
while Dean's mom was dead and John didn't give a flying fuck about Dean or Sam.
He used to hate Cas solely for this reason and now it physically hurt him to
know how wrong he was. How he wrongly assumed Castiel's life was perfect when -
Jesus Christ - it was so much fucking worse.
He hated himself.
This must have been Castiel's mind set all the time, the self-loathing, the
wondering why it couldn't have happened to someone else, the emptiness.
Dean felt tears prickle at his eyes and blinked, clearing his throat. Sam
stirred beside him and he glanced over, seeing the boy settle back into the
couch with a content sound. He closed the book in his lap and put it on the
floor, draping a blanket over him and just...watching him.
If it was true, if Cas was dead, then Dean was gonna try him damn hardest to
make sure Sam would never have anyone lay a finger on him. He'd kill the
asshole that would put a bruise on his baby brother, if they dared. He'd take a
bullet for Sam. He would.
He looked back at the TV, swiping the heel of his palm roughly over his cheek,
furrowing his eyebrows as he watched the show.
...
Dean was just about to doze off himself when he heard a knock at the door, it
was quiet, timid almost. He got up and ran a hand through his hair, grabbing
one of Bobby's shotguns because no one should be knocking at the door this
late, during a rainstorm. He opened the door, pointing the gun at the figure,
then registered who gasped and immediately backed away, nearly falling off the
porch as they whimpered and apologized. He put the gun back and walked out,
looking at the person.
"Cas?" He asked, his voice breathless with...relief? Relief.
Castiel didn't say anything, but he glanced back at the pathway, contemplating
just walking away and leaving Dean alone because he was probably just annoying
the tired boy.
"Here, c'mon, it....i-it's raining." Dean stuttered, tugging Cas inside.
He shut the door and looked at Cas, who was taking in the scene of the sleeping
boy on the couch and the quiet atmosphere. He touched Castiel's arm and led him
to his room, shutting the door behind them and turning to see Cas looking
around, taking in the ACDC posters on the walls. John didn't let him put things
up in his room at home.
"You're...alive." Dean breathed out, wanting to reach out and tug Cas close
because holy shit, Cas was alive.
Castiel turned to looked at Dean, big blue eyes wide with terror and hands
wringing nervously. Dean noticed Cas was still wearing his sweatshirt, he wore
different jeans but Dean didn't care about his pajama pants, he had another
pair. The sweatshirt was soaking wet, but he didn't care about that either, he
only cared about the way Castiel's arms were hidden in the sleeves, only the
tips of his fingers visible as he fumbled with them nervously.
"What happened?" He asked, not risking stepping forward and scaring Cas away.
Not again.
Castiel seemed emotionally drained, his lip was bitten raw and split, but he'd
seen his fair share of injuries, and that wasn't from a fist. He sighed in
relief at the thought.
"N-nothing." Castiel lied, Dean couldn't be bothered with Castiel's drama, Dean
didn't deserve to listen to him rant.
Castiel came here for a different reason, he came here to feel needed, to feel
wanted, to feel loved, even though he knew Dean didn't love him, couldn't love
him. No one could, he was used up and damaged, only good for one thing and one
thing only. He knew that, but he wanted to feel like he was worth something,
tonight.
"C-can...can y-y-you..." Castiel's breathed, cheeks pink. "Can y-you k-k-kiss
me...a-again?"
The look on Dean's face was of shock, but Castiel knew that deep down, he must
be disgusted. Why wouldn't he be? He probably only kissed Castiel those some
weeks ago because he felt bad, or because Castiel was a whore and must have
thought he down for anything. He didn't blame Dean, not one bit, he was a
whore, he'd let Bartholomew tell him that constantly.
When someone tells you something day after day, it sticks with you, you start
to believe it.
He expected Dean to kick him out into the rain again, or shove him away and
throw hurtful slurs at him, and he would accept it, it would only make his
choice easier anyhow. He didn't expect for Dean to surge forward and actually
kiss him, or to be cautious of the wound on his lip, or take his hands and
intertwine their fingers or just...be so gentle.
No one had ever been gentle with him before, no one being Bartholomew.
Dean's lips pressed against his and he closed his eyes, not realizing he'd been
trembling until he stopped. He waited frozen, just enjoying the warmth Dean's
body provided, the tingling feeling his lips gave him all over his body. He'd
never been truly kissed before, not like this, it had always been one-sided and
messy, teeth clattering and Castiel brushing his teeth until he gums bled
afterwords.
This was different, this was soft sweet, warm, meaningful. He felt tears slip
down his cheeks, grateful that Dean had started kissing him in earnest, too
distracted to see Castiel's tears. Castiel sighed into the kiss shakily, one
hand prying itself from Dean's to cup the boy's cheek cautiously, making sure
he wasn't overstepping any boundaries.
The kiss remained sweet and gentle until Castiel moved his hand down Dean's
clothed chest, his arm shaking and trembling nervously when he could feel the
band of Dean's pajama pants. He needed this, he needed Dean, he needed
something other than Bartholomew, he needed to stop thinking so much, at least
for tonight.
Dean knew Cas was hurting, he knew Cas needed this because all he'd ever had
was Bartholomew.
He complied, moving his hands to Castiel's waist, soothing over his hipbones.
Sex with a guy couldn't have been any different than with a girl. Plus, it
wasn't like Dean was uneducated, he'd done anal with this one college chick he
met last year, Lisa or what the fuck ever her name was, she was down for
anything. He knew the basics, lube, overall gentleness.
Castiel pulled his lips away from Dean's, relieved by the fact that he hadn't
been rejected, and moved his now free hand to Dean's shirt, lifting the hem up
slightly. Dean got the message and took his hands off of Cas' waist momentarily
to pull off his shirt, tossing it onto the floor. He went back to kissing
Castiel, open mouthed but still just as slow as the boy was willing to take it.
Castiel felt Dean's hands travel upwards under the soaking wet sweatshirt,
silently asking the same thing of him. Castiel had considered just leaving it
on, to cover up his scars, because they were ugly and disgusting, Castiel was,
he was.
"C'mon." Dean whispered quietly, tugging the sweatshirt over Castiel's head
with only a bit of struggling.
Castiel crossed his arms over his chest, looking down at the ground in shame,
because Dean didn't want to see the reminders of his failures and depressing
thoughts. He didn't need that.
"None of that." Dean whispered almost inaudibly, wrapping his hands around
Castiel's wrists and bringing them up to his face, gently because Castiel was
fragile and Dean had already hurt him enough.
Castiel felt a tear slip down his cheek when Dean pressed a soft kiss to his
wrist, over where multiple cuts overlapped. Dear continued this treatment all
the way up Castiel's arm, moving to the other and doing the same, pausing as
his lips hovered over where his name was carved into Castiel's arm, pressing an
extra long kiss to each letter.
He'd done this before, kissed all over a girl's body, the girl didn't have cuts
like Castiel, but she enjoyed it so Dean thought he'd incorporate it into
Castiel's situation, judging that he was doing a good job by the way Castiel's
shuddered and watched him closely. He wrapped his arms around Castiel's waist,
walking him backwards until the backs of Castiel's knees hit the bed and he sat
down.
Castiel started to move, turning to stand on his hands and knees, but Dean
stopped him, kissing him again without hesitation, like he'd kissed Castiel a
thousand times. Castiel relaxed at the feeling, carding his hand through Dean's
hair timidly because he wasn't sure if he was doing good for a first-timd
consenter or if he was just coming across as needy.
"Gonna take these off, alright?" Dena asked, pulling away to look down at
Castiel.
He'd do that often, only with Cas because he knew Cas needed that confirmation
that he could say no, that he could stop this at any moment, that he had that
power. Castiel needed this power, and he marcelled st the fact that he actually
had it for once, that Dean let him have it. He wouldn't be using it, but he
just loved knowing that he was able to. He nodded and watched Dean move down
slightly, nudging Castiel until he was fully laid back on the bed, Dean's face
by his stomach and pressing gentle kisses.
Dean had to admit, it was weird, kissing someone's navel and feeling short hair
brush against his chin, but he didn't stop, he didn't stop because he loved the
little full body shudder Castiel did. He unzipped Castiel's jeans, glancing up
at him as he dragged them down his legs. Before he could even think about it,
he was kissing at the horizontal cuts and burns on Castiel's thighs, his hand
on Castiel's inner thigh, gently holding it still from where it shook.
Castiel hadn't been wearing any underwear, which didn't surprise Deans since he
left here with none on. What did surprise him was that Castiel was already hard
and leaking at the tip. It felt weird, being this close to another guy's dick,
his face just inches away, but he kept his face where it was, kissing at
Castiel's scars. He didn't stop until he felt himself start to grow hard in his
pants, and he looked down at the slowly forming tent in confusion because he
hadn't even done anything to Cas yet.
Castiel looked down at Dean, who was staring down in confusion, Castiel figured
because Dean didn't consider himself gay, yet was undressing another boy and
kissing around his intimate parts. Castiel realized then that for once, he had
more experience in sex than Dean Winchester.
"D-Dean?" He asked, his voice small.
Dean's head snapped up and he looked at Castiel before realization hit his face
and he nodded, standing up and pulling his pants down, crawling back on the
bed.
Shit. He didn't have lube.
"I..I don't uh..." He stuttered, scratching the back of his head.
He felt his cheeks heat up and he wondered why all of a sudden it was possible
that an innocent blue eyed boy was able to make Dean blush, Dean!
"D-do you have...have l-lotion?" Castiel asked just as shyly, his own cheeks
heated and dark red.
For some reason, he felt bashful, not like how he felt when Bartholomew took
his body, not shameful and dirty, he felt shy and embarrassed under Dean's
shimmering light green eyes. It felt completely different and Castiel was so
drunk on the feeling that he didn't realize Dean had leaned over him and
grabbed a small lotion bottle from the beside table.
When Dean had leaned over, his semi hard on brushed against Castiel's ass and
he groaned, one hand coming to rest on Castiel's hip and dig into his hipbone
because holy fuck, that felt better than he'd expected. In the time it took him
to lean back and pop open the lotion bottle, his dick had filled in fully and
he looked down at it, astonished.
"D-D-Dean." He must have zoned out again on it when he heard Castiel plead.
He looked up, seeing Castiel's fingers gripping at his sheets and his ass
grinding back against the bedsheet, looking for friction.
"Yeah, yeah I got ya Angel." He heard himself mutter lustfully, rubbing some
lotion around on two fingers before swallowing thickly and bringing them
downwards.
Castiel closed his eyes, taking his bottom lip between his teeth when he felt
Dean's fingertip press against his hole an eventually push in slowly. He
enjoyed the feeling, it being much more bearable than Dean just pushing his way
in completely, he let out a small whimper. Dean's eyes flickered up to
Castiel's face from where he'd been staring at his disappearing finger and he
watched the boy's face.
"You okay?" He asked, sounding breathless.
Castiel nodded, he was more than okay, he was great, because Dean was gentle
and caring and so much different. It was all so different.
"It...it's okay," he swallowed. "You c-can put an-another in."
Dean nodded and ran his thumb over Castiel's hipbone softly as he pushed in his
second slick finger. He was right, this wasn't much different than fingering a
girl, it was tighter around his fingers, yeah, but pretty much the same other
than the now quietly mewling boy beneath him.
His confidence grew with the comparison and he started pumping his fingers in
and out of Castiel slowly, curling them upwards every so often until he knew
he'd hit something because Castiel jerked and Dean would have stopped and asked
if he was okay, if it wasn't for the moan it yanked out of Castiel at the same
time. He smiled down at Castiel and repeated the action, watching the boy's
mouth fall open as he moaned again, covering his own mouth so it didn't echo in
the small room.
It had only gone on for another few minutes before Castiel insisted he was
ready, the bossy little shit.
"So demanding." Dean joked, moving so he was still in between Castiel's legs,
ignoring the unfarmiliar feeling of hair brushing against his hips and waist.
Dena leaned down, catching Castiel's lips in another deep kiss as he rested his
hands on slender hips, thumbs against his hipbones and rubbing softly.
"Please." Castiel begged breathlessly against Dean's lips, and Dean nodded,
forehead pressed against Castiel's as he pushed in.
Castiel squeezed his eyes shut, blocking out Dean's view of bright blue irises,
but he didn't complain, because Castiel's face was priceless. His jaw had
slacked and his lips were barely plopped open, a huff of air escaping them.
Castiel's eyebrows were furrowed together all the way up until Dean was seated
fully inside of Castiel, hips on Castiel's ass, legs wrapped around his waist
and ankles locking behind his back.
Dean swallowed thickly, because holy mother of God he forgot how tight asses
were compared to vaginas. He groaned, squeezing his own eyes shut now and
dropping his head to Castiel's shoulder. Castiel reached up cautiously, arms
hooking under Dean's armpits and hands splayed over his shoulder blades,
panting and squeezing his legs around Dean's waist, silently pleading for him
to move because Dean was big, bigger than Bartholomew but so much more gentle
and so much more careful.
He felt full, he felt good, he felt cared for.
After a moment, Dean nodded, mainly to himself, and slowly dragged himself away
from Castiel, slowly plunging back in. Castiel's breathing hitched because soon
enough, Dean was moving efficiently and fucking him earnestly and Castiel was
loving it. He was moaning softly and his leg twitched every so often when Dean
would just barely brush over his prostate.
It felt good, it felt so good that Castiel wondered if he was dreaming, but he
wasn't. Dean was here, on top of him and inside of him, making love to him.
Even if that wasn't what it was or what Dean would call it, that's what Castiel
would call it, because this is the most love he's felt in a long time, other
than when Kevin saved him outside of the school weeks ago.
This, this was what he wanted, what he craved, what he yearned for. This is
what he needed.
Dean's skin was slapping against Castiel's now, and Castiel had a hand clamped
over his own mouth to muffle his broken moans so he didn't wake up the sleeping
boy in the next room or the older man somewhere in the house. Dean turned his
head so he was looking down at Castiel, panting and smiling through it because
Castiel was enjoying himself, he was liking this and Dean was the cause of it,
well, his dick was, but he still counted it as a win-win.
In a matter of minutes - record time for Dean - he was coming inside Castiel
and moaning into the boy's neck, panting against the damp sweaty skin. Castiel
followed suit with a bit of coaxing and touching, but Dean didn't mind because
it was important that Castiel came, that he got through his first time having
consensual sex completely.
Dean slowly pulled out of Castiel with an obscene squelching noise and flopped
down next to him, closing his eyes as he tried to catch his breath. In the
midst of tryng to get his heart rate back to normal, he felt a hand slide over
his chest then hair brush against his nipple. He opened his eyes and looked
down, lips wuirking at the sight of Castiel resting his head on Dean's chest.
He ran his hand through Castiel's dark hair and pulled the covers over both of
them after cleaning up Castiel's chest with a tissue, with difficulty since the
boy was almslt too tired to move. He ran his hand through Castiel's hair,
petting at his scalp as he felt the boy's breathing slow down back to normal
along with his, his side warm where Castiel was curled into him.
Castiel was gone again the next morning.
***** Chapter 18 *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
Castiel had left a letter for Dean.
Sometime during the night, he'd woken up and checked the clock to see it was
about three am. It was still dark outside, stars dancing above the cabin, out
where no city lights could disturb them or dim their brightness. Castiel liked
them, he liked the simplest things, like bees and flowers.
He stood up from the bed cautiously, making sure he didn't wake up the sleeping
boy or disturb him in any way. Carefully untangling himself from Dean's grip,
although he didn't want to, he pulled on his boxers and pants, grabbing his own
shirt from when he stayed here last, the night Dean had kissed him.
Dean's arms were strong and warm, and Castiel loved the way they felt wrapped
around his waist from behind, holding Castiel's back to Dean strong chest, soft
puffs of air against the back of his neck and light snores in his ear. He felt
safe in Dean's embrace, ironically enough. It only made it that much harder to
move when he had to get up.
He got dressed, folding Dean's sweater that he'd practically stolen up and
setting it in his place next to Dean on the bed. While the blonde haired boy
was still asleep, Castiel grabbed a piece of paper and a pen and sat down, only
using the light from his phone as a guide so he could write. He wrote softly,
trying to make his cursive as legible as possible.
"Dear Dean," it started.
...
When Dean woke up, Castiel was gone, but Dean's sweater that he'd lent the boy
was in his place. Dean sat up and rubbed half of his face, dragging his hand
down his cheek. He yawned and stood up, cracking his neck and fingers as he
opened the blinds. A part of him hoped that Castiel was in the bathroom, but
then he saw the note.
He skimmed over it rather quickly at first, eyes widening when he came across
the word he'd never expect to hear - or read, in this case - from Castiel. In
the letter, he must have apologized at least ten times. Sometimes for the
stupidest thing, like being a burden to Dean and everyone else at their school,
to his father. He'd apologized for being odd, an easy target, that he'd never
stood up for himself, that he just took it all without complaint.
Dean had to set the paper down and recollect himself at one point, it was so
depressing and it made Dean feel like shit. For the first time, he was seeing
things through Castiel's eyes as he read what the blue eyed boy wrote, he was
experiencing Castiel's life in a brief summary right there in his hands, right
on that paper. Was Castiel's life really that bad?
When he started to read about Bartholomew, and how all the sexual and physical
abuse started, he set the paper down for a few moments and sat on this bed,
running his hands over his face. This certainly wasn't the wake up call he'd
expected. He'd expected a sleeping, raven haired boy next to him, chest rising
and falling steadily, face soft and content. Not this.
He'd read to the end of the note and somehow he just knew why Castiel had
written this, had left this for Dean to see. It was abvious in the words
Castiel used, the tone of the whole letter.
Hopelessness.
Dean quickly grabbed his sweater and pulled it on, along with a pair of jeans
and shoes. He didn't bother to even zip up his jeans as he grabbed the car keys
and raced out the door.
...
He'd driven all over town, twice. While he was driving, he was getting serious
déjà vu. He was scouring the town, eyes concerned as they searched for a mop of
dark hair on the streets, sidewalks, and everywhere else. He even drove by
Castiel's house, but was greeted with the sight of Bartholomew just arriving
home, and he didn't look smug or pissed, just indifferent, like Castiel's
absence meant nothing to him.
He had to drive away quickly before he could get out of the car and do some
serious damage to the bastard.
After three days, he gave up, again. Castiel obviously didn't want to be found,
and if he did, he'd do what he did before and show up at Bobby's cabin, where
he knew he'd be safe and taken care of.
It wasn't until a few nights after that, while Dean was driving Sam home from
soccer tryouts - with Slushies since Sam made the team, the look on his face
was all Dean needed to smile - that he saw Castiel again. They'd been taking
the long route home, since Sam was tired and car rides always helped him sleep,
when Dean passed by Greenrow Bridge.
At first, he didn't even notice the dark haired figure stopping by the edge of
the bridge before climbing up onto it. He did fucking notice when the guy
turned around though, feet together and one hand holding onto the steel beam
supporting the bridge from above. Dean swerved the car, cringing at the sound
of his tires being ruined as they squealed on the tar ground. Sam jolted awake
and rubbed his eyes, watching as Dean stumbled out of the car.
"Cas!" Dean yelled, sprinting to the bridge.
Castiel's head shot up and a panicked look crossed his face, then a look of
shame washed over him. Dean looked over his shoulder and called to Sam. Sam
quickly got out of the car to see the commotion, meeting Dean's eyes and taking
out his phone, dialing 911. Dean reached Castiel just as the boy turned and
looked down at the water rushing below them. Dean noticed his rosey cheeks were
stained with tears, his clothes torn and dirty, hair a mess and neck and wrists
red with handprints.
"Bartholomew." Dean breathed out.
Castiel turned his head to look at Deana gain, nodding slightly, ashamed.
"H-he f-f-found m-me, I...I w-was at h-home, I th-thought he was st-still at
work...I-I'm s-sorry." He cried, swaying slightly and wiping his tears with the
palm of his hand.
Dean looked up at the boy though tears, blinking them back and tentatively
reaching a hand out.
"Gimme your hand Cas, I'm gonna help you down, o-okay?" He said, his voice
wavering slightly.
He let out a shuddering breath when Castiel shook his head, feet edging closer
to the end of the cement fencing on the bridge.
"Cas, c'mere, I'm gonna help, alright? You're gonna stay with Bobby and Sam and
me, okay?" Dean tried again, reaching for the boy's hand.
Castiel whimpered and clutched the steel beam with both hands, heels
dangerously close to the edge. Rushing water was all that filled Dean's ears
until he shook it away, not wanting to picture how cold it was, how fast the
current was.
"I-it w-w-won't get b-better, he'll...he'll find m-m-me ag-again." Castiel
sobbed, fresh tears rolling down his cheeks.
"No, Cas, he won't. We'll have him out in jail, you can live with us, with me.
Please, please come down." Dean pleaded helplessly, stepping forward, closer to
where Castiel was.
Castiel whimpered again, this time more high pitched than the last. Dean
watched how Castiel moved away from him, resting his weight on one leg, the
other only barely touching the ground, eliciting sounds of pain from Castiel
when he pushed on it. Castiel half turned to look down at the water again, and
Dean felt his face heat up with anger, anger towards Bartholomew because
Castiel was fucking bleeding. Red ran down the back of Castiel's jeans, on the
back of his thighs and probably coating the inside of the pants.
"Cas?" Dean asked when Castiel had been staring at the water for too long, eyes
blank, not even fearful.
It seemed to happen in a split second. Castiel turned back to Dean and spoke
softly, arms trembling as he let go of the beam.
"Thank you for trying." He heard Castiel say.
Dean screamed when Castiel leaned backwards and his feet slipped off of the
edge.
Chapter End Notes
     The ending is not happy, and it is also not a trick or a dream of
     Dean's. It's very real and pls send your hate mail straight to my
     inbox your tears fuel me.
     Suicide hotline: 1-800-273-8255
     Sexual abuse hotline: 800-656-HOPE (4673)
***** Epilogue *****
Chapter Summary
     Epilogue to the story.
     Turning Page by Sleeping at Last
Chapter Notes
     Suicide hotline: 1-800-273-8255
     Sexual abuse hotline: 800-656-HOPE (4673)
Dean smiled, arm slung around Sam as the two walked through the halls.
"I can't believe I just got here and you're already leaving." Sam said, arms
crossed.
Dean laughed lightly, shrugging.
"Well, I'm not gonna let myself get held back just to be here with you for the
next four years." He said.
The two walked in step. Sam had grown over the summer, miraculously considering
he was a pipsqueak his whole life. He'd grown at least a foot now and was
easily catching up to Dean, and his hair was long. Sam claimed he wanted to
grow it out because girls like guys with long hair, and he threatened to cut
Dean if he came near him with a pair of scissors.
"Plus, if you ever need me to come over at any point to beat the shit outta any
douchebags who wanna fuck with you, just call." Dean added, his arm slipping
from Sam's shoulders.
He shoved his hands in his pockets. It was his last year in highschool,
finally, but Sam had just started. He'd already met a girl in his theatre
class, Sam said she thought his long hair was hot and Dean just rolled his
eyes. This girl, Jess, must be into rocker guys, too bad for Sam, the nerd.
"Nah, that isn't really a problem anymore here." Sam said seriously, looking up
at Dean. "They're really cracking down on the bullies now."
Dean nodded. He knew why the school was suddenly taking an interest in the
serious bullying problem they had here, everyone knew why. It was hard not to
know when everyone was talking about 'that weird kid who apparently got raped
by his dad or something'.
Everyone was talking about Cas, even the freshmen.
Alastair and the other guys Dean used to regularly hang out with were talked to
about the problem, but let off the hook by Principal Dick Roman, who was later
fired for getting caught fucking the nurse. Alastair didn't even seem sorry
about what happened, he went around telling people that 'the kid had problems
and it wasn't his fault'.
"Heya Alastair, how's the nose?" Dean asked mockingly as he passed the boy in
the halls, waving at him while wearing a shit eating grin.
Alastair glared at him through his bruised and purple eyes, but sped up his
pace to get away from Dean.
"Hey Sam, see you in theatre later!" Charlie called out, waving at Sam, then
flickered her eyes to Dean, her smile fading into a more tame one. "Dean."
Dean smiled softly as he passed the redhead. He came to know Charlie at the
beginning of the year, when he joined the 'You Are Not Alone' club. Balthazar,
her, and Kevin had started it. Dean joined without hesitation. It was started
specifically to help kids suffering from depression.
"Well aren't you just popular?" He asked Sam, punching the boy's arm playfully.
"Shut up." He said, cheeks pink, as they passed a group of girls, all of whom
waved at Sam.
Dean waved at Kevin when he passed the boy, and Kevin offered a small, but
still wary smile. It was expected.
"Alright, see you after school." Dean said once they were in front of Sam's
classroom.
"Actually...Jess wanted to walk to the park after school..."
Dean cracked a smile and nodded.
"I'll tag along, be the annoying third wheel." Dean joked.
Sam didn't look amused.
"I'm kidding, damn, get a sense of humor. See you at home then."
Dean waved him off and headed to his own class, hands in his pockets. He passed
by the school art display case, slowing down to look at the large picture
presented smack-dab in the middle. He took a deep breath, running a hand
through his hair as he read the plaque underneath it for the millionth time
since they'd put the display up the first day of school.
'Castiel Novak; not a victim, just someone who'd fought too hard for too long.'
Dean blinked back tears and looked down, wiping his eyes. He hated this, he
hated that the school only cared about Cas now that he was gone, now that he
was dead.
How dare they.
He glanced back up at the picture, Cas' junior yearbook picture. The way he'll
stay in Dean's mind forever. They way he'll always stay. He smiled softly at
the familiar blue eyes before walking away to his class, letting out a
shuddering breath.
...
Dean drove the Impala, listening to the radio instead of the usual Metallica
cassette of his dad's. He was grateful actually that Sam went to the park with
Jess, because it gave him the chance to do something he hadn't in a few months.
Dean slowed down, lifting his foot off the pedal until the car rolled to a
stop. He got out and reached over to the glove department, opening it.
He took a deep breath and pulled out a crumpled up piece of paper, slamming the
glove department closed again before getting out. He walked over, clutching the
paper tightly in his hands as he made his way over to the railing of the
bridge.
He saw Castiel's junior year picture again, a smaller version that what was in
the hallway at school. It was surrounded by dead flowers and a small, black
teddy bear. He sighed, grabbing the flowers and tossing them into the water.
They'd been there since the beginning, since people stopped caring once the
story got too old for their liking.
Dean never left anything. He didn't know what to leave. He didn't know what Cas
liked.
He opened up the piece of paper and took another deep breath, skimming over it.
                                  Dear Dean,
                          I almost didn't write this.
 I almost just gathered my clothes and left without a word, never to be heard
from again, but I knew I couldn't do that. I couldn't just leave, not after our
  night. I know you don't seem like the kind of person to like Lifetime movie
type moments, so I'm sorry if you read this and think it's stupid. You can stop
          reading it whenever you want. I won't hold it against you.
 I just wanted to let you know that, although you weren't, and probably still
 aren't, exactly in my fanclub (I don't have one. I was making a joke.) in the
 beginning, I want to thank you for at least trying or pretending to be toward
 the end. I think you know what I mean by the end, you've seen my arms so you
                 must know why I'm not in your bed right now.
   I want to thank you for making last night something I enjoyed rather than
  feared. I want to thank you for pretending to enjoy yourself for my sake. I
  want to thank you for helping me with my father. I'm sorry I was so hard to
                                  deal with.
I don't forgive you for what you've done. The beatings, the flagpole incident,
 the name calling. I remember all of it and I don't forgive you for it, but I
   don't hate you for it anymore either. I learned that hate doesn't get me
anywhere, because, at the end of the day, whether I hate or not, I'll still be
                    my father's toy and your inconvenience.
 I'm sorry I was such an easy target for you and your friends, I wish I could
   have stood up for myself, but my father taught me long ago that it isn't
necessary, that all I'll ever be is a plaything. I'm sorry for the crush I had
 on you those years ago, I know it must have been embarrassing for you, having
          some weirdo gay kid have a thing for you. Right? I'm sorry.
 I'm sorry that I made you lose your friends because you were nice to me, I'm
    just so sorry for it all and I wish I could make it up to you. I can't.
Thank you Dean, for putting your life on hold to shine some light on my shitty
one, for the time being. I'm tired of annoying people. I'm tired of everything
                                    really.
                                Goodbye, Dean.
                                   ~Castiel
Dean sighed as he read over the note for the billionth time. Every time, every
time he felt guilty. Castiel didn't deserve all the shit he got, he didn't.
Dean wished he had realized that before. He cleared his throat and wiped the
tears streaming down his cheeks.
"Fuckin'...every time Cas, every time, you make me get all...chick-flicky." He
whispered, physically unable to speak any louder.
He leaned his elbows against the railing where Castiel once stood, looking down
at the water.
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